#sandman fic

[kitrekii]

[motthe]

Snow Day

Morpheus/Dream x Glasses!Reader

A/N: merry Christmas :)

Morpheus was in a mood, today, it seemed. The castle was dead silent upon your arrival and Lucien had greeted you instead of your dark-haired, silver-eyed Endless. The librarian was as kind and soothing as always and offered a thick-furred coat draped over her arm. You hadn't realized you were shivering until you accepted it.

“When he isolates himself like this,” she sighed, head shaking as she guided you down the spacious halls, “it tends to alter the Dreaming into…”

“A winter wonderland?” you hummed, nose nearly pressed to one of the mile-high windows. The frames of your glasses clicked against the translucent layer when you turned in an attempt to stare up at the snow-topped towers. “It's gorgeous out there!”

Lucien chuckled, pausing her steps once she realized you'd gotten sidetracked. “I was going to say an ice age, but your optimism is appreciated.”

“I'm just stating facts.” You turned away from the snowflakes coating the edges of the window to meet her gaze. “Why's he isolating himself?”

“Sometimes I feel it is a thing of the Endless, but my lord is particularly adept at falling into his work and further into himself.”

Your lips pursed at the thought of those molten eyes--the way his brow raised when he listened to you babble about the day’s events. He'd never seemed particularly distant. Maybe quiet at times but never unreachable.

In truth, you had known Morpheus barely a few months now. You hadn't expected to run into something so god-like from working at a pub under Hob, but you'd been seeing strange things your entire life. Hob liked to call it your “psychic sense,” but Morpheus had taken one look at you and waxed poetry about “seeing the veil as it was and not what it poses to be” or something similar. You'd zoned out a bit from how handsome he was but understood the gist of it.

Apparently one little joke about lucid dreaming was enough to draw an Endless to the lonely little nights in your head. Hob lost it when you mentioned it forever ago.

“Don't laugh! I feel like I pissed him off," you whined. "He shows up like every other week and judges me!”

“He is many things, including judgemental," Hob agreed over his coffee as you pulled down chairs and sliced fruit in preparation for the day ahead, “but he seems awfully interested in you. Best be careful. I can't go and lose my favorite worker, now.”

You weren't lost so much as drawn in by the beauty of the Dreaming, though perhaps that's what Hob had meant from the beginning.

Still, you desperately wanted to go out into that fluffy snow.

“So he's busy with dreams?” you asked Lucien, hands behind you as you marveled the detailed ceilings overhead. “Workaholic over the holidays?”

“My lord doesn't keep to annual holidays.”

“Oh, right, he's like...ancient." Lucien smiled and remained silent as any smart woman would. “Well, how long has he been isolating himself? Can he take a break?”

She waved hand deeper into the castle. “You may try, but don't be disheartened if he doesn't listen.”

The throne room doors didn't budge. You attempted to knock, swaying as you glanced around and pulled your gifted coat closer. You sniffed against the cold air and fixed your sliding glasses, huffing to yourself. Why you always dreamed with them on was anyone's guess.

“Morpheus?” you called out, voice echoing. “Or should I call you Boreas? The Dreaming’s been snowed in.”

Silence. You pressed your ear to the door as if it weren't made of thick, dream-induced material.

“You know, there's this thing called seasonal depression in my world—real tough stuff." You attempted to find a keyhole to stare through and found nothing. Even the the bottom of the door was tight and sealed. "You ever had hot cocoa? It's not a cure-all, but I like to think it's a good balm to the soul.”

You dragged your knuckles over the door, shivering at the chill emitting from it. Movement on your shoulder had you glancing down. The shadows of snowfall paraded over you gently from beyond the windows. Your feet itched.

“Or maybe some fun exercise?” you tried, lips close to the seam of the doors. “Ever made a snow angel?”

On the other side of those doors, a rare thing occurred: Dream of the Endless smiled.

His last meeting with Hob had been ordinary before the immortal man had raised his hand and waved you over. The Endless had seen his reflection before he had seen you—a wonder behind wire frames.

Morpheus had visited his old friend some days ago, asking after you, about your talent and how it brought you to his pub.

“She took one look at me,” he chuckled, leaning in with a smile full of youth and wit, “and immediately asked me how old I was.”

“Astute,” said the Endless.

“To the point,” Hob corrected. “And if you don't speak up, she'll see right through you, too.”

Morpheus' eyes thinned, shoulders taught as he raised his chin.

“And what is there to see?”

The old but never aging man gave him a look. All that he meant to say in this one expression, however, was not something the Endless wished to perceive.

“Christmas is her favorite time of the year. She moved here to experience more ‘winter wonderlands.’” Hob leaned back, shuffling a stack of papers onto the table that had been sitting next to him, ignored. “Now, old friend, we both have work to attend to.”

Morpheus felt laid bare. The Dreaming had gone white before he had taken the time to think the conversation over. Mervyn’s complaints about the various boxes of Christmas decor echoed in the halls. Lucien had come asking questions. Morpheus could not explain it and promptly shut himself away in his throne room, hesitant and brooding.

And now you had waltzed in, asking him to join the gift of snowy weather he had unconsciously prepared for you days ago, hoping you'd drop by and simultaneously dreading it.

He wished he could blame Desire for this.

“Well,” came your honeyed voice through the doors, “if you’re just that busy, apologies for bothering you! If you need me I'll be enjoying the snow day.”

And so you did. He found himself watching from a terrace. He's not sure how you managed to cajole so many of the tenants of the Dreaming into the castle gardens, but the trap was laid and set off as soon as your snow ball hit Cain.

“Hey!” cawed Matthew from a tree. “Watch it! That one was the size of my head!”

“If any of you break a window, I'm leaving you out here to freeze,” Mervyn yelled from the entrance. His sputter that came after as well as your laughter. You had quite the aim, it seemed.

Morpheus watched from afar as you brought life to the castle, dragging Lucien from her library more than her own lord. Matthew liked you and spent whatever time he could berating his sire to “ask her out already, come on, man!”

Lucien had warned him about falling too deeply. Too quickly. You were human. Special, yes, but mortal at your core. He had ruined everything with the last woman that had stolen his heart.

“Lucien you gonna stand there all day?”

Morpheus blinked, raising a brow as you stared back towards the castle, grin cheeky and puffing out clouds of breath. You had lost the coat he'd ordered his librarian to give you.

“Come on! You can join my team,” you called to her.

“We're on teams?” Abel shouted before Caine brought an entire snowman’s head down on him.

“You have your fun,” said Lucien somewhere out of Morpheus’s sight. “I must return to my duties soon.”

