Heart in the Stars

Özlem. Multifandom ☆  MUSTAFA KEMAL ATATÜRK ☆ Believe in imposibilities. Feminist. ☆ "Her feet on the ground, her heart in the stars."

[sheikonfleek]

“You need to believe in things that aren’t true. How else can they become” - Hogfather, Terry Pratchett

[captainlordauditor]

it’s seasonal lads

[captainlordauditor]

IT’S SEASONAL AGAIN LADS

[terrible-tentacle-theatre]

‘Tis the season so I’ll reblog my absolute favorite Terry Pratchett quote ever

Happy holidays folks

[otatma]

welp

[variablejabberwocky]

#The wisdom#The kind that sits on your chest heavily#And you don’t so much get over it as you learn to keep existing with its weight

[nicostiel]

Good Omens 2 + Text Posts

[neptunesbounty]

Beauty of the Universe II - Colors

[quotemadness]

I needed to be somewhere different. Maybe I needed to be someone different, too.

Heather Davis

[quotemadness]

“I don’t know. And I don’t know how to make it stop.”

— Victoria Aveyard

[fauxraven]

Can I request that me and Morpheus are husband and wife and I have telekinesis and I protect him from all the people who are after him but i over use them and I pass out but release a energy blast but he catches me in his arms and places me in his bed until I wake up and I finally reveal who I am and he is very sweet about it

Brave New Dream

pairing: Dream of the Endless x Powerful fem!reader

summary: a thousand lifetimes of protecting the man you love and a billion reasons to love you more.

warnings: slight spoilers for the comics.

word count: 3k+

dedicated to this lovely Anon who, I hope will enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Not sure this is what you had in mind but I took a bit of a creative license ;)

Enter the Dream, weary traveller

The universe began in death.

The world as humans know it was created billions and billions and trillions of years ago.

And for the longest time, there was nothing there.

Not even darkness.

Nothing but a pile of rocks that I'd crafted from my tears, long before I even knew about tears; long before I even knew about sadness.

Long before I knew about anything at all.

Unfortunately, the concept of sadness is one I’ve become familiar with. It's a concept I completely owe to myself, lest there be a Depression of the Endless I would be unaware of.

Naturally, sadness has never only really been just sadness.

And love has never really been just love.

Sadness and love; the only things I've ever taken for granted. I drag them behind me, like one of my husband's long billowing coats, on my road to eternity.

And eternity, is unbearable.

Eternity is impervious to evolution.

Eternity is impervious to the big D.

Eternity has never been anything else but existence, uninterrupted.

Nothing but me, sitting cross-legged on a giant rock floating in endless nothingness, watching stars bursting into life.

Billions and billions of lives.

Billions and billions of deaths.

Aeons fly by.

Atoms arrange, break down, rearrange, reshape, remodel in an infinite scheme for life.

And of this new process, burst life, everlasting.

The Creator came first.

He shaped worlds and realities of incomparable beauty, worlds that I could admire from my rock in a secluded part of this new universe. For him, I was grateful.

The Designer came second.

She'd always been here, in a way, just like me, but the Elden Books only gave her life meaning when her disembodied eyes had found those of her equal. For her, I was devastated.

Mother Night and Father Time were a logic addition to this bubbling garden of life, looking back.

Night and Time.

The essence of youth, ebbing away, crumbling to dust with each passing day; the everlasting presence of darkness itself, allowing thought to mankind, spawning fear and wonder in equal parts.

Night and Time. They never even knew I was there.

Night and Time and their children.

Seven Endless, seven beings, just as lost as I. Seven creatures of obedience and rules and death and destiny and dream and destruction and despair and desire and delight and—

Love.

So much love.

At first sight really; at first heartbeat.

But they were meant for inspiration, these beings, nothing else. Never anything else.

Whereas I was meant to watch.

From the darkest yet untrodden corner of a burgeoning universe, in a form that was not my own and thoughts that never sparred with anyone nor anything else. For them, I became everything that I am today.

But the beginning is important to this story; perhaps twice as important as the end. As it was from this very rock of oblivion, that I witnessed the purest thing yet.

The universe began with a dream.

A tiny dream, the first dream ever dreamt.

A fickle thing born of love.

A firstborn daughter, dreaming of her father, long since dead in battle. Fuzzy around the edges, the dream had no tangible contender, nor substance.

The father had no face to look at, no eyes to stare into nor voice to listen to; he was only as strong as all the men in her village, but the babe had no use for a face, only for a feeling.

She saw herself as older, fuller, running into his arms and laughing—laughing is not quite the opposite of crying, you see, but it is a merciful lie, one we tell ourselves to preserve our hearts, if only for a moment.

And the newly-born Dream Lord, barely more than a babe himself, was the sole puppeteer of this blooming hope.

And he was beautiful.

I loved him instantly for it.

I loved him for hope, I loved him for dreams, I loved him for love, even. I loved him for everything he could do and everything he could be. I loved him because when I thought of him I didn't feel quite as alone anymore.

I loved him because he gave me the courage to leave my rock and set sail for the stars. He'd never admit it, but Earth had always been his favourite of all worlds. And so it became mine.

Every waking moment, I sought to protect him. To love him from afar, rather than to not love him at all.

These days, it proved harder a task than usual.

The turn of the Twentieth century had offered me many things.

Semi-security, as a traveller, a woman, an impossible being. I'd been burnt as a witch, drowned as a witch, scalped as a witch, wheeled as a fae and hanged as a thief. I did not enact revenge. All of these were true, to some extent.

I'd established various homes across the aeons, found others like me, befriended some, hated nearly all of them. Always loved him.

Human beings are selfish by nature, but they have a knack to come about it that is just so ethereally beautiful and insightful and... magnificent. Just so uniquely human.

My love was just as self-absorbed. My friends themselves had some choice words about my aeon-long pining.

But of those friends, I particularly resented one.

Madame Klare was nothing particularly graceful nor spiteful. Only horrifyingly, tediously decent.

She knew of my shameful feelings, naturally. I reckon her exact words were A worthless waste of cosmic time, or some such lines.

The jab wasn't strictly intended to my feelings but rather to the unconventional way I chose to deal with them.

