#Morpheus bittersweet

[melancholypancakes]

This is about Aphrodite telling Morpheus off and why they stopped being friends all those centuries ago.

Aphrodite:….

Dream:….

Aphrodite: Oneiros.

Dream: Aphrodite…I

Aphrodite: No, I don’t want to hear your excuses. You are going to hear me now.

Aphrodite: first, it was Nada a defenseless princess who fell in love with you, and when the sun punished her for being with you and killed her kingdom. She killed herself and when she refuse becoming Queen of the dreaming you banished her to hell?!

Dream: I-

Aphrodite: Then calliope! You two were great for each other! She made a child for you and her! When Orpheus beg you for help you denied him and left him for dead! He never forgave you! You drove calliope away, she was heartbroken!

Aphrodite: Titania, Alianora and Thessaly. Those women you abandon them when your “love” faded Thessaly saw through your lies and façade!

Dream: Aphrodite, you don’t-

Aphrodite: No! I’m not finished Oneiros. Our friendship, You never let me express my feelings! That is why we stopped being friends!

Dream:…I thought we stopped being friends because I said humanity is selfish and cruel.

Aphrodite: sure, that was bad but it was mostly because you were a shitty friend!

Aphrodite: Oneiros, you are so shallow, selfish, sexist, deceitful and you don’t know what love is!

Aphrodite: I always listen to you going on and on how you hated your siblings and how humanity was so selfish.

Aphrodite: But for a second when I express how I was unhappy in my marriage with Hephaestus, my relationship with my sons, Ares Arrogant, selfish attitude and Adonis death which shattered my heart.

Aphrodite breathes out on the verge of tears. Just thinking about Adonis and all her sins.

Aphrodite: you always cut me off and threw off it like it was nothing! I tried to help you with your happiness, love and friendship I have given you! But it was never enough.

Aphrodite: You treated me like dirt! Like I was nothing to you, I was your only friend and I stood up for you against your family and the gods!

Aphrodite: Its no wonder your family doesn’t like you! Or you don’t have any friends!

Aphrodite: at least, I acknowledge I was awful parent, lover, wife and goddess but you. Pretend it’s everyone else’s fault and not yours!

Dream, looks at Aphrodite with his glossy eyes as he tried to keep his composure.

Aphrodite: What makes this mortal witch, Y/n L/n any different?… all you’re going to do is break her apart like the others.

Aphrodite: What makes you think you’re worthy of love?

Dream:…Because I’m trying to be better. Aphrodite, listen more and ask for help more and that’s all thank to her.

Aphrodite:….

Dream: she accepts me for who I am. She doesn’t change me nor ask me of my past, she show me how humanity isn’t always cruel. She showed me ways to be better.

Dream: She’s different and…I deeply love her as she loves me, I’ve never felt this way about a mortal woman like her before.

Aphrodite looks at Oneiros for the first time in centuries with pity and forgiveness. Maybe they could put all this anger, sadness and betrayal behind them?

[writing-for-life]

Sooooo… does fandom still think we’ll get a different ending?

I’ve noticed that a lot of media that I consume (shows, mostly, but also books and movies) do something where they set it up so that the main character will have to die at the end in order to save everyone else. One of two things happens, and it annoys me. One, the character dies and then is brought back. Two, at the last minute there’s another solution and the character doesn’t have to die. I feel like more writers should commit to a meaningful sacrifice of their main characters. Sometimes it works, but sometimes I just want that brutal, bittersweet moment, and I want it to be final, so that we can really appreciate the character’s sacrifice. Or even if it’s not a sacrifice, and the character just flat out fails, I sometimes wish there was a commitment and we can feel that failure. I don’t mean to say that happy endings shouldn’t exist, I like happy endings. But sometimes it feels like it could totally work to keep the main character dead.

Anyways, I was wondering your opinion on this, my late-night rambling.

You'd probably like Sandman.

[ennas-aesthetic]

Retired!Dream as a Librarian AU

Both @ineffablyendless and I spent a night brainstorming on what we think Retired!Dream would be doing (you know, if he walked away like Destruction did and decided to live life not tied down to impossible responsibilities), and we immediately agreed that he would LOVE being a librarian. So here's a collection of our Retired!Dream as a librarian headcanons:

Surprisingly, joining the library wasn't Hob's idea.

The first few months after he left his duties and responsibilities as ‘Dream of the Endless,’ Morpheus had gone into a bit of an existential crisis. He has basically lost his entire function, which was the anchorage of his whole being and identity. If he is NOT the manifestation of the collective unconscious and the Prince of Stories, then who the hell is he?

(He has no idea where Destruction has gone, too, so it’s not like he can tap him and ask casually how to start living his life as a human. Dream is drawing on a blank, and is completely lost on who he should be and what it is that he wants to do.)

Hob is there for him during those months. He is gentle and kind and patient; he tells Dream that he can do whatever the fuck he wants, and encourages him to try various things. Crafting, painting, writing. Dream has a natural affinity to the arts (of course) but none of them seem to stick (and the Bohemian starved-artist persona was more Destruction’s thing, anyway. Dream may be a ‘human’ now, but the pettiness went nowhere, it seems.)

Hob tells him that he will NEVER mind Dream going out of the flat when Hob’s off to teach at the University. Encourages it, even. He tells Dream that he does not need to be cooped up in the house, that he can go wherever he wants. Dream often stays in, anyway, (because he has got nowhere to be), until he could not take the constant ennui and boredom any longer and books out of the flat.

He goes around the locale for a bit, explores the town he and Hob live in. Inexplicably, he is drawn to the local library.

Stepping into the library reawakens a small part of him that has been dormant ever since he left the Dreaming. Stories had always been his domain, and it is there that a tiny part of his soul (if he has any) is moved – as if the place has put him under its spell. He browses the shelves, reads through books and novels that he has read a thousand times. Often, though, he is content sitting at the little visitor’s nook, looking at readers of all ages exchanging and accepting stories and tales, and feeling a forgotten part of his heart twinge with bittersweet calmness and serenity.

Haunting the library became a daily ritual. And as it is with humans and rituals, the staff become more and more used to him the more he frequents the place. Slowly they integrate him into their tight-knit band of librarians. Dream finds himself in deep discussion with various people over folktales and legends and stories, and they are entranced by how much he knows, endeared by his seriousness and aloofness. It is in conversation with the head librarian that he finds out they are always accepting volunteers. Would Dream like to be one?

When Hob finds out he is overjoyed. It was a no-brainer, really.

And that’s how Dream became part of the staff of the local library.

Sometimes Dream wonders how he had gotten here. Oh, if only his subjects could see him now. If only Lucienne could see him now. He was the owner of the Dreaming’s vast, endless library, sure, but as Monarch he had left the more menial tasks to Lucienne. Which, he realizes, was quite the “dick move” (as Hob puts it), on his part. He gets taught how to shelve books using the Dewey Decimal system, how to administer fines for books that are way past their return date, find the exact shelf for Fortunately, The Milk that a child had wanted for forever, how to wrangle silence with a vehement ‘sssssh!’ and a death glare. The last part he could do with ease, but the others not so much. He resolves to be more appreciative of Lucienne’s work over the millennia, if he ever sees her again.

But the work itself is pleasant, an anchor. He never had a sense that being a librarian is a chore. In fact, the task seems to keep him fixed, hinged on an axis of purpose and drive. After months of senseless brooding he is happy he has this at least, to define the fuzzy boundaries of his identity. He is still crafting who he wants ‘Morpheus’ to be, but it gets easier, a day at a time.

And the people, to his bemusement, love him. He is surprised at the ease of which he gets accepted into the brood, and realizes that people are so much kinder than he could ever have thought. There is Lissa, who is going through her bachelor's degree in Sociology, but who heads the Weekly Library Scavenger Hunt and frequently asks Dream’s help to cut up various visual aids and decorations for their bulletin boards. There is Annalee, who sometimes brings him coffee when they exchange shifts. They help him with the shelving and sorting at the end of the day, and they enthusiastically drag him in to help organize the monthly Slam Poetry competitions. Rupert, an elderly man who comes to stay at the library all day, and who does not forget to ask Morpheus how he is doing. Charlotte, the matronly Head Librarian who notices Dream not eating or taking breaks at the right time (his relationship with food has been complicated and rocky since his imprisonment at Burgess’), and clucks at him like a mother hen for skipping meals.

It’s… it’s a community. Dream has found himself a community: people who CARE about him, who allow him to be part of their little found family, who do not cower away from him or act as if they’re walking on eggshells around him. For once he has found himself an actual, healthy support system. Hob says something about Dream resonates with them: how aloof and awkward he is, how utterly serious and straight-faced he is about the job. They give their kindness so freely that sometimes Dream thinks that there is a catch (because there always was.) But sometimes kindness is brash and natural and emergent - it shows up wherever, whenever, just because.

(He is loved by the community, too. They are obsessed with him, this awkward, no-nonsense, goth librarian in doc martens and earrings and black nail polish. Whose partner, a genuine University professor, comes over occasionally to give historical talks and seminars. This skinny, goth, queer librarian who can and frequently glares people to death for the slightest perceived misdemeanor but blooms like a fresh flower for every nervous child who has questions about books. He’s done so well that they upgrade him from volunteer to full-time librarian, of which Morpheus accepts graciously.)

Another thing the community is obsessed with: Morpheus’ Children Reading Programs.

He was not in charge of Story Time Tuesdays. Peter was, except Peter wanted to move back to Brighton to be closer with his family. Morpheus takes the mantle when he volunteered to adlib a story on the behest of one of his fave kids. Of course, unbeknownst to literally everyone else, Morpheus is in his element. He does not just read: he performs. He takes the voices very seriously, and he is an excellent storyteller, weaving a tale of dragons and knights and pegasi so enrapturing the entire floor goes dead quiet hanging on to his every word. When he is finished they erupt into incredulous, awestruck applause.

Story Time Tuesdays become a hit. The kids are apt listeners and a great audience, and adults come over once in a while to sit in, too. Sometimes he does not even need a book. He's like a fucking bard. An old-timey rhapsode who could string one story into another with ease. EASE. He could recite them as though he himself was there for each and every one. (And he was. HE WAS.) The children love him completely.

He is so good at storytelling that the library club affectionately nicknamed him the Library's "Prince of Stories." This sends Hob to hysterical tears.

One time the kids suggested he tell the story of Mr. Sandman. This is the one time he is taken aback, the one time he sputters as he insists Mr. Sandman doesn’t have his OWN story, because he was the storyteller. He does not have a story of his own.

The kids call BULLSHIT on this, because somehow Dream trained them all into believing EVERYONE has their own story. Hob, bastard that he is, who has made a habit of getting off the university early to listen in on Dream’s Story Time Tuesdays, yells "YOU'RE RIGHT!" So Morpheus is delegated into the sidelines as he watches the kids make up a story of their own for once, about a dream magician named Mr. Sandman with a dragon best friend who goes on a quest to leave his island.

Mr. Sandman becomes a recurring character in all of Dream's adlib stories now, at the kids' insistence. He’s the magical godmother and the helpful NPC that helps the heroes on their quests. The other librarians who are secretly compiling all of Dream's adlib stories are naming it "Sandman Stories". The kids dress up as "Sandman" on Halloween and Dream is beginning to realize the children perceive Sandman to look a lot like himself.

He also DID NOT have a complete breakdown in the bedroom he and Hob share, about how the children are adamant that Morpheus has a story of his own, despite believing for entire eons that he has none. It's still hard to reconcile his issues on self-worth, remember that he deserves kindness and compassion. But Hob is there to help him get through it, and the kids continue insisting that the Sandman is a real character with a story of his own that MATTERS. That he has a life worth living, a tale worth telling.

And slowly but surely, he starts believing that, too.

We have SO MANY MORE librarian!Dream headcanons that we haven’t touched on yet! If you have questions + want some more these hit us up! 

[gabessquishytum]

the beholder's eyes are black as night. (2694 words) by LeotheLionathefootofOrion

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling

Characters: Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus

Additional Tags: 1589 Hob Gadling and Dream of the Endless | Morpheus Meeting, Dream Sex, Body Worship, Belly Kink, Small Penis, Teasing, Groping, Dirty Talk, Humiliation, Blow Jobs, Come Swallowing, Come Marking, Pre-Relationship, Porn with Feelings, Bittersweet, fat appreciation, Body Contrast, Chubby Hob Gadling, The beauty of fat bodies

Summary:

If asked, Hob would struggle to explain exactly how he got himself into this particular predicament. His mysterious stranger - the same one who just wandered off to bother a trashy playwright - is now smirking at Hob's undersized cock and jiggling his fat rolls.

And Hob, immortal weirdo that he is, fucking loves it.

[tj-dragonblade]

[FLUFFBRUARY FICLET] Shampoo

Rated: G Word Count: 541 Tags: Fluffbruary, Fluffbruary 2024, fluff, established relationship, retired Dream, Hob Gadling loves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus loves Hob Gadling, he just doesn't speak it so plainly, scent, processing life changes

Fluffbruary 2024 Prompts Day 1 downy clinic nuance Day 2 engagement scent jam

On AO3

"Hmmmm," Hob purrs drowsily, nuzzling into the nape of Morpheus' neck, pulling Morpheus closer against him. "You smell nice."

Morpheus allows himself to be spooned into Hob's embrace beneath the blankets, nestling into the curve of Hob's body behind him, the warmth of Hob's arm around his middle. "Was my scent unpleasant before?"

"Not at all, not at all." Hob sounds languid and pleased, drunk with the lassitude of encroaching slumber and utterly content. "You used to smell amazing. Indescribable, but amazing. Clean and clear, like…like starshine and midnight frost in the middle of the forest in winter, that kinda thing."

"And now I do not." He can hear, in his own voice, the same bittersweet pang that colors nearly every thought of Before compared to Now. He is happier, of that there is no doubt; there is little to regret in having relinquished his duty and taken up a quasi-mortal existence with Hob. But that does not mean that he does not feel the loss of what he had been, that he does not feel lesser, inadequate, in small and everyday ways, in spite of his relief.

"Well, no," Hob agrees, gently, and presses soft lips to the back of his neck. "Now, you smell human. Touchable." He noses up into the downy hair at the base of Morpheus' skull and breathes in deeply. "You smell like my shampoo, and like the lotion you picked up from that little boutique last month." Hob's arm shifts closer about him, and Hob's mouth brushes the juncture of neck and shoulder, skirts the collar of the tshirt that Morpheus has donned for bed. "You smell like new clothes and comfortable old jumpers and clean sweat and just the faintest touch of rain and right now there's toothpaste in the mix too, and—mm." Hob buries his face in the back of Morpheus' shoulder, worms his other arm around Morpheus' chest and hugs him tightly, breathing deep, scenting him fully. "You smell like Morpheus, my Morpheus, and I love you."

Morpheus hums a small sound in acknowledgement, and brushes gentle fingers over Hob's upon his stomach, rests them there. It pleases him that so many of the scent elements just named by Hob are elements of Hob himself, small ways in which he might consider himself marked by Hob, marked as Hob's.

Hob, who has welcomed him into his life full-time without batting an eye, who waited for him in faith that he would return, who loves him. Hob, who treats him with more kindness than he is rightly due, who holds him while they sleep.

Hob, who thinks he smells nice.

"G'night love," Hob says then, pressing one more kiss to the base of his neck, and Morpheus settles. In only a moment Hob's breath has evened out, slow and deep; Morpheus listens, matches himself to it, lets sleep rise up to claim him safe in the circle of Hob's arms and the cradle of Hob's body.

His last thought as he slips into his old realm, a visitor, is that whatever trepidation he may continue to feel at this change, whatever he may count as lost, that which he has gained in Hob is entirely more precious, and entirely worth it.

= Started: 2/1/24 Drafted: 2/2/24 Posted: 2/2/24

[itskindofidontknow]

What dreams know about love?

