#bbhap

[alteon77]

The Bizarre Breeding Habits of Anthropomorphic Personifications: Chapter 7

It's a tale as old as time.

Two idiots fall in love. Two idiots fall out of love.

Neither one of them is expecting a baby to come along and derail their unhappily ever after.

Chapter One here, AO3 here, Masterlist here

Chapter Summary: Morpheus pretends to be human in the doctor's office. He's... um, surprisingly not great at it.

By the time Morpheus finally locates her, he's nearly incandescent with rage.  

It is fair, he thinks, to be so angry, so wholly upset with her for this act of foolishness and for the panic that she's caused both him and her brother. It had been only forty minutes prior that Viego had summoned him, that the maker had called Morpheus to him and then belligerently accused him of stealing May to hide her away in the Dreaming. And while Morpheus had been furious at Viego for this, he'd been more fearful than anything else. The idea of May going outside of the very wards keeping her safe, the idea of her leaving that protection with no magic or defensive capabilities to speak of, had brought forth an overwhelming swell of terror that rose sickeningly up within him in a matter of mere seconds. 

The relief he'd felt at finding her had given him only a moment of solace, a brief flicker of the sensation before the mess of emotional turmoil roiling in his mind had swiftly transformed into indignation. How. Dare. She. How dare she engage in such a foolish stunt. How dare she endanger herself and their child by way of such astounding recklessness. Makers are hunted regularly and mercilessly by witches and gods and all manner of supernatural creatures, and any who had happened upon her in her current weakened state would have surely made short work of capturing her. 

In the underground area where he'd finally located her, Morpheus stalks to her vehicle as she gets out of it, her face wan and weary in fatigue, all of her as worn out as she herself has been these days past.  

"No… I was driving. I don't answer when I'm driving. You know that….. No…. I just had some stuff to take care of…. I'm keeping a low profile. No…. Stop it. I wasn't followed…. Yes…. " she says into the phone held against her ear. "You did what? Why… Why would you do that?" She pauses, and he notices that there's a bottle of water in her hand that she takes a seemingly reluctant drink of, grimacing in disgust at the taste. "No, Viego. I don't know how to get a hold of him right this moment. He doesn't exactly carry a phone or-" 

"There is no need to seek me out," he cuts in roughly. "I am here." 

His sudden appearance startles her, and she recoils a little at the sight of him, the hand holding her water coming up to rest over her heart as if to soothe the too-rapid beat of that organ. 

"Viego," she relays over the phone, her voice shaking slightly. "I'm going to have to call you back. Morpheus is… Yeah…. Don't worry about summoning him again. No, I'm looking at him right now." 

He glowers her way, his hands clenched tight at his side as he works to calm himself. "You might inform him that I will be personally bringing you home this-" 

"We'll be back in a bit. No…. I've got errands to run. Don't worry about it. Bye." She presses a button on her device and slides it into the small bag hanging from her shoulder, clearly careful in her attempt at ignoring him as he fumes before her. 

"Not in a bit, as you say. We will be leaving immediately for-" 

"Can't. Won't. Not gonna happen." 

He seethes, his anger ratcheting up at her apparent nonchalance over the gravity of her folly. "Are you aware of the danger inherent in being outside of the warding protecting you?" 

"Look, I left Viego a voicemail letting him know about all this. I'm sorry if he roped you into something that you shouldn't have even had to stress about." 

"You cannot be oblivious enough to think that is why I am infuriated," he growls. "Both Viego and myself have been scouring this city for the better part of an hour, terrified you had been taken by some enemy that meant you harm. And your response to worrying us so dramatically is that you had errands you need attend? There is no excuse for removing yourself from the warding, especially in light of the fact that it is the only thing keeping you safe in your condition." 

With great effort, he attempts to settle his raging temper, aware as he is that it would do this world no favors were he to lose control of his powers while in it. 

"Worrying you so dramatically? I mean, dramatically is definitely a word I'd use with how you're acting," May snarks before taking another sip of her water.  

"And what precisely is the meaning of that?" 

"Just that this is ridiculous. I'm a grown woman. I'll go where I want and do what I want, and you are both welcome to take that suffocating overprotectiveness that you're holding over my face like a pillow and shove it up your-" 

"Do not," he snaps. "Now, gather your things. I am returning you to your brother." 

"I am not a package that you can just hand off back and forth. And I am absolutely not going anywhere with you until I'm done. I have something I have to take care of in about-" She checks her watch. "Thirty minutes. There's a diner near here if you want to get coffee while you wait for me to finish, but I am not leaving." 

He clenches his jaw hard enough that he would break teeth were he human. "What aim could be so important that you would foolishly risk being captured to accomplish it?" 

"It's none of your-" 

"If you finish that sentence with the word business, I will grab hold of you this moment and shift you. I've no patience for your recalcitrance this day." 

May scoffs derisively. "You not having patience? Wooow. Color me shocked." 

"Tell me what you deemed so necessary that it justified this… imprudence," he hisses, ignoring her sarcastic remark as to his composure.

Oh, no no no no no. Don't throw up. Do not throw up. You've got to keep your water down for just another hour. You can do it, but not… not if you're going to keep fighting. So fuckin' de-escalate this mess and stop being stubborn. It's for the baby. You can absolutely swallow your pride for the baby's sake, damn it.  

He frowns at her, thoroughly confused at these words of hers flitting across his awareness. She is not speaking them aloud, and yet he hears them clearly in his mind, a rather puzzling occurrence given that he's never really been able to read her thoughts, never been able to peek past her mental shields and figure out what's going on in her head. He wonders if the dwindling disappearance of her magic is the cause of this, the usual walls around her mind possibly fading as her powers are and allowing him the capability to read her as easily as she might peruse a book. 

The color drains from her complexion as what he assumes is nausea overcomes her, and she draws in a few deep breaths, seemingly steadying herself before she gestures vaguely towards a concrete wall of this strange, cavernous area they're both in, the one that smells of fossil fuels and is full of nothing but stationary vehicles. He thinks it's known as a parking garage, but he's never truly been in one before, so he is unsure as to whether or not that is precisely what this darkened, poorly lit monstrosity is. "I'm… going there. Okay? I'm… I'm visiting a doctor." 

His eyes narrow as he glances first where she has indicated and then back at her. "That is naught but a wall." 

She rolls her eyes at him as if what he's said is absurdly exasperating to her. "There's a building on the other side of the street from here with a doctor in it. I'm going there." 

"You have found a suitable healer?" 

She fidgets in front of him, playing with the label on the bottle still in her hand. "No. I'm… I'm going to a regular human doctor." 

He's taken aback by this, wholly surprised as he moves closer to her. "A human doctor?"

Her fidgeting increases, the movements getting more pronounced. "Yeah… because I'm… well, pregnant. And Tammy was right." 

"Tammy? Who is Tammy? And what use will a mortal physician be in your case? Need I remind you that you are no human."

She rolls her eyes again and scoffs as if he's the one who's said something nonsensical. "Whaaaat? Are you sure? Well damn, I guess that totally explains the being alive for thousands of years and not aging thing. I just thought it was my kick ass moisturizer keeping me all young looking." 

"May-" 

Her arms cross over her chest, and it makes her appear… smaller somehow, fragile. "A human doctor is kind of all there is," she admits with a heavy sigh, a thread of defeat woven into her confession.  

His mouth turns down at her words, his brows knitting together as he considers this, grasping for some sort of understanding. "I fail to see-" 

"I'm sure you do, but… please don't argue with me on this. Whatever opinions you might have about me getting checked out by this guy today, the fact remains that he's got a hell of a lot more answers than I do right now, and I… I need answers." 