You see, I wholeheartedly believe that ire and hate are driving emotions, but there comes a time when the well of hate has run dry, when ire is no longer burning away in a pit but dying out in a shallow pool.

But love... love is infinite.

And when you love something as much as I love Morpheus, you protect it. It's the most... natural thing in the worlds—all and every of them worlds.

And time and time again, I protected him.

It began like a drawl; a slow, steady choreography that I practised alone from behind a one-way mirror—the Selena Gomez to his Drew Seeley.

He was a dark dot on a map, followed by a burst of light—life and love, everlasting.

My entire lives, I kept running after him.

After billions and billions of years, I was awarded a holiday by my dear friend.

A centennial thing—every three hundred years, she would kick my ass to the curb. I would leave for a century; go off-world, love myself, love the stars, come back and resume my duties to my one true love.

It was also during this century of lenience that my love was stolen from me.

I encountered him again some time later in a park in England, feeding the pigeons, of all things. I found him changed, in an odd, less tormented way.

The sun was showing her glowing head, burning brightly on an amateur soccer game. A fevered child ran past Dream of the Endless—he glanced at it with disdain and I stifled a laugh.

Needless to say, in this picturesque landscape, the broody dream Lord stood out like a sore thumb.

Something in him called out to something buried in me. For the first time, I decided to break my own rules.

He didn’t notice when I sat beside him.

‘’I love pigeons. They only ever need you for food but at least they’re very straightforward little bastards about it.’’

He gave me a sideway glance—sapphire blue and decaying hopes—and flicked another crumb to the surrounding flock.

There have been many an occasion, many a cause for his sadness over the years.

Sadness swallowed him whole every time.

Which is why I’d promised myself that I would never be the source of it.

Sadness was a default setting for both of us, but his was an infinite whirlpool, a tiny part of an endless ocean, extinguishing all hope of light it came across. And for a very long time, I thought this was all there was. But his sadness was so much deeper, so much stranger and so much more beautiful than that. Than mine. He was it. He was my everything.

My hand found his knee; only for a second, only for a tiny speck of comfort magic to weave through the dark jeans, through muscle, make-believe tissue and bone and there—the heart of an endless.

He looked at me then. At the smile I unknowingly offered him and the warm touch of my hand on his knee. And panic set in. Like every time for the past ten billion years, I scrammed.

⚭ ⚭ ⚭

The universe was playing a cruel joke on me.

The cruelest yet.

I simply kept seeing him everywhere, without even looking.

I wasn’t being strictly honest with myself either.

I knew about Hob and the New Inn; I had known about everything for a very long time.

I just didn’t expect he would see me right away.

I didn’t expect Hob to point a finger to the standoffish girl who’d been stalking his old friend for hours. I didn’t expect the man himself to look over. I didn’t expect my legs to be such traitors in the nick of time.

‘’Hi,’’ Keep it cool. Keep it together. Oh, god. He’s looking at me. He’s really looking at me and seeing me and I’m standing there, not doing anything. ‘’Can I… buy you a drink?’’

I’d done many stupid things over time. Hurt a lot, broke my own heart, shadowed him dutifully.

Loved him with everything that I had.

Of that, I said nothing.

I spoke of awkward things, shallow things, lively things, shiny things and funny things.

He didn’t laugh. He didn’t say much at all. He just kept staring and listening and I was entirely convinced that by the end of the evening I would scramble off back to my rock.

But I did not.

And he asked to see me again.

From there, something blossomed. Something beautiful and unlikely and ultimately based on lies.

But life went on.

And we… we fell into this lie so easily—he, digging deeper into the clumsy courtship and I, burying myself in a grave made of my own rules. It looked an awful lot like the underside of a cosmic rock.

He believed me human; of all things.

He saw my messy flat, and my boho friends and he showed me his realm and his love and it all absolutely terrified me.

I began by lying to my boyfriend.

Before long, I kept lying to my husband.

In all fairness, I’d denied him, the first time.

And despite his sadness and anguish, and my own self-loathing, I kept denying him until I just couldn’t anymore.

The wedding itself was all very briskly. Unexpected.

Right after I’d said no for the fifth time and just before I’d said yes for the first.

Something blue, something stolen, an immortal best man and his sister Death, officiating a small barely-put-together ceremony in the middle of an English park. It was perfect. It was everything.

I tried to convince myself that I was happy. I tried to live in a lie. I chose to kiss my husband every day, to chase his touch, to listen to the voice in me that needed him nearly as much as he needed me.

But every story, if you keep it going long enough, ends in death.

Death, is no beautiful lady on a languid trek through Brighton.

Death, is a burst of light, with a twist.

It’s a blonde woman who’s just lost a son and will take it out on anyone.

On the love of all my lives.

My physical form is used to these instincts by now. I should know better. I really, really should know better.

My mind follows, leaping from the confines of a rock at the borders of a forgotten universe.

I stand between a broken woman and a tattered dream—and I burst. I let it engulf all parts of me in every world that I’ve ever known. My power reacts on its own, fuelled by instincts and a dreary endless life without him.

This life remembers aeons of solitude.

It remembers bright skies and a dream of love. It remembers an otherworldly burst of light and a bewildered dream and a fuzzy mother.

This death remembers an endless embrace of sinew and a bed of starlight and wobbling bookshelves coming into focus.

‘’Boss? I think she’s coming to.’’

‘’My dream? Can you hear me?’’

A fuzzy dream of love and a talking raven.

A throbbing head and a loving hand in the small of my back, helping me up.

‘’What’s happening?’’ No. Wrong question entirely. ‘’What happened?’’

‘’It seems you’ve used up your… energy. Trying to help me.’’

‘’He means that you totally kicked ass today.’’

The raven isn’t an unusual sight. The bite in my husband’s eyes however…

It’s not that I haven’t seen this gaze before; this cool, unperturbed, assessing gaze. It’s just that I have never seen it in relation to me. This is death, for the first time in fifty billion years.

‘’Leave us.’’

The master’s orders are seldom discussed, and I am eternally grateful to Matthew for his slight twitch and dubious glance but I reassure him with a small smile. The bird flies away through a window; a window I recognise. Dream’s window. Our window in our little cosmic alcove, here, in his kingdom.