“Is it oh so dire?” you asked, hands on your hips as you panted.

“I do not think—”

“Well, if it's not, I don't see why you can't spend a few minutes letting off some steam!”

“I have a terrible aim, I’m afraid.”

“Not as bad as mine. Did you see how long it took me to hit everyone?” You scooped a handful of snow up from the ground, forming it. “Tell you what, if I hit you from here you’re obligated to hit me back.”

“Now, that's not—”

“1, 2, 3, go!” you sputtered, arm a flash of movement. The ball sailed far too high. Snow exploded over the lip of the railing, coating Morpheus.

Every single jaw dropped as they spotted him. Silence leveled the gardens. Every soul watching took a breath and looked from you to their ruler.

“My bad!” you shrieked as he wiped his face clean with a slow hand. “I didn’t know you were there! I’m sorry!”

“Boss,” came Matthew as he landed on the railing. “You good?”

“I am fine, Matthew,” sighed Morpheus. “It’s only snow.”

“Well, we best get going before Goldie starts missin’ us!” Cain chuckled nervously, dragging a suspiciously still Abel behind him. The others scattered much the same, leaving you rubbing your wrists and shuffling in place.

“Uh, am I in trouble?” you called up. You blinked when you found the ruler of the realm missing and sighed, head dipping in disappointment. “I swear it was an accident,” you whined to yourself, sneezing.

You nearly collapsed in fright as something fell over your shoulders. You relaxed when you found it was only your coat. Then fair-skinned hands attached sent your heart spiking a second time.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, face hot as you slid your arms through the sleeves.

“I take it you’re enjoying the weather?”

You hummed, nodding quickly, wishing his voice was as cold as his expression. The warmth of his words left your brain a mess.

“Have you?”

He tilted his head at you.

“Have you enjoyed the weather, I mean? You created it, so I assume you at least put up with it, uh.” You were rambling and worse, you realized you were rambling which led you into a spiral. “But I heard you’ve been super busy and all, so of course you wouldn’t have gotten much time! I hope you’ve been taking care of yourself and all…”

You had to take a breath and Morpheus was just listening, a gentle smile on his face that left your eyes skating the ground. Why were you acting like this?

“It has been some time, hasn’t it?” he asked.

“Like a week, maybe. I think I got a little too used to you popping into my dreams.”

“Is that so?”

God, you were being far too honest, but you dug your feet in and joked around the crippling embarrassment.

“Yeah, makes a girl lonely, but I get it. You’ve got a realm to run, people to look after.” You shrugged, raising a hand up as the snow began to trickle down in soft white fluffs. “I’ve been enjoying our chats, though. You’re very interesting, Dreamlord.”

A soft quiet rose between the two of you, his dark, looming presence blocking the chilly wind. You glanced up to find those silver eyes glinting like shooting stars. You made a wish and held it close to your heart as Morpheus leaned closer.

“May I confess something?”

Your eyes widened, a gasp stuck in your throat. “Are you angry about the snowball?”

“No." He smiled through the word and how unfair for the culmination of dreams and nightmare to have such a dazzling face to pair with it.

“Oh, okay,” you sighed, hand to your chest. “That’s good.”

“I’ve taken some time to myself as of late as you said,” he continued. You nodded as he paused, eyes earnest. Morpheus felt laid bare once more. “However, it was not because of my responsibilities to the Dreaming.”

Your lips parted, taking a breath. “Is it something I can help with?”

He hummed, fingers ghosting the sleeve of your coat. “Perhaps, depending on your answer.”

“Answer?” you mumbled, half listening now that he was so close to touching you. Was the coat weird? Was this just something he did when he spoke to people?

“If I might have the chance to court you.”

The old language went in one ear then out the other before backtracking. You stared at his hand, taking a choked gasp before raising your head to look him in the eye. He looked so effortlessly put together, long eyelashes catching snowflakes, lips rosy. And there you were, mouth agape and glasses fogging up.

“Uh, me?” you echoed, quickly cleaning your glasses to give yourself something to do and not simultaneously combust in the dream world.

“You,” he said.

“But I’m just…well,” you shrugged as you fixed your glasses back over your nose, “slightly less normal than the next mortal, I guess. And you’re…higher than a god.”

He tilted his head, brow raised. “Does it scare you?”

“The ghost that haunted my bathroom when I was eight scared me,” you admitted candidly. “You make me very very nervous. I feel like I’m more court jester than courting material.”

That pulled a real, two-second chuckle from him. You knew what winning the lottery felt like, suddenly.

“I don’t have much to offer besides what you’ve seen,” you breathed, “but I don’t want to say no.”

“Then don’t,” he murmured, cold hand finding yours and warming it with whatever magic he had coursing through his blood.

“What if you get bored?” you whispered, every hair on end as he pulled you closer. His own trailing coat of ink wrapped around you.

“The things your mind has created, the honesty you allow everyone,” he said, chest grazing yours, “it never ceases to surprise me. Boredom is the least of my worries. I fear you’ll find more problems with me.”

“I do worry about your isolation habits,” you admitted, smiling when he hummed and glanced away.

“I promise to not disappear for long periods, then.”

“That’s a lovely start, Dreamlord."

[beatnikfreakiswriting]

a little snippet of some retired!Dream chapter 1 that wouldn't leave my head, bc finding the right clothes for you is personhood euphoria

The shoe shop is an ordeal that Dream hopes never to repeat. Hob has to come up with a very hasty (and poor) excuse about why a man in his apparent mid-thirties doesn’t know his shoe size, which the assistant looks utterly baffled by, and that is even before Dream has to have his feet touched and measured. 

“I already have boots, Hob,” Dream says as the assistant disappears to find some boxes, not particularly liking the plea in his voice.

“I’m not leaving you with a single pair of shoes, duck. You’re going to need at least another pair that’s sturdier than those, as nice as they are. ‘Sides, I’ve seen those amazing ones you had with the cunty heel, so don’t tell me you only want one pair of shoes.”

Dream huffs and folds his arms.

The assistant returns with a stack of boxes in what is apparently Dream’s shoe size, and Hob begins taking various shoes out of the boxes and passing them to Dream to try on. The assistant tries to help once and once only, apparently cowed by the glare Dream levels at her, and from that point merely stands in awkward amusement and bafflement as Hob cajoles him into trying on what feels like an infinite number of pairs of shoes. 

It takes some time, but Hob has done well to only pick shoes Dream would actually wear. Only one pair gets summarily dismissed because they have white soles, which is a step too far at this stage of being human.