She looks away when she says this, avoiding his gaze as a barely there blush lights up what he can see of her face in its sideways profile. An unexpected shame curls in his stomach as he considers the situation before him. She's worried, obviously so, and yet she feels compelled to plead with him on this matter, to ask that he leave her be as she attempts to seek help for herself. The fact that part of this is his doing, that her current suffering is a direct result of the child he'd put inside of her, makes him feel… lowly, as if he should hate himself for adding to the burden of what she carries now when he knows he should be doing what he can to lighten it.  

"Very well. If it will… assist you, then I've nothing to say except that I… should like to accompany you."  

Shock takes over her expression as she at last turns back to him. "Wait. What?" 

"I said that I should like to accompany you. If you will permit me, of course." 

Her eyes narrow at him, scrutinizing his face as if searching for any sign that he is lying. "Are you… sure?" 

No, he is assuredly not certain of this course, but telling her so would do neither of them any favors. "I would scarcely have offered were I not." 

"But… why?" She seems perplexed that he should wish to be with her while doing this, uncomprehending of the possibility that he might desire to help her. 

"I dislike the idea of you being unattended while you are so…" Weakened, he wants to say, powerless and fragile and ill. He does not speak those things, however, since he feels that to call her any of them might reignite the ever-present tension inherent in their new dynamic. "Indisposed." 

She blows out a breath that's half laugh, half frustration. "I'm not a Victorian debutante. It's perfectly fine for me to be alone." 

Alone. That word. It coils in his belly like a poisonous snake, sinking its venomous fangs into the vulnerable flesh of his insides. She had offered to raise their child alone. By herself. Without him even having knowledge of its existence. Not for the first time, he wishes he could reach back through the millennia and pluck that infernal grimoire from the very fabric of the universe, undoing all of its horrid history so that May would never have thought to lie to him about it. A child would have been a happy occurrence for them if not for the dark, thunderous cloud of her betrayal hanging over their tattered relationship.

Still, there is no place for his anger, for his sorrow in the reality of his… of May seeking medical attention for herself. "Nonetheless, I would prefer to escort you." 

May studies him warily, clearly unsure of this seeming capitulation from him. "You… can tag along if you want. I mean… she's your kid too, so if you want to be there, I won't stop you." 

"She?" 

Her apprehension melts away in an instant, a loving smile blossoming on her face as one of her hands settles atop where their child grows, and the sight of this makes his heartbeat speed up, makes that manifested organ thud rapidly in his chest. Throughout his many eons of existence, she is the only one who has ever been able to affect it so, the only one who's ever caused such… mortal reactions within the boundaries of this flesh form of his.  

"Yeah," she answers quietly, a joy in her tone that reminds him of the softest parts of the universe. The silken smoothness of her skin beneath his fingertips. The hazy twinkle of a galaxy above him. The muted shine of a sun in the wake of spring storms. The feel of a new babe in his arms, tender and trusting. "She. I've… got a feeling it's a girl." 

A daughter. A little girl with May's lovely eyes and her beautiful smile. The dream of it is enchanting, captivating enough that he has to forcibly pull himself from its hold, but the want it causes within him lingers on the edges of his thoughts. If things weren't so strained between them, then he would tell her how greatly he wishes for such a thing, how now that the vision of it is in his mind, he can scarcely see their infant as anything except a daughter. But… he cannot give voice to these sentiments, not with his feelings so uncharacteristically flayed and raw, and that is assuredly what they are at this moment. "You cannot know the child's… gender at this stage." 

May sighs and brushes past him, walking towards a door on their right marked Stairwell B. It is instinct for him to match his pace to hers, to keep by her side as she wearily begins the arduous trip up and out of the garage. She's been faint for weeks, and he's very aware that her collapses seem to have no set pattern, no real warning before they occur. It puts him on alert for the risk of another, especially given the fearsome nature of these stairs were she to fall unconscious and tumble down them. And so he means to stay close out of caution, ready to catch her should the need arise. 

"Probably not," she tells him somewhat breathlessly, and he fights the urge to pick her up and carry her the rest of the way. He knows better, though. Whatever tentative peace they're trying to create between themselves would be utterly demolished if he were to engage in such an act. "But… it's just a feeling. I can't really explain it." 

As they emerge from the garage, the sun is blindingly bright, and he glances at May where she's wincing from the shine of it. There's a nervousness radiating from her, an anxiety so great that it almost seems like he's experiencing it as his own.  

"Will you be disappointed if it is not a girl?" he questions in an effort to take her mind off her disquiet.  

At the crosswalk where they're waiting for the light to change, she looks towards him, a thoughtful expression on her face. "I just… want her to be healthy. Everything else is kinda… secondary to that." 

He mulls over this while they continue walking. Is she fearful that the child might not be well? Does she think that her sickness is affecting it in some way? He would ask, but he knows that she will not grant him the truth of the matter, not now. In their new relationship, she seems unwilling to show any sort of vulnerability before him, unwilling to do anything that might be indicative of a need where he's concerned. 

It makes him think of those decades before their union had ended, of those years when they'd depended on one another, when she'd never hesitated to show him the most fragile parts of herself, when he'd never hesitated to reveal his own shortcomings. Together, they had each closed the gaps in the other, had strengthened their varying frailties and softened their harsh angles by dint of their love and respect and hope. But now… that is no longer the case. Now, things are shattered between them, the pieces of what they once shared set aflame by her betrayal and allowed to burn until only ashes remain of their once-great love. 

On arriving at the building she had pointed at earlier, he steps forward to pull open the door for her, and she pauses, seemingly stunned by this meager consideration from him. Something vicious inside of him twists, and that sorrow he'd sworn to ignore earlier comes rearing back with a vengeance.  

Calm down, you actual idiot, she thinks, and it's louder in his mind this time than it was the last. He doesn't mean anything by it, doesn't care about you or what you're going through. It's just a habit for him. Stop reminiscing on how he used to do this. Stop thinking about how things used to be. Just smile and walk in before he notices you freaking out, for fuck's sake.  

And then she does. A threadbare smile tugs her lips up before she steps inside the cool air of the medical facility, a chill taking over her that almost has him stripping off his jacket to drape about her shoulders. Given her mental diatribe regarding his merely opening the door for her, however, he doesn't think that covering her with his coat would be well received. 

Across the rather large room they find themselves in, there's a counter set at the opposite corner, its front marked with a sign that reads Check In. The receptionist sitting behind it is an older woman who raises an eyebrow at May and Morpheus when they approach.  

"Can I help you?" she questions in a way that makes him think she'd rather not actually help them at all.  

May gives a gracious smile. "Yes. I'm Doctor Martin's eleven o'clock." 

The woman, whom Morpheus is growing to dislike more and more with every second they stand there, gives May an unimpressed once-over before turning her attention to a computer in front of her. "Michaela Westin?" 

Morpheus glances down at May. It's a new name for her, one of a dozen he's heard her take over the century he's truly known her for, but it surprises him still. That she has assumed another false identity is not strange, a necessary evil she'd once called it, but that she should choose to do so even with those she might trust with her health is jarring. Was it simply Viego's paranoia that drove her to do such a thing? Or something else? Something more to do with their quick escape from their previous home? Matthew had told him that their journey to the new location had been an unpleasant one, that May had been sickly for the entirety of it and that Viego had apologized for being unable to stop and allow her rest. Granted, the older maker has always been meticulous when it came to his sister's safety, even during those many years that she had resided in the Dreaming, but... today had been different. Viego had been off. Not for the first time, Morpheus wonders if there is some specific danger that he is not being told of, if May and her brother are purposely keeping yet another secret from him.  

After all, it is not as if she's never done it before. 

"I found you. You're here for an appointment and an eight week scan. Is that right?" 

"Yeah. I drank all the water I needed to, and I'm… good to go." 

"It says here that you're… self pay. We'll need to verify your payment information."  

"Of course." May rummages around in her purse, bringing her wallet out and sliding a black card emblazoned with the words American Express towards the receptionist, who picks it up and eyes it doubtfully. 