‘’It’s nice to see you still consider me enough to spare a pillow for my head,’’ I observe, stretching on the silk sheets and throwing him a coy smile. ‘’But whatever should we do with this insanely large bed?’’

‘’You lied to me.’’

The bite is cutting, gritted through a carefully crafted mask of indifference. It hurts more than the fleeting ghost touch of brushing against him in a busy street. More than shoving sixteenth century robbers with a wandering eye for rubies against a wall of a tavern with the force of my mind. Far more than nudging an engagement ring towards the man I’ve always loved, painfully aware that he would be gifting it to another woman.

‘’I’m not human, Morpheus.’’

The words are painful; they clog in my throat, and I wish to take them back immediately. A teardrop glistens in his endless eyes. I want to reach up and collect it before it falls.

‘’What, then?’’

‘’I don’t know. Not exactly. I never have. I just know that I’m old. Older than you.’’

He chuckles bitterly. ‘’That is impossible.’’

‘’Nothing is impossible. You taught me that.’’

‘’It’s all been a lie, has it not?’’

‘’Yes.’’ I’m desperate. Pathetic. His. ‘’You have to understand, I just wanted to protect you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, baby.’’

‘’You lie.’’

‘’I live for you.’’ I put his hand over the last beating organ I have left and kiss his tears away. ‘’I burn for you. I die for you.’’

‘’You’ve killed for me, my love. And you almost did die as well.’’

‘’I’ll do it again. Tomorrow if you’re free. I might have to sneak out, though. My husband gets awfully jealous; in this very hot very red-flaggy way.’’

He gives a snort—even that is dignified—and takes my face into his hands. ‘’You’ve overwhelmed yourself.’’

‘’Happens once every millennia. Only with you though. Always with you.’’

And then I read it. The confusion in his face. Dream’s always been an open book to me; an open books of books, Destiny’s own damned tome of forged tales. Dream is my fate, I know that now.

‘’When? When did you start…’’

Complete and unabridged truth. In sickness and in health. For now and until forever ends.

‘’Do you remember Alianora?’’

He remembers. He remembers everything.

‘’She needed a bit of a nudge to cross over. Took care of those lousy gods though, did she not?’’

I did it. It’s done. Out in the multiverse.

I’ve just admitted to indirectly saving his life and his realm. I’ve just admitted to unknowingly third wheeling in one of his earliest relationships. I’ve just admitted to loving him, for eons past.

‘’That was you? You helped her then?’’

‘’And a few more times across time. Once or twice or a billion. You, mister, are a magnet for trouble.’’

‘’You should have shown yourself.’’

‘’I had no wish to trample on your happiness. I wanted you happy, even if it wasn’t with me. That’s what love is, isn’t it?’’

‘’I love you.’’ He says after a drop. His admission has my own eyes watering. ‘’I think I loved you even when I didn’t know you.’’

‘’I don’t,’’ I sob into his jaw. ‘’I hate myself. I hate myself for not being there, for not being by your side when you were imprisoned.’’

‘’Do not fret. I was released and then—I met you.’’

He’s lost his eloquence somewhere in this mess of tears and snot that we share, and the kisses I keep peppering along his jaw and the thousand truths I haven’t told him yet. But I purposely pause to tell him this one.

‘’That wasn’t easy, you know.’’

He pauses as well to look me in the eyes properly.

‘’A real hurdle. There were guards everywhere and I can’t reach that far on my own. I just had to make it look like an accident—a misplaced swipe of a tired wheel. But it worked. It set you free, and I am so glad that it did, because then I wouldn’t have had these glorious years with you. I peaked, I really did.’’

He stands frozen for a moment.

My dream king, prince of stories who’s just been told an entirely new one that he doesn’t understand.

I stare deeply into those starlight eyes only to find that I can read him no longer. It frightens me beyond compare.

‘’Please, say something.’’

He inhales deeply, nostrils flaring as he brushes my temple with a soft thumb. The moment drags on with the sweetest touch before I catch his fallen tear with my trembling lips. Against those, he whispers shakily.

‘’Can I… buy you a drink, Dream Queen?’’

A/N: Some soft, out-of-character Dream, but who’s complaining?

[jasons-unopened-books-deactivat]

Tim with the microwave- i can't.

[undiscovered-horizon]

"Gilded Cage" - Dark!Morpheus x Reader [TW: dark themes (referenced depression and suicide), obsessive behaviour, explicit language, glorifying captivity?, cringy lines]

SUMMARY: Your unhappiness seeps into your dreams. The pain in them piques Morpheus's interest. From the very first moment he sees you, he knows what he has to do, regardless of the price. A queen, after all, ought not to have a single hair fall from her head.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.3k

This story began when I fell asleep There was a mysterious ache inside me  All my faults and thoughts buried deep And in this world, I was nothing and everything A lost soul with too many secrets to keep Looking at the bright streets beneath I was wandering the edge of universe yet I couldn’t leap The cold breeze wrapped around me The Moon and the stars silent as I weep I became the brass and the gold, an abyss and a god L’appel du vide

Your dreams were like an itch he couldn't scratch, a speck of dust he couldn't get out of his eye; always in the back of his head, a shadow dancing at the edge of his vision. Had they been in any way pleasant, he wouldn't mind them as much - God knew how much he needed something pleasant in his otherwise bleak life. But they weren't anywhere close to "nice". The darkness residing in your dreams bothered him to no end, never quite letting him go like a blister that is scratched open with each painful step. Strangely enough, such a course of events was completely foreign to Morpheus - people's dreams and nightmares never stuck to him for longer than the fraction of a second between an exhale and an inhale.

At first, he feared he became privy to the first tremor of a shattering earthquake, that your misery was an omen of something much darker and sinister. Fearing for the well-being of his realm, Morpheus followed your dreams to venture into the Waking World and find you. Honestly, he was expecting to uncover a true calamity but he never did see it - at least not in the form he had thought.

What he saw was, in fact, a lot worse. All calamities have a source, the eye of the storm, but this one clearly didn't. It would all be very bitterly funny if it wasn't so heartbreaking - how everything you touched ended in pain and loneliness, rarely because of you at that. Your frustrations quickly became his own. Watching you go through every day like you were screaming at the world to let you be happy, to let you have something good for a second, but the entirety of creation was separated from you by a glass wall: you could only watch and weep. Were you cursed or hexed? No, he would have noticed something of that sort. Then what was it? What unnamed sorcery made you the scapegoat of humanity?