Chapter 14

Dream of The Endless/Morpheus x Love!OFC

Summary: The Queen of Love has grown used to the absence of her husband, the Dream King. After banning her from the Dreaming, they only saw each other when Morpheus summoned her for social or marital duties. He would go decades without calling for her, enamorated by a variety of mistresses. It broke Love's heart. Not that her husband cared. However, after being imprisioned for a century, The Dream King wants to regain his Queen's love. She doesn't believe him, not after centuries of neglect. The question is: Can dreams repair a broken heart?

Tag: Established relationship, arranged marriage, regency romance, eventual happy ending, angst, morpheus is a dick prepare to hate, love is eoster from west germanic mythology, typos are to be expected

As soon as they returned from the parade, Eoster confined herself to her quarters, making Elijah run through her everything that was missing to the Solstice.

The Spring Queen made every little detail her business, a perfect excuse to avoid her husband. She would check the invitation list, rearrange seats, make final decisions on decorations, and even details about the reception for her court that she previously left under Elijah’s supervision, such as the color of napkins and the setting of the table, the queen took upon herself to make the final adjustments.

Anything that would make her husband less inclined to interact with her, she took it upon herself to do it. She knew from Elijah that Dream wanted to talk to her, that he asked Lucienne to ask Elijah if she was available for a luncheon or tea. The Cupid apologizes for his queen's full agenda, but she did not have time for “anything nonrelated to the Solstice” which translates into “anything related to Morpheus”

Of course, he could summon her by the bound, but after their night together, she knew he wouldn’t dare. Both of them crossed paths in the palace halls, but, if he even thought of starting a conversation, she lowered her head, pretending not to notice and being too far busy with her tasks.

But there is only enough table setting a queen can choose for a solstice festival, and it’s not near the amount necessary to avoid a husband.

And so, she escaped the Dreaming.

It was complicated. He knew about Desire. He knew about innocence, Love was now as a victim as him, trapped in the most sacred of unions with him. Love should feel relieved. ‘He can finally forgive me. We can be happy.’ She repeated to herself, although the words were bittersweet.

She should be relieved, of course, she should. It was what she had always wanted: Morpheus to believe in her, seeing her devotion and adoration were true. But instead, she felt conflicted and suffocated.

Yes, he now believed in her, but not because of her words but because he could visit her memories, and feel her feelings. It never happened before, and Eoster suspected it did happen because of their proximity. They never stayed together in the vulnerability of sharing a bed. Their bed, his bed, was duty, obligation, as everything in their marriage was. They never shared a bed for more than an hour, until the parade. The bond must have felt the permissibility of their souls, the proximity of their bodies, and let one visit the other’s memory, or he visited hers, because Love didn’t see anything.

He would never believe her word otherwise, would he? He believed what he saw. It was two very different things. Maybe she was overthinking. Maybe she wants him to suffer a bit more before giving herself to him. A few centuries might do the deed. Love chuckled to herself. Who was she trying to convince? She hates those games. But wasn’t her marriage a game from the start?

How did their marriage become so complicated?

So she escaped. Hiding in plain sight at her favorite park. Hoping the flooding of Cupids arriving at the Dreaming would be enough to make no one look for her.

Although “hiding in plain sight” is quite a stretch, after all, if Love’s beauty was already the talk among entities, even in casual up-to-date clothes, trying to mix with mortals, she still caught a lot of attention, her presence magnetic, and every single mortal gravitate towards her. Men, women, and children are all in awe.

How could one not fall in love with love itself?

“You just made a mortal meet his soulmate before I collected him.” The Queen jumped in her seat, completely lost in her thoughts, gazing at the people living their ordinary lives around her. When she looked up, there was Lady Death, her sister-in-law, with a disapproving look that broke down in a warm smile.

Love gave her a weak smile, moving on the bench so Lady Death could sit with her. Death knew it wasn’t intentional on Love’s part. Unlike the Cupids who had to bring arrows, study perfect matches, and wait for perfect situations, Love’s presence was enough to make mortals fall in love left and right. It was not as nearly as precise as the cupid's work. It was pure spontaneity, not to say chaotic (just ask anyone who lived during Henry VIII's reign) that relied entirely on mortals' feelings.

The park was blossoming in it. Mothers at the children's park noticed how much that tiny copy of them meant the world, friendship that would last a life being made by the kids, and especially lovers. Couples deciding to get married, travel the world together, move in together. One could look left and right and would see the park immersed in pure love.

“Couldn’t you give them more time?” Love sighed a complaint with not much enthusiasm to insist on it, said out of habit.

The first time it happened, Eoster would do everything to stall Death. She would ask about every single sibling, the next reunion, and would create a thousand stories from the Garden that she simply must urgently share, just to give a family or two lovers more time.

If it was their day, a mortal would die independently, but with the presence of Love, they wouldn't go without meeting either their soulmate or being in the company of loved ones. A tragedy for most, but what would one expect with Love and Death at the same place?

But now, Love said the words without any meaning, as that hope that she could save those mortals, meant nothing more. It became ordinary, a habit.

Just like Lady Death repeating to her younger brother that he needed to give attention to his wife. Before his capture, every time they met he sulked by her side and she would scold Dream, saying that feeling sorry for himself would not help anyone, that his biggest problem was having a sweet devoted wife who would do anything he asked, a problem that any Endless or not would love to have. “Promise you will take better care of Love, Dream. You know that she doesn’t deserve it”, Death would say, and he would keep looking at his feet, until mumbling an upset "fine".

He wouldn't do it, and she said it more out of habit than anything.

She remembered the first time Love joined them for a family reunion, she was radiant, eagerly wanting to talk to the siblings, listening carefully to Delirium’s antics, and constantly looking for Dream’s approval, like a puppy trying to please its owner. She was the living propaganda for her marriage.

Praising the Dreaming and its folks, telling how delightful everything was, exaggerating how marriage life was even more perfect and Dream even more of a gentleman than she could have expected, excusing her husband for having yet to come to meet the Garden. Love thought that it was what Dream wanted to hear.

And she was desperately trying to please him, everyone could notice. They thought it was sweet. Death, Destruction, and even Delirium thought that her charms would eventually get past their brother's stubbornness.

How little did they know?

“I thought you would be busy with the Solstice, what are you doing in the mortal realm sulking on a park bench?” Death tried to change the subject, as the brunette didn’t make any attempts to continue the conversation, which was odd since Love was the conversationalist between them.

“Hiding in plain sight. Are you going to tell on me?” Love kept picking her nailbeds, before looking hesitantly to Death with her doe-eyes, over her eyelashes. The way her sister-in-law furrows her brows is a sign that she does not understand. “Your brother.” Love sighed, looking down again, as she was somewhat embarrassed by saying it.

“Is he being a dickhead?” Love smiled at Death’s question. ‘Dickhead’ what a childish but at the same time perfect way to describe her husband. Love watched the game happening a few feet away from her, without paying any attention. She loved her sister-in-law but, Love just wished to be anywhere away from her problems.

“I wonder if he was ever not a dickhead to me” The queen admitted shrugging off in an unlady-like manner. “It is ironic when I come to think of it. I spent years trying to get Dream’s attention, make him see me, want me, and now that he does, I am hiding in the mortal realm.” She laughed humorlessly. Does her marriage ever stop being an unfunny joke?

Death didn’t know what precisely to answer at Eoster’s confession, unless what it was the truth. “You were young.”

“Yes, I was. And eager to please and to be loved. I did what my older sisters taught me: Carefully watch him. His taste became my taste. I only read his favorite books, learned his favorite songs on the pianoforte, played them whenever I felt him close by, visited his favorite dreams, and cared for his perfect nightmares. I even dressed-" A sad smile and a hint of color reached her cheeks, full of the embarrassment of a desperate young self “-like his mistresses, if you can believe it, because maybe it would be enough.“

“Did it work?”

“If it did, we would not be having this conversation.” ‘Of course’ Death thought, cursing herself for asking such a stupid question. This was new between the two. And if she dared to guess, it was new to Eoster talking about it, because she threw the words quickly, like if she didn't spit them out as fast as she could, she might never do it.

“The muse, the fairy queen, or any other that I simply can't force myself to remember now. Every single one had the upper hand on my husband. I was not even a runner-up in the race for dear Lord Dream’s heart.” The brunette furrowed her brows, looking over to her sister-in-law, “I forged myself to him, to be what he wanted, and it angered him even more.”

Death listened to her quietly, after all, she did not know what to tell Love, she never heard the brunette speaking so clearly ill about her marriage, let alone her position in it. Dream's sister knew she was somewhat unhappy, even if they always arrived at the family reunions, arm to arm, his brother pulling the chair for her, both sitting side by side, Love in stunning gowns, complicated hairstyles, and adorned in jewelry. Even if they looked perfect together.

Love would always already be drunk or get drunk at the dinners. Dream would always try to stop her from pouring more wine or more champagne, but she always snapped away from him. And there would always be some antic Love would pull out of her drunk self. Dream would get furious at her. Everyone pretended not to notice when they would storm off, but, it was difficult not to hear their heated argument as they walked away.

Love never spoke of problems, well, not directly. While drunk, her complaints always were around lack of attention and cheating, but Death always assumed they made up. After all, next week they would be at a social, together, having polite conversations. And since her brother never let anyone sniff around his marriage, what Death assumed was that her brother could be neglecting Love from time to time, but they would patch things up. The expected consequences of being married for too long.

“It is fine. Really. I got used to that, no need to give me the pity look. I urge you not to. I simply can not take more of those.” Love shook her hand as to physically dismiss the pithiness. Loneliness becomes comfortable after one gets used to it. But pity is something she would always detest.

“After a while, I’ve stopped thinking of his love, and after his capture, I’ve never imagined, hoped, or planned that he would return with a newly found fondness for me.” Quite the opposite. Remember, Love thought Dream was courting another. Naturally, she thought that after the inevitable breakup, he would be in an awful humor. She had nightmares with it and woke up feeling guilty for having nightmares about her husband's humor, and then feeling stupid because he would not care if she was scared or not. Love did not matter in this marriage. But this was before. Now…

The brunette shifted in her seat and Lady Death noticed she was nervous, wetting her lips, looking to both sides, and speaking a tone lower than before “ And if I can be honest, it is awful.” It felt shameful to admit that Dream’s fondness was awful, but at the same time, it felt like she was discarding an enormous weight off her chest. Love took a deep breath, eyes wide in desperation to her sister give her some guidelines “I don’t know what to do with it. We don’t know how to be in the same room without going at each other’s throats. Carefully selecting words to hurt one another, waiting for a small slip so we can attack. For so long I craved to be with him, and now I do not even know how to breathe the same air he exhales.” The brunette rests her back against the bench in defeat finally taking all of it off her chest. Death took a few minutes to process that abundance of information. Love was beginning to worry and planning to apologize for having thrown all of it at her, that it was not her initial intention when she spoke.

“What about trying from the beginning? You two were tossed into marriage with very different ideas of it. Maybe-” Love shook her head interrupting “We tried, and we ended up in a room in the House of Mysteries" Or was it House of Secrets? If she would be honest, she didn't even remember which one was the nice one, and which one was the short-tempered. "Sharing a bed. He violated my dreams.” This time, Death's gaze widened. “On purpose?” her brother, the brother that she knew, would not violate his wife's private thoughts like that.

“No, I mean, I do not know. I felt him nudging in there, like a shadow on the corner of my eye. And that never happened." Death signed, relieved "Not even when he was suspicious of some improper behaviors of mine.” She had Aunt Temperance to thank for that. “He put Lucienne to sniff around my dreams.” Death nodded silently, even Love was somewhat admitting that her brother would never actually invade his wife’s private thoughts. But their bond, maybe he was pushed there by it, after all, no one knows for certainty how the sharing of souls of True Marriages affects the couple, what are their limits, their boundaries.

“Anyway, he got his proof that I didn’t plot with Desire.”

“Well, that is good news!” Death grabbed Eoster’s hands in celebration, but seeing Love’s cranked face about it, Death had to ask “Is it good news?”

“It is supposed to be. But it’s bittersweet. He didn’t believe in my word, his wife. I did nothing over the years to have him question my loyalty, but it wasn’t enough. He had to see it. If he never invaded my dreams, would he know? Would he ever believe my innocence?” Although Death wished she could say yes, both of them knew Dream too well, and the Endless sister respected Love enough not to lie in her face.

The couple seemed to be trapped in a web of complicated and delicate knots full of ramifications. Love was right. Her marriage became a game of who could hurt each other more. She made herself the perfect bride for a husband who at first didn’t want one and now doesn't know how to be the husband she needs.

“You two need to start from the beginning.” Death said after a few moments pondering how to put it in words. Love signed a hint of impatience in her voice, thinking that her sister-in-law wasn't listening to her. “I told you, we tried-"

Death abruptly interrupts her clarifying what she meant, and what it was true. Honestly, who gave Dream the idea of a parade? She couldn't fathom the idea that her anti-social and selfish brother would want to be around loud subjects who wanted to steal his wife's attention. “No, you two went on a parade. Public parade, with smiles and flowers. You two did the theatricals of a reconciliation. You need to talk. Privately talk." She sighed smiling throwing her back at the bench "You two are the most similar anthropomorphic personifications I have ever known.” Love was opening her mouth to protest that she and Dream couldn't be more different, when once again, Death showed her why she was older and wiser “Loyalty means everything. You want to forgive but hold grudges, The Dream is the same. You want to believe but your awareness doesn’t let you. Isn't your husband the same?”

Love got up from the bench, facing Death, and at the same time, she theatrically threw her hands to the heavens. Was Love ever this dramatic? Death couldn’t help but wonder, if this was her with some sparkle, some anger, rather than her usual apathetic and compliant self. Although she kept speaking politely, it was obvious that what started with a conversation was turning into a disagreement. “Oh, sister! awareness of what, pray to tell me? When did I ever have my husband-”

Death smiled internally. She purposely engaged in a rhetorical philosophy to see if Love understood where she was going. The Endless had to hold a laugh. Like Dream, Love was not receptive to ideas and opinions contrary to what she already made up her mind. Death kept her posture and a neutral tone. “Never! I am not telling you he is right. He is not. I never thought Dream could be more wrong about someone. But you two are not far apart.” Love ignored her, continuing her rampage. How could her dear sister who, a minute ago, seemed to understand so clearly, become so antagonistic to the truth? “All I ever did was forgive him! All the time…” She emphatically repeated, her muscles tensed and Love seemed to use all of her strength to not scream like a crazy anthropomorphic personification in the middle of a park.

To which Death simply shrugged, and gave her the simplest answer ever: “Then take him back.” The response took Love by such surprise, that she froze, and Death thought that she might have broken her sister-in-law. Instead of poetries of couples, tragedies, and the sad life of Stepford smilers, Death offered her such a simplistic, obvious but at the same time impossible. Wasn't she listening? “I beg your pardon?” Love said as she heard the most gushing suggestion of all mortal existence.

Death raises herself, posed in a cool manner, with hands in her pocket. Love always thought that she was the definition of what mortals called a ‘cool girl’, and this demeanor made Love for the first time in forever, want to strangle her. “If all you did was forgive him, then forgive him one more time. Grant him pardon for all his transgressions, coldness, his mistresses, and his son born out of marriage. You put that behind you. If he is repent as you said, you can finally have a worthy husband and live happily ever after.” Love let a strangled laugh escape her mouth. In utter disbelief. “No, you don’t understand, it is not that simple-”

Death gave Love a knowingly smile “No, it is not.” Now, the Love Queen was more lost than before, her brows furrow and her eyes searched Death’s for any sign of logic. She felt a migraine and cursed herself for coming to this park. Peace, was that too much to ask? Was Dream the only one allowed to sulk alone? Love let herself fall on the bench in defeat. “I don’t understand why-”

“It is not simple, Love. Reasonable or not, both of you have a hard time forgiving, you didn’t, because if you did, you would not be holding so much pain in your heart. I know this because mortals constantly cross to my realms with hearts full of pain that they never will be able to resolve, lying to themselves that all is forgiven.”