"This is yours? No offense, hun, but I'm going to need your ID." 

May's all politeness, all sweetness despite the woman's obvious rudeness. "No problem," she says as she hands another card over, this one with her picture on the front of it.  

And the woman, whom he can glean is named Karen Talbot, seems just as unimpressed by this as she had by May's appearance. Morpheus feels anger swell up inside of him for this foul creature's disrespect. He very rarely cares for what mortals think of him, but he can see from Karen's thoughts that her opinion of May is a low thing, one full of prejudice and assumption. Unwed and with child, a morally unacceptable state by her small-minded reckoning. Never mind that May is kind and loving and his… Well, his nothing now, he supposes. She does not belong to him any longer, can be called nothing else in regards to him save for being referred to as the mother of his child.  

He'd like to pretend he doesn't understand why that realization drives a spike of pain through his heart, but he cannot. It would be too large of a lie for him to swallow.  

The receptionist casts a discourteous, dubious look at him. "And are you a… party to this?" She gestures towards May. "Maybe an… acquaintance of hers?" 

May seeks to intercede, clearly trying to save him from having to interact with this loathsome female. "Oh, no. He's-" 

"Her husband," Morpheus supplies before he can stop himself. He's not given to lying usually, not one to truly waste his time with falsehoods, and yet in these circumstances he almost feels it necessary.  

"She indicated she was single on the intake forms," Karen argues, and in that instant he begins crafting his most terrifying punishment for her, begins envisioning what horror he will visit on her when he dooms her to an eternity of never ending sleep with his most savage Nightmares.  

"An oversight clearly excused by her condition, I assure you," he practically growls in response. It is a petty thing, perhaps, to allow some of his power into the words, to touch this woman's mind with a hint of the nightmarish hell he's capable of inflicting upon her, but he relishes it all the same. The receptionist pales, and he takes a sort of perverse pleasure in that as well.  

"Sorry for that. I'm his wife. Pregnancy brain is absolutely real and absolutely horrible," May interjects, her voice an octave higher than usual in something that Morpheus would call panic. "Should we just wait over here then? That would… probably be best."  

The receptionist is staring at Morpheus with wide, terrified eyes as she shakily holds out a clipboard with a stack of papers atop it. "I… um… I need him to fill out the… the forms." 

"Right. The forms," May answers, far too quickly as she snatches a pen from the cup of them on the desk. "We'll get those taken care of and back to you in a jiffy." 

And then she's grabbing hold of Morpheus' sleeve and tugging him impatiently to a set of chairs at the farthest end of the room.  

"Don't do that," she hisses when they've sat down. "The poor woman looked like she was going to have a heart attack." 

"Poor woman? She should consider herself fortunate that you intervened, else she would have been thrust into the most abhorrent, cruel fate I was capable of rendering unto a mortal. Do you know what she was thinking of you? Do you have any idea how grievously she was judging you?" he hisses right back. 

"Even without my magic, I was picking up on it. Okay? But you don't need to worry about that. I'm a big girl. I can handle someone not approving of my life choices."  

He doesn't care. He doesn't care. He doesn't care, her thoughts ring out in his mind. He's just got a vested interest in the baby, and you're housing the baby, so get a hold of yourself.  

"I could not stand idly by while she spoke to you so disrespectfully." 

The sound she makes is one of immense irritation. "Well, you defended my honor and now there's a stack of paperwork for me to fill out, so thanks for that." 

He doesn't know what she expects him to say to that, as he's certainly not going to apologize. But… then he remembers that he had been trying to lighten the load of her stress, and a sense of misgiving washes over him. 

"You need not manage this on my behalf." He reaches out decisively to pluck the clipboard from her lap. "I am more than capable of this task."

"Hey!" she whisper-protests. "Don't… Just let me do it. It's-" 

"I will see to this. It is not up for discussion." 

May purses her lips and then puts her hands up, palm out, in a gesture of surrender. "Okay. Fine. Have it your way." 

Christ on a potato, he's really rocking that surly, toddler temper tantrum energy now, she thinks.  

Morpheus gives her a side-eyed glare for that comment, despite that she had not actually spoken it aloud, before he starts on the forms. It only takes him a few minutes to realize that he might… be on unsteady footing regarding this specific undertaking. Of course, he refuses to accept her assistance or admit anything resembling defeat, so he forges ahead with what he'd set out to do.  

She tries several more times to help him in poring over the frankly obscene number of redundant questions he's required to answer, but he only waves her attempts away. And for a time she seems to settle, though he knows that she is merely taking a different approach as he can feel her eyes on him still, watching while he ticks away at the multitude of boxes. She says nothing, staying silent until he comes to the form titled Medical History.  

May chokes out a muted laugh and reaches over to tap the page where he'd just written I am no more tense than usual, certainly not enough to warrant use of the word hyper beside one of the boxes.  

"Yeah. Cross that out," May instructs him blithely. "Hypertension is a condition where mortals have high blood pressure, which… you don't even have blood if you don't want to." 

As he strikes an angry line through the sentence, he cannot help his scowl. "This is irritatingly tedious."

She shrugs as if his ire is of no real concern to her. "I offered to do it for you." 

"This entire outing is an exercise in futility, wholly pointless considering that this mortal doctor will likely be unable to assist you in any meaningful way." 

Her face falls, a sudden melancholy coming over her that brings him up short. "Just… don't start that." 

Her thoughts this time are very loud, and he ponders over the curious phenomenon anew. Typically, he has to actively seek the mental workings of another out. He's not used to having such things projected into his awareness, and hers seem to be growing in intensity and volume with every occurrence. I'm such an idiot. Of fucking course he couldn't just stow his crap and let me get help. Never mind that I think I'm actually dying or something. Even that isn't important enough to get him to cool it.   

Dying? Is she truly fearful that her… her illness is so dire? 

His shoulders drop from where they'd been unconsciously tensed, and he blinks several times as he scrutinizes her more closely. She's a gaunt thing, he realizes then, from the dark smudges under her eyes to the unnatural pallor of her skin. Her lips are dry and cracked in places, one particular spot on the lower one especially red as if she is so dehydrated that the skin there is breaking apart and bleeding. 

In that moment, he feels vile, loathsome, like nothing less than the most revolting sort of pond scum, like his treatment of her in this instance is even more contemptible than the receptionist's had been. Despite their past and his upset over it, May is currently grappling with something he cannot understand, rendered weak and weary from the weight of his seed growing inside of her. She is uncharacteristically afraid, he can see now, drained of her magic and suffering from what he'd unintentionally done to her by getting her with child in the first place.  

And all he has offered her in return for this burden she's carrying is his petulant sullenness, his mean-spirited pessimism. 

"I… apologize," he murmurs before he can even stop to consider what he's saying, "if I've given you cause to feel you must argue with me on this matter. It… was not my intention." 

Her expression gentles, and her eyes well with tears that she hastily wipes at. "It's… I get it. This… isn't what you're used to." 

"Nonetheless, it is… no excuse for my churlishness." 

She nods, and his heart wrenches uncomfortably with how very bereft she seems as she does so. "It's… okay." 

His eyes narrow as he considers this acceptance from her. How very easily she forgives him. How quickly she dismisses his faults in having behaved so abhorrently towards her.  

How different things might have been between them if only he were capable of doing the same.  

He must not think of that, must not imagine what could have been. That part of their relationship is done, the path of it obliterated and lost so that only mere echoes of it remain, but he knows that they can learn to do better by one another going forward. With the both of them preparing to parent a child together, they truly have no other choice in the matter. 

"And how shall I answer this?" he asks as he points randomly at a word on the checklist of mortal maladies before him. It is an olive branch of sorts, a gesture meant to demonstrate to her that he is willing to listen. 

Suspiciously, her eyes flick up at him before she turns them down to where he's indicated. 