He once spent an entire night standing under your window like Romeo admiring Juliet. For hours on end, you were sitting with your face against the cold glass, eyes forever watching the moon travel across the black sky. Your tears slowly rolled down your cheeks as your vacant stare begged the universe for an explanation of its injustice. It pained Morpheus how beautiful and tragic you looked. Perhaps you truly weren't of this world? Would you not find your place in a baroque painting? Part of him wished he could paint that heartbreaking view. Not for his selfish pleasure, no, but for the whole world to be reminded of its barbarity until Judgment Day.

And Morpheus simply stood there until sun rays chased the world's dreams and nightmares away. He wasn't quite sure why he remained a watcher for the entire night. Maybe you appeared so distraught and fragile he feared that the moment he looks away the sunless abyss of secrets unspoken will devour you; that if he left his post there would be nothing tying you to this realm.

A lot has changed because of that night but mostly Morpheus himself had undergone some kind of transformation - he became quieter if that was ever possible and more irritable. He would pace around the throne room, clearly thinking intensely about something but never revealing what it was. And with time, he began to neglect his royal duties, disappearing for hours if not days on end, only to come back and refuse to give any explanation.

Little did you know that he was always there like a guardian angel that never abandoned its duty despite being exiled from heaven; hiding around corners as though he was a mere delusion that lingered on the edges of your vision. Wherever you went, he followed, often leaving pain and terror behind. Things started becoming weirder around you in the sense that people would fall to strange ailments or spiral into madness. Some never woke up, while others went for days without sleep. A snarky acquaintance did everything they could to not fall asleep in fear of the nightmares that awaited them. A cynical relative lost their mind and claimed that horrendous creatures from their night terrors trespassed into reality. Perhaps it was crude to say so but you felt a sense of relief at those tragedies: people too busy with their microapocalypses were too busy to add nails to your coffin, too preoccupied with themselves to put you on the receiving end of their wickedness.

But to Morpheus's terror, his tricks and punishments were not enough to aid your woe. They were merely temporary solutions like putting a bandaid over a stab wound. His anger only grew as the universe laughed in his face and continued its merciless quest for maintaining your unhappiness. Morpheus was forced to watch you being stuck in a cruel cycle of perpetual misfortunes and how you'd cry yourself to sleep only to somehow get out of bed in the morning and carried on, day by day. You were akin to Atlas but Atlas only carried the globe, not the peskiness of the cosmos like you did.

The streetlights lit brightly underneath you. Cars and motorbikes sped through the labyrinth of streets as if chasing time itself. Someone was walking their dog, a man was going home after his shift, a couple chatted happily while walking to a restaurant. They were each in their own microcosms, moving to the rhythm of life. All, except you. How could everyone simply live on, find balance and happiness in their unchanged daily bread? Was there something you missed? A secret you were never told? Or, perhaps, the answer was a lot simpler: you didn't deserve contentment. The fact that you came into this world was nothing more but a slip-up, a stumbling step taken while the person blinks.

You looked at the people filling the streets beneath you. From the distance, they were all so small, unimportant, cold. They never looked up to the tops of buildings, never acknowledged the acrobatics of someone struggling to cling to life. Even if they did, they probably wouldn't care - your hypothetical death was, after all, none of their business. Standing on the rooftop, you were no longer part of the same plane as them. Perhaps, you never truly were. Is that what birds saw as they flew over your head?

The rooftop was so high and the street so low... Would it hurt to fall? And the falling, would it take long? Lying on the cold cobblestone, your hot blood warming the otherwise cold world, how would this starry sky look? Would this rooftop look as faraway then as the street looked now? Would the pavement feel rigid and uncomfortable under your broken bones?

But, maybe, you had the strength to try one last time before taking that path. You looked up at the starry firmament and let out a sigh before speaking quietly. "Hey," you called out to the night sky, "if there's anyone out there, and I highly doubt that, can you help me a little? Life's a bitch, you know? I just... I just need a win. Something good, no matter how small, so I don't feel like my entire existence is pointless if not a burden. But if there really is someone out there, you're probably busy anyway. I mean, there's more important work to do than answer my whining, right? Wars to end, cancers to heal... But if you have a spare second, maybe you could give me something good. Or kill me, I don't care anymore."

"I have listened to your prayer and I heard your suffering."

Surprised and confused, you turned around to look at the stranger. He was tall and lanky, with dishevelled hair and a cold look in his eyes. In some strange and fascinating way, he did not look real but rather like a scribble that came to life; like a raven if it was reborn as a human.

"Who are you?"

"I am Morpheus, Lord of the Dreams," he slowly spoke in a low tone. "I came to answer your call."

As strange as it was to admit it, that was the truth: for the first time in your life, somebody answered your prayer. "I'm sorry, I didn't actually think this would work. I'm not much of a believer."

"And yet I came. Why did you call?"

No words left you at first. A shattering, painful tremble clawed through your body as that gaping hole in your chest was reponed. This sadness... it felt like being stabbed; like your body was so numb in its agony that you couldn't breathe. The full moon's silver light glistened in your tears as if it wasn't you weeping but the stars.

"I am violently unhappy," you confessed.

You didn't see it but Morpheus clenched his fist for a moment, which was more than strange - after all, he knew about your misery beforehand. Perhaps it was your admittance, irrefutable proof of your awareness of the injustice bestowed upon you, that gnawed at him. "Why is that?" he asked as calmly as he could.

"God, where do I even begin... It feels like everyone around me has something I don't like a love song only I can't hear. There's something wrong with me, I wasn't meant to be born into this world. I don't belong here. Nothing I do has any value, I can't keep up with the rest. You try and you try and it's never enough. No matter what you do or how. No one cares about your pain until it somehow involves them. I'm just so... tired."

"They will never stop disappointing you," he said as he walked towards you. Whether it was his own belief or merely something you wanted to hear, didn't matter. For Morpheus, it was one and the same.