Death reached to hold Love’s hands, caressing the soft skin as the lady of spring started to see the meaning behind what her sister in the law meant. It is not “enjoying a honeymoon” “punishing him” or even “you must do your duty as a wife and take what he is giving to you, it is just their ways”. It was something else. “I am not saying that you need to forgive Dream, that you need to take him back, accept him into your bed. That is up to you to decide. But, you need a resolution. About your marriage, about both your past... About his son.”

Love repeated her words, not understanding the emphatic pause at the mention of Dream’s offspring. “ His son?” Death first thought Love could be sarcastically repeating her, in a way of saying that she had no intention of talking about Orpheus, but as the pause continued, she realized that Love might have forgotten, not that Death understood how could she “His son died for a mortal girl.” It didn't seem to recall his brother’s wife anything since she kept quiet, seemingly waiting for anything that would explain, “He died because of love”

As soon as Death spoke those words, and Love quickly understood what she meant by that, Love took her hands away, feeling like a witness who suddenly became a suspect in a murder trial. Unprepared and too stunted to react besides trying to make sense of what Death just said “And you think-”

But the sister was quick to disperse any new arguments Love wanted to start, although if she was taken aback by this, she completely could understand why the need to defend her innocence. Although, as Death explained, she should not waste her breath “No, I don’t think. I am just explaining how his tale is known.” Which was true, a love tragedy of Orpheus and Eurydice. It was well documented “Whatever happened, may belong in a conversation between you and Dream.” “I did not-” And as Death was starting to regret mentioning it, cursing herself for speaking so much, an angel descended from the heavens to her aid, or better, a cupid in his lilac robes, shirt, and pants, and brown curly locks, appeared. He did not bother to change his usually 18th-century nobility attire to up-to-date clothes, different from the two women. He respectfully bends his head to Lady Death who gives him a warm smile.

“Hello, Elijah.”

“Blessing from the Garden, Lady Death.” He turned to the queen, who was still trying to find arguments for her innocence and only actually noticed her cupid when he called her “My queen” bowing his head. Even though her head was spinning from Death, she also had some questions about the cupid, after all, was everyone aware of things that she wasn't? “How did you find me?” The cupid looked confused. As the answer was obvious. “My lady, Centennial Park is your favorite park.” She nodded slowly, for a moment thinking that maybe Morpheus sensed her through the bond and made Elijah come all the way to make her return. “Is my lord husband looking for me?”

Elijah held his tongue not to answer that he never wished more for Lord Morpheus to appear from his sand and send half of the court cupids to the darkness. Maybe there, they would give him peace. “I have not seen our lordship yet.” Which he never thought would be an unfortunate truth.

Just by the morning, he had to scare away three Eros cupids that tried to woo Lucienne with the same line in the spare 2 minutes. They made very dramatic declarations using Romeo and Juliet “But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.” Thankfully Elijah managed to intervene before they started dueling for her hand, shushing them away like a pack of annoying crows, as they cacked explaining that their hearts never knew love until they met Lucienne (Or their ‘Dreamy Lady Librarian’ as they called her).

He also had to save some dreamfolks from being indoctrinated by Agape cupids, so they could leave the life of being dreams or nightmares and devote themselves to the spirit and soul. That didn’t even make sense. He finally managed to shove them all into some candlelight room with a strong smell of incense and dense fog where they could entertain themselves, reading their holy texts and meditating. Agape Cupids love nothing more than their sacred scriptures and candlelight rooms,

When he finally manages to stop a cult and the duelings, he is granted a visit by the Seamstress, who was already in a foul mood thanks to the number of cupids surrounding her and begging to glimpse at Lady Love's dress or a slot in her busy schedule to make new garments in the “Dreaming fashion”, which did not exist. After escorting her to Lady Love’s quarters, he took a minute to breathe, thinking of the Emissary. He didn't even have the time to miss his lover, but the absence of his jests and his don’t-care attitude in the middle of a chaotic event, like this, was starting to make the cupid’s heart hurt.

But just as he was daydreaming about his lover, the Seamstress began to poke him with her cane, asking about Lady Love, where she was, when she was coming, saying the dress would not be ready, she would make a fool of herself, lord morpheus would be angry, and the whole dreaming was going to collapse because of a simple dress.

Of course, he did not say any of this to Lady Love. She had problems of her own to deal with, hence why they are in a mortal park and not in the Dreaming. “ The Seamstress is in a funny mood because my lady’s dress is yet to be finished.” Love knew that ‘funny’’ was a very polite way to say she was being a demonic hag, although Love would not admit to ever thinking that of the Seamstress. Duties always come first. And since bringing the court was her idea, she had no way other than going back. “We will finish this conversation, sister.” She said in a warning tone to Death.

Death knew Love had nothing to do with Orpheus's death. But just the possibility of others considering it might make her sister-in-law approach the subject with Dream, and knowing Love she would be careful with the topic, after all, losing a child, was suffering too terrible to be named. Love may not harvest any affection for her long-dead stepchild, but she knew the love of a parent to a child enough to proceed with caution and respect.

And if Dream proceeds himself with caution. There might be a conversation.

There might be a way.

“See you at the solstice, sister.”

@secretdreamlandmentality @littlemoistcarrot @lokigirlszendaya @roxytheimmortal

[ohallthecrushes]

"Need A Little Love"

A/N: Why is this so freaking sad? Well, I was in a mood for a good cry, so I gave myself something to cry about. ;( The song: Need a little love

Summary: Reader is in love with Morpheus and wishes he feels the same. She puts all her feelings to this little love song she sings. And Morpheus hears her.

The night had been slowly crawling into your bedroom through an open window. You were sitting on your bed, holding a guitar. Alone with your thoughts and hopes. Your heart was beating in your chest a melody dedicated to him.

You were hopelessly in love with the Lord of Dreams. You were trying to tell him that on numerous occasions, but could never bring yourself to do that. The fear of rejection stopped you from giving yourself a chance to know if he felt the same about you.

Your thumb ran smoothly across the guitar strings. The vibrations created a sound you were looking for. Even though you were never good at expressing your feelings with words, music always gave you a way to freely speak what was inside your heart.

It was time I figured out what everybody knew Life is lived in black and white if I don't have you

You knew he tolerated you in the Dreaming, liked you perhaps at times. There was evidence, cause sometimes you spent most of the night with him while he was telling you all those wonderful stories he had... But there were also times when he left you on your own as if he almost ignored your presence. You understood when he was busy, but sometimes he wasn't and yet, he couldn't bother to even look at you.

Oh, you can make my head spin all night long By your sweet side, that's the place where I belong

Couldn't find the answer, oh, I lived for ridicule Some girls they made eyes at me, played me for a fool

You couldn't figure what he felt about you. Always so enigmatic and reserved. but you guessed it was ok... Someday you'd tell him what you felt.

Need a little love, I won't say no Need a little love, I won't say no...

In the quiet depths of the Dreaming, Morpheus stood amidst the walls of his palace. The soft glow of moonlight bathed his pale face as he listened to the ethereal melodies that filled the air. Y/N, a mortal with a heart full of love, had struggled to express her feelings to him. And now, she had found her voice in a love song dedicated to him. As the haunting notes reached his ears, Morpheus closed his eyes, allowing the music to weave its way into his essence. The lyrics carried your emotions, your longing, and your vulnerability. So he listened attentively.

Need a little love, I won't say no Need a little love, I won't say no

Need a little love, I won't say no Need a little love, I won't say no to you In that moment, the Lord of Dreams felt a stirring within him, a flicker of something he rarely experienced. It was as if the song had pierced through the walls he had built around his heart, reaching a part of him that had long been dormant.

Found me just a taste of heaven, every day was bliss How can flesh and bone collide and make me feel like this? A bittersweet smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he contemplated the significance of your gesture. He could feel the weight of hope your heart was holding that he, The Lord of dreams, perhaps could love you back...

You could deny this world and I'd agree Now you're out there keeping all your love from me

The song echoed through the Dreaming, resonating with the dreams of countless souls who sought solace in his realm.He knew you loved him truly. His Little Dreamer... Morpheus found himself drawn to you, his footsteps carrying him towards the waking world. He materialized beside you, his presence both comforting and enigmatic.

Need a little love, I won't say no Need a little love, I won't say no... You looked up, surprised to see him here. You didn't realize your song could have reached the Dreaming. Your hand stopped moving. Your eyes filled with nervous anticipation. The words you had struggled to say were now written on your face, waiting to be acknowledged. "Morpheus..." you whispered, you voice barely audible. He reached out, his hand gently cupping your cheek. In that touch, you could feel the depth of his emotions, the complexities of his being and the heartbreaking answer to the longing of your heart. "You have found a way to speak to me," he said proud of you, his voice a low murmur. "In the language of dreams and music. It is a gift." A tear escaped you eye, mingling with a smile. You had hoped for understanding, hoped for connection. "I love you," you confessed, your voice steady and resolute. Hope never dies. Morpheus leaned in, his lips brushing against your forehead, a gesture both tender and comforting. "And I, in my own way, cherish you," he replied, his voice almost apologetic.

You closed your eyes, letting this shared moment to sink into the softness of the night. When your eyes fluttered open, Morpheus wasn't there. Your fingers slightly trembled before they brushed the guitar strings again.

Soar on a trip to the stars Never thought I'd slip out of your atmosphere

Your shaky voice, heavy with feelings filled the room and the song continued to play.

Now it's clear if you reappear I'd pray softly and then maybe You could break this spell

[besthimbomachine]

my love when it counted. 06

summary: In the morning after the party, both Kenny and you have to deal with the fallout of hat happened the previous night. Through the confusion of all that happened, fate opens a door for Kenny, and he knows it might be his only chance to properly apologize for the things he did. As if this wasn't tense enough, the situation forces him into a heavy realization. pairing: kenny omega x reader word count: 8617 warning: there are varying levels of angst in this one, but I think it stays more in the bittersweet part of the angst sepectrum yet another another chonkster here. I worked really hard to get this out as soon as I could and I hope yall enjoy it. This one will have a bit of angst, but I think it's bearable. It also has another Nick cameo!!! Anyways, I have way more I'd like to say but I need yall to read it first so pleeeease leave me your feedback. I hope you all enjoy it, we are at the midway point in the story. Should be a few more chapters to the end, just can't give you a sure number.

06.

Kenny’s mind is still hazy when he starts hearing the constant and annoying sound of something buzzing. It rings loud through his head, insistent and so fucking irritating that it feels almost painful. The damn noise feels like torture and he is forced to open his tired eyes, letting the light of the morning engulf him. Groaning, he looks around, the sound never stopping as he looks for its source. Finally finding the culprit, Kenny stretches a hand and with a pained movement he snatches up the ringing phone.

“You still sleeping there, buddy?” Nick's booming voice reaches through the speaker, jolting Kenny back into the waking world. “I’m at your house, man, just parked right now.”

“Shit,” Kenny mutters under his breath, rubbing his eyes to try and shake off some of the sleep still clinging to his brain, “yeah Nick, let me just get up, give me a couple minutes and I’ll be at the door.”

“Sure thing,” Nick replies before shutting off the call.

Kenny lays still for a second, body heavy like an anchor as he stares at the empty ceiling before sitting up in one labored motion, a groan escaping his lips. Getting up with difficulty, he starts to make his path to the front door, trying to force himself awake along the way. He could feel his entire body hurt, muscles aching after a long and hard night. Sleep had evaded him for a painful while, and when it finally came, it didn’t feel that restful. He tossed and turned under the covers, mind plagued by dreams of things that were, and ones that were not meant to be.

So, in a sense, Nick’s call was a blessing, pulling him from Morpheus’ unwelcoming grasp. At least in the waking world, he was only at the mercy of reality. No matter how tired he felt, laying in bed just wasn’t helping, now maybe by the end of the day exhaustion would allow Kenny to sleep better. And just to make sure, after all of this was done with, he’d hit the gym and work himself to the bone, push until his eyes just couldn't stay open and hope for a dreamless night.

Getting to the door, Kenny shook his head, tying back his hair and blinking rapidly to shake what was left of sleep in him. Opening the door, he found Nick standing there with a smile, greeting him with a nod as he squinted at the sunlight outside. Nick himself seemed unaffected by the glaring light, or by how late his evening had run, returning Kenny’s greeting with a lively tone as they made their way to the kitchen. If someone looked at him, they wouldn’t be able to tell how long his night had been, and whatever witchcraft Nick was pulling for that was a mystery to Kenny.

“What time is it now?” Kenny asked in a grunt as he sat at the kitchen counter, voice still rough from sleep.

“About nine thirty,” Nick replied, glancing at his phone and resting his side against the counter, but not taking a seat.

“And when did you leave the party yesterday?” Kenny asked, resting his arm on the marble.

“Hmm, probably something after two,” he answered with a shrug.

“Two in the morning,” Kenny muttered to himself in disbelief, looking at the stone counter for a second before turning back to Nick, “and how the hell are you so chipper this early?”

“Some of us just aren’t old,” Nick laughed, shooting Kenny a mischievous grin before he placed a black shoulder bag on top of the counter. “Anyway, here are her things, documents and room card are all there, I checked. Is she awake? How bad was the situation?”

“Well, you woke me up and there is no other sign of life around, so,” Kenny trailed off with a shrug, voice slowly returning to normal as he spoke. “And she was mostly ok, not drunk enough to be throwing up at least, the real problem was that ankle. It was looking pretty awful yesterday, she is gonna need a brace and a couple weeks off by the look of it.”

“Shit,” Nick grimaced at the words, lips pushed into a thin line as he took in the news. “Let’s hope it’s just that then,” there was a moment's pause before he continued, brows furrowing as his inquisitive eyes found Kenny. “Now tell me, how the hell did you get involved in all this?”

“Nick,” Kenny sat still for a second, blinking rapidly as he straightened on his chair, “I told you on the messages, I found her and helped her out.”

“Listen,” Nick started, taking a deep breath as he looked deep into Kenny’s eyes, “last I saw her, you were at one part of the party and she was at a whole other. With Adam,” he paused for a moment, and Kenny felt those inquisitive eyes trying to read his reaction, the air feeling tense as he tried to hold the muscles in his face from twitching at the name. “And I know you knew that too, Matt told me.”

With a deep breath, Kenny shook his head, a few soft curls coming loose with the movement. Matt knew his problems with Adam back in Japan, he knew how jealous he felt back when you two were dating, and of course Nick knew it too. You and him had been close friends for years, it only made sense. And Matt now had clearly told his brother one thing or two about what he’d seen of Kenny at the party.

“Adam was very drunk,” he said slowly, trying his best to keep his voice in a calm and even tone, “he wasn’t going to be of any help.”

“I know this much, I saw Adam,” his answer came with a shrug, eyebrows raising as Nick leaned forward, coming closer to Kenny. “I just wanna know how, of all people, she ended up with you.”

“Look, I told you,” Kenny was starting to get exasperated at this point, running a hand through his hair as he tried to explain again what he’d already explained in his messages, “I found her in the hallway. I was about to leave the party when I saw her stumbling in. I knew she had a twisted ankle, so I tried to help her.”

“And she just let you help her, just like that?” Nick interrupted him, flicking one hand in the air as the other propped him against the stone counter.

“No,” Kenny groaned out, rolling his eyes and taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, his exhaustion was making him confused, but he was trying not to let it get the best of him. “It took some convincing, but she accepted and now we are here. Not the best situation, but what did you want me to do?”

Kenny shrugged and there was a pause between the two of them. Nick’s eyes regarding him with a look he couldn’t exactly read. Although, Kenny could imagine that in Nick’s head this whole situation sounded wild. By the nature of your relationship, he knew the man would have heard about the worst parts of your break up, and the worst feelings you had for him. Different from Matt, Nick never made a move to try and help you two patch things up, and he could guess why.