“Alright, your highness,” Hob snorts, “what about these ones?” He passes Dream a pair of sturdy boots made of black leather, with a dark brown rubber sole stitched with yellow welting. “Don’t complain about the yellow, these are fucking classics.” 

Dream merely raises one sardonic eyebrow, but tugs at the laces as he has swiftly learned to do. There is still something gauche about his motions as a human, he fears, judging on how the assistant eyes him, but he does his best to ignore it.

Once he has them laced up, he realises they feel… right. The leather sits around his too-boned feet in a way that feels comforting rather than constricting, and as he looks down, he finds he likes their shape upon him.

Hob smiles at him. “Always expected to see you in a pair of these, not gonna lie. Way back when.”

“Those’ll last you forever,” the assistant pipes up. “I’ve still got a pair of Docs from ten years ago, they’re just as sturdy as ever.”

Dream shoots her a quelling look, but stands so he can look in the mirror. 

Somehow, even in Hob’s clothes, hair flat and unkempt, in the harsh lighting of a chain shoe shop, he looks like himself. It is a kind of relief that bursts through every new-wrought vein in his body, that makes him feel correct for the first time in a very, very long time. 

He only realises he has been looking at his reflection for an unusual span of time when Hob comes up to him. “Those the ones, then?” His voice is soft, his smile kind in the mirror.

Dream finds himself unable to speak, and he just nods.

In the end Dream consents to a pair of black canvas shoes with a black rubber sole that lace up to the ankle, which are both comfortable and light enough for summer, Hob tells him, as well as the boots he had ended up taking a shine to. The assistant looks mildly relieved but as she rings them up at the till, there’s also a faint spark of laughter in her eyes as they flash between Dream in his ill-fitting clothing and his handful of shopping bags, and Hob tapping on the card machine, entirely human and at ease.

“Have a nice rest of your shopping trip, gentlemen,” she chirps as they make their way out of the shop.

“She either thinks I’m your sugar daddy,” Hob mutters in his ear, “or that you’re an alien that landed on Earth five hours ago.” 

Dream does not dignify the first with a response. “In many schools of thought I would be considered an alien. It depends on whether you map the Dreaming as literal or non-literal space. I believe it is a problem that will exercise physicists should they ever discover that Heaven and Hell are real places.”

And this makes Hob choke a little, which is enough to bring a vindictive little smirk to Dream’s face. So perhaps he isn’t so far away from the creature he had been before.

[wolf-and-raven-dreaming]

Chapter 10: Interim

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[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Fragments of Delight

Delirium X Platonic!Reader

Warnings: none i think this is just fluff, found family, Delirium being Delirium, mood shifts, gn!reader, no use of y/n, sweet ending

Word count: 2.2K

a/n: i love her so much i just had to write something for her. I just know we'd be fast friends

You did not mind doing tasks for Dream. But you had not expected to be appointed as a babysitter—much less as a babysitter to Delirium, Dream’s youngest sister and one of the most unpredictable of the Endless.

“I just don’t understand why you want me to go, Dream.”

“My sister needs companionship.”

“I thought your brother gave her his dog.”

Dream turned to look at you as though what you had said was absurd.

“What? I’m sure the dog’s better company than I am.”

“I’m sending you because I need someone to keep an eye on her.” He paused. “Someone I trust.”

If there was one thing about Morpheus, it was that he did not often ask people to do things—he commanded them to. So even though you were hesitant about your new assignment, you knew there was no room for discussion.

You had expected Dream to call for his sister in her domain, asking for entry so that he could escort you to her, but it seemed you’d been wrong. You hadn’t quite understood why Dream could not summon her in the usual way. You had thought they’d patched things up, but you weren’t really in a position to question Lord Morpheus. So when he told you you’d have to enter Delirium’s realm in a more… chaotic manner, you had simply nodded in understanding.

You had not been prepared for just how odd the entrance to Delirium’s realm would be. Perhaps you should have been, considering the madness Delirium was in charge of, but it had surprised you all the same.

The sight of overgrown plants and multicolored mushrooms was a welcome contrast to the chaos you’d just waded through. You took a deep breath, savoring the calm for a moment.

“Hello.”

Your eyes snapped open at the sound, searching for the owner of the voice. There, at your feet, sat a dog. Your brows raised in amusement. You were used to talking animals—Dream’s ravens had always spoken—but you hadn’t stopped to think that Destruction’s companion would too. A slight error on your part, but still.

“Hello there. You must be Barnabas.”

“I am. Who are you?”

“Lord Morpheus sent me. I’m supposed to…”

Your voice trailed off as your eyes drifted past Barnabas. There was a bit of movement between the trees. A flash of neon green and orange caught your attention, and your lips curled into a small smile.

“Hello, Delirium!” you called out.

Her head poked out from behind the tree at your greeting. She seemed somewhat unsure of your presence.

“Is he angry with me?”

You could practically hear the pout in her words.

“That’s why he sent you, isn’t it?”

You couldn’t hold in the chuckle that slipped from your lips. Reaching down, you patted Barnabas on the head as you walked past him, slowly making your way to Delirium’s hiding spot. When you reached the tree, you peeked behind it and found her sitting in a cluster of radiant mushrooms.

You crouched beside her for a moment before deciding to sit cross-legged at her side. Your gaze wandered over the glowing mushrooms and the streaks of impossible color dripping through the trees as your hands picked at the grass.

“Your realm is very pretty. Different from the Dreaming, but charming in its own way.”

Delirium tilted her head, mismatched eyes finally meeting yours. Her lips curved into a small frown, brows furrowing in recognition.

“You’re changing the subject.”

You chuckled lightly. “Am I?”

“Yes,” she insisted, eyes darting between you and Barnabas, who had settled a few paces away. “I asked if he was angry with me. That’s important.”

“I didn’t mean to change the subject, Delirium.” You turned to look at her, offering a soft smile. “But to answer your question—no, Dream isn’t angry with you.”

You leaned back on your hands, careful not to disturb the glowing mushrooms beneath you.

“If anything, he thought you might want… someone to sit with for a while.”

Delirium blinked at you. For a long moment she seemed puzzled, lips parting as if she were trying to catch the right word.

“…You mean a friend?” she asked at last, tilting her head so far that a few neon strands of hair tumbled into her face.

The question was genuine, but it carried the hesitance of someone who didn’t quite understand what she was allowed to ask for.

The childlike earnestness in her voice made your chest ache. You found yourself studying her—this youngest of the Endless, all chaos and color, but folded small among glowing mushrooms like a lost child. And in that instant, you understood why Dream had asked you to be here.