"Every day I wake up to a web of human lives I've been woven into against my will, fulfil meaningless duties no one likes and yet everyone follows. Then I come back home to rest only for this pointless cycle to begin again in the morning. And I can't help but wonder if there is no third act where I'm someone special? Where I matter? Is this bland suffering all there is?"

"No," he spoke barely above a breath. "There is much, much more to this world. I could free you from this life."

"Free me?" you asked with a dry scoff. "I am as free as one can be: I love nothing and I'm loved by no one."

Morpheus, however, was a steadfast person and that annoying affliction only grew in strength the longer he was in your vicinity as if your presence was gradually gnawing at his sanity. It was an exchange he'd welcome more than warmly: his reason for your companionship. "You could be the pinnacle of my desire, the anger that forces my hand. All that breaks your heart will have to beg for my forgiveness. There shall be no day when all of my existence does not belong to you. I will bleed out just to quench your thirst." He took another step towards you, his face leaning in so close your noses were almost brushing. "If you do not wish for this freedom, let me imprison you." Then, in a wavering voice, he added: "Please."

His offer made your heart nearly jump out of your chest but you knew better than to immediately agree - he didn't deserve such a burden. Feeling shame and disgust with yourself, you looked away from him. "You will change your mind the moment you get to know me. I'm nothing interesting or worth loving."

Morpheus lifted his hand to your face. His index finger anxiously brushed against your cheeks as if you really were a baroque painting that he defiled with his undeserving touch. Morpheus spoke ever so quietly: "Had I whispered your name to Moses, the whole world would watch God's chosen discard the first commandment."

"Sounds blasphemous," you answered equally quietly. When your breath brushed against his cold skin, a shiver run down his spine. Perhaps if he could fill his lungs with your breath he would never feel sorrow ever again.

"Not to the goddess I worship." His blue eyes, the colour of a raging sea, stared into yours. There was so much he wished to say, unspoken confessions that would embarrass poets but he had a lot of time - all of eternity, in fact.

"Where will you take me?"

Dream's hand gently fell from your face to your own palm. Temptingly, his finger wrapped around yours. "To Dreaming - your new kingdom, my queen."

And from that day on, you never looked back. Never once did the faraway streetlamps visit your thoughts. There was only him: the eldritch king that fell to his knees begging for your affection that you so happily granted. Your desires became his, your pleasure his joy and your discomfort his anger. If he could tear himself apart, he would hand-feed you the pieces that were once him.

It was strange - how comfortable imprisonment could be, to be forever tied to someone. After all, aren't trees prisoners of their roots? And yet should they struggle free, they would fall straight away and die of thirst.

Were you not a bird of paradise? Sitting on a perch in a gilded cage only because someone liked your feathers or your song. All the comforts you were given, wishes that he granted, just so you stay the canary that sings his loneliness away. And like a bird, you were released from your cage only to be imprisoned by the confines of Dream's home. The bird, however, rejoices! For it never knew such freedom.

[naslostcontrol]

Book III: Proverbs

MIDNIGHT MASS, 2021

[flanaganfilm]

The Midnight Club - Season Two

I'm very disappointed that Netflix has decided not to pursue a second season of THE MIDNIGHT CLUB.

My biggest disappointment is that we left so many story threads open, holding them back for the hypothetical second season, which is always a gamble.

So I'm writing this blog as our official second season, so you can know what might have been, learn the fates of your favorite characters, and know the answers to those dangling story threads from the first season.

So for those of you who want to know what we were planning to do, here's a look at what would have been season 2!

AMESH Season 2 would open with Amesh, his glioblastoma advancing quickly. He would tell the first story of the season, but would be struggling to make it through. We'd focus on his love story with Natsuki for those first few episodes as it becomes clear that Amesh's death is imminent.

Meanwhile, Ilonka is trying to reconcile how she was fooled by Julia Jayne, all while falling further in love with Kevin, and she realizes he may be fading faster than he lets on.

Ilonka begins a serialized story in an effort to encourage him to "stay alive a little longer," like he did in season one. And the story she tells is... REMEMBER ME.

This was the thing I was most excited about for this season.

REMEMBER ME is one of my all-time favorite Pike books - it tells the story of a teenage girl who is pushed off a balcony, and awakens as a ghost. She has to navigate being a spirit while trying to solve her own murder. We would have stretched this story out over 5 episodes. We were going to use it as a vehicle for Ilonka to try to come to terms with the fact that she is going to die, and to begin to trying to wrap her head around being a ghost... but this is the coolest part... the lead character of Ilonka's story wouldn't be played by Ilonka. She'd be played by...

Anya.

Because this is how we live on, isn't it? In the minds of those we leave behind. And Ilonka would use REMEMBER ME as a way to imagine her dear friend Anya, waking up as a ghost, navigating the afterlife. And this sets up one of the best mechanisms of the show - even if a character dies, as long as they're remembered by members of the club, they live on in their stories.

As the story starts to pick up steam, though, the group will have to deal with the death of Amesh, which he greets with grace and bravery.

In his final moments, he sees someone in his room - the Janitor from the first season, as played by Robert Longstreet, who says comforting things to Amesh even though he can't respond.

In his final, final moments, the SHADOW descends upon Amesh, and he is engulfed into it, which reinforces the idea that the Shadow is DEATH...

With Amesh's death comes something that upends the entire thing: a NEW PATIENT. We didn't work out too much about who this would be, but it would be a new roommate for Ilonka. Someone taking Anya's old bed. Ilonka would find herself being initially cold to her - just as Anya was when Ilonka arrived. Even feeling like this new girl shouldn't necessarily be ushered into the Club. But of course they would develop a beautiful friendship over the course of the season. The new girl joins the club, where something else exciting is happening - Cheri is telling a story. We hadn't decided which one, but I think it might have been MONSTER.

Natsuki would be the next to die, which would be heartbreaking. And again, she would talk to the janitor just before it happened... and again, the Shadow would come in the final moments.

For Spence, though, things would take a different turn.

The advancements in HIV treatment in the late 90's would come into play, and we'd see his prognosis change. The HIV cocktail came out in Dec 1995, and we really wanted to explore that.