“Cool, you did the right thing man,” Nick smiled, closing the distance and throwing an arm around Kenny’s shoulder, pulling him into a tight embrace. “I’m glad she had you by her side, man. Now tell me,” at this his voice dropped, going from chipper to a low and sly tone, “did you two… have some fun?”

“What? Hell, no,” Kenny pulls away from Nick in a haste, almost falling from his chair as he swipes the younger Jackson away with one arm. “Was this what you were getting at? Come on, Nick, I’ve been an asshole but not a monster.”

The thought alone of what Nick was implying felt horrendous to him - and also, deeply offensive. Despite all the awful things he’d done during your relationship, he never even came close to that. It wasn’t now that he would decide to start. But still, he knew deep inside that Nick’s worry came from a logical place. You were drunk and hurt, left vulnerable in a situation that, if Kenny wanted to, he could easily take advantage of. The same way he had worried about Adam’s intentions, it made sense for Nick to worry about his.

“Sorry man,” Nick said softly, backing away with both hands raised above his head, “but I had to try and check, gotta watch out for her, you know?” He shrugged, voice now back to the relaxed tone Kenny was used to, eyes softening as they looked over him again. “And you two got along well enough? No attempted murder?”

“No,” Kenny muttered, adjusting himself in his seat once more, letting his eyes meet Nick’s gaze, “when we got here we watched TV while I put ice on her ankle, and when she fell asleep I dropped her off at my bedroom and slept in a spare room.”

“Good, really good,” he nodded almost excitedly, a humorous tinge playing on his voice. “‘Cause she once said, and I quote: I will gouge his eyeballs out with a toothpick if he gets within arm's reach of me.”

Kenny’s eyes shot open, a chill running down his spine. He wouldn’t put it past you. There was a heavy pause as Nick looked at him with an awkward smile, brows shooting up on his head. Taking a deep breath, Kenny ran his hand over his hair again, smoothing the loose curls that framed his face.

“Fucking hell,” he breathed out, looking over to Nick who just nodded in agreement, “now I’m glad all she did was question me on why I was helping her.”

“Well, she had reason to, man. No offense,” Nick looked at Kenny with kind eyes, his voice felt soft, but his words came harsh, however, there was no denying their truth. “And listen, I think maybe you should take this chance to talk to her,” he paused, letting the idea sink in as he studied Kenny’s reaction. “I know last time it went to crap but, just try not to raise your voice and I’m almost sure you two can have an honest conversation.” 

“Matt told you that?” Kenny sighed, voice terribly quiet.

“No, it wasn’t Matt,” Nick trailed off, not even needing to finish his sentence. Taking a small step forward, he touched Kenny’s shoulder softly with one hand, a reassuring gesture that he was actually thankful for. “But honest now, you did the right thing, I’m glad you were there to help, despite, you know, your whole situation,” there was a moment’s pause as Kenny mouthed a thanks, Nick pulling his hand back before stepping away again. “I guess I’ll be going, I know the way out, you just make yourself some coffee, you really look like you need it.”

Nick squinted his eyes at Kenny, voice somewhere between mockery and pity, as he gestured towards the sorry state his friend was in. Not that he was wrong, coffee really sounded like a good idea at the moment. Stepping away, Nick started making his way back to the front door before Kenny could say anything. Not even giving him a chance to get out of his chair, leaving his friend with a couple last words as he left for the hallway.

“Good luck!”

With Nick gone, silence took over the vast kitchen, leaving Kenny alone with his thoughts. Yes, maybe this was his best chance of having an honest conversation with you, and that scared him to no end. Maybe he wouldn’t get a better shot than this, and the fear of failing again ached down to his bones. But he didn’t want to think like that, he didn’t want to let his fear win. He had allowed it to win too many times over his years. And in many ways, it had been allowing fear to win that had led him to this spot. This empty place where you were so close but so far.

Shaking his head, Kenny tried to clear his mind, looking around him for anything that could occupy his thoughts. His blue eyes landed on your bag sitting quietly on the marble counter before him. From the corner of his vision, he spotted something colorful and shiny against the deep black fabric. Pulling the bag closer, he saw it was a metallic sailor moon keychain, not even bigger than his thumb. A keychain he knew all too well, he had been the one to buy it for you, right at the start of your relationship. 

His large fingers picked up the small piece of metal, the painting faded in some parts, but it still kept its colors. The fake stones carved into its body still remaining in place, even after so many years. Despite the wear and tear, the small thing still retained its shine. Some of the delicate parts had a few chips in them and Kenny could tell the chain had been replaced, but he was surprised at how well it had withstood the test of time. He had completely forgotten  the little thing and it felt surprising to see that you still had it, even after almost a decade.

Kenny sat in silence for a few seconds, keychain in his hand, as his blue eyes trailed over its details. He admired how something so small survived the whims of time. But quickly his thoughts started to turn to the things he had, the moments he didn’t know to cherish before they were lost. Shaking his head he had to force himself away from those thoughts, away from that painful place that would bring him nothing good. Dropping the keychain, he got up, he needed to start the day, get things ready. And Nick was right, he really needed coffee.

When you finally start to wake from your death like sleep, the bed underneath you felt different. You were still in a haze, eyes not quite open, but you were sure this mattress seemed a lot more comfortable than the one in your hotel room. Trying to move, you feel your head throb and for a second you wonder if it wasn’t the bed that changed but you. Maybe the alcohol was making it seem softer than it really was. A trick played on you by your tired mind.

Slowly, you begin to come to, finally gathering the courage to open your heavy eyes. There is very little light entering the room, and you feel thankful for the dim atmosphere. You weren’t really sure how well you’d deal with sunlight right now. Sure, your head isn’t throbbing quite as much as it could be, but you weren’t about to test your luck. Your body felt heavy and your ankle was sore, and the last thing you wanted was to invite a massive headache to this pity party.

As your vision starts unblurring you look around, searching for the familiar bland surroundings of the room you were given. You don’t find it though, instead your eyes are met with a much larger space, fully decorated and even a bit messy. Looking down, you take in the soft bed and warm covers, not at all what you had slept in when you left your flight. Yeah, this definitely wasn’t your hotel room.

You could feel the headache inviting itself into your head as you try to make sense of the situation. Calming yourself down, you slowly sit up, resting your back against the silky headboard - your bed did not have a headboard. Rubbing your tired eyes, you take a deep breath, the soft smell of lavender entering your nose. Finally, looking around, you try to piece together just where you were. Sure, early last night you had wanted to wake up somewhere else. But that somewhere was Adam’s hotel room, and this was not a hotel room.

Lazily, your eyes roam around, taking in the mismatched furniture, some looking clearly older than the others. There was a closed door to one side, besides it there was an open one, a bathroom visible beyond. To the other side there was a large window, curtains drawn shut, keeping the room in the darkness. A couple of armchairs rested before the windows, what looked like men’s clothes lazily thrown over them with an elbow brace laying on top. On the walls there were pictures you couldn’t quite see from the bed and a myriad of posters, many of which seemed to have Japanese writing.

When you try to change positions to see the posters better your ankle burns in pain, the damn injured joint complaining about having to move after a whole night of staying mostly still. A hiss escapes your dry lip as you take your hand to touch the slightly swollen spot under the covers, and that’s when it hits you. The brace, the Japanese posters, the familiar smell of lavender. You knew where you were.

You were in Kenny's room.

In a second, your mind starts rewinding the previous night - or at least what it can at the moment. It isn’t much, but it’s something, enough to have yourself frustrated at your own stupid choices. Shit, you can almost feel the damn headache gaining ground already. Looking to the sides again, you spot a glass of water in a bedside table by you. Right by it there is a pill slip, you pick it up and just as you thought, it’s pain medicine. Popping one out, you wash it down with the water, drinking the whole glass, you’d be needing the hydration.

Relaxing your body against the headboard, you sigh. If someone were to ever tell you what happened in the past twelve hours, you’d think it was some weird drug trip. If you were a bit more drunk, you’d think it was the alcohol twisting things. But you remembered enough. Kenny had helped you at the party last night, and when your stupid ass forgot your things in the venue, he’d brought you to his place. He helped you with your ankle, you were wearing his clothes, sleeping in his bed. And apparently he even had the mind to leave you some meds on the table.

That level of thoughtfulness didn’t seem like Kenny. Not the one you left back in Japan all these years ago at least. It almost felt like a mirage of the person you’d first met, the rare parts of him that gave way to resentment and anger by the end. But after the way your bonds were broken, you never thought you’d see that person again. In all honesty, it seemed like that side of him was dead. So to have received his help and felt safe by his side was a foreign idea, one so alien your mind couldn’t fully grasp.

No use in thinking too much, not right now, you are in no condition for that. With a heavy sigh you look around again, you spot your clothes folded on top of a dresser in the wall opposite to you. Stretching, you check on your ankle before getting up. It seems less swollen than what you remembered it to be, a good sign at least, even if stepping on it still hurts. You stumble to the dresser and pick up your clothes, changing out of Kenny’s oversized ones before heading into the bathroom.

Slowly, as you go through the motions, you start remembering more things. The way Kenny insisted on staying even when you tried to push him away. How quiet and gentle he kept his voice through the whole ordeal. The careful tenderness of his touch as he checked on your ankle. You feared his controlling judgment back at the party, but you didn’t find it. You feared his rage when you sat by him in the car, but it never came. You feared the bitter reprimand but there was none.

Washing your face with cold water, you looked at your reflection in the mirror, forcing yourself back to reality. The person staring back at you in the shared your confusion, face reflecting the same uncomfortable sense of déjà vu that plagued you. Shit, you really didn’t know what to think. Shaking your head you decided to postpone any complex thought to after you’d gotten something to eat. You’d avoided a headache so far, but you were treading dangerous ground, and the emptiness in your stomach really wasn’t helping. With a deep breath, you built up the courage to make the journey out of this room - and back to what reality the morning had in store.

With some effort, you half-stumble, half-hop your way back to the living room. As you walk, the soft smell of coffee and pancakes hits your nose, engulfing you in a warm feeling. When you get closer to the living room, you see no sign of Kenny, but in the quiet morning your ears faintly pick up the sound of running water. Its quiet hum almost feeling like a caress to your tired mind. Yeah, the minute you got back to your hotel room, you’d run yourself a hot shower and stay there for as long as you could.

When you enter the living room, sunlight is filtering through the sheer curtains, bathing the place in a soft, warm glow. You’d find it all very beautiful, if only it didn’t make the back of your eyes hurt so much. The pain med you’d taken was certainly helping - otherwise, you’d probably be in much worse shape - but it couldn’t make any miracles. Squinting, you come to a stop beside the couch, resting your weight on its arm for a moment.

Taking a deep breath, you look around, noticing the way the living room looked. The posters on the walls of old anime and video games, the arcade style stick controller boxes and figurines on the shelves, it was all too familiar. Some things just don’t change. Looking down, you see  your shoes resting by the sofa and your phone resting atop the cushions. Picking it up you look at the hour, it's already about eleven, you’d really slept for a while. Pushing the phone into your pocket, you start getting back up again when you hear a door open on a hallway opposite of you.

“Hey, you are up,” Kenny’s warm voice reaches your ears before you even look at him.

Falling back on your good leg, you look up, finding him walking towards you, still pulling his shirt down and adjusting it on himself as he did. Kenny gave you a small smile, blue eyes shining under the scattered sunlight. His hair was still damp, a few droplets of water hanging to his skin, and even from afar you could smell the scent of soap coming from him. A part of you felt the deep desire to touch him - he looked soft and warm and smelled so good - but you were quick to silence it.

“You know I could have helped you if you asked,” he says, extending a hand towards you as you balance yourself on the floor.

“I’m fine,” you reply, waving his hand away with a laugh, “besides, I don’t think you’d had heard my cries for help while you were in the shower.”

“Fair point,” Kenny responds with a timid laugh, growing silent for a moment as a weird tension hangs in the air. “Oh, yeah, I made breakfast, if you want. And Nick dropped your things earlier.”

He points to the kitchen, a sheepish smile coming to his face as his baby blues roam over your features, a certain hesitation seeping through his expression. Part of you wants to say no, just grab your things and leave, but you couldn’t deny you were starving. Besides, Kenny may never have been a great cook, but he always made great pancakes, and denying his offer felt a bit impolite. As if on cue, you hear your stomach growl, Kenny stifles a laugh and you look away, feeling blood rushing to your face.

“Thanks, I think I’ll need it,” you say softly before your eyes meet his again.

Kenny laughs quietly again before guiding you to the kitchen. You carefully start to make your way, holding onto the walls as you balance your weight, trying to keep your ankle safe. When Kenny offers to help you again, you hesitate, air heavy around you both, before you accept his offer. He snakes his arm around your torso with ease, large palm warming the skin of your side as he holds on strong. Grasping onto his large shoulder, you feel his powerful muscles tensing under your grip as he helps you along the way. You turn your face to thank him, and the proximity hits you, finding his blue eyes trailed on your face, so terribly near.

This was the first time you were seeing him from so up close. At least the first time sober, and without red hot rage taking over your vision. He looked so different from what he did the last time you saw him in Japan. The years had taken their effect on him. He’d lost that boyish charm he kept even into his early thirties, replaced by the hardened features of a man strong in his years. But still time was kind to Kenny, he wore it well, and, at least to you, he looked better now than he had before.

You hold each other’s gaze for a second before breaking away, eyes scattering to the sides as you whisper a thanks, Kenny responding in the same quiet tone. When you get to the kitchen, he helps you get seated at the counter before leaving to get you breakfast. Seeing your bag, you take a second to check your things before unlocking your phone and sending a quick thank you to Nick, and then leaving it on the counter. He had already sent you half a dozen messages and you knew he’d be pestering you about this whole situation the moment you stepped on the hotel. Though, when breakfast appears before you, these thoughts all but vanish from your mind.

“There we go,” Kenny says in a low voice, still avoiding eye contact as he starts placing things on the cold marble.

It doesn’t take long for him to place everything in the counter before you, and despite the incessant racing of his heart, his hands had stayed mostly still. Your demeanor seemed good, good enough that it should have him at ease. However, the anxiety of not exactly knowing what you remembered from last night - and more importantly, how you remembered it - still had Kenny on a chokehold. Sure, things seemed fine, but the thought that you might not recall anything and maybe have the same suspicion Nick did wouldn’t leave his mind.

“Thank you,” your soft voice pulls Kenny from his thoughts, his eyes finally meeting yours again for a moment before he looks away.

“It’s nothing, really,” he says, feeling his mouth dry, words clinging to his tongue. “I had to make breakfast for myself anyway,” he shrugs and leans into the counter, resting on his forearms against the cold stone.

For a few moments he finds respite in just watching you serve yourself. His eyes follow the movements of your hands as you first pour coffee on the mug before pouring milk. The dark liquid turns lighter, and Kenny is reminded of how you hated the way he made coffee when you met. At some point he just picked up your habits, easier that way. And to this day he still makes coffee just like you used to, still grinding the beans every morning, still using the same amount of water. He found it funny, really, how it was the small things that stayed.

He was jolted from his thoughts - and saved from staring at you for too long - when he felt something vibrating near his arm. Looking down, he caught your phone vibrating again, making a dull noise as it hit the hard marble. His eyes caught it just as the screen lit up, the notifications appearing over a dark picture of something he couldn’t recognize. It wasn’t Kenny’s intention to read them, and he regretted it the moment he did. 

All notifications on screen were messages. The first to appear was from Nick, just checking if you were ok. But it was the others that had Kenny uneasy, the uncomfortable burn of jealousy seeping back into the darkest parts of his mind as his blue eyes caught sight of Adam’s name. “Hey, I couldn’t find you at the party last night and you weren’t at the hotel breakfast today, I got worried Everything alright?” Just as he finished reading it, the screen turned black again.

“This is actually really good,” your voice caught Kenny off guard, blinking twice he turned his sight back to you, only to find you busy looking at the half devoured pancakes on your plate.