"Heart disease? I'm pretty sure you know you don't have that." A barely there smile tugs her lips up, and it is a sad thing to behold, like the drooping petals of a wilting flower trying to bloom. "You could probably just answer no to everything. It's… what I did." 

"Very well." 

"And… whatever you do, don't put down how many actual glasses of wine you can consume in a day when it gets to that part." 

He frowns at her, his mind working to make sense of what she's just told him. "I assume… it would be a tell that I am not… normal then," he guesses. 

Her eyes sparkle faintly with an unexpected mirth, a sort of teasing shine to them that is still dulled somehow. "Big yes. Biggest yes ever." 

"I see." 

When he's finished, May cautiously takes the forms from his hand to look over everything, and he surrenders the papers to her without dissent. A month ago, such an act on her part would have infuriated him, but he's… regretful. The self-hatred he feels in the wake of his actions is churning inside of him violently, forcing him to an apologetic tentativeness. And May has always had a far better sense of the norms in this realm than he, a truth he had recognized very early in their relationship when they made their occasional trips into the Waking. He supposes that she would be the best to ensure his answers are satisfactory.  

After she's scanned it all twice, she goes to stand, and he stays her with a hand on her arm. 

"What is it? I'm just heading over there to hand this to the receptionist."

"Sit," he orders roughly before gentling his tone. "I shall do so in your stead." 

May hesitates. "You're not going to do anything else to… anyone, are you?" 

It takes him a minute before he understands her meaning. The receptionist. She's worried for the receptionist. It is only with great control that he keeps his expression from darkening in remembrance. That woman had been abysmally rude to May, had treated her as if she were less than, as if she were something low and offensive, and all May is concerned with is making sure he doesn't exact retribution on the human. He struggles to reconcile her kindness, her goodness, with the fact that she had assuredly composed spells for that infernal grimoire, had written the very one that ensnared him even.  

"I will… merely deliver these documents and then return to you. No… further defense of your honor, as you call it." 

"Morpheus-" 

"You have my word."

That seems to assuage her fear as she huffs out a resigned sigh before passing him the clipboard, and he rises to his feet, stalking to where Karen is still watching him with wide eyes, her whole demeanor like that of a rat with a hungry hawk swooping overhead. 

Good. 

"The… n-nurse should… should take her back in a… in a minute," Karen informs him as she holds out May's cards for him between her trembling fingers. 

Morpheus glares as he bites his tongue on saying what he wishes to, which is that she is a poor example of humanity given to ignorance and the most foolish of the moral mires inherent in her society. But he… refuses to speak such truths given that by doing so he would only serve to further distress his… to further distress May, and he does not wish to see any more troubled than she already is.  

"Very well," he grants instead, even as he idly wonders if it would be a violation of his oath to May were he to send this woman a particularly foul nightmare when next she slept. Something, perhaps, that might assist her in loosening her hold on her hateful prejudices.  

"Thank you, Karen." May says, startling him as she appears at his side, taking her cards from the woman to slide them back inside her bag. "Did I hear you say the nurse would come get me soon?" 

Karen, however, won't look away from Morpheus, and any other time he might take a sense of pride in her obvious fear. Now, however, he's too busy peering down at May in confusion. Had she not trusted him to do this? Had she believed that he would disregard his vow to her on leaving the mortal woman be?  

Why does the thought of her so thoroughly doubting him… hurt? 

He has no time to question her on any of this, though, as the door closest to him opens and another human steps out of it, a clipboard held in her hand as well. 

"Michaela Westin?"  

"That's me. I'm here. Hi." May smiles brightly, a veneer of polite cheer on her features that Morpheus thinks is but a mask. He's noticed her doing that often in the past few weeks, smiling as if she means it despite the air of hopelessness around her most of the time.  

"Hello there! I'm Annabeth. Let's get you back into a room, sweetheart, and then I'll get some more information from you before we get started." 

As May steps past him, it's instinct for him to rest his hand on the small of her back, to guide her so that she's walking slightly in front of him as they both cross this threshold.  

He follows her into the inner sanctum of the physician's office, trailing after the nurse as she leads them through the labyrinthine mess of hallways and doors before ushering them into a room, a sterile, clinically white space with a large window and a rather tall bed pushed up against the farthest wall. There's a chair off to one corner and May directs him to it, shoving her bag into his stomach as she demurely asks, "Will you hold this for me, love muffin?" 

Love… muffin? Love muffin? What a preposterous way to refer to him. The unmitigated cheek of this foolhardy female. It is only with a herculean effort that he manages to bite back his waspish response as he settles into the seat, glowering at her while he adjusts her bag in his hold. 

But then… the nurse has her step on a scale, writing down May's weight with a worried frown that makes Morpheus instantly forget his annoyance at her insolent epithet for him. 

"Why don't you hop up on the table for me, and I'll get some more vitals."

A strange panic is overwhelming him, but May seems calm, so he tries to placate himself as well, using her reactions a a guidepost for his own. When May's sitting on the bed, the nurse puts an odd device around the uppermost part of her arm, a cuff of some sort with a tube and a humming machine attached to it. 

And May remains relaxed. 

"It'll get tight, sugar," the nurse warns, and Morpheus tries to distract himself as she presses a button on the device. He studies this nurse, this Annabeth. She is… kinder than the receptionist had been, her mind drastically more pleasant, and he can read from it that she thinks May appears… sickly, more sickly than she should perhaps be. It's not quite fear she has, though, but more pity, a genuine compassionate urge to tend to May which Morpheus finds that he wholeheartedly approves.  

May winces, and suddenly Morpheus can take no more. He moves to rise, to go to her, to put an immediate end to this madness where she is being poked and prodded before him, but she stops him with a pointed glare. "I'm fine, dear. They're just checking my blood pressure."

Annabeth looks between May and Morpheus, her eyebrows raising in puzzlement before she seems to comprehend something that makes her laugh. "Oh, I get it. Protective husband is an overprotective daddy."

It's the wrong thing to say. 

The blood visibly drains from May's face, and Morpheus feels himself stiffen in shock. Their eyes meet, his and hers, and he can see the sadness there, the clear pain of what could have been. "He's… um… definitely going to be an overprotective dad," May replies, all of her quiet. Broken.

Annabeth, seemingly oblivious to this exchange, goes on with her task of scribbling things down on her clipboard. "Aw, don't fret about it, sweetie. The good ones get that way sometimes. I've had four myself, and my husband wouldn't even let me have my mornin' coffee because he was afraid the babies would come out with three heads or somethin'. It was frustratin' at the time, but in hindsight it was kinda darlin' of him."

Morpheus tears his eyes away from the woman he had once sought to marry, gathers himself as best as he can, and asks hoarsely, "I have read that women in such a state should not partake of caffeine."

Annabeth grins and wags a finger in his direction. "Now you don't start on her if she wants a cup or two. A little won't hurt anybody, even that tiny one of yours. And she sure looks like she could use a pick me up. Don't make it so she's gotta start keepin' a coffee machine and all the necessary fixins in her car like I had to."

May's unexpected laugh is beautiful, wholly melodic. "Your husband caused you to have to stealth brew coffee in your car?"

"Well, I'm fairly certain I'm eighty-seven percent caffeine, so I needed it like most people gotta have oxygen."

The smile May gives is genuine, her usual expression of enjoyment at having someone to converse with, and it strikes Morpheus that perhaps she is… lonely. "You're kind of making me want some coffee now, Annabeth."

"Good luck gettin' it past Mr. Overprotective over there."

To hear May laugh again loosens something in his chest, something that's had a ruthless hold of him since he'd feared she had been taken earlier. He tries to speak, to say anything, but his words are stuck in his throat as emotion swells within him. He loathes that he loves her, that he cares for her still despite that he should not. 

"All righty. Any other symptoms you want me to put in your chart for the doctor, sweetie?" Annabeth questions, and the sound of the nurse's voice snaps him out of his thoughts. "It says on your form that you've been gettin' sick."