Spence would ride the swell of antiviral advancements, and by the end of the season, he'd no longer be classified as terminal. In the finale of season 2, Spence would leave Brightcliffe just like Sandra did in Season 1, heading off to manage his disease and live the rest of his life.

But onto the BIG MYSTERIES of the season one... here are some answers: What is up with Dr. Stanton's tattoo and bald head? Well, a few things. First, Dr. Stanton is actually the daughter of the original Paragon cult leader, Aceso. Her nickname was Athena, she wrote the Paragon journal that Ilonka found in S1. She turned on her mother and helped the kids escape, but because she was part of the cult in her teenage years, she had the tattoo.

It was her initials that Ilonka found carved into the tree in season 1 (her maiden name was Georgina Ballard, hence the G.B. that Ilonka finds carved in the tree).

She hated what her mother became, and the atrocities of the cult. She reclaimed the property after her mom was gone, and wanted to change it into a place that celebrated life. She was trying to undo her mother's legacy and leave something behind that was beautiful. She is wearing a wig at the end of S1 not because of a sinister reason, but because she is undergoing chemo. Dr. Stanton has cancer. Having helped so many people deal with disease, she now has to deal with it herself.

Her treatment would be successful, and she'd go into remission, but having to face that - while caring for the terminal kids at Brightcliffe - was going to be a very introspective arc for Stanton.

What about the Living Shadow? It's Death, right? Well... no.

At the end of the season, Kevin will die... followed shortly by Ilonka. And as she is dying, two things will happen. First, she'll find herself talking to the Janitor, played by Robert Longstreet... and she'll make a discovery.

HE is Death. And nothing to be afraid of. It turns out no one else ever saw this character. Stanton has a cleaning service, and the Nurse practitioners make up the rooms - the only people who ever saw this mysterious Janitor were the patients. He is Death, and offers them kind words before they die. Then what was the Shadow?

This is an idea we take directly from the book REMEMBER ME, and we'll see it play out in the final moments of Ilona's final tale. In Pike's book, Shari is pursued by a dark entity called The Shadow. When it finally catches her, though, it turns out it is not a bad thing at all.

The Shadow is THEMSELVES. It's the Unknown. As it engulfs someone, in the last moment of their life, it takes them through a place of understanding and catharsis, preparing them for the next step.

THIS is what happened to Anya in S1 when the Shadow finally reached her - that's why she fantasized a life beyond Brightcliffe, which ultimately let her find acceptance of her death. It looks different for everybody, depending on their mind-set - because it is simply an extension of themselves.

The Shadow is just the final catharsis, a return to our original form - it is a moment of true understanding, and once we experience it, we move on to the next place.

We see the Shadow in full effect when it finally comes for Kevin. KEVIN DIES with Ilonka at his side, and it leads to the biggest reveal of the season:

Who were the Mirror Man and the Cataract Woman?

They were Stanley Oscar Freelan and his wife, who built Brightcliffe (fun trivia, he is named after the real-life Freelan Oscar Stanley, who built my favorite hotel in America - the Stanley Hotel. The Stanley is also the inspiration for THE SHINING!).

But more than that... there's a reason that Ilonka only sees Stanley in the mirror, and sees the Cataract Woman whenever she looked at Kevin. This is something else we took from Pike's original book... these aren't ghosts, but glimpses of PAST LIVES.

Ilonka WAS Stanley Oscar Freelan, and Kevin WAS his wife. They've lived many lives this way, and are true SOUL MATES - they always find each other, and they always fall in love. In this life, they knew it would be a short one, so they agreed to find each other in the house they built. They've been "remembering" who they are, and glimpsing their former selves in reflections, and sometimes when they look at each other. This is also why Ilonka's very first words to Kevin in S1 were "Do I know you?" and why Kevin thought she was familiar as well. They are two souls who always find each other, again and again.

The story is this: Stanley was dying, and built this cliffside home hoping that the seaside air would help him. It did, and he far outlived his prognosis (this is also true of the real-life Freelan Stanley). However, his wife began to succumb to dementia.

She would wander the halls, looking for him ("Darling!") and would even forget to feed herself ("I'm starving...") and she eventually refused to leave the basement. Heartbroken for her, Stanley painted the walls to resemble the woodland view, and the ceiling to resemble the night sky, so that it would be a little more beautiful for her.

He also painted a labyrinth on the floor, which was a technique used to try to curb the effects of dementia. She'd walk the pattern of the maze and it was believed it could help her cognition. Eventually, she developed frightening cataracts, but Stanley loved her through it all.

They were soul mates.

So while they seemed scary in season 1, that was just how Ilonka and Kevin's mind were trying to remember their pasts. We even had their faces distorting in ways consistent with how memories degrade over time. When the Shadow comes for Ilonka, and gives her this understanding - this "remembering" - she realizes she has nothing to fear. She and Kevin will shed these personas and be reborn, and have the joy of finding each other another way. The Shadow comes for her, Death takes her gently, and Ilonka goes off with Kevin back into the cosmos, ready for their next incarnation. The series would end with Cheri telling this story to a whole new table of patients, including our new series leads. Most of our original cast now would exist as stories, a story told to the next "class" of storytellers at the table, all of whom we will have met by the end of the season. A story called "The Midnight Club."

Well, that's it... that was what we had in mind. It's a shame we won't get to make it, but it would be a bigger shame if you guys simply had to live with the unanswered questions and the cliffhanger ending. I loved making this show, and I am so proud of the cast and crew. Particularly our cast, who attacked this story with incredible spirit and bravery each and every day.

But for now, we'll put the fire out, and leave the library dark and quiet. To those before, and to those after. To us now, and to those beyond.

Seen or unseen, here but not here.

I'll always be grateful that I got to be part of this Club.

[quotemadness]

“The tear in my world is getting bigger. Soon it’ll blow the whole universe apart.”

— Moïra Fowley-Doyle

[quotemadness]

“You will have days where you feel better, and you will have days where you want to die. Both are okay. There is no magical cure. You just need to close your eyes, and trust that the waves will pass, and soon you’ll be able to breathe again.”

— Unknown

[darkk-academic]

Greater than Desire

[Morpheus x F!Reader]

Chapter I — Fears and Nightmares, Wants and Dreams

“He came. He left. Nothing else had changed. I had not changed. The world hadn't changed. Yet nothing would be the same. All that remains is dreammaking and strange remembrance.”