“Yes,” you said softly. “If you’d like one.”

Delirium went quiet again, her eyes darting away as though she were watching something only she could see. Her fingers plucked idly at the glowing caps of the mushrooms around her before she stilled, head tilting to the side.

“Do… friends stay longer than siblings?” she asked suddenly.

Her voice was soft, but the words carried a strange weight, as if she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer.

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

She scrunched her nose, mismatched eyes narrowing in thought. “Siblings… drift. Or fight. Or forget. Sometimes they leave. But… friends? Do they… stay around? More?”

The innocence of it made your heart twist. For all her power, Delirium sounded so small. You hesitated, then gave her the gentlest smile you could muster.

“Well,” you said slowly, “you don’t really get to choose your siblings. But you can pick your friends. And the good ones… yes. They stay.”

Delirium blinked at you again, expression unreadable for a moment. Then her lips curved into a sudden, almost mischievous grin.

“I think I’d like to be a friend, then,” she declared, as though it were the simplest truth in the world. “You’re quite nice. Nicer than Dream. Or… nicer than he used to be. He’s gotten much better lately.” Her brows furrowed. “He still frightens me, though.”

You smiled softly at her. “Can I tell you a secret?”

Delirium tilted her head, curiosity flickering in her mismatched eyes.

“Sometimes… he scares me too,” you admitted quietly.

For a moment, she seemed to absorb that, her eyes widening slightly. Then a slow, bright smile spread across her face, lighting up her whole expression. She sprang up from the ground, giving a small twirl and trampling a few mushrooms as she did. Once she stopped spinning, she glanced down at you.

“Oh, I think I’ll like you very much! You’re a good friend!”

You gave her a bright smile. Then her eyes seemed to catch on the mushrooms she’d harmed in her joy, and a small frown graced her features.

“Oh…”

You got up from the ground, a hand moving to her shoulder. Delirium’s eyes snapped to yours.

“It’s okay. You didn’t mean to.”

“I do that a lot.”

“Do what?”

“Hurt things without meaning to.”

Your heart ached a bit at her words. This poor girl carrying so much on her shoulders. You knew she was much older than you, having been around for a long time, but you still felt protective of her. You felt the need to reassure her, so you gave her shoulder a soft squeeze.

“It’s alright. Everyone makes mistakes. The important thing is to learn from them.”

Delirium stared at you for a moment before giving you a shy smile.

“You’re very wise.”

You laughed. “Not always, but thank you for saying so.”

Delirium blinked at you for a moment, the idea settling slowly into her mind. Then, as though a small, fragile door had opened inside her, she let out a soft, delighted laugh.

“A friend…” she repeated. “I think… I’d like that very much.” 

Before you could answer she let out a small gasp, her hand moving to grab onto yours.

“There is so much to show you!”

With a joyful sound, she spun around and began to move in a random direction. You went to follow her, just as she paused, staring into space for a second before choosing another path. She seemed to have settled on her destination, turning to look back at you.

“Are you coming?”

“Lead the way!”

Delirium grinned at you before continuing on her path. You observed her for a moment before following. Barnabas walked beside you, and you took it as an opportunity to ask,

“Is she always like this?”

Barnabas glanced up at you as he continued to walk.

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

The rest of the day passed in a swirl of colors and laughter. You wandered through Delirium’s realm together, watching as she coaxed strange, wonderful things from the air around her—tiny glowing orbs that floated like fireflies, ribbons of light that twisted into miniature creatures, and plants that hummed when she touched them. Every new creation seemed to carry a piece of her chaotic joy, and you found yourself smiling more than you had in a long while.

Sometimes she would pause mid-step, gaze wandering off into the distance, then shake her head and laugh before pulling you along again. Barnabas padded quietly beside you, ever watchful, his dark eyes glinting with amusement.

Eventually, the energy of the day caught up with her. She slowed, her movements becoming languid, and you led her to a quiet spot by a sundial, its shadow stretching long in the shifting colors of her realm. She sank down onto the soft grass beside it with a small sigh, letting her hair tumble in a cascade of orange.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then, as though testing the waters, she said softly, “Sometimes… I feel like my siblings don’t really… see me. Like I’m too small. Or too messy. Or too… me.”

You glanced at her, your heart tightening at the vulnerability behind her words. The playful, chaotic energy of the day had softened, leaving a fragile honesty in its wake.

“I wasn’t always like this, you know.” She let out a small grimace. “I used to be Delight, but I…”

The words seemed to escape her for a moment, something you noticed happened quite frequently. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how to express what she felt, but that the words to do so often slipped away from her mind. 

When she started to speak again, you could see you were no longer talking to her whimsical self, but to the version of her that felt fear, pain, and dread. The version consumed by random surges of anger and sadness.

“The world is cruel.”

It was an affirmation, practically spat from her red-tinged lips. Her sadness seemed to seep into you like an oil spill. You felt your lips turn into a frown, but the despair was not yours—it belonged to Delirium and was simply spilling onto you due to your proximity.

It was then that you realized just how strong Dream’s little sister truly was. Before you could think further, your hand moved to wrap around her shoulders, tugging her gently into your body. She let out a small sound of surprise, unused to such an expression of tenderness.

You held her for a long while, and slowly the weight in your chest seemed to ease, allowing you to breathe easier. The gloom that had begun to consume Delirium seemed to slip away as you embraced her.

“Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You listened. And you cared. And you didn’t make fun of me.”

You pulled her slightly away from your body so you could look her in the eyes. You gave her a fierce look, trying to transmit in your gaze just how serious you were about your next words.

“I will never make fun of you. Never. You hear me?”

Delirium’s lips quivered at your words, a single tear slipping from her eyes. You brushed it away with your thumb before placing a soft kiss on her temple.

You held her gaze for a moment, then spoke softly, trying to shift the heaviness in the air. 

“You know what helps me when I’m angry or sad?”

Delirium blinked at you, curiosity flickering.

“I… like to scream. Really loud. Have you ever tried?”

Her mismatched eyes widened. “Scream?”

“Yeah,” you said with a small grin. “It’s silly, but it works. Want to try?”

She tilted her head, thinking for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Okay.”

And so you did.

The two of you raised your voices, letting the sound tear through the stillness of her realm. Words became nothing but bursts of air, laughter and cries tangled together, echoing off the trees and mushrooms. You yelled until your throats were raw and your bodies sagged with exhaustion.

Finally, both of you collapsed onto the soft ground, breathing heavily, hearts still pounding. You turned to look at her, and in that moment, Delirium’s entire face lit up with the brightest, most radiant smile you had ever seen.