May's easy contentment falters, her face falling. "I… Yes."

"How often, would you say?  

May casts a hesitant glance at Morpheus before turning her attention back to Annabeth. "Almost… every hour."

"You been keepin' anything down at all?" the nurse asks with a frown, her brows furrowed in concern as she scrutinizes May anew. 

May begins fidgeting again, something that she only engages in when she's especially nervous, and he feels his heart sink with dread. "Um… no. I don't think so."

Nothing at all? He had known that she was suffering from morning sickness, but to be retaining no nourishment cannot be safe for her or their child. Alarm floods him as the nurse moves to a cabinet and begins rummaging around in it. 

"Lord Mercy, that sounds horrid," she says as she pulls her hand free with a large rectangle of fabric clutched between her fingers. "I'm gonna need you to get undressed from the waist down and put this over your lap. We'll try to do the ultrasound abdominally at first, but if we can't get a good picture we'll switch to the transvaginal." She points to two buttons on the wall. "Press this green one when you're ready, and Dr. Martin will have a look at you and the baby, see if he can't figure out something to help you with that nausea."

Help. Yes… May needs help. For the first time since he'd began this little excursion with her, Morpheus thinks he finally understands why she'd felt desperate enough to seek any healer out, even one mortal and ill-suited to treat her.

"That sounds great," May breathes out, a relief in her tone that cuts at Morpheus. He'd been ready to stop her today, had been so aggravated at what he perceived to be a ridiculous folly that he'd threatened to forcibly shift her home. 

Annabeth grabs her papers and exits the room, leaving a heavy silence in her wake.

May undoes the top button of her pants before she at last spares him a glance. "Can you… look away? Maybe turn around or…"

He wants to remind her that he's seen her naked body more times than this planet they're on has had stars crash into its surface, but she seems unnerved again, altogether stressed by how he might respond to this request of hers. 

"If you wish, I could wait outside." 

May shakes her head. "No, that's fine. Just turn around. If I send you out of the room, they'll assume we're fighting or something." 

Dutifully, he faces away from her. "Ah, yes. It is important they do not see through the lie." 

"Hey, that's not on me," she tells him over the shuffling sounds she's making. "You told them we were married. I was perfectly fine with them thinking I liked to sleep around or that we'd just gotten blackout drunk one night in Vegas and knocked boots without a condom." 

He hadn't been fine with it, however. No matter her apparent acceptance of such a thing, the thought of her being viewed, being treated as less than had grated on him. "It doesn't… bother you? That they might… judge you so harshly for something they know nothing of?" 

"Nope. Believe it or not, humans are pretty cool about that stuff these days. Well, most of them. The bitchy receptionist was a fluke." 

"May-" 

She huffs out a short laugh. "Sorry. Sorry. I know. You don't like that word." 

His forehead creases."No, that is not… what I was intending to speak to you of. Please feel free to apply whatever colorful language you would like concerning that foul creature who greeted us upon entering." 

"Wow. She really did piss you off, huh?" 

He can hear the noise of paper crinkling behind him, and he wonders what exactly she's doing back there. "She angered me greatly. Her… attitude towards you was… unacceptable." 

The sounds stop as she responds, "There are always going to be people who think badly of you here. You… get used to it after a while." 

He can't help his scoff. "Is that meant to convince me that her behavior wasn't insulting?" 

"Nope. It's just… It is what it is. There's no point in letting it upset you… Also, you can turn around now if you want." 

She's sitting on the table, that mask of false cheer back on her face, the rectangle of fabric spread out over her bare lap, and without the benefit of a thick sweater on her, he can see exactly why the nurse had seemed uneasy when she'd taken May's weight. She's assuredly gotten thinner, likely a side effect of being unable to properly partake of  any nourishment. Panic twists his stomach into a knot. 

"Why… did you not inform me of how ill you were?" His voice is ragged with emotion, with the great well of battling sentiments inside of him. 

The mask slides off of her features, and she glances down guiltily at the floor, twiddling her fingers in a restlessness that speaks to her trepidation. "It just… wasn't something that I really could work into a conversation, you know? Or something I even thought you'd care about. Like, what was I supposed to say? Oh I know you hate me and all but by the way, I'm really sick." 

It's the second time she's mentioned him hating her, and despite the fact that he wishes he did, he's all too aware that he seems incapable of such a feeling where she's concerned. "Regardless of what you might assume, I do not… hate you." 

Her thoughts, when they filter through his mind, are devastating, wrenching his heart with all the vengeful viciousness of their separation. But you do. I can see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice. You might not want to admit it out loud, but you… you hate me. And I… hate me a little too. If only I could…. If only…. Never mind. It doesn't matter.  

He opens his mouth to address this, to deny it, but he falters, his words stuck on the tip of his tongue. After all, what might he say to correct this belief of hers? What could he honestly give her that would change her mind? How can he adequately explain his feelings when he doesn't even understand them himself? 

"You wanna press the button for me? So… I don't have to get up and all." 

Dejectedly, he reaches out to do just that, but... something gives him pause. There's an odd smell in the air, an acrid hint of ozone and burning leaves, all melded with the iron tang of blood. His power flares at the scent, a warning shooting through his awareness like a bolt of lightning striking a tree.  

Outside the room they're in, it's gone eerily silent. Deathly so, he would almost say, and when he expands his perception to get a read on who or what is near them, he's met with a disturbing blankness, one he's only ever known during the time he was trapped in that binding circle at Fawney Rig, the time all those decades ago that he was made powerless by Roderick Burgess.  

And in that moment, Morpheus knows two things with utter surety. The first is that he was indeed correct when he'd surmised earlier that May was in danger outside Viego's wards, that she had been reckless to leave them on her own. Obviously, something or someone has been tracking her, lying in wait for the opportunity they might have were she to be free of the ward's protections. The second thing he knows, and perhaps the part that most worries him, is that whatever or whomever has been on her trail is in this building with them. Right now.

NEXT CHAPTER

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[alteon77]

The Bizarre Breeding Habits of Anthropomorphic Personifications: Chapter 9

It's a tale as old as time.

Two idiots fall in love. Two idiots fall out of love.

Neither one of them is expecting a baby to come along and derail their unhappily ever after.

Chapter One here, AO3 here, Masterlist here

When first he had discovered that May carried his child, after the initial shock had faded into something manageable, Morpheus had briefly (very briefly) entertained the idea that perhaps her pregnancy had been intentional. After all, such things were rare for both the Endless and makers, often requiring resolve from one or the other to spark a life into existence. 

The timing of the development had been entirely suspicious as well. All their many decades together and they had, until then, avoided the outcome of an unexpected pregnancy. He had suspected, as he grappled with the news, that May might have done something to allow this catastrophe, something to possibly even encourage the outlandishly low probability of his seed taking root. 

His consideration of these silent accusations had been far from his proudest moment in the course of their rather long relationship. He can admit that they had been far from his most generous either. The mere thought of what he had assumed of her now makes shame roil viciously in his stomach. 

If he had applied a little more sense to his reasoning at the time, he might have understood more clearly how ridiculous he was being then. To what end might she have orchestrated such a thing? What would she gain by having his child? As more and more of the dire circumstances surrounding her life outside the peace of the Dreaming are revealed to him, he's very quickly coming to the realization that by being pregnant, she is instead losing a great deal. Not gaining. No. Not anything so kind as that. 

Prior to learning of her part in crafting spells for the grimoire, Morpheus would not have even imagined her capable of something so deceptive. Simply put, he had thought differently of her then. In his eyes, she had never been the type to engage in manipulation nor the type to approach him with anything other than her usual straightforward bluntness. But now the knowledge of her betrayal tends to color his perception of her, leaving him to regard her in suspicion as he wonders what other secrets she might be keeping from him. 