For a long moment he just stares at you, the world around him dissipating together with his jealousy as he looks over your soft features. The raging sea in his eyes grows calmer as he watches the way your face scrunches when you take a bite, smile tugging at the corner of your lips. In the stillness of the moment there is only calm until his own voice breaks the silence, laughter bubbling from his lips.

“You say that like it’s a surprise,” Kenny responds in feigned offense, stifling the laugh from his voice.

“I mean,” you start, dropping your head from side to side and squinting your eyes as you look at him from behind your mug.

“Hey,” he raises his voice a little, dramatically bringing a hand to his chest. “If you are going to complain, I’m just gonna take the food away.”

“You wouldn’t,” you don’t dignify him with more than that, and Kenny just lets laughter burst from his chest again, watching as you hurry to finish what is still left on your plate.

You ate in silence for a while as Kenny started picking up the things from the counter. He was trying to keep himself busy so he wouldn’t have to think about anything. Not Adam, not the way his heart was beating erratically, and not the knot in his stomach at the thought of trying to properly apologize to you again. Kenny knew he couldn’t run from this, Nick was right, this may be his best chance, he had to do this. No matter how tense he felt.

“Thank you, Kenny, really,” your soft voice rang through the kitchen, quiet but strangely intense.

The sound dragged Kenny from his thoughts as he was placing the plates in the sink. He blinked twice before shaking his head, fully anchoring himself back in reality. Without turning back to you, a soft laugh resonated through Kenny’s chest before he could even speak. The deep sound filling the empty space between you two.

“Come on,” he starts, still slightly chuckling for a moment. “I told you, I had to make breakfast for m-”

“No, not this,” you cut him off, Kenny turning around to finally face you, finding your eyes already staring deep into him. “Not breakfast. For everything, really. For helping me out,” there is silence between you again, air hanging heavy in his lungs as he feels frozen in place. “I might not have the best memory of yesterday,” you chuckle, eyes falling to the side before you go on again, “but I remember enough. Enough to know I really gotta be thanking you.”

For a second Kenny just stood there, heart racing but body not responding as he took in your words and the way you started closing in on yourself. Of course, you were still the proud thing he had fallen for all these years ago. Having to thank him was embarrassing, because it meant you were wrong in how you saw him before. If he had been presented with the situation some months ago, he’d probably take pleasure in your shame. In the victory it brought. 

But there was no victory to be had here. Kenny didn’t want to compete. He just wanted to show you how he regretted everything, and that he’d changed. He wanted to show you he truly cared, no matter the circumstances. He just wanted to let you know he cherished you, more than he wanted to admit, more than he had the courage to say.

“Well,” he begins, stuttering around his words for a moment as he shrugs, trying to hide the storm in his chest, “you don’t have to thank me for that either, you needed help, that was that.”

“Kenny,” you call his name in a quiet, somber tone and it feels scary, terrifying even, your heavy eyes holding his own in their gravity. “You really had no reason to help, that had nothing to do with you,” there is a pause and he watches as you lick your lips, hesitation dancing on your tongue. “And we were barely even speaking to each other. You had no reason to just be there, let alone bring me here and do everything you did. I really have no way to thank you.” 

You finish your words in a hurry and he can sense the shortness in your breath, your eyes leaving his own, gaze settling on the counter before you. In a way, you had beaten him to the punch, forced him into a situation where he had no other option but to take the chance laid before him. It was now or never, but he knew he had to be careful. He could taste the anxiety in your voice, see it in the way you almost curled up in your seat. But the only way out was through, he knew.

“Ah,” Kenny starts but freezes before he can even find the words, running a hand through his hair as the silence lays thick between you. “You might not remember it but last night you asked me why I was doing all that and,” he pauses again for a breath as your eyes find his own, it’s not even a second, but he feels his heart shudder under your gaze, “well what I told you still stands. I am trying to be better. You could still hate me today and it wouldn’t change that I couldn’t just not care when I saw you there, drunk and in pain,” he pauses, resting back against the sink, hands gripping the stone tight as his whole body tenses. “So I just helped because it was the right thing, and I’d feel like a shitty person if I didn’t. Even if we barely can see eye to eye.”

There is a moment of stillness, Kenny feels his mouth dry, air thick and cold between you. Your eyes still hold onto him, they reflect a mix of vulnerability and unease that sends shivers through his nerves. He feels once again the desire to hold you, to tell you things were fine, he wants to believe it too. And maybe he can, maybe you both can, but he knows it’s not so simple. So he just waits, patiently coursing through the silence as he watches you try to find your words.

“I,” you begin but pause, looking down at your plate before looking into his deep blue eyes again. “I think I remember. It just,” you can only hold his gaze for a moment before looking down, voice so quiet Kenny can barely hear it, “didn't register in my mind. Didn’t feel real. Kenny,” you look back at him, his name sounding heavy on your tongue, voice now louder, even though he can still feel the strain on it, “everything you did, you could have just dropped me off with Nick and called it a night. You didn’t need to do so much.”

He didn’t. He knew he didn’t. He knew the easy way out and he still opted to go the distance. To do more than he needed to. And yeah, sure it was the right thing to do, to help, to show compassion for someone who had loved him for so long when he was the worst version of himself. He was trying to be good, to do right, to be better. But there was a part of his mind that whispered constantly in his ear that this wasn’t the full story. A part of his heart that ached too much at the sight of you, vulnerable, hurt and alone.

“Oh, well,” he shook his head, eyes leaving your powerful gaze, pushing a chuckle through his lips to try and defuse his own complex feelings. “I didn’t want you to get hurt, but I also didn’t want to end Nick’s night early. And I was already leaving anyway.”

Kenny looks back at you with a smile that he hopes doesn’t look as strained as it feels, praying that his voice hasn't given away his mental turmoil. He shrugs, trying to downplay the situation, trying to convince himself and you of the logic in his actions. When his blue eyes meet yours again, the momentary silence feels to him like an eternity.

“Thank you, really. I,” you pause again, voice low as your eyebrows come together, expression dropping as you speak, “never expected that and I guess I was w-”

“No,” Kenny cuts you off, exasperation painting his voice as he instinctively moves closer to you, his hands resting on the opposite side of the counter to where you sat, “you were right not to expect anything good. Like I said, I didn’t do this to get your forgiveness,” the tension slowly dies from his voice as his words grow quieter again, a heavy breath leaving his lungs before he continues. “I gave you every reason to think I was just the worst, a complete asshole. So yeah, I get where you are coming from, don’t worry about that. No hard feelings, I know it’s my own fault.”

The somber, quiet guilt in Kenny’s words feels thick in the air. You stare at him for a long time, his bright blue eyes like a calm lake, water gentle and clear. He stands before you and he feels so close, too close even, despite the cold marble counter between you. You don’t dare to complain, though, you know he is trying to connect, to reach out to you in a way he hasn’t in years. A part of you wants to close the door, to pull away and leave, fear burning through your veins. But you opt to stay, to see this through, to believe that the change you feel in his voice is real.

“Shit,” you breathe out, looking around, air tight in your throat. “I don’t even know what to say. It feels so strange, seeing you like,” you trail off, not knowing how to describe it, to describe the change in the man before you, looking back at him, you try to find the words but can’t, “that. You seem so distant from that person I last saw in Japan. Almost like two different people. And I guess I,” you pause, gazing deep into his eyes, still not fully believing how foreign they seem despite their familiarity, “never really thought I’d see that. All I expected was that same old asshole, even back when you tried to apologize.”

You don’t want to admit it, don’t want to acknowledge it, but you feel bad. Bad for judging him, despite his admission that he deserved it. Bad for not wanting to give him a fair chance, despite him saying he was at fault. You know he was right, but you can’t help the feeling. Biting your lip, you start to look down before you hear him call your name. Voice a soft tone that tugs at your heart.

“I know,” he stops, waiting for your eyes to find him again before he continues. “And I know I was a bad boyfriend, ok. I get why you were so angry and defensive when we talked, and you were right to be. And I know why you seemed so scared of me back in the car, it's because I gave you a reason to,” you can feel the weight in his words when he says this, the guilt coursing through his low tone, tainting its soft sound. “So you don’t need to worry about that, I fucked up that apology too and that’s on me.”

“Kenny,” you start quietly, not really knowing what to say before he begins speaking again.

“But if you let me try again,” he hesitates for half a second before continuing, you can feel the stress in his voice, the fear peeking in his eyes as he pushes through. “I’ll say that I’m truly sorry. I know I always acted like my emotions were all that mattered, like the world revolved around me. I was controlling, I thought I was always right. Even when it was about your career and your choices in life. I was a selfish bastard, jealous and scared,” his eyes leave yours as he rushes through his sentences. Words spilling out at a speed that makes it seem like he is chasing something, or running from something. When he stops for a moment, his eyes find yours again before he continues. “And I let that fear hurt you, which is the thing I feel worst about.”

Silence hangs over you again and you can hear Kenny’s labored breathing but his eyes never leave yours. You can see the conflict reflected in them and it feels strange. Wrong even. Kenny had always seemed like an unstoppable force to you, but the man standing before you now was anything but. Running a hand over your face you try to find your words, to show him the same honesty he was showing you.

“What do I even say? I mean, I can’t lie to you, ya know,” you stop for a breath, his blue eyes reflect a quiet pain, but he makes no motion to speak. “Yeah, you were really a selfish ass who thought you knew better than anyone about everything. And you really did hurt me with all of that. But especially with all the things you said on the day we broke up,” there is a heavy moment of silence, Kenny almost winces and you can tell, there is so much here you could say, but you don’t have the strength to. “It feels almost unreal to see that you could have changed after everything.”

“Yeah,” Kenny responds after a pause, you can see his hands fidgeting against the hard marble, his brows pushing together as he speaks, “and I’m sorry, really. Especially for that last part. I got scared you were leaving and,” he grows quieter, eyes leaving your own, gazing down at nothing before he finds the courage to look up again. “Well, I fucked it up and you left anyway. And I deserved that. And you deserved better. There is nothing else I can say, just that I’m sorry. I truly am,” he stops, and you feel the weight on his throat, the strain clear in his voice, he swallows hard before continuing. “But I know I fucked up too much and you don’t have to forgive me, and I’ll understand if you don’t.”

There is a somber dignity to his tone, even though you can feel the pain in his voice. It hurts you in a way it shouldn’t. In a way that part of you still says he doesn’t deserve to. All the suffering he caused you still runs through the back of your mind and you know you could never forget it. But you also know some people can change, and maybe, maybe, Kenny was one of them.

“God,” you begin after a moment that seemed never ending, an anxious chuckle escaping your lips. “I never thought I’d say this but, Kenny, it’s ok, I,” you pause, the words stuck in your throat before you can coax them out, “I forgive you. I mean, look at you. You seem to have changed so much in all these years that maybe I can give you the credit. I’m surprised but glad to see that you could make that change. Really.”

“Thank you,” he starts in a sheepish voice before you cut him off.

“Come on,” you chuckle anxiously again, hands sweating as you rest them on the cold marble. “I’m the one thanking you for everything you did for me.”

“Yeah, but I have to thank you for giving me a second chance,” he says, voice a firm yet gentle tone, and you can see light shining through his eyes again. “I know it isn’t easy. It's really hard. So, I’m not taking it lightly, I swear.”

“I’m counting on that, ‘cause, yeah, it ain’t easy,” you respond in an almost whisper, eyes looking down at your hands as your whole body tenses at the weight of the moment. “To be very honest, Kenny, there is still a part of me that thinks it’s insane to forgive you. So I’m really counting on you not to fuck up this time.”

Kenny feels the pain hidden in your words, the acid taste of his guilt rising like bile to his mouth. But he pushes through it, this moment isn’t about that. He is being given a chance and he will make good on it, no matter what. Once more, he wants to embrace you, but he knows he can’t, so he just chooses to touch your hands with his own. Hoping the small gesture can bring you comfort. Hoping you’d let him fix at least some of the pain he caused. Hoping it can show you how he truly feels, how his poor heart shudders at the thought of ever hurting you again.

“And I’m promising to do good on that,” he pauses, eyes finding yours as you look up. “‘Cause I know how fucking fantastic a person you are and I,” love you, that’s what he wants to say, but he knows he can’t, the heavy realization pushed to the back of his mind, “cherish you. You are a good person, and you deserved to keep better company than what I offered,” he pauses, mouth dry as he tries to silence his racing heart. Now was not the time. So he settles for the next best thing. “And if you let me be bold now, maybe we could stay friends? Or try?”

“Sure, why the hell not,” you chuckle, the sound far more honest and less anguished than the ones before, and Kenny feels like a weight is lifted from his shoulders. “Well, you have a chance to do better now. Show me why Matt and Nick believe so much that you are such a good friend.”

“I will,” he smiles at you, almost awkwardly, trying not to speak much in fear his voice would betray him. “Thank you for giving me this chance.”

“Don’t thank me yet, it just means you lost your excuse to not help me with my bullshit anymore,” you joke, pulling your hand away from his as you adjust yourself on your seat, no longer trying to curl up in the chair.

“I think I’ve proven that I can deal with it,” Kenny laughs, his heart still trying to rage within his chest, but he chooses to ignore it.

You laugh back at Kenny, smile warm as the sun and despite the knot in his throat and the tightness in his lungs he feels a bit better. The world seems a bit lighter, and by god, even if he would be plagued forever by this feeling burning at his chest, he was happier now. Happier for having a second chance, for getting to make up for all his mistakes, for being given a shot to make you smile again. The storm raging in his mind and the way his heart fought against his ribs wouldn’t rob this from him.

It doesn’t take long for you to leave, Kenny insisting he could drive you to the hotel, but you opt to go by yourself. The house feels a bit emptier without you, a bit stranger. Despite you only being there for only one night, it seemed like you always belonged. He makes his way to his room ignoring the pain in his chest, ready to make good on the plan to just get changed and head to the gym, work himself out until he can't even think. When Kenny enters, he finds the bed still unmade, but the clothes he borrowed to you folded neatly on top of the mattress.

Sitting down, he runs his hands over the soft shirt, staying still for a long moment as his large palm caresses the fabric. Kenny’s heart aches and screams inside its cage, and once again, he does something he knows he shouldn’t. Large hands pick up the old shirt, trembling as they hold it against his face. It still smells like your perfume, warm and sweet, chocolate and roses. Kenny clutches it hard between his fingers, staying still for a moment as he feels his eyes burn behind his tightly shut eyelids. Still, he knows life must go on.

Opening his eyes, he places the shirt back on top of the pants, smoothing it with a hand. He’d put those to wash later. Getting up, he slowly makes the large bed, trying and failing to find solace in the mindless chore. Turning back to the bedside table, he finds the empty glass alongside the pill slip. Picking up the slip, he pulls the drawer open and throws it back inside, but something shiny rolls to the front, the noise of metal against wood ringing in his ears.

Kenny just stares at the thing for a second and it feels like he got shot, pain burning like lava through his veins. In all honesty, he’d forgotten it was even there. Forgotten he’d even found it again. And now he wishes it had stayed forgotten. The small silver ring stared back at him, shining like the day he’d bought it. Now, it had rolled out of its velvet bag and came back to haunt him again. Just like it did when he found it back in the box with your camera. A crushing memento of how his childish selfishness and stupid fears ruined something that should have been great.

You never knew it, and maybe that was for the best now. But in the night you excitedly came to tell him about the WWE work proposal you had received - the event that culminated in him ultimately ruining your relationship for good - he had something else to tell you. He never got around to it, his own fault. When he heard of the job offer, he got scared you’d leave and his aggressive nature got the best of him. That day sealed the fate of your relationship, and no matter how much it hurt, he had to learn to live with it. Closing the drawer again, Kenny brought a hand to his face, wiping the single tear rolling down his cheek. He’d brought the pain on himself, no use crying about it now.

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[quellawrites]

the rainbow on your lips

Grief, Hob finds out, is bright yellow. 