—André Aciman, Call Me by Your Name

..................................................................................

There is a frightened bird sitting on a tree.

You cannot help it. You cannot even help yourself.

Not when fear has you in a chokehold.

"Jump."

Your eyes are already closed, but they squeeze at the command nonetheless. Clenching tight as if to turn inside, desperate to crawl away. As desperate as you.

There's something behind you. You don't know where. Or what. But you know what it wants.

It wants you to jump off the cliff.

"You must jump."

No. No, you won't. No, you can't. No, no, no, you want to say.

But the voice— the voice is soiled and filthy. You feel it in the back of your throat. It is suffocating. It makes you sick. Every time you hear it, you suppress a gag.

"Jump I said." It's angry now.

You almost recoil— before freezing.

Your heart gives a thump. Then another. And again. Then it starts beating against the walls of your ribs in alarm. The muscles in your abdomen follow suit.

A whisper of your brain, a scared reasoning— you don't know where the voice is. You don't know how close—

You are crouching down right where you stand before the thought even completes. Hands curling around your knees as you hide your face.

You can't see. And your insides are nauseous at the sound of the vile vile voice. And the bird—the bird is trilling in panic. And the tree is cruel. For it helps neither the bird nor you.

"Scarlett, you have to jump," it speaks through gritted teeth. Closer now.

You gasp. Body coiling, wanting to flinch away, yet stilling at the uncertainty. Your eyes burn with tears of fright.

"Scarlett." Closer. Closer. Too close.

A helpless sob escapes past your lips. Breath quivering. You curl into yourself— protective and terrified at once. Goosebumps rising at the idea of the voice touching—

You whimper.

Help me, please somebody help me.

"I will go away once you jump." It promises.

You squeeze your eyes, tears spilling. Hands coming up to cover your ears in a vain attempt to ward off the voice.

"JUMP!"

Shiver runs down your spine. Mocking you. Your inadequacy.

"JUMP!"

You're crying. You're shaking. You can't see.

"JUMP!"

You're afraid. So afraid. You don't know what to do with yourself.

"JUMP!"

You want to claw at your skin. Tear out your heart and throw it away.

"JUMP!"

And the tree is cruel. And the bird is scared. And so are you. So are you. So are you.

"JUMP!"

You will burst. You will—you will—you will—

"JUMP!"

"NO!" You scream.

It's a jagged sound dragged from the pit of dread, your gut— burning the viscera in its wake, a taste of terror on your tongue as it leaves.

"GO AWAY TO WHERE YOU COME FROM!" You continue. You tremble. But you barrel on. Not because you've found courage, but because you're so afraid that you've unravelled. "LEAVE ME!"

A shudder runs down your body, nails digging into skin. You rock back and forth as the sobs break free.

The air is odourless. The voice is gone. The bird is still trilling. The tree just as cruel.

You continue to cry.

The seconds tick by, and with every breath, fear retreats into the frail confines of your core. You focus on the beat of your heart.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

The ground beneath you is dry and coarse. Particles of dust brush against your skin, as the gentle breeze ruffles your hair. Tentative and hesitant, you open your eyes.

Through blurred lens you see art. Shades of coral, vermilion and amber, spilled all around. Wavering hands rise— brushing away remnant tears.

The setting sun is the painter behind the art, and clouds the canvas.

Your attention diverts at the sound of a chirp.

And there on the only tree existing— amongst clusters of brown and orange maple leaves, sits the bird.

A red cardinal.

Still afraid.

Still in need of help.

Unmoving, you stare at it.

Because you're too scared to move.

What if you move and the voice comes back?

So, you both stay still, staring at each other, debating who's the bigger coward.

And as the dream disappears, it does with a whisper. A realisation. It reveals :

You are.

..................................................................................

This time the voice doesn't come.

No.

What comes is a push.

A hard shove, and you're tumbling, tiptoeing at the edge of the cliff.

No. No. No. No. No.

Eyes falling shut in reflex. You try to find balance, but you can't.

Your body isn't in your own control. Puppet to strings as you are left to dangle ; neither falling nor steadying.

Help me, help me, please.

Blood rushes in a frenzy. Mouth dry. You're left gasping, breaths lapping one over another. Too much. Too much. You can't breathe.

And you can't think. And you can't see.

And your heart is beating in your mind.

You're going to fall. You're going to drown. You're going to fall. You're going to drown. You're going to—you're going to—

A firm tug and you're stumbling over.

Away from the edge.

And into—into something. Safety.

You tuck yourself into its hold. Sheltered and secure. Wanting to burrow into it, hide away.

Your heart has plunged down, it's in your abdomen, shuddering with every breath and beat, trying to find a semblance of calm.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

The tangibility of your situation comes slow, the way the sun stretches awake after a heavy storm.

Your face is pressed against a silken, soft fabric, while your hands are clutching the same fabric in a desperate grip. There's a cold sensation around your wrist. An almost phantom touch.

The muscles in your back tense. In a deliberate, cautious movement, you lean away a bit. Eyes fluttering open, you peer up.

Your vision is blurred with tears you hadn't felt surfacing during the petrifying ordeal. Blinking, you clear them.

It's a man.

A beautiful man.

An unknown man.

A beautiful man who saved you.

An unknown man with his hand enclosed around your wrist.

His beauty parallels that of an angel.

Once upon a time, Lucifer was an angel.

Sirens are beautiful and deadly too. He could be a saviour now and a would be foe too.

Your gaze drops down to your hands, carefully you uncurl your fingers—leaving his hold—and step away.

"Who are you?"

His brow furrow. A drop of fear lands on your heart. He is scanning your face, but his is blank. You back away.

His eyes are cold. Empty. Blue. Dark. An abyss. An ocean.

You will fall. You will drown.

You take another step back, but there's no ground.

You're tipping back—

You're tugged forward. Into his chest.

You gasp, exhaling shakily. Eyes closed.

His hand, unyielding, around your waist acting as an anchor.

"Do not be afraid. I won't hurt you." The tips of his fingers graze your cheek in half formed assurance.