And in hearing her thoughts, he had learned many of them, though none of her hidden truths had been what he might have guessed them to be. May is stricken with fear, overwhelmed and near hopeless with the way that it is consuming her. She's terrified at the prospect of having a baby given the current chaos of her life, terrified of bringing a child into a world where it will know wariness and struggle and running from those that would harm it, terrified of…

Terrified of him. 

The understanding that she views him as dangerous, as a threat, as nothing more than yet another enemy she must make herself safe from, stuns him. But then he wonders how he can blame her for such a belief given that while she carries his child, while she struggles under the weight of it, he offers her nothing more in return for this sacrifice than to heap the burden of his animosity atop her. He has driven her further and further into the throes of her anxiety when he thinks that he should instead be… assisting her in some way. That he has not been doing so is a failure on his part, a sorry dereliction that he knows he must address.

As he stands in the kitchen of the siblings' shared house, however, he attempts to rein in his wayward musings, focusing instead on the task at hand. 

That task being Viego's possible rescue. 

Granted, his concern at this moment is not for the maker. He had wanted to return immediately to the physician's office and wreak vengeance upon that loathsome creature, Viktor, who had so arrogantly dared to attack May. Morpheus would have gladly ended him during their confrontation, would have relished tearing him apart atom by atom, but May's sudden disappearance had forced him to follow her. In all honesty, he had assuredly panicked, more so when that strange hum had started up along the edges of his awareness, the one that he has come to associate with May drowning in the waters of the dreamscapes. 

He remains unsure as to how she had survived the shift and doubly unsure as to how she had broken through the surface of his sea, an aspect of his own being that she should not have been able to emerge from.  

Still, he cannot think of this now. Viego could be in danger. Not that Morpheus would typically care overly much whether or not the maker was in peril, but he had promised May to see to this, had promised even to save Viego if the situation called for it. 

And so Morpheus is intent on doing just that. 

The residence is empty, and as he glances around, he takes note of the usual orderliness of the place. Every chair, curtain, picture, and mundane knick knack is where it should be. As such, it certainly does not appear as if a struggle occurred here. He stretches his senses out, feeling past Viego's many magical shields and wards until he at last detects the signature of his power. Once that is found, it is less than nothing for Morpheus to locate him. Without wasting a moment, he shifts to an abandoned building on the outskirts of this town, and what he sees when he arrives utterly shocks him. 

There are a group of makers here, their clothes little more than tattered rags, their eyes shining with a terror that speaks of being hunted and hurt. Several of them are injured in various ways, from burns to bruises to weeping wounds that are scattered along the visible parts of their bodies. Viego is crouched before a small girl, and as Morpheus watches, he stretches one hand out towards her face as he wipes at the tears streaming down along her cheek with the pad of his thumb. 

"You're safe now, kid," the maker murmurs, his tone soothing in a way that Morpheus has never heard from him. It's odd to hear, this gentle attentiveness from one he thinks of as a monster.

"Mithrate," the child sobs before she shoves a fist against her mouth, presumably in an effort to silence herself. Mithrate is the maker word for mother, Morpheus knows, as May had taught it to him many years ago when they'd come across a whole family of her kind in the Waking. Has this child lost her mother? Has her parents died or been left behind? He cannot say. Normally, he has no difficulty feeling out through an individual's mind and parsing out at least some details of their life, but makers are different. Their mindscapes are vast, oftentimes unruly spaces where even the freshest, most traumatic events of their existence can be nearly impossible to find.

"I know, sweetling. I know." Viego's voice is low and smooth, and as the girl trembles with her sadness, he gathers her up into his arms before shushing her softly. His hand cups the back of her head as she buries her face into his shoulder, the fabric of the shirt there muffling her pitiful cries. 

The sorrowful moment is broken when Viego glances up and seems to notice at last that Morpheus is standing mere feet from him. In an instant, his previously sympathetic expression hardens into the impassiveness that Morpheus has come to expect from him. It doesn't stop the maker from carefully pulling away from the girl, from offering her a comforting smile as he takes her hand and walks her to another woman in the small group. Leaning closer to her, he relays something in hushed tones, and Morpheus thinks he hears the phrase watch over her, but he cannot be certain. 

It occurs to Morpheus then that Viego has helped these individuals escape from somewhere horrid, and in any other situation he might find such a thing commendable. In this one, however, he finds himself seething with rage. Is this how they found May? Had Viego's well-intentioned but careless actions here been responsible for the attack? 

Viego's manner when he stalks to where Morpheus waits is decidedly less pleasant than it had just been with the mourning child. He crosses his arms over his chest, looking weary and worn even as he levels an irritated glare at Morpheus. 

"What are you doing here, Dream?"

Morpheus' hands clench at his side in an effort to avoid visiting violence on the maker. Even the possibility that he might have been responsible for the risk May was put in is rage inducing to him. "Your sister," he begins roughly, "is in the Dreaming."

Viego's eyes narrow, all of him visibly tensing as if he's preparing for a fight before he walks past Morpheus.

"Not here," he relays brusquely as he gestures with two of his fingers that Morpheus should follow him, and Morpheus does as he's requested. From the fidgety state of the makers assembled here, he imagines it is not too large a leap to assume that Viego does not wish to expose them to their soon-to-be argument.  

After they've both made their way to a secluded spot between a stack of crates and a single wall of this building, Viego turns to him, worry writ plainly on his features. "What do you mean by that? What's happened? Is she okay?"

Morpheus cannot help his derisive scoff. "That is singularly amusing coming from you, given that your actions could very well have been what put her in danger this day."

Viego's jaw tightens. "My actions? My actions? The only reason she's even in harm's way at all right now is because you knocked her up and threw her out of your realm. And what the hell do you mean about her being in danger today? What happened?"

Morpheus feels that shame from earlier grow considerably, becoming more vitriolic inside of himself. Viego is… not entirely wrong. Had he not cast May from him, she would still be content to stay in the safety of the Dreaming throughout her pregnancy. But she had betrayed him, and so in this matter he knows that she is as least as responsible for their separation as he is. "Who is Viktor?"

The maker goes rigid, his shoulders bunching up as if he is readying for a physical blow. "Where did you hear that name?" he asks, his voice deepening to nothing more an emotional rasp, and it occurs to Morpheus that he sounds… frightened almost. "You need to tell me what the fuck has happened right this goddamned minute."

"Viktor is the name given to me by her would-be abductor only an hour or so ago. She is physically unharmed, but I cannot help the feeling that this utterly shortsighted undertaking of yours is what led them to her."

"It's not shortsighted, Dream. For fuck's sake, they're innocent people."

The anger that overwhelms Morpheus at that statement is nearly staggering, rising up within him so quickly that he worries he might retch with the suddenness of it. In a flash, he grabs hold of Viego's shirt, shoving him back into the wall of the warehouse behind him with so much force that cracks appear there. 

"And your sister? Our child?" he snarls. "Are they not innocent in all of this? And yet you might have condemned them to discovery by-"

Viego grasps at Morpheus' hands on him, no doubt trying to free himself from the ironclad restraint he's in. "Yeah. Let fuckin' go of me. You can stow that shit right now. I've been doing this for thousands of years, and they've never tracked us this way. Never."

"Tell me of Viktor, Viego. Who is he? What does he want with your sister?" At Viego's infuriatingly stubborn silence, Morpheus tightens his grip. "Speak. Or I will be forced to put my questions to her."

It's an empty threat, one that he would never follow through with due to the other devastatingly horrible thing he had learned from May's thoughts earlier. 

Namely that someone had cursed her by way of a memory spell. 

He's known for some time that something was affecting her remembrance of certain events, the curious dungeon nightmare having been an all too alarming testament to that, though he had not understood then why she should dream of her past and not remember anything of it in her waking hours. Today when that light had flared in her thoughts as she tried to recall who Viktor was, when her own mind had gone blank afterwards, he had understood the cause of her very specific forgetfulness in a revelatory second. And as he had, he had felt sickened to his core. 