Without a word, she scrambled up and ran into your arms, hugging you tightly. You hugged her back just as fiercely, feeling that fragile, chaotic little soul pressed against you, and in that embrace, the two of you found a sense of belonging neither of you had expected.

[frostbitten-x]

tragically earthbound 004

Lord Morpheus x Fem!OC (Ophelia) 004: absolution -> CHAPTER INDEX

English is not my first language, sorry for the mistakes but be nice about it!

Summary: maybe it's time you start thinking beyond your own heartache

Warnings: none

previous: 003 / next: 005

Your neck hurts when you turn as fast as you used to, your hands are useful although weaker than claws but at least your jawline stays as sharp and cutting.

This and more changed with the loss of your wings.

Counting them down comes as a relief for your aching soul when you wander around the Dream Palace. 

The air was cold, you were sure that it was several degrees under the temperature on the outside. The grand gray hallways were a maze to anyone who didn't know their way through them.

It used to be less... gloomy, you suppose. More luminous. A reflection of Morpheus pride put into stone and glass.

Now, you guess, it was reflecting the weather outside.

The rain kept raging on even after Rose Walker woke up from her dream and left the three of you alone once again. 

It was incredibly strange, how a mortal could walk into the throne room just like that. Worryingly threatening.

But Morpheus' approach to her was surprisingly warm, even curious. He was fascinated with vortexes, always had and always will. 

Something in his eyes made you want to crawl out of your skin.

Because they weren’t looking at you like that.

He was welcoming, exuding acceptance and compliance— like he was ready to discover any and every secret she was unconsciously hiding. And still, you knew he didn’t completely trust her.

But then again, who did the Dream Lord truly trust? 

Me, you think hopefully to yourself, and still he hasn’t laid his eyes on you once you were finished providing the results of your studies on the new vortex’s book. Too busy holding this petty grudge against you.

You couldn’t blame him, you were the same.

Centuries of companionship did that, for sure. You were to have disagreements and arguments, even holding resentments— more on your part than his. 

Not against you, never against you.

Remaining in the Dreaming even after denying him what he wanted— your mind, your burden— was proof of that.

Others were casted away for way less.

So, maybe it was time to give into this warm feeling and stop clawing at your own pride.

“What should I do, Philly?” you almost jump when you hear the voice and the ruffle of wings.

You find yourself in the middle of a hallway, looking up at Matthew flying circles around you. 

“For starters, denying my involvement in any of this” you nod, pulling your hair away from your right shoulder so he can perch himself on it “I’m already on his bad side” you nod as the raven falls swiftly on you.

Matthew didn't know you were Dream’s previous raven— he just thought you were the kind lady who would give him the purpose he had in the Dreaming. Even days after, he would ramble about what you said to him nonstop to Lucienne as if it was the gospel truth. 

Especially now that you were his new favorite person at the Dreaming.

He would seek you out after a long day, just to update you on his work in the Waking World.

His secret and a bit risky job was keeping an eye on Rose and reporting back to you or Lucienne.

“That goes without saying” he nods his little head “But, Rose— she’s a magnet of problems” he sounds exasperated “We should tell the boss”

“Morpheus doesn’t even knows you’re still lurking in the Dreaming, sweetheart” you sigh “Look, I’ll make my best to convince him you’re the man for the job—”

“Raven” he corrects you.

“Raven” you chuckle, then “Oh, Matthew, please tell me: have you been able to see a shooting star in the Waking World?” you ask, dreamily and wanting.

Maybe your friend could tell you more about how one of the worlds you’ve lost was moving on without you.

Looking at the rain drenching the garden and overflowing the fountains of the Dream Palace, you lean against one of the columns of the sheltered gallery.  

Sighing and letting the sound surround you completely.

You hated the rain as a raven, it kept you inside for an absurdly long time— flying in it was exhausting and disorienting, something Morpheus made you swear to not do unless strictly necessary for cold would cling to your bones and your feathers would stick together in a way that brought you down with your own soaked through weight.

But, then again, you weren’t a raven anymore.

And that promise had no longer to be kept.

It was strange, how days being away from him felt worse than years: maybe because when he was abducted, it wasn’t his choice to stay away.

But he was keeping himself from you on purpose now. 

Your sadness was a burden you would not rest upon your Lord, not even if he asked you to. It’s not fair to lay it on him when he was not the one that caused it in the first place. If anything, him being back was all your tired heart could have ever hope for.

But, then again, anger was easy to cling to– to let it stick around. 

The rain was warm, and it casted light and softly onto you as you stepped out of the sheltered gallery and towards one of the fountains. As the summer breeze helps your flushed neck and face to cool down, you look up at the sky. And then close your eyes with a long sigh for a few seconds.

To be human is to be in pain.

It was to be beautiful, to be demanded. To be cherished and to be defied.

And you didn’t entirely like it, but you wouldn’t call it hell to be earthbounded. 

Not in the slightest.

Because it also meant you could shower in his rain.

You hold the skirt of your dress up, feet going over the edge of the fountain's basin one at the time after taking your sandals off.

It was cold, but not unbearable— and the sensation made you finally relax as you were itching to get closer to the water.

You hum in a sigh, closing your eyes once again as you let go of the skirt and pull the hair that was sticking to your cheeks away.

And, when you open your eyes, there’s Morpheus.

He’s standing across the fountain, an invisible ring around him prevents the rain from soaking him through.

He was looking straight at you, commanding and strong. A force pulling you in.

Pursing your lips, you grab the skirt of your dress again and step towards him.

He watches you without even blinking and you wonder if you’re blurring out his periphery like he’s doing with yours.

When you get to the end of the fountain, you stretch your arms and hands towards him— he obliges. Helping you to stand on the edge of the fountain’s basin, he takes a step closer to you. 

The small invisible ring now protects you from the rain too, the sound also disappearing as you stand inside of it.

His power pulsing all around you.

“Should I remind you of your fragile nature?” he rasps out, hand travelling from your hands to your elbows— chin tilting up to compensate for the height difference now that you’re up on the fountain’s basin.

You hum, your own hands resting on the inside of his elbows as his hands wander further up “I wanted to know what it was like”

“The rain?” he deadpans softly, hands trailing up to push the hair out of your shoulders and squeeze and twist it so the water would drain out of it.

“I haven’t been under the rain for centuries, you made me promise not to” you remind him, fingers tapping mindlessly against his arm with an slow rhythm.