But it's his voice. His voice—like honey on rugged stone, softening the harsh edges into a rasp—that provides a certainty.

You look at him, holding his gaze.

You nod.

In a fluid move, he draws back—the hand at your waist urging to follow, you do—and turns so that it's him near the edge.

"The answer to your previous question," he starts, hand slipping off your waist. "This is my realm."

"Your realm?" Confused, you ask.

"Let us talk," he says instead, evading the question.

He sits down with no preamble, facing the sunset. Right there on the edge. Legs dangling.

Your breath hitches. It's him who's there, but it's you who's feeling afraid.

His eyes snap your way, a slight incline of his head ; an invitation.

The cavity of your chest feels exposed, vulnerable—as you opt to sit behind him, away from the edge—so you let your shoulder brush against his. It's enough to lull your mind into a false sense of security.

"What is your name, little dreamer?"

Resting your chin on your knee, you avoid his gaze. Voice low, you answer, "Scarlett…Scarlett McKenna."

"What do you want for, Scarlett McKenna?" The cadence of his voice dips, matching yours. Levelling a metaphorical stage.

You wish to act as though you don't know what he's talking about. But this is your dream, your subconscious— if you can't be honest even within the sanctuary of your mind, then what can you do?

Licking your lips, you side-eye him—taking in his profile as he watches the sunset. His eyes flick in your direction, catching you. In an instant, your gaze darts down, fingers fiddling with dry grass on the ground.

You clear your throat. "I…don't know."

"You do," he states in response.

"I really don't," you disagree. Shaking your head.

"Close your eyes, and look. You will find that every answer lies within."

"I…" brow crinkling as you chew on his words. This is sound advice, isn't it? And it couldn't hurt to try. "Okay," you surrender.

Your eyes fall shut.

"Now ask yourself, what is it that you want."

What do you want?

Fancy clothes? Delicious food? Lavish house? Expensive cars?

None of those. You don't—you want—

"Everything."

Opening your eyes, you look over at him. At his quirked brow, you elaborate :

"I want to dive into the ocean, see the depths within. I want to jump off a cliff and fly. I want to dance on the stage of the world, all eyes on me. I want to sing. I want to scream. I want to taste the edge of the universe," your voice is fervent, and your heart is pounding at the rush you feel at the mere thought of doing these things.

Thought. Right.

Shoulders slumping, weighed down by the fact that you won't be doing these things. Can't.

"I am always afraid of everything," your words echo the dreadful truth of your reality. "I will never be able to do anything."

"Fear holds you back," he says, stating the obvious.

"Fear is a garb sewn with silk threads, dark and deadly. It clings to my soul like a second skin."

It is the only explanation. You are made this way. Why else would you be so frightened of everything? If not because you are born with it.

"What are you so afraid of?"

"Sometimes, you don't have to have a reason behind being scared," you explain, eyes locking with his, "sometimes you just are."

"Even so, some battles are meant to be fought—"

You don't give him a chance to continue, eyes prickling, with a derisive scoff, you cut him off :

"I can't fight it. What will I fight it with? I'm hollow and I have nothing but fear. How can I fight it, when fear and me are one and the same? Fear is a mountain I fell off a long time ago, it is a climb I'll always fail, and in any case I'm far too afraid of the fall."

You fall silent after that. Hands fiddling with the dry grass, even as you feel his eyes on the side of your face.

A few moments pass, and then you remember—

"The bird!" Abruptly you stand up, turning in the direction of the tree, walking towards it. "Could you please help the bird? It's been here since—since always, I think."

You feel him as he stands up, and trails after.

Stretching his hand up— you open your mouth to tell him that the bird cannot fly when—

The maple tree bows down.

Bows down as though seeking his touch.

Dumbstruck, you watch as the cardinal hops onto his open palm and the tree resumes its previous position.

"How—How did you do that?"

"This is my realm," is his simple reply. Gently, he lowers the bird from his palm to yours. "I must take my leave now. It has been a pleasure, Scarlett McKenna."

A parting nod as he makes to walk away.

You frown. "Where are you going?"

He peers down at you, contemplative. "There," he says, pointing in the direction of the mist-covered forest, "past the forest boundaries, is my castle."

And sure enough, amidst the clouds, you see what appears to be the outline of a castle.

"Will I see you again?" you can't help but ask.

He turns. "Some answers must be earned."

And then he's off.

The cardinal chirps in your hold— you glance down at it. Running a finger on its head.

"Scarlett McKenna."

Your head snaps up.

He's a good distance away from you, yet you can hear him clearly. Raising a brow in question.

"If you do not climb, you will not fall. This is true. But is it that bad to fail, that hard to fall?"

Fear is a garb sewn with silk threads, dark and deadly. It clings to your soul like a second skin.

Why, then, is there a small tear in the fabric?

You shake off the thought. Concluding that yes, it is that hard to fall.

And as the dream disappears along with the strange man, it does with the echo of his words reverberating. Everything is changed. Nothing is changed. One fact remains, and that is :

Your cowardice stays the same.

..................................................................................

"There is no greater illusion than fear."

"The girl didn't know that, all she knew was fear."

"So, what happened next?"

"A journey…"

..................................................................................

A/N :

The narration is a direct reflection of Scarlett's/Reader's mind. So, I hope that I did justice to the fear she felt, and to the narrative as a whole.

Notes :

• Red Cardinals are among other things a symbol of new hope and love.

• "If you do not climb, you will not fall. This is true. But is it that bad to fail, that hard to fall?" This quote is from the Sandman (Fables & Reflections) said by Morpheus.

• "There is no greater illusion than fear." This is a quote by Lao Tzu.

Question : Why do you think Morpheus himself came to visit Scarlett?

Prologue

[quotemadness]

“She practices being herself every day. Having to shed the layers of other identities took time. She even lost friendships. She couldn’t fill their egos anymore. When you focus on yourself, and love yourself, some relationships have to go.”

— Adrian Michael

[trashcora]

DIN DJARIN + THE DARKSABER The Book of Boba Fett | Ch 5: Return of the Mandalorian

[quotemadness]

“When dealing with myself I am powerless.”

— Franz Kafka

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

Ooh, yeah, that face! Oh! Scary face!

has this been done already, or...?