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auroraborealyss · 2 years

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐋 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢.

⊹ pairing: morpheus x reader

⊹ summary: you're missing, and morpheus nearly goes insane in longing and desperation in his search for you

⊹ tags: angst, morpheus copes (he doesn't) with you gone, established relationship

⊹ warnings: spoilers for 1.06, 1.07, & 1.08

⊹ word count: 3039

⊹ previous part: prologue/teaser

⊹ up next: part ii

⊹ now playing: everything i wanted by billie eilish

𝚒 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚊 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚒 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒 𝚠𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚞𝚙, 𝚒 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚎

The first person Morpheus swallows his pride and asks for helping regarding your whereabouts, is his sister.

After enduring an earful from her not of not trusting her and being too prideful to ask for help when you were concerned, Death reassures him that she did not reap you in the years you were gone.

"I kept my word to you, brother. I did not touch Y/N. But I have reaped many who came across her," Death says.

"Y/N killed them?" Morpheus asks, surprised. Though the laws that keep an Endless from hurting mortals does not apply to you, you tried not to take their lives anyway.

"No. At least, not directly." Death drops her voice to a whisper. "The humans call her the Lady of the Whispers. She's a notorious serial killer, Dream!"

"Have you talked to her?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Morpheus sighs heavily as he straightens in his seat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He needs to find you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I cannot."

Lucienne pauses. "My lord?"

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

"Perhaps you can ask your siblings—"

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

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

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

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

But what? What could you possibly be running from?

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

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

"She is not safe, lord Morpheus."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It was the Corinthian, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It takes Lucienne a few days to conduct the census.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But sir—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can I have her name, at least?"

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

ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴛ…

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

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

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

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

ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇᴅ…

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

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

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

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

╰┈➤ 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵!

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

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#the sandman imagine #morpheus imagine #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless fanfiction #sandman imagine #the sandman x reader #sandman x reader #dream x reader #the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #the fourth tool

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auroraborealyss · 2 years

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐋 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐢𝐢.

⊹ pairing: morpheus x reader, corinthian x reader if you squint

⊹ summary: you reunite with an old enemy and an even older friend, the corinthian, and confront him about his betrayal to morpheus, and more importantly, to you

⊹ tags: unexpected hints of a love triangle (more like a love V since there's no third line), contains more corinthian than morpheus in this part

⊹ warnings: violence, spoiler for 1.09

⊹ word count: 3492 (an absolute menace)

⊹ previous part: part ii

⊹ up next: part iv → coming soon

⊹ now playing: run boy run by woodkid

𝚛𝚞𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚢 𝚛𝚞𝚗! 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚞𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚢 𝚛𝚞𝚗! 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢'𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞

The basement is cold and empty.

You shiver as you walk quietly through the hall. The years have taught you how to step lightly as if you were gliding on the marble rather than stepping.

Even though there was no logical reasoning that bound the Corinthian and you, you can still feel his presence. He was somewhere on the floor, getting closer and closer with each step you take even though your not working purposefully in a directions. You can feel him waiting for you to find him. To come to him — ironic, considering it’s been him chasing you all this time.

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

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

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

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

The Corinthian smiles at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Corinthian."

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

“What have you done?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rose Walker?” you ask.

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

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

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

You stop. “How do you know who I am?”

“He told me I’d know who you were.”

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

“He told me to tell you something.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“With you?”

The Corinthian looks taken aback. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dream’s wife,” Rose says hesitantly.

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

“His tools?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’ll come for me,” you mumble.

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry, my lady.”

ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴛ…

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

They all scream.

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

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

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

“What have you done, Corinthian?”

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

ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇᴅ…

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

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

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

╰┈➤ 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵!

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

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

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

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

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

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