Memory spells are intricate, malevolent things. They get inside of a victim and twine about their mind like some poisonous, invasive weed. And like a deadly weed, they have the ability to choke out anything near them, to render their host's thoughts into naught but a mess of nothingness. Sometimes even permanently, leading to an eternity of their sufferers being left as little more than a hollowed out shell.

Which is why that while Morpheus indeed requires answers as to what has happened to her, he would not press her for them. He will not risk her. He cannot risk her. And he is painfully aware that however he might wish to deny it, that sentiment is not due to the child she now carries. 

"She… doesn't know about… about him."

"By which you mean she does not remember him," Morpheus corrects in a growl. He'll have no half-answers from the maker concerning something as important as this.

Viego stops struggling, glancing away with so much heartbroken sorrow on his face that Morpheus finds his own hold of him slackening slightly. Viego does not discount his accusation, does not deny that her memories are compromised, and the implications of this render Morpheus nearly stricken. It's true. It's.... true. "Viego… What has happened to her memory?"

Mulishly, Viego's jaw clenches anew, and as he turns his attention back to Morpheus, his eyes are burning with fury. "It's none of your business. You gave up any right to that when you fucking banished her."

Morpheus' anger swells to match the maker's. "Need I remind you that she carries my child?" he hisses. "And you dare to say that I have no right to know who might bring harm to her? I will ask you only one last time, Viego. Who. Is. Viktor?"

"He's… He's the being who… assumed kingship of the Bloodless Lands," Viego supplies at last, "after… after our father was killed."

Morpheus huffs out a bitter, caustic laugh at this dissembling. Everyone in the supernatural community knows that it was Viego himself who ended Hadrius King, his own sire. "Am I to gather that you were unable to take the throne due to your part in murdering him?"

The guilt in Viego's expression is rather expected, but Morpheus still can't help the feeling that something seems... off about it.

"I was kicked out of the realm, okay? May… was left behind with… with him."

Morpheus feels as if the core of him, as if his very power itself, is twisting fearfully in response to this information. "For what purpose does he seek her now? Does he wish for her to fight in his-"

"No," Viego cuts in quickly. "It's… It's not that."

"Then explain all of this that I might better understand," he orders, the material clenched in his fist nearly disintegrating from both his power and his strength. "Elaborate, Viego."

The maker looks away again as if he cannot bear to meet Morpheus' eyes, as if he is ashamed, and an insidious wave of alarm skitters over the edges of Morpheus' awareness. What could be so horrendous that Viego is obviously troubled to even speak it aloud?

"I only know what… what I've heard as rumors. He… The… I've been told that he was trying to force a bond with her, to marry her so that his rule would be seen as more… legitimate."

Morpheus recoils, finally releasing Viego as he takes a step back from him. That vile creature seeks to… wed her? To force her into such a union? And all to solidify a claim to a throne? "Forced bonds… are impossible," he murmurs, the words tumbling from his mouth before he even has a chance to think on them. 

Viego straightens. "That didn't stop the crazy fucker from trying anyway."

Morpheus thinks he might retch, his imagination supplying him a disgusting batch of possibilities for how one might go about trying to accomplish something so heinous as forcing the twining of power, awareness, and very essences of two entities when one is unwilling. He knows, as appalling of a realization as it is, that such a thing would amount to little better than enslavement. 

"And what did these attempts… entail?" he asks in a harsh voice that he scarcely recognizes for all the panic within it, unsure as to whether or not he truly wants to hear what Viego might soon tell him. 

"That is actually none of your business. You found out what you needed to know. I gave you the who, why, and when. I abso-fucking-lutely refuse to go into the how with you."

It does not take a great leap of logic to understand in that moment that Viego likely knows exactly what was done to her, exactly what abuse was visited on her for the simple crime of who she was, and that he will share none of these details with Morpheus. "Her memory? Did he… Did he take that from her?"

"All I can tell you is that she was… really messed up afterwards, Dream."

That is a wholly unsurprising admission to Morpheus. That she had been messed up afterwards is not a fact he has any difficulty believing. She had apparently been through something horrific, through an ordeal that altered the very workings of her mind, and so Morpheus can very easily imagine that she had indeed been overwrought then. How has he never heard of this, never caught so much as a whisper of this catastrophe. Could she have even told him of it? Did she have any remembrance of these events at all? Would she have breathed a word of it to him were she able? Not for the first time that day, he feels as if he's failed her in some vague way that he doesn't understand, as if he should have done more for her despite that he hasn't the first clue of how to approach this. 

"How do we keep her safe?" Morpheus demands. This must be his concern now. His own maudlin musings aside, May is in very real peril, the kind that could see her taken or killed, and Morpheus knows that no matter what has happened in their past, he can never allow such a thing to come about in their present. 

"The same way I've always kept her safe. We'll go to ground." Viego glances towards the direction where the survivors are. "I'll get these guys to the next checkpoint and start setting up new identities for us. Our old ones are obviously compromised."

"Perhaps while you manage this, it might be prudent for her to stay with me in the Dreaming."

Viego seems to study him then, his brow furrowing as he blatantly scrutinizes Morpheus. "She's… really not going to like that."

"Have you a better suggestion?"

A look of pure defeat crosses the maker's face before he sighs. "No. I don't."

"It would be safer for her to remain there permanently. If you could persuade her to make her home in my-"

Viego holds up a hand, palm out as if to urge him to stop. "You and I both know she's not going to do that, Dream. Not anymore."

"No.... I suppose she will not." Resignation churns inside Morpheus' mind at that bleak acceptance. He knows all too well that May distrusts him, that she might always distrust him, but he knows not how to change her views regarding this belief of hers. 

"Not unless the two of you patch things up," is Viego's hesitant response, and Morpheus fixes him with a wary stare despite how shocking the words are. 

"Viego-"

"Just listen. Things are bad between you guys, but they're not so far gone that they can't be fixed."

As much as Morpheus might dislike Viego (loathe if he's being less generous) the sound of hope in the maker's voice is still bittersweet. That he thinks there is anything remaining to fix in the aftermath of the blazing inferno that destroyed May and Morpheus' relationship is strangely and foolishly optimistic of him.  After all, it matters not that Morpheus loves her still. She has betrayed him, deceived him, and in doing so set fire to what they had. Everything between them has burned away to ashes so that there is nothing left of their relationship to save. Resolutely, Morpheus tells him, "Your sister and I are finished."

Viego snorts out a laugh as if what Morpheus has spoken is an absurdly humorous lie. "Says the entity that slips into her room every night to watch her sleep."

Which… Yes, he is not incorrect regarding that. Morpheus does regularly observe her as she rests, but he has a valid reasoning for doing such a thing. "She is suffering from nightmares, and I merely wish to-"

"Yeah. I don't buy that for a second. And I don't think you do either. You loved her. You loved her more fiercely than I think anyone ever has."

"An irrelevant conclusion given that I love her no longer." The second it is out of his mouth, Morpheus knows it to be false. In truth, he worries at times that he will never free himself of the love he has for her, that he is cursed to always feel this crushing wave of sentiment for a woman that had hurt him so gravely. 

"Really? That's… You know what? Just never mind. Tell yourself whatever you want."

He does not address that, feeling incapable of even putting to words the complicated knot of emotions he has concerning May and how fervently he still cares for her. "After your task here is complete, you might come to the Dreaming. She will likely take the news of her necessary stay there more readily were it to come from you."

"Of course."

Morpheus feels himself falter. The concession he is soon to give is a difficult thing to come to terms with, one that he is regardless driven to make. He tells himself that he does not do this out of love but more out of practicality. May is quite obviously ill, worn down both emotionally and physically from the toll of the recent upsets in her life. All of which, he's painfully aware, stem from her pregnancy, a condition she neither sought out nor seems to want much to do with now. He owes her more help than the nothing he has currently supplied to her, and while this gesture will not mend things between them, it might reduce some of the strain of what she's grappling with. 