He would have expected it to be a sickly grey or the darkest black, and perhaps, if it were, it would have been a little more bearable. 

He’s at Dream’s wake and everything is coated in a brilliant, devastating yellow. It’s the colour of ripe lemons, of sunflowers in full bloom, infinite like a field of corn bathed in sunshine. It creeps in every thought, in every crevice of his heart, in every vessel of his body, until it’s all Hob can feel.

In the days and months that follow, it invades Hob’s life like broad strokes on a clear canvas. Sometimes, at night–when Hob dulls it with the best whisky he can find–it fades to a pale yellow, like a patch of sunlight on the carpet filtering through a window. 

It always returns to its previous brilliance in the morning.

----

Comfort has the colour of a lilac bush, with its pretty little flowers all clustered together, their delicate petals unfurling like a lover’s embrace.

Hob leans into Death’s hug and his world bursts in shades of lavender, violet, and amethyst, soothing his soul like a balm. 

“There might be a way to bring him back,” Death says, and hope blossoms in Hob’s chest, slow and tentative, vibrant red like freshly spilled blood. “But it won’t be the same.”

He won’t be the same, Hob reads in her words and sorrow paints his senses in a pale grey, the colour of a dove’s feather. 

He swallows and thinks about Dream’s pride, about his single-minded intensity, about his Endlessness. “Only if he wants to,” he says, and these five words cost him everything he has.

“He might not want to,” Death answers, her voice low and kind, pink like a rose petal. 

Not even for you, Hob hears beneath her kindness, and he’s terrified that even their budding relationship won’t be enough to get Dream back. Though, he knows it’s a chance he has to take. 

He nods and fear spears through him, vivid green and sour like a lime.

---

Happiness bathes the world in orange hues, like the flames of a bonfire. 

Dream stands in front of Hob, as thin and pale as ever, his beloved face twisted in a little frown that Hob yearns to smooth away. When his eyes land on Hob, his lips tick up into a tentative smile, a smile that stokes the flames of Hob’s happiness until they shine as bright as the sun. 

“Dream,” Hob breathes, and reaches out to grasp Dream’s hand. It is solid and warm and lovely against his own. 

“I do not,” Dream says, and his voice is deep and rich just as Hob remembers it. He pauses, swallows, and his fingers tighten around Hob’s like a vice. “I am afraid I cannot claim my old name any longer.”

You’ll always be my Dream, Hob wants to say, but he suspects Dream might not yet be ready to hear it. “Morpheus, then?” he offers, and squeezes Dream’s fingers back. I got you, his touch says.

Dream smiles and it’s soft and beautiful and bittersweet. “Morpheus,” he agrees, and he may not be Endless anymore but his eyes still hold galaxies within their depths. 

“You’re here,” Hob marvels, reaching out to cup Dream’s face. “You’re really here.”

“I am,” Dream says, leaning into Hob’s touch, and he looks so vulnerable that Hob wants to gather him in his arms and shield him from the world. “Though, I am no longer who I used to be.”

“You are in every way that matters.” Daring, Hob leans over and places his lips over Dream’s forehead in a soft, tentative kiss. Love blossoms through Hob in blue waves, like a raging ocean, cresting at the deepest blue and settling into the pale calm of still waters. Overwhelmed by the intensity of his own feelings, Hob whispers, “I can’t believe you really came back to me.”

“I found I could not leave my loved ones, if given a choice,” Dream murmurs. “Even though I must now learn to navigate the intricacies of this new form.”

Hob pulls back to look Dream in the eye and he’s not surprised to see fear and insecurity flicker over Dream’s face, a muted palette of greens. Immortality means Hob has had to go through important changes in his long life, and has had to weather many storms of his own. Throughout it all, he’s always had Dream, his only constant in a sea of never ending transformations. Now, it's Hob's turn to help Dream through his own storm. 

“Then you hold onto me,” he says, and pulls Dream into his arm, cradling the back of his head. His fine, impossible hair slides through his fingers like silk and Hob could weep at the feeling of touching it again. “And we get through this together.” 

Dream rewards him with another of his tiny, precious smiles. “Together,” he says, and the single word settles beneath Hob’s ribcage, warm and comforting. 

Hob leans over, and their lips slot together with the ease of an old habit. It’s slow and tender and like coming home but also dizzying and all-consuming like their first kiss. Fireworks explode behind Hob’s eyes, in a colourful whirlwind of love, hope, and happiness, washing out the lingering yellow tinges. 

He’s not such a fool to believe the road ahead of them will be smooth and painless, but as long as he’ll have Dream with him, he’s going to do his bloody best to make it work.  

[rriavian]

Oh I’m FOREVER weak at the knees for a good forehead touch…could I please get the prompt “pressing their foreheads together” for a Lucienne or Calliope pairing of your choice? Doesn’t have to be romantic either! Thank you <3

First Flight (2340 words) by Korzhel Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022), The Sandman (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Gault/Lucien | Lucienne (The Sandman), Dream of the Endless | Morpheus & Gault, Gault & Jed Walker, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus & Lucien | Lucienne Characters: Gault (The Sandman), Lucien | Lucienne (The Sandman), Dream of the Endless, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus Additional Tags: Getting Together, Prompt Fic, Requited Love, Mutual Pining, Gault's complex relationship with identity, Gault's complicated relationship with Dream, The Dreaming Realm (The Sandman), Post-Season/Series 01, introspective, Forehead Touching, Kissing, bittersweet but happy ending, Canon Compliant, and minimal spoilers, somewhat of a character study Summary: The last time Gault saw Lucienne she stole a kiss.

Sorry it took a while to finish! This really grew from the initial prompt and I really hope you enjoy it <3 thank you so much for the prompt!

[melancholypancakes]

The Lady In Red Myth

Author note: this is obviously not Canon to the sandman stories or God myths, but I figure I make up my own myth and I personally feel like this could be a real story in the sandman universe.

This will be an "x reader" since the story, not Canon and I already made an OC love interest for Morpheus.

{●●●○○○}

Centuries ago, a beautiful woman and her lover, a warlock.

The woman was a singer and dancer who attended various nightclubs.

The warlock proposal and dare he say, he could make his lover’s wildest dreams come true more than the gods and endless. He was bold yet a fool.

How dare a mortal to say such things let alone a warlock.

The warlock did both dark and light magic by playing God and messing with the dreaming realm to fulfill his selfish and his lover’s desires without her knowing.

Unbeknownst to the Warlock he would be visited by Dream of the endless, but it would not be a friendly visit. 

 The Warlock had angered the Endless and cursed him into slumber to never be awoken again. 

When the woman came home to see her lover sleeping, she tried to wake him, but it was no use, and she feared the worst as she cried waterfall tears. 

As far as any doctor knew he was asleep until a witch told her what was truly wrong with her beloved was in danger. 

The witch told the young woman her lover had messed with the gods and foolishly “dream of the endless” and if she wanted to save her lover, she must travel to the dreaming realm and save his soul. 

The woman knew what needed to be done and she wasn’t about to let the endless take away her lover.

So, With the witch’s help the young mortal woman traveled to the dreaming realm and woo the dreaming creatures to let her through the gate through her singing.

It wasn’t until she was able to reach the throne room that she saw her lover broken and beaten down, 

There a King of the dreaming, Morpheus, dream of the endless was standing over him. but the woman soon stood in the way and the warlock was relieved he was saved, and his lover returned to him.

The young woman begged the King to have mercy for her lover did not know what he had truly done. 

Morpheus was not forgiving, especially to a mortal. He refused and did not listen as she begged and begged with tears falling from her eyes. 

“Take me instead!” she says as she screams and as the king hesitates, there was a way, but his subjects urge him not to make this action. 

He hasn’t even considered it in eons and the mortal woman notices his hesitation. 

“Name your price! I’ll do it please!” she begs once again as the dreaming residents heard and saw the mortal woman on her knees begging their King. 

“There...is a way,” he said coldly as if he couldn’t seem crueler. the Endless said the mortal woman had to make a deal with him. 

The lover had to sign her soul away to the King in order to save her male lover’s life. 

It was fair in a way and she had to do this for the King to let go of her lover from tormenting him or worse sending him to the shadow realm. 

So, without hesitation, the mortal woman looks the endless dead in the eye and signs the paper as a bright light shown and she looks away finishing her cursive writing. 

When the deed was done the mortal lovers reunited happily but, in the end, how does her male lover repay her? 

By running off with some mistress, the lover cried and cried of heartache as she saw her male lover leave her for some bimbo. 

The Mortal woman had asked if she were to die would she feel a thing and he responded, “You won’t feel a thing when you go down, nothing will wake you again.” 

Not months sooner, she died of a broken heart and her soul indeed travel to the dreaming realm, and for eternity spend her afterlife as “The Lady in Red” Crying looking for someone to fix her broken heart... 

Little did The Lady in Red know, her King cared for her deeply as all his subjects but also pity the poor woman with his beating heart. 

[maelstroms-blog]

Sandtober begins

Day 1- Dream

The tears of Morpheus would give you such bittersweet dreams.

Please accept my dream, done in markers, acrylic and gold

It was fun, even if it didn't turn out right.

[hardly-an-escape]

uneasy is the head that wears a crown

Square: B4 - Secretly Royal Rating: G Word Count: 1680 Ship(s): Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling Warnings: No archive warnings apply Additional Tags: secretly royal, Ruritanian romance, slightly cracky, call it crack-adjacent, royal Hob Gadling, Hob Gadling throughout history Summary: In which Dream learns something new about Hob's past. Read on AO3 | fill for @dreamlingbingo

“Hob.”

“Mm?”

“A question.”

“Mm.”

“Why do you have a crown?”

They were in Hob’s storage unit – the nice one, the luxurious, secretive climate-controlled one that was paid for by an equally luxurious and secretive Swiss bank account. It was nearly time for him to disappear again, to choose a new name and a new story and a new home, and he was kneeling in front of several banker’s boxes’ worth of documents and financial statements, gathering what he’d need. Not without a tinge of sadness, as always; no matter how many lifetimes he lived, Hob always found it bittersweet to cross that bridge, leave one life behind and start the next.

This time was different, though. This time, Dream would be waiting for him on the other side. This time, whoever Hob Gadling was about to become would not be alone. He would have a partner. A husband.

Hob looked up at that husband now. Dream was holding open a velveteen case, revealing an unprepossessing circle of beaten gold, somewhat tarnished, embellished with rivets and crosses of silver.

“Ah,” he said. “That crown. Well. I have it because it’s mine.”

“And how came you by it?”

“That depends on who you ask,” said Hob, sitting back. Dream settled on the floor beside him, jewel case on his lap, ready for a story. “I was told it was the divine right of kings. But there’s also a strong argument to be made for simple nepotism.”

Dream raised one elegant eyebrow, the universal shorthand for do go on.

“Okay. You remember when we first met,” said Hob, “in the White Horse?”

“1389. How could I forget?”

The smokey interior. The smell of livestock and weak ale. It’s almost as real to Hob now as it was back then, despite the intervening centuries.

“What did you think I was, back then? Who did you think I was?”

“A soldier. A peasant. Perhaps a fool,” said Dream, a fond note to his voice.

“Well. What if I told you that I… was… actually the crown prince of the kingdom of Ruritania?” said Hob in a rush.

“Ruritania,” echoed Dream. “And what, exactly, was the crown prince of said kingdom doing in the White Horse?”

“An excellent question. Today they’d probably call it something like a rumspringa, I suppose,” said Hob. “A couple of years away from my family and my duties. To grow as a person, learn a new language and something about the wider world.”

There was a bit of a pause.

“You are… not joking,” said Dream finally.

“I am not. You haven’t heard of Ruritania? Not that surprising, I suppose,” said Hob. “It was very small, and it didn’t exist for very long, all things considered. But it was technically a kingdom… and I was, technically, heir to the throne.”

“Perhaps you had better begin at the beginning.”

So Hob did.

He explained how his great-grandfather had been the ruler of a tiny little duchy nestled between Germany and the Netherlands. How his grandfather, taking advantage of a temporary power vacuum in the region, had declared himself king, and how the burgeoning kingdom was so very tiny that nobody had really cared. How his father had been sent abroad as a young man to experience the world, and sent his son abroad in turn as well.

Young Prince Hrodebert had fallen in with a band of soldiers and made his way to England, in disguise as a common mercenary, relying on his wits and his sword for the first time in his life and having a marvelous time.

“Ah, those were the days. Everything was so exciting, so free,” recalled Hob, somewhat mistily. “And it’s not even that things had been that restrictive back home, you know, we were so small that the pomp and circumstance of court wasn’t all that pompous – hell, I’ve taught in lecture halls that were bigger than our great hall. But it really was different, living out among people. Made me think about the world differently.”

“Do you expect me to believe. That the boastful bandit I met in 1389 was actually a prince in disguise?”

“Sounds like something out of a fairy tale, doesn’t it?” Hob grinned. “But… yeah? Is that so hard to accept?”

“It is not that it is hard to accept. Merely surprising. But if I have learned anything in the past two centuries,” said Dream, “it is that the limits of human ingenuity are nearly infinite.”

“That’s certainly true enough.”

Hob continued his tale, of a prince’s last year of freedom and his return to country and duty; of, later, a father’s death, and a coronation, and a settling into the small measure of power a small kingdom allowed. How he’d tried to be a good king, as good as he knew how to be; how he’d done his best to apply his experiences among the more common folk. He had been, if not beloved, at least well-regarded.

And then – how the whispers had started. The rumors; the murmurs in quiet corners. That the king didn’t seem to be aging – had you noticed? Not a new grey hair on him since he came back from his travels. How people had started to suggest, ever so quietly, that Prince Hrodebert had, perhaps, made a deal with some English demon, or otherwise, somehow, come back wrong.

“So, yeah. Ended up filling my pockets from the treasury and scarpering from my own bloody kingdom in the middle of the night. I think my cousin Irminhart took the throne after I left – or was it Irminheri? Fat lot of good it did him, either way. The whole kingdom didn’t last much longer.”

“And you? What did you do?” asked Dream, uninterested in the fates of European micronations.

“Well, I realized pretty quickly that they’d had a point, about the not aging thing. That was when I remembered this posh, poncy fella I’d met in a pub in London who’d said something about never dying. So I made my way back to England, maybe ten years after the turn of the century, and met him again, and here we are.”

“Hmm.”

Hob tsked, leaned over, and ran the backs of his knuckles gently down the line of Dream’s jaw.

“Oh, now, I know that hmm. What is it, love?”

“I am perturbed. To think that I have been unaware of such an important part of your past,” admitted Dream. “And perhaps… upset. That you have not shared it with me before now.”

“Important? I suppose it was,” said Hob thoughtfully. “It’s funny, you’d think after almost 700 years it’d be easier to tell what was important – but I think it’s harder. Who’s to say that ruling Ruritania was more important than… I dunno, than working for Caxton? Than what I learned after being in the slave trade?”

He settled back against the shelf behind him and picked up Dream’s hand, idly lacing their fingers together.

“I guess eventually I figured out that it’s all important. At different times, for different reasons. And of course if everything’s important, then nothing is important,” he laughed. “But that’s beautiful too, I think.”

He brought Dream’s hand to his mouth and dropped a kiss on his pale knuckles.

“I hope you’re not too cross that I didn’t tell you. Honestly, by the time we met again in 1489, I’d almost forgotten all about it myself,” he said. “The world was so full of brilliant new things, the stodgy old kingdom of my father and grandfather was just… boring.”

“Still,” said Dream. “You might have mentioned you were of royal blood. To brag. If nothing else.”

“And bargained my throne away to a fairy, maybe? Not on your life. You forget, darling, just how woefully uninformed I was at that point. For all I knew, my immortality was contingent on me being a simple English peasant. And I wasn’t about to endanger that,” Hob winked, “not when my meetings with such a handsome stranger could have been on the line.”