There's a ghost of amused indulgence in the corner of his lips as they twitch up “Is this your way of defying me? By breaking your promises?” he asks, hands cupping your jaw as he dries your cheeks.

“I don’t have wings anymore”

His eyes sober up, looking between yours.

Because it’s raw, and emotional. And it’s something.

It’s finally giving in and resting upon him, not being able to drift away from the grief it caused you to not be free anymore.

He purses his lips “Share your mind with me, little bird” he whispers, a plea for what he’s been asking from you for days now.

You swallow hard, squeezing his forearms “It is not a matter of the mind” you croak out, trying to make him understand.

Morpheus’ hand slides down to your waist as he makes you step down from the edge of the basin. As he looks down at you, he stops the invisible ring from protecting you both from the rain. 

Your gasp turns into a surprised huff of laughter, looking around for a second before focusing back on him.

“Let it wash it away” he whispers to you.

And after that, the rain starts to give the Dreaming it’s well deserved rest.

For you are forgiven.

Later inside the warm water of the bathtub you hug your legs as you come to understand what he meant by fragile.

You were trembling when you reached your tower, nose running and teeth chattering. It was an immediate relief to be able to get into hot water— to rest surrounded by warmth.

Lilacs surrounded you, their scent sticking to your skin and hair making it your own.

Stretching, you rest against the white porcelain of the bath— sighing deeply as your hands play with a few petals.

Thinking back to the moment of your absolution, you wonder if Morpheus was ever angry to begin with or if you made yourself unreachable. Either way, it feels kind of silly now that you’re forgiven and gifted so many indulgences.

His hand in yours, elegant and respectful, as he walks you back into the palace with the rain covering you both.

The soft squeezing of your fingers and the small hesitation before watching you part with his far more dry coat engulfing you in warmth.

You cover your face with your hands, sighing as you try to shake the feeling of embarrassment rushing through you— a small smile on your lips as your own hands slide down to cup your jaw as he did earlier.

And, out of nowhere, you leave a small kiss on your palm as if they were his hands on you— 

You think you’re going crazy. Delirium’s probably bubbling with amazement at how silly you were acting in your own private rooms— she probably didn’t see it coming, always the serious raven now giggling like a mere mortal buzzing with excitement upon such a small caress.

It was a fair exchange, you think to yourself: your beautiful shiny feathers for this soft and warm skin.

If it meant it would entice him to touch you more often.

Taglist! 🤎 @elinadenise @thelady-of-dragonfire @radioactivewatson @jeshomie @getitrtealgood @stranger-chan

next part: 005

[thepaintedlady00]

The Sandman and The Girl Without Dreams

The Amended Edition

Amended Edition Masterlist | Chapter 1

Prologue: When the Dreamless Sleep

Suuurrrprriiisseeee! 🥳 Kind of, not really 🤣 So, obviously, after watching season 2 of The Sandman, I reread this series and spotted a few kinks in my timeline/story elements. So, I decided to rewrite the whole thing in what's being lovingly called "the novel edition" by my friends 😅 Most major things won't change (the very end excluded), but I hope this adds some clarity as well as just some more content with our favorite soul-bound pair. The first thing you'll notice is shorter chapters (if you're also reading Nightshade, you've probably already noticed this). During my break from Tumblr I was working on some original projects and realized just how massive 30 to 40 page chapters are so I've spaced things out a bit more to make it a bit easier on the eyes and my fingers 🤣 Second thing you'll notice is a regularly scheduled post day 😅 I know going weeks between chapters sucks so I really wanted to do my best to get on top of posting every week. At the start of each month, I will be posting a "schedule" telling everyone what projects are gonna be posted and when so hopefully that helps! Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this amended edition of TSaTGWD while I quietly work on the sequel 👀.

As always, TW's will contain spoilers. From this series, you can expect strong language, general violence, blood, gore, nudity, sex, a bit of body horror here and there, general themes of abuse and trauma, mentions of (but no in-depth descriptions of): attempted assault, experimentation, and suicide attempts. There will be a Trigger warning at the beginning of every chapter, and as always, I will do my due diligence to include everything I can think of (if I do miss something, please feel free to comment or message me)

I once dreamed of a maze. The finely trimmed hedges towered up into the clear blue skies. Neatly cobbled paths twisted and turned in every direction one could imagine, and probably some that no one could. Even to my still young mind, it all appeared orderly, too orderly. It was as if every single stone had been placed by the hands of a meticulous god. I'd not know until much later just how right I was in that regard.

In my dream, I would walk for hours, following a tall figure donned in hideous robes, who always seemed just out of reach. The gentle clanging of a chain echoed in the silent maze, and each time I heard it, the figure seemed to grow further away. I'd reach my hand out, a name just there, on the tip of my tongue, and then the path and the hedges were washed away in a sea of black, like ink staining the pages of a book, erasing the knowledge within its pages forever.

After that, I no longer dreamed of anything. The ink dried on the pages of my mind, forever casting a shadow over the words it so desperately tried to write.

A beach.

A gate.

A palace.

A meadow.

Years passed, and soon my curse of dreamless sleep became a normal part of my life. All recollection I clung to of the maze, and its paths faded too into the dark. Dreamlessness in the dreary world of waking minds was a nightmare all its own.

*

My father’s voice echoed between the floorboards, and the whole estate quaked with every vile word he spewed. Realistically, I knew things weren’t actually shaking, but to my childlike mind, it certainly felt that way. I’d taken refuge under my bed, looking up at the crudely painted hues of the night sky that were hidden beneath the bed frame, as though if I willed it enough, I'd be transported inside the soft blues and lilacs.

I’d pressed my hands tightly over the ears of the small doll, my only friend, fully believing that she too could hear as I did.

“Don’t worry, Priscilla,” I whispered to her, fighting against tears. “He’ll be done soon, and mother will come up and tuck us in just like she always does.”

Though the doll did not reply, the feel of her slightly knotted hair beneath my palms helped soothe the ache within my chest. Her silky dress matched the light hues, and the messy stars that I'd tried my hand at stitching into her gown made her look as though she'd fallen from the very sky I'd painted. Her face was also adorned with tiny stars and swirls of color, an attempt I'd made to cover up the cracks along the side of her face where her ear had been chipped off.

“You aren't like everyone else, dear Priscilla,” I'd said once I'd finished my makeover of her. The words rattled in my mind, not entirely my own but not those of a stranger. “So, it won’t do to have you look like everyone else! You should look like you.”

My father had been furious with me when he'd finally noticed what I'd done. He'd shouted and screamed and hit me until I couldn't cry anymore. “Do you know how expensive this doll was?! It was certainly worth more than you!”

I wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes and pulled Priscilla up, hugging her to my chest as tightly as I could. “He'll be done soon. He'll be done, and mother will come. Mother always comes.”

It'd be another hour before those words were true, but eventually my mother knocked upon my door in that gentle way. “Are you still awake, dear?”

“Yes,” I whispered, still half hidden below the frill of the covers spilling over the side of the bed.

She opened the door, soft eyes finding my hiding spot instantly. Her face had begun to swell, red marks slowly changing colors. Yet, despite the pain I knew she felt, my mother smiled. “Come out from under there.”

“Is Father gone?”

“Yes,” she said, sadness and fear causing her mousy voice to crack. “He's gone to the pub. Won’t be back till morning.”

I crawled out and hurried into her arms. “Why was he angry? Did I… Did I upset him again?”

“No,” mother said, quickly wiping the tears from my eyes. “No, I… I made a mistake.”

“That's an accident,” I said, mind desperately trying to wrap around the much larger, elusive concept of what caused my father’s ire. “We don't get punished for accidents because they aren't anybody’s fault.”

Mother smiled, kneeling to gently twist my hair into loose braids as she spoke, “That's right. Your father… He's just been under a lot of pressure lately, that's all.”

I simply nodded, forcing the hundreds of questions that rose to mind back down. “I’m sorry he was mean to you.”

“Come, dear,” mother whispered, gently turning me towards the bed. “It’s time to sleep.”

“I don’t like sleeping,” I mumbled, tired eyes lingering on the open pages of my book, or rather the black butterfly that sat upon its ivory pages. “It’s always too dark now.”

Mother sat beside me, tenderly tucking me and Priscilla into the folds of the blanket as that little butterfly slowly beat its wings. “Still no more dreams?”

“No. No more mazes.” With a thick swallow and a shuddering breath, tears sprang to my eyes as I turned to look at her. “Mother… Is the Sandman angry with me? Did I upset him like I upset Father?”

“Oh,” she cooed, scooting up to lean over me with a sad sort of smile. “No, dear. You haven’t upset anyone.”

“He’s forgotten me, then?”

“Maybe he’s just… borrowed those marvelous dreams of yours,” she suggested, tucking stray hairs away from my face.

My brows furrowed, nose scrunching up in confusion. “Why would he want my dreams?”

“Because they’re beautiful.”

“Well, he can get his own beautiful dreams.”

A real smile finally spread across my mother’s face along with a gentle laugh that brought ease to my soul, echoing around me, surrounding me in warmth. With a gentle touch to my nose, she said, “The Sandman never forgets a dreamer. You’ll find those dreams, just you wait.”

She kissed my head first, then did the same to Priscilla’s. “Goodnight, mother.”

“Goodnight, my dear Penelope.”

The moonlight cast my bedroom in a silver glow as I tossed and turned. I stared at that butterfly, quietly whispering to it, “Do you know The Sandman?”

It beat its wings again.

“Well, if you do… Would you tell him I’d like to have a word with him?”

The butterfly lifted to the air, flitting aimlessly about my room. Quiet as a mouse, I pulled myself from the covers and hurried to the window, gently opening it. The butterfly flew out into the night, vanishing into the dark. “Goodbye!”

As my eyes drifted shut, met once again by that all-consuming darkness, I desperately thought the dreams to myself.

A beach.

A gate.

A palace.

A meadow.

"The Sandman never forgets a dreamer.”

Well, the Sandman, on the unlikely chance he was real, was a forgetful ass.

[writing-for-life]

Dream’s Therapist

Parents and Children

My supervisor (whom I have worked with for eleven years) listened to my case summary and then just asked, “Are you sure you’re not the one who needs therapy?”

I told her that was not constructive feedback. She told me to maintain my boundaries and consider whether I was experiencing “a mild folie à deux or a very compelling narrative framework.” I told her I would think about it. I am still thinking about it… I also googled “Orpheus & Greek mythology” again at 11pm on Thursday, which I am choosing not to disclose to anyone.

He arrives early again, so we’re back to that. But he somehow managed to sit in my office already when I come back from the restroom, and I can’t imagine my receptionist just let him in? I make a clinical decision to stop noting these things as anomalies and file them under “client’s unique presentation.”

DT: You’re a few minutes early.

Dream: (I notice mild affront, as if I’ve caught him.) I was not aware punctuality was calibrated so precisely.

DT: It isn’t. It’s just… never mind.

Dream: I found I did not… wish to wait outside.

DT: (Maybe he should bring that interesting reading material again the next time.) How have you been this week?

Dream: (He looks older today. Not in a real way, his face is unchanged, but there’s a weight to how he sits.) I visited the Soft Places.

DT: The what?

Dream: (The ghost of something passes over his face. Is it amusement?) It is… complicated. I sometimes go there to think. To… remember.

DT: And what did you remember?

Dream: Orpheus. When he was very young. Before he understood what I was and simply thought I was his father.

DT: Simply.

Dream: (He glances at me.) You are very perceptive. (He isn’t sarcastic or facetious, I can tell.)

DT: Words hold meaning.

Dream: (He looks slightly surprised and then smiles. Barely.) Yes, they do. (The smile disappears.) It was… not painful. Remembering. It was simply him, demanding I lift him up to see something he could not reach. (I notice a frown.) I cannot remember what it was he wanted to see. Only that he asked.

DT: And did you? Lift him up?

Dream: Yes. (He pauses.) It was easier, then. When the answer to what he needed was… simple.

DT: As opposed to what he needed later?

Dream: (I notice both hands press briefly against his thighs, a gesture I’ve come to understand as stopping himself from doing something. Speaking? Falling apart?) Yes.

DT: Last week, you said you couldn’t teach him how to be with grief.

Dream: (The brow furrows again.) Yes.

DT: I’ve been thinking about that. Who taught you?

Dream: (I notice immediate tension.) I beg your pardon?

DT: Grief. Loss. How to cope. Who showed you that was possible?

Dream: (Four minutes of silence. The paperweight is getting a workout. I genuinely need to know what it is about that object. If I moved it, would we lose all progress?) I am… not certain anyone did.

DT: (And there it is.) Can you tell me about your parents?

Dream: (Something happens to his expression. It’s like a door slams shut.) My parents?

DT: If you’d like to. You don’t have to.

Dream: I already told you that my mother is Night and my father is Time. Does our previous conversation about them not suffice?

DT: (I have made a professional commitment to therapeutic neutrality but at this point I feel I’ve earned some kind of coping badge.) Well, you spoke about them, but you told me very little that wasn’t evasive. (He does that weird thing with his spine again that makes me worry it might snap.) What were they truly like? As parents?

Dream: (He tilts his head, very slightly.) Vast.

DT: (I wait.)

Dream: They were… (He seems to search.) They were what they were. One does not expect closeness from someone who moves on. Or warmth from a dark void.

DT: One doesn’t. But did you?

Dream: I am not a philosopher.

DT: Fair point. (Maybe not entirely true.) Did you feel seen?

Dream: (He appears to genuinely consider this.) I felt… brought into being. Which is perhaps a different thing.

DT: It is a different thing. How is it different in your opinion?

Dream: (He looks at his hands.) To be seen, one must first be… looked at. I think perhaps I came into being, and then I was (he gestures vaguely) released. Into function.

DT: Released into function. (I write this down, because sometimes clients hand you the thread and all you have to do is pull at it.) That sounds lonely.

Dream: (I notice a quick blink.) I did not experience it as lonely at the time. I experienced it as… correct. As the nature of things.

DT: And now?

Dream: (The pause is not long, but it is heavy.) Now I wonder what I might have learned, had anyone thought to… (He shakes his head.) This is not a productive line of inquiry.

DT: (I disagree quite strongly but I don’t say it.) You mentioned last week that Calliope said you loved your function more than you loved Orpheus. (I notice his jaw tighten.) Where do you think you learned that? That function comes first?

Dream: (I watch the realisation arriving on his face in real time)

DT: (I wait. For six minutes.)

Dream: I was not taught that love and function were separable things.

DT: Because nobody separated them for you?

Dream: (His voice is very measured.) I was given a realm. A purpose. Before I was given…

DT: Before you were given what?

Dream: (He looks at me, and something in his face is… raw. Last week was grief. This is something different.) I… do not entirely know what I was not given. I have no words for its absence.

DT: (Oh, I think he does!) It doesn’t have to be precise. It sometimes helps to remember what we wished for before we… gave up wishing for it? Of course only if that’s not too painful.

Dream: It is… that. (The following silence lasts three minutes, during which he looks at his hands again.) However, I thought… I believed that what I gave him was love. And purpose. But he might have needed something I did not know how to provide. Because no one had provided it for me…

DT: And what is that thing?

Dream: (He is still looking at his hands.) Perhaps to be held… through confusion and pain.

DT: (I should probably say something clinical and useful here.) Yes. (Very useful. Not.)

Dream: (He looks up.) I should have failed beside him rather than above him.

DT: (My eyes are doing something professionally unacceptable and I’m hoping he won’t notice. But he probably did.) That’s a bit harsh, but…

Dream: It is also, naturally only approximately, several thousand years too late.

DT: (I cannot help it. I almost laugh, and I really shouldn’t.) Timing isn’t everything.

Dream: (He gives me The Look™️ B: the one that is reproachful but not unkind.) I find your optimism… vexing. Occasionally.

DT: (Good. That means it’s working.) Can I ask you something?

Dream: (He nods.)

DT: If Orpheus were here right now, what would you want to say to him?

Dream: (Four minutes. He seems somewhere else entirely. When he returns, his voice is almost inaudible.) I would say… that I am sorry. That I sometimes did not know how to be his father without also being… (He seems to reach for the elegant version and finally gives up on it.) Without being this. (He gestures at himself.)

DT: And is that enough?

Dream: (He meets my eyes.) No.

DT: (Man, that hurts.) But is it true?

Dream: It is.

DT: (I let that sit for a bit.) How are you feeling right now?

Dream: (He seems to take stock.) Tired. But… somewhat lighter. Which is strange, given the subject matter.

DT: That’s how it works. At least sometimes. (I glance at the clock. I have built in buffer time.) You said something last week, right at the end. That love feels insurmountable.

Dream: (He remembers. Clearly.) Yes.

DT: I’d like to come back to that next time, if that’s alright.

Dream: I already thought about it. (He briefly closes his eyes.) I think perhaps what I meant was… that to love someone you cannot protect is a form of terror. And I have spent a very long time refusing to be terrified.

DT: (Help… I write that down.) And now?

Dream: (He stands slowly and looks at the paperweight, then at me.) Now I am in therapy. (He says it with complete sincerity, which is somehow the funniest and saddest thing at once.)

DT: Same time next week?

Dream: (He is already at the door.) I find I… look forward to it. (He says this as one might confess to a minor character flaw.) It is disconcerting.

DT: Looking forward to things is allowed, you know?

Dream: Is it? (I think he’s really not sure but he leaves before I can answer...)

— — —

Notes:

Client shows increased investment in the therapeutic relationship and reduced avoidance.

Significant developments this session:

Return to parental figures. Early relational environment characterised by a striking absence of modelled intimacy. “Released into function” is very precise: He was, by his own account, “made” and then simply expected to fulfil his function.

Clear emergence of intergenerational transmission: Client received “purpose” and role without the experience of being emotionally held or seen. He then replicated this pattern with Orpheus in place of presence, vulnerability, and “failing beside him instead of above him” (his phrase).

First genuine integration of self-compassion alongside accountability: Client recognised that his failures as a father were not born of indifference. It does not erase the grief or the guilt, nor should it, but it begins to place both within a larger context.

Note the difference from earlier sessions, where all emotional content required excavation.

End-of-session disclosure (he looks forward to sessions) is encouraging. Attachment to the therapeutic process is forming, which presents its own clinical considerations (dependency, termination planning, the fact that I am increasingly unsure what termination would even look like in this case).

Key themes for continued exploration:

“Love as terror”: This connects to his relationship with vulnerability and control.

His parents. We have barely touched the surface. How does one form a secure attachment to Night and Time? I suspect this is where the rigidity originates, as adaptation, possibly oppositional. Perfectly reasonable if your earliest caregivers are, by definition, boundless and constantly changing.

The question he asked as he left (“Is it?” in response to being told that looking forward to things is allowed): He did not wait for an answer. I don’t think he was asking rhetorically. I think he genuinely doesn’t know.

Risk: Grief appears to be integrating rather than escalating. Hopeful signs. Continue monitoring closely.

— — —

Personal notes:

I moved the paperweight to a slightly more central position on the desk before he arrived. I don’t know why. I’m not telling my supervisor. She would have thoughts.

The note I definitely won’t put in the file: “To love someone you cannot protect is a form of terror.” I keep returning to it. I think he handed me something today that I didn’t know I needed. Is this countertransference, or is it possibly just true?

I’m going to need a longer lunch break. And possibly a different supervisor...

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