“You stray from your tale. The crown?” said Dream pointedly.

“Yes,” said Hob. “My crown.”

The crown, he explained, had vanished into antiquity for centuries. After the ill-fated cousin had cast his lot with the wrong side in one of the interminable European skirmishes of the 15th century, Ruritania had been absorbed into a series of small Germanic principalities, and her peoples and her resources, including the royal treasures, had been totted up and divided amongst new rulers.

“I found the crown again in 1890 or ‘91, somewhere thereabouts,” said Hob. “I think it was a museum in Berlin, or maybe it was Bremen – but I recognized it as soon as I saw it. It took a sizeable donation to convince them to part with it, but I was pretty good at the ‘wealthy and eccentric English gent’ bit by then. They thought I was crazy, it was worthless as a piece of history – no provenance, no way to authenticate it. But I just… had to have it.”

He’d been in a bit of a nostalgic phase, back then, very reflective on the past. On what had made him the man he was, on his missteps and mistakes.

“Because of me? Our parting, a few years prior?”

“Partly, yes. But it’s also good, for a man to take that kind of stock of himself every once in a while.”

“Did you consider giving up your crown to be a mistake?”

“No,” said Hob instantly. “No, never. Even apart from the immortality, it has never occurred to me that I would have preferred to live out my life as the king of Ruritania.”

“I am strangely glad to hear that.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes. It does not… fit. With who I know you to be.”

“Or maybe you’re just jealous,” said Hob teasingly.

He wound an arm around Dream’s shoulder and pressed a kiss to his temple.

“Maybe,” he murmured in his husband’s ear, “the Prince of Stories is a little miffed that technically, he’s the the one who married up.”

green = complete, orange = WIP

[kittttycakes]

I want to hear about 'strange' 👀

Heavily inspired by a YouTube comment that concludes with “how strange it is to be anything at all,” strange is a non-canonical as heart for heart one shot off-shoot focused on the aftermath of the Kindly Ones. Newly immortal but human Dream; Grace and Hob picking up the pieces; definitely some bittersweet angst-ing vibes but also hope and love in there, too.

Here’s my new few sentences added in:

For a moment, Morpheus imagined what it would be like, to allow her to show him. What did she consider the things that made life worth living? He could guess, but he did not know, he realized. Perhaps, after all, he would like to find out.

[darkhangels]

18. the ghost of you

enjoy the silence masterlist

morpheus x f!reader

words: 4188

warnings: emetophobia, swearing

January

January was always a hard month, no matter the circumstance. A cold, gruelling, grey month that dragged on and on, prolonging the misery. This year of course was only worse. The cold had become excruciating, making going outside all that much harder.

Lorna had gotten out of the hospital after new years, making a smooth recovery. You tried to visit her as often as possible but it was growing increasingly difficult as the guilt for the accident still plagued you. Still, you buried it and tried to unknowingly make it up to her. She knew something was up, and she knew with who. But she didn’t ask, knowing you didn’t want to talk. She spent her days watching tv, playing video games, board games with you and Veronica as she tried to use her leg as little as possible, to speed up the healing process.

And though it was difficult seeing Lorna’s face, a harsh reminder of what you had done to her and what you had consequently given up to save her. You still loved her company, always would. It was just slightly more bittersweet now, your smile faltering every time she complained about her leg hurting or mention anything of the accident, anything about that day.

And it was unfair, you knew it was unfair, after all she was the one who had a building land down on her, not you. You had no right to be moping and acting like the traumatised one, so you covered it up in smiles and laughs unwilling to dampen Lorna’s life anymore.

Your boss and owner of the coffee shop had sent all the employers remaining wages to carry you all through until you found a new job. You knew you had to start looking but it was difficult to try and sell yourself to employers when you were going through perhaps the worst emotional turmoil of your life. The wages would do for now.

If nothing else, your relationship with your mother has in fact gotten better. She had become much warmer towards you, incredibly more caring, like how she should’ve been in the first place. She knew something had happened with you but she knew you wouldn’t budge when asked about it so she instead checked up on you regularly, bringing you food, talking about nonsense and still reeling from her Norwegian honeymoon.

You actually enjoyed her visits, grateful for the mindless conversations that came with them. You felt at least that side of you finally begin to heal.

Your sleeping schedule was perhaps the worst it had been for a very long time. Sleeping became hard. Really hard. You had practically gone straight from having nightmares every night to having dates with your (ex) boyfriend in your dreams every night, so you hadn’t particularly been used to normal sleeping. Getting to sleep was the worst part, you would lie awake trying to distract yourself from your mind wandering to him. Reading a book, watching a film or television series, anything that meant your brain didn’t go wandering, you would be okay with it.

And when you finally did get to sleep at around 3 am or 4 am your dreams were normal. And maybe that’s what had freaked you out the most, you had been so used to your dreams being manipulated by demons and then him that the last time you had dreamt normally was in the beginning of September, nearly five months ago.

And somehow something about having normal dreams felt wrong. It felt even weirder when you knew that in some way or another you were still visiting the dreaming every night, just not in the way you had been. How many times had you entered his kingdom upon sleeping? Gotten so close to being together you could practically taste him on your tongue and yet- you never saw him, never heard him, never felt him.

It was how it had to be of course but it was going to take some getting used to. A lot of getting used to .

And then when you woke it was way past noon and getting out of bed was a task proving to become increasingly difficult as the days passed.

You were beginning to think you would never have a normal relationship with sleep no matter how hard you tried to. After all, how could you? When your sleep would almost always remind you of him.

You had repressed and hidden all reminders of him. You had tucked away the necklace in a jewellery box you had kept out of site. The coat went back into the wardrobe. You hadn’t touched it since New Years, too scared to lose it or damage it in some way.

Sometimes you could almost feel him there, in your bedroom staring at you with those twinkling eyes. But you knew he wasn’t. It was like a ghost haunting you wherever you went. His words echoing in his ears telling you you shouldn’t do that, guiding you, mocking you sometimes as well. You knew it wasn’t actually him and it was just your brain trying to cope in the strangest ways.

His absence had left you with a permanent heartache that paralyzed you at the randomest of times. It felt like a crushing weight being dropped like a stack of bricks on your soul. Everything reminded you of him. And that was the problem.

Still, you continued on, despite your harrowing loneliness. Pushing through each day and mentally preparing for the next, one day at a time.

After all, it would get better.

It had to get better.

------------------------

Matthew had sidled up beside Morpheus one day, asking him if you were ever coming back. The rain that had plagued the dreaming had slowly and slowly dissipated but the clouds were still there, grey clouds that covered every inch of the dreaming, closing them in.

Lucienne and Matthew had figured out what had happened, it had been on her mind since she saw the way her lord had looked at you for the first time, she knew mortals and the endless could not be together like the way you had.

She had warned him, and had expected him to attempt to put her in her place but he only solemnly nodded, muttering out an “I know”.

Why he didn’t stop wasn't beyond Lucienne, she had seen him in love before, as rare as it was, she had seen it. And she had to admit to even herself you had fit in extraordinarily well in the dreaming, Lucienne even calling you a friend. She missed you.

And Matthew missed you.

But most of all her Lord missed you not that he would ever show it. He had gone back to his default cold exterior, telling her all she had needed to know.

“She is mortal, she should never have been here in the first place” Morpheus rather coldly spoke, not looking up from the reading on his lap.

Matthew cawed. “Yeah but you two were-” Matthew stopped, looking down.

His master's eyes drew down to the raven, narrowing and challenging the bird. “We were what?”

Matthew stared back into his master's eyes and stumbled on his words, and with a sigh let out a melancholy “Doesn’t matter,” before flying back to the library.

Morpheus watched as his raven disappeared from out of sight. His jaw hardened as he slowly blinked, your face cruelly creeping its way into his thoughts. He swallowed harshly going back to his duties, plastering a scowl on his face.

---------------------

February

Money was getting low, you had to find a job. Of course there were still no careers suddenly calling to you, so you found an easy retail job at the local store. Retail was somehow worse than hospitality. Customers were mean, real mean. You had dealt with a plethora of old ladies yelling at you because the store was out of a specific food brand. Then of course there were sniggering teenagers who just loved to push all of your buttons, as if you weren’t already on the brink of your breaking point. Still, it paid pretty much the same as the coffee shop and would do, for now.

Sleeping schedule was still bad, getting to sleep was perhaps the most challenging point of your day. And your mind cruelly suggested that maybe this was his doing, maybe he was punishing you for falling in love with him. But you knew that was untrue, once again this was just your mind doing what it did best, fucking you over.

Lorna’s leg was getting better, you hardly saw her less this month than you did in January, work was busy or so you told her. The overwhelming guilt was only getting worse and you couldn’t help but worry about her, worry for her. What if the universe was still going to punish you for loving him from afar? So you distanced yourself. For her safety.

She said she understood that you had to take a lot of shifts at the store so that you would get the money flowing back in, but she knew you were distancing yourself, for whatever reason you may have had, she knew.

Corey had come into your work, the familiar face gave you a breath of relief except he looked…weird. His face seemed a tad sunken in and he looked tired, hell, even as tired as you. You asked him if he was okay. He said not to worry and that everything would make sense soon enough.

You were weirded out for the rest of the day, deciding he was just on drugs or maybe even something else, he continued to visit you over the course of the month, thankfully he didn’t say anything strange like before.

He asked about Murphy.

You told him you had broken up.

Valentine's day came and passed with a harsh heart ache.

You wanted to believe that you had hardly thought about him, but you did. Of course you did. All the time something would remind you of him and you’d start smiling to yourself only to then be hit with the painstaking reminder of what you could never have again.

You missed his touch, his voice, his presence.

God, you missed him so much. It felt like a deadweight on your heart, your soul whenever you thought about him, craving and aching for him once more.

You still loved him, that was undeniable.

You would find yourself going about your day, wondering what he would be doing at this exact moment. Probably brooding on his throne, creating new dreams perhaps?

You wondered if he missed you too.

A cruel voice in your brain told you he had already moved on, already forgotten about you as the time passed.

You had seen a raven the other day and you wondered how Lucienne and Matthew were, wondered if they had forgotten about you, wondered if they spoke about you. If he had told them about what had happened and why you could no longer visit, though the two weren’t dumb, they would’ve figured it out sooner or later.

-------------------

March

Spring was finally unravelling as the cold air started to warm ever so slightly, grass growing greener and the sun's power starting to wax, readying itself for the coming months.

Work was fine, you had made some casual friends with your co-workers, no one special, just small talk and smiles to get you through your shifts.

You missed the coffee shop, it was almost like a second home to you, the rubble had been completely cleared from the street a while ago now. Your boss sold the land to someone else, deciding there was just not enough money to rebuild it.

You hadn’t seen Lorna in an incredibly long time.

And you had never felt so lonely in perhaps your entire life.

You pulled yourself up one weekend, promising yourself you would see Lorna and Veronica today. You had gotten to their apartment, only for Lorna to glare at you as soon as her eyes landed on you.

“Are you okay?” You asked furrowing your eyebrows in the doorway.

“Yeah, not that you would know” She bit at you.

You flinched and swallowed. “Look I know I haven’t been around for a while but work has been busy and-”

“Cut the crap” Lorna huffed.

Your gaze turned to behind Lorna as Veronica appeared, wincing her eyes shut. “Come on in” She said to you.

Lorna turned around giving her girlfriend a look of disbelief before rolling her eyes and allowing you to walk in. Hesitantly and awkwardly you stumbled in, hearing the door slam behind you. Lorna slowly walked in front of you, her face full with disdain. She had finally gotten her cast off, you realised.

“What's up with you?” You asked knowing fully well what was wrong.

“You don’t call, you don’t come and see us, what is up with you?” She hissed.

You gulped, you had hardly ever seen Lorna mad, especially with you. It happened on a very rare occurrence when you actually fucked up.

“I’m sorry but trust me I had good reasons” You said apologetically sighing at her.

Lorna's forehead creased, crossing her arms. “Good reasons? Please enlighten us”

You opened your lips to argue but nothing came out. How could you tell her that all you were trying to do was protect her? You looked away, ashamedly closing your mouth.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought” Lorna scoffed. “Look I know your emo boyfriend left you or whatever-”

Your eyes snatched up to hers, a jab of pain searing through you.

“Lorna,” Veronica warned eyes going back between the two of you sensing where the conversation was going to go.

Lorna turned to her girlfriend. “No! She needs to hear this”

Veronica shook her head with a deep sigh passing through her lips.

Lorna turned back to you a new kind of anger in her eyes. “I have been patient, I didn’t push, I was expecting that eventually you would talk about it” She walked closer to you. “But no, nothing, you’ve just said nothing”

“Lorna, come on, can we not do this now?” You said your voice only just above a whisper, eyes pleading for her to change the subject.

“And honestly I don’t care what happened anymore” She said, ignoring your pleas. “What? You know the guy for like two months and he leaves and then you just disappear?” She searched for her words.

“Disappear?” You growled, hurt turning to anger. “I know I have not been around this month but I was there for you, I was there for you as much as I could be”

“Really?” She huffed. “Thank you so much for gracing us with your presence, your excellency”

You let out a humourless laugh and rolled your eyes and Veronica shook her head again at her girlfriend's words.

Lorna's eyes softened then only a bit. “I have seen you sad and defeated before but this?” She stopped, her eyes watering. “This is something different, it’s like you’re not even sad you’re just gone”

Your lip trembled, as you swallowed the lump in your throat. “Gone?”

“And worst of all you won’t even talk to me about it” She added. “Is that not what friends are for?”

“Look, I’m just not ready yet-”

“It's been three months!” She shouted. You flinched at her loud tone, blinking in shock. “You were fine for a while and then you just shut off” A tear dripped down her face and Veronica placed a hand on her shoulder.

“What did we do?” Lorna asked.

“Nothing, you did nothing! I just needed space. I needed to deal with it on my own, I still am” You pleaded looking between the two of them.

“To deal with what!” She shouted. “What could’ve possibly happened that fucked you up this much?”

You stumbled back.

“God, it just feels like you’re fucking addicted to your own pain sometimes” Lorna stressed rushing a frustrated hand through her hair. “It's like the nightmares all over again”

Your mouth hung open in shock, her words hitting you like a train before your jaw tightened, eyes narrowing. “And I dealt with it, by myself, got rid of them, by myself”

Lorna scoffed “Yeah after a month of suffering, when you could’ve easily have gone to a psychiatrist and told them the truth and gotten the actual mental help you so clearly need”

“Lorna!” Veronica barked in surprise at her cruel words.

You shook your head, unwilling to believe the words coming out of her mouth.

Lorna ignored her girlfriend. She chuckled humourlessly. “Did you do the same thing to Morpheus? Shut him off too?”

“Lorns, please” Veronica begged.

Your face paled, you had dared to speak his name. It was the first time you had heard it in three months. Nausea crept up your throat and your patience was starting to wear thin.

“Look, I know I’ve been a bad friend and I’m so fucking sorry about that, I want to make it up to you guys as much as possible” Your mouth became dry. “But quite frankly, what happened is none of your business and if I don’t want to share that, I don’t have to”

Lorna looked taken aback for a second before her gaze hardened, she slowly nodded. “You know what, you want to be alone so badly, then just go”

You shook your head. “No Lorna, please let's talk about this”

Lorna crossed her arms with a cold resolve on her face. “Well I don’t and you’re right its none of my business, so get out of our fucking house”

Veronica turned to Lorna. “Lorna, come on, this is stupid”

“No, Lorna, I’m not leaving” You stood your ground. “Let's talk about this like adults”

Lorna just continued to glare before walking away. “I need space,” She growled.

Veronica sent an apologetic look your way. “Maybe come back tomorrow?”

You nodded weakly before leaving, tears clouding your vision.

Lorna's words struck you in a place you didn’t even know existed. You were second guessing your every action, all this time and you had thought that considering everything you were dealing pretty well with at least hiding it.

But no, in your persistence to not trouble or worry your friends you had done exactly that.

You had caused Lorna pain in one way or another.

How many times were you going to hurt those around you because of your incapability to get over your emotions?

You came back the next day. Lorna didn’t want to speak to you, or the day after that, or the day after that.

You had sent her texts, voice messages, tried calling her. All sent through but none opened.

Veronica kept in contact, letting you know that they were at least ok and safe.

----------------------

April

A week later since the ‘intervention’ and still no contact from Lorna, you wished to simply evaporate away, hide away for a couple of months until the heartbreak finally would dissipate. You had rather foolishly thought that with time the pain would get easier. In some ways it did, but not enough. He still consumed your mind like a disease.

You were all too aware that the two of you had now nearly been apart for just as long as you had known each other.

Time was passing and your heartache was not.

Would it ever go away?

Despair clawed at your throat practically every waking moment and ironically you thought how much Morpheus’ younger sister must’ve been enjoying your pain.

You crept into your apartment after a particularly trying day at work left you completely defeated, you didn’t even bother with dinner, too fed up, only wanting to disappear into your bed.

Walking into your bedroom and throwing off your work clothes and slipping into your pyjamas, and in an act of weakness walked to the wardrobe. Your eyes instantly fell on the coat that had not been touched in four months. You sucked in a breath as your fingertips softly danced along the soft material as tears bit at your eyes. The comforting and familiar fabric of the coat gave you a warmth sense of relief that you so desperately needed at the moment, a flash of memories from November and December rushing through your brain.

To think that Morpheus had once owned it, wore it and now it was in your wardrobe. You considered the coat slowly, you had done so well to remove all reminders of him from your life in a desperate attempt to get over him, if such a thing was possible. But it had been four months and you needed some sense of familiarity, some comfort. You needed home . And seeming as you couldn't see him, your home. This would be the next best thing. You deserved at least some kind of warmth no matter how pathetic you had felt about it.

With a defeated sigh you pulled the coat off of the hanger and wrapped yourself in the black material. Cautiously you pulled the collar to your nose and as if you had been preserved in glass all this time, a scent of sandalwood and fresh winter air hit your nose. And suddenly it was an October night begging the King of Dreams to let you help him figure out what was causing the disturbance in your dreams and in his realm. All at once it felt like you were in his arms again, you felt safe and loved. Treasured. Your eyes watered and you bit back a sob.

You softly meandered over to your bedroom window, craning your neck to look into the black inky sky. A few stars spotted and gleamed at you, and you felt a pull on your heart strings, and for the first time in a long time you allowed a tear to escape your eyes.

Ripping yourself away from the window you climbed into bed, the coat still engulfing your body and for the first time in a long time you fell asleep almost instantly.

A raven.

A sacrifice.

A death.

You are tied up, held back by three men wearing sanguine velvet cloaks, opposite you more men in cloaks crowd around a podium. The man in the middle has a horrid scar running down his face, slashing over his eyes and ending just before his chin.

Strapped to the podium is a raven, helplessly squirming against the tight binds holding it down. The scarred man looks up at you with a sinister smile and all the air seemingly exits your lungs. Heartbeat echoing in your ears and bile rising up your throat, you could do nothing but watch.

The man's smile turned into a manic chuckle as he looked down at the creature before him, grabbing one of the raven's wings and in one mighty pull, tore the wing straight out of its delicate body. An agonising shrill scream left your throat as you thrashed against the cloaked men.

The piercing sound of more ripping came from the podium as more sobs racketed through your body as you continued to scream out, pleading, begging. The raven's croak became desperate as it wailed in pain.

The raven still somewhat alive slowly turned its head to you, its eyes boring into yours, painfully tugging on every single emotion you had left and the most insidious heart dropping feeling plummeted through you making you fall to the stony cold floor.

God, its eyes. Deep vast black spheres that reflected the entire cosmos back at you. Your sobbing ceased for just that moment as you stared at each other.

Endlessly.

And somehow, something within you had changed. A greater feeling of understanding and bittersweet relief. With a shaky breath and the last of all of your strength you barged into the cloaked figure on your right. In a swift movement you grabbed the silver dagger that had been settled in the belt of his robe.

With one last glance at the raven, who let out a haunting screech at the site of the dagger in your hand, you plunged the object into your chest.

You jumped up, breath heaving as you clutched at your chest desperately trying to get your breathing back, terror seized at your heart. As dread seeped through your body, your head rushed. Eyes widened in fear and shock.

“No, no,” You whispered to yourself. “Not now, please”

Tears stung at your eyes and you felt bile rising up your throat as you ran to the bathroom, emptying your guts as you vomited. You sat back against your sink, your skin clammy and sweaty as you desperately tried to get your breathing back to some kind of normal state. Your eyes winced shut, head in your hands, knees tucked to your chest. Body trembling and shaking.

They were back.

The nightmares were back.

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Breaking down the comics: End of dreams (Issue 12)

Moon Knight, Issue #12: The Nightmare of Morpheus

Written by Doug Moench and drawn by Bill Sienkiewicz

Let’s head back to 1981 when Doug and Bill were still on the team. 

So originally I was only going to review a few key issues. And then I just… did them all. But I skipped a few of the early ones that just didn’t strike me as key. Or ones that just didn’t click with me when I initially read them back in the day. 

This was one of them. Which was a bit of a disservice because it introduces Morpheus, who ended up being a big deal as far as his recurring or vital villains go in the early run. Then he came back later in Mackay. To those that didn’t read the early runs, they just didn’t understand where Morpheus was coming from or why it was bittersweet to see him go the way he did. 

I’ve already reviewed subsequent Morpheus issues and we’ve seen the death of Marlene’s brother at the hands of Morpheus, which lead to a major blow between Marlene and MK and MK and his own self doubt. 

So let’s go back to the start. 

We open on an office building at night. Dr. Peter Alraune is working late. 

"And in a way, it's all my fault... And now that Markham is missing, I'm even responsible for his disappearance." He thinks to himself. 

"He must be in torment by now...Half-mad with anguish, unable to sleep, unable to even close his eyes, stumbling through the streets in a perpetual daze...He could be anywhere out there in the city...Anywhere at all." 

We see a man in a trenchcoat moving down the street towards Peter's office. He tries the door to find it locked. 

The man reveals a clawed hand and he breaks the window. 

"Locked doors can't hide Alraune from me...Nothing can hide him from the vengeance of Morpheus!" 

Peter decides that despite his 'professional ethics', he has to report the disappearance. 

He calls the police to report his patient is missing. Just as he's about to give the name, the man in the trench coat bursts in. 

"You! Markham! But...But that black field! My god--What happened to you?!" 

The man in the shadows unveils himself to be a terrifying looking creature. 

"You happened to me, Dr. Alraune...And now I am about to happen to you!" 

He pleads with Markham, "I warned you of the risk, Markham! Your disease was completely unknown--An uncontrolled breakdown of chromosomal structure--" 

Markham claims the experimental drug reacted with the disease and mutated him, turning him into the monster before us. 

Dark shadows emanate from Markham to wrap around Peter's neck. 

Peter again points out that Markham did sign a release and knowingly took a drug that was untested. 

Yeah, because logic is going to get him out of this situation. 

Markham claims that he is unable to sleep. Unable to close his eyes and unable to dream. 

"It deprives a man of his psychic need for dreams..And it drives him mad! But those psychic dream energies must go somewhere, Doctor--They must be released somehow..." And more dark shadows emanate from him. 

"In my case, thanks to the effects of your drug, that psychic dreamstuff has become a tangible physical energy...The Ebon sleep-energy which even now squeezes the life from you!" 

It tightens around Peter's throat. He claims that he can put others to sleep and force them to dream, or he can put them in a 'permanent sleep'. 

Alluding to the Greek god Morpheus, son of somnus, we see where he gets his new name from. 

Just as he's about to off poor Peter, the police arrive. 

Markham, now Morpheus, blasts Peter once more before he flees the scene. 

The next night we see Moon Knight returning to Grant Mansion. 

As he lands, Marlene rushes out to meet him. 

"Quick, Steven--I just got a call from the hospital--They've been trying to locate me all day! It's my brother, Peter--He's badly hurt! We've got to get down there!" 

Now, we it's interesting that to this point we've only really seen Marlene and don't know anything about her family. She was the one following her father out to the dig sites and into the desert in Egypt. Also interesting is that she was hard to locate. Meaning perhaps her brother didn't really know her location or her standing with 'Steven Grant'. 

Moon Knight pulls off his cowl, "Of course, Marlene. Just give me time to change to Steven Grant." 

It's these social situations that always call for Steven. Jake never goes anywhere with Marlene and Marc isn't invited. Steven is the socialite. He's the one that knows how to be proper and deal with adult situations. 

At the hospital Marlene demands to see Peter, claiming that she's his only surviving family. 

When she is finally let in to see him, we find him in poor shape. 

He struggles to tell her that "Morpheus...Patient named Robert Markham...Rare disease...Experimental drug...turned him into a monster...Tried to kill me...For revenge and.." It's more than he can take and he slumps back, slipping into a coma. 

Steven tries to comfort Marlene and take her home, but outside the hospital the police have gathered and are shooting at someone. 

Morpheus has arrived at the hospital. He uses his dark powers to deflect bullets and toss about cars. He will have his revenge! 

Steven rushes off to change and Moon Knight introduces himself the Moon Knight way. 

He's doing fine. 

Morpheus attacks and drains Moon Knight. 

Moon Knight tries to keep attention on himself and away from the crowd of people nearby. 

It works. 

He’ll be fine. 

But you see, the more he uses his powers, the more the become depleted and the big show with the police and with throwing Moon Knight around has worn him out. 

He runs off again to recoop. 

As Moon Knight extracts himself from the car, Marlene runs up to ask if he's alright. 

"Be serious, Marlene... After he made me look like an amateur?" 

He's so hard on himself all the time. 

He tells Marlene to go home while he heads to Peter's office to look through his files for Robert Markham. 

And to Peter’s off we go where we find DETECTIVE FLINT! And my all time favorite panel. 

Let me introduce to you Detective Flint. This man has put up with so much. 

(six through the window entrances on the counter now) 

I love how Flint just rolls with the fact that Moon Knight just crashed through the window behind him. Could have used a door or opened the window of the crime scene... But no. 

Still, he just invites Moon Knight to come in and do his thing. 

Let’s take some time to devote love to this man. 

He introduces himself. He knows vigilantism is frowned on, but he could care less. Flint figures it's help or watch them do it anyways. 

He tells Moon Knight the details on the medical experiments and lets Moon Knight do his thing in the files while he has himself a cup of coffee. 

And I just appreciate the way this page is done. Flint making his coffee so meticulously, looking so tired, and Moon Knight just digging through the file cabinet in the background. It's beautiful. It’s also a brilliant way to lay the ground rules of the bad guy and move the story along without a lot of investigating and exposition. 

There's this beautiful respect here. Moon Knight is used to dealing with people that don't trust him, that give him a hard time, or that just refuse to work with him. 

He instantly takes a shine to Flint and I must say that I do too. 

Also Moon Knight totally just jumped out his broken window. 

Moon Knight returns to Grant Mansion to find a hysterical Marlene. 

"He's still in a coma, Steven. He's my brother and I hardly even think about him--And now he may be dying!" 

"My brother. Steven, do you understand?! You've got to stop Morpheus--You've got to!" 

Yeah... It's safe to say he understands. Considering that Marc's brother Randall was killed a long while ago early on in the Moon Knight career before he got his own comic. 

Elsewhere, we find Morpheus gloating about being stronger than even Moon Knight. 

It's dawn and Morpheus finds himself drained, but now he rebuilds his Ebon energies. 

Come nightfall his energy has rebuilt to a dangerous level. 

Each night that he fails to sleep the more his energy builds. 

He concludes that if he waits a week he'd be able to destroy the hospital and Moon Knight. So he decides to unleash his energy robbing banks in order to build a palace for himself in the meantime. “A dream palace”. 

Look, I never said his plans were coherent. 

It’s a sleepless man with no eyelids that walks around shirtless all the time. He’s going to be a little eccentric. 

So he goes and blows up a bank. This attracts a little attention. 

Moon Knight gets the drop on Morpheus and punches him in the back of the head. 

Then Morpheus uses his powers to fling Moon Knight around a little. 

Look at this dramatic man. He’s so hard on himself! 

…Oh no. Not the zoo. Moon Knight no. You know you and animals never ends well… 

I really wish I had kept a count of the number of times Moon Knight is attacked by animals. 

Yeah that seems about right. 

He manages to get away from the panther. Just a little torn up. 

Morpheus taunts him to take his best shot. Moon Knight throws his truncheon past him to ricochet off a wall and bean him in the back of the head. 

Unfortunately for Moon Knight Morpheus still has a load of power and he blasts Moon Knight away. 

Worn out but desperate not to lose again, Moon Knight makes a break for the caretaker's building. 

Cornered in the building, he puts his plan into action, he tells Morpheus to just finish him. 

At the last second, Moon Knight doges out of the way and Morpheus strikes the generator. 

The electrical backlash runs up his Ebon energyand strikes him right in the eyes. 

The light negates his dark energies and strips Morphus of his powers. 

And Moon Knight takes advantage of Morpheus' lost powers to knock him out. 

The police are called in to clean up. 

Flint shows up and we've got a buffed out but exhausted Moon Knight with a panther clawed up mask and this man...

"You're a good man, Moon Knight. Now you'd better split. Before I'm forced to ask questions. I hate questions. The answers never cut it." 

"Yeah. Well take good care of him, Flint. --And make sure you have the "Do not disturb" sign on his bedroom door knob." 

Moon Knight is such a cad. 

They transport Morpheus to the hospital where he is sedated. They note they have to sedate him 8 hours every night forever unless someone comes up with a cure. 

Many days later, we come to Marlene waiting next to her comatose brother, who finally wakes. They are reunited in a hug and end issue! 

OKAY! So why did I skip this issue in my original review run? I’ll be honest: I was never a Morpheus fan and my memory is terrible. I forgot about Detective Flint and the joy of the panels I included here.  Aside from introducing Morpheus and Detective Flint, not much actual Moon Knight advancing in character actually happens here (if you discount him sobbing to himself in a crumpled heap about being a loser). 

And you know, maybe it was a happy accident that I skipped this one till now. It works now that MacKay has killed off Morpheus. Now you can see his start. We know that he comes back and there’s a huge run with Moon Knight hallucinating about being on the moon and then he comes back again to kill Peter, which I feel is the starting point of sending Marelene into a spiral that eventually does lead her to pull away from the Moon Knight system. 

Considering this is issue 12 and so close to the start, we are trying to build up a villain base for our new hero. In classic comic book fashion, they are looking for villains that can come back again and again and up the stakes each time. And, Morpheus did do that. He has scary powers, a scary appearance, and Marelen’s brother is often at stake (until his death at Morpheus’ hands). 

And I’ve said it before, but the thing about Moon Knight villains is that they are weird. They aren’t typical and don’t have the personal vendetta that, say, Spider-Man villains have. They tended to just come out of nowhere and have their own issues that may or may not make sense, and then they disappear for long stretches at a time. 

The most common villain in Moon Knight’s roster tended to be mental health and self doubt. 

And while Morpheus can now be looked back on and given an approving nod, it feels sad now knowing that all of Moon Knight’s original villains have been killed off in today’s runs. Making room for bigger and better villains with higher fight value and bigger stakes. 

But a part of me can’t help but miss the old villains. The old stakes. The way they challenged him in ways that were more than fists and weapons. And perhaps, it feels like the old Moon Knight is fading away too. Or more still, perhaps we lost the old Moon Knight many years ago as the writers lost sight of where he came from. With the death of Moon Knight approaching in the current MacKay run (We shall see how future me looks back on this once it is all said and done), is it a way to kill what has been done and finally start fresh? A way to bring back something lost? Or is it a way to finally put an end to the dreams of the past?