 "If you should like to visit while she resides with… in my realm, then I would not be opposed to you doing so. It would… likely lessen her fears to maintain contact with you, to know that you are hale and whole. I am aware that she worries when the two of you are separated."

"And you're… cool with that?" Viego questions in audible disbelief. It is  a fair reaction, Morpheus thinks, since he has never been exactly welcoming where Viego's occasional appearances in the realm were concerned.

"I would not have offered otherwise. I… do not wish for her to be anxious during her time in the Dreaming."

Though the truth is slightly more complex than that. In all honesty, he does not wish for her to be anxious in any place she might be, but given that Viego is staring at him as if to say see, you love her still, Morpheus is unwilling to confess this to him. Thankfully, the maker does not draw attention anew to the matter of Morpheus' feelings for May or how much this reluctant invitation smacks of the selflessness inherent in love. 

"Then… yeah. I'll, uh… I'll try and stop by every day if that's okay."

The sound of the little girl crying ratchets up again, drifting across the warehouse to reach them both where they're at, and Morpheus allows Viego a small nod as he prepares to leave. "Very well. I will return to your sister and see you shortly."

On the pier in the Dreaming Sea, May sits and stares out at the water. There's a faint blue-green glow coming from the sky here, the galaxies and stars above shining where they spin slowly, lazily amidst the darkness above her. Thick plumes of fog roll in from the sea all around, and May watches the way that the wisps of it rise and roll and undulate against the surface as she tries to muddle through her own wildly unsettled thoughts. 

She had known upon first discovering her pregnancy that she had completely and irrevocably fucked up, but the events of the day have only driven that point home to her with all the force of a goddamned sledgehammer being wielded by the Hulk. Comfortable as she tends to be with owning up to her mistakes (and she has had lots of practice with those in her very long life), the realization that the baby growing inside of her could actually be one is a bitter pill to swallow. What kind of mother can she even be given that she can glance down at where her child is growing and think: Oops, probably shouldn't have done that?

The truth is that she's always wanted kids, always wanted little ones of her own to raise with all the love she never got as a youth herself, but faced with the possibility of actually having a baby in the near future, she can't help but to wonder if maybe that was… selfish of her. It doesn't feel like a particularly good or even acceptable reason to bring a kid into this world, especially given how royally fucked everything in her life is at the moment. 

The air gets heavy behind her, the atoms there swelling with the telltale energy of a shift, and May turns back just as Morpheus materializes there. 

"Is Viego-"

"He is well," Morpheus cuts in as he walks to where she is and sits gracefully beside her, mere inches of space between them. To be completely fair, though, the pier is on the smallish side in terms of width, so she guesses she can understand the lack of distance now. He draws his knees up and rests his wrists on them, staring out at the sea just like she'd been doing only minutes before. "He will arrive soon to speak with you concerning your temporary living arrangements."

Temporary living arrangements. May's stomach twists so violently that she has to swallow down bile. Though she might occasionally do idiotic things, she is, in fact, not an idiot. And she knows all too well what Viego's probably going to tell her. "What are you talking about," she asks anyway. 

Morpheus hesitates, as if he doesn't want to say whatever he's about to, and that alarm she's feeling kicks up to eleven billion on a scale of one to ten. His voice softens fractionally as he answers, "You will need to remain in this realm for a time while your brother establishes a new residence for you both."

Tears gather in her eyes as she glances away, unwilling for him to see how truly terrified by that prospect she is. Staying here? In this place? It's not that May hates the Dreaming. Not at all. It's actually quite the opposite. Once, she had loved it here, had known peace and happiness and safety for the first time in her life within the walls surrounding this realm. But that's really the problem with being thrust back into it, isn't it? Her emotions already feel like they're being held together with the thinnest thread imaginable, and she's afraid that having this memory of what almost was, this stupid dream of hers, taken away again might just tear through that thread like the fragile, delicate thing it is.

"I… see," she murmurs just to fill the sudden awkward silence. She tries to keep her voice even, tries to force herself calm though the slight wobble she can hear in her voice is probably a dead giveaway to him of how she actually feels about this. 

"I am sorry if this is… disagreeable to you." He sounds so genuine, so soothing, that her tears start to well up faster and then fall down her face. Hastily, she wipes at them. 

"Yeah, well it's not your fault that there are makers after me," May offers with a sniff. She keeps her gaze focused on the distance in an effort to avoid him, embarrassed that he might catch sight of her crying. It's not so bad, right? It's just for a little while, and shacking up with her ex isn't the worst thing that's ever happened to her. Not that she can honestly remember what that worst thing is, but she's sure there was something. It's more like she just knows she's been through a very terrible ordeal at some point in her existence. 

"Yes… Viktor is assuredly a threat."

Confused, May looks over at him. "Who?"

Morpheus goes still, guilty like a kid that's been caught with a can of spray paint in their hands next to their parents' spray painted car. "I… No one. It is nothing you need to concern yourself with."

Viktor. Viktor, he had said. She turns the name over and over in her mind. It seems so… familiar for some reason, like she ought to know instantly who that is. 

A memory flashes in her head, something painful and violent that rips through her thoughts with all the lethal ferocity of a serrated blade coming down hard onto her. 

(Blood coating her thighs. The bite of too-tight shackles about her wrist. Her screams muffled in the suffocating fabric of the gag shoved into her mouth. A man's voice taunting her as she cries. The thought that she would gladly accept death over what was being done to her in that moment.)

"Vik… Viktor," she breathes out, a feeling of desolation taking root in her stomach and wrenching it savagely. 

A white light creeps into her thoughts, slow and steady until it flares brightly, washing away everything in its brilliant shine. She hears Morpheus inhale sharply, and when she glances at him, he seems… wrecked. There's a suspicious shine to his soft blue eyes, and he's regarding her like he wants nothing more than to reach out and embrace her. 

What the hell had they been discussing that's got him this worked up? They'd been talking about… about…. It's hard to concentrate for some reason, and it takes her several long minutes of intense focusing before she eventually remembers that they'd been on the subject of her stay here. 

May frowns, thinking that he's probably just as nervous about the idea of all this as she is, that for all his repeated invitations to come and live here, he might actually be just as put off by the idea of sharing a roof with an ex as she is. His hand twitches, and May has the strangest feeling that he wants to touch her, that he wants to take her into his arms and comfort her even. It must be instinct for him, something he's actively fighting against. It had been his habit to do that in the past, to gather her up and console her when she got too overwhelmed, and she is definitely overwhelmed right now. 

Despite that the thought of an embrace is all too tempting, May's glad that he doesn't try to offer her that kind of solace then. 

After all, she doesn't really know how she'd handle that. Hell, she doesn't even know if she could handle that in this moment. All of her feels brittle, like she's a vase made of the shoddiest, most breakable glass, sitting on the edge of a counter as the ground shakes from a fucking massive earthquake. One more tremor, and she's going to topple over, probably just to shatter into a million pieces when she hits the floor. 

"Right. I…" She scrambles for the words in her mind, for the correct thing to say that might somehow make this whole shitty situation less horrible. "Thank you for opening your home to me."

He tenses visibly. "It is not only… my home, May. We will share a child, and as such you will always have a place here."

It's only with a gargantuan effort that she doesn't scoff at him for this. He'd offered her this realm once before. When he'd proposed, he'd gotten down on one knee in front of her and promised he would love her for eternity, that he would make her his queen and that this… this splendid world would be her kingdom as well as his. That was before he'd changed his mind and thrown her out of it like trash, of course, before he'd judged her past actions and found her wanting. 

"Don't say that. Don't ever say anything like that again," she snaps, her heart beating faster and faster in a furious staccato as anger rises within her. How dare he. How dare him place that possibility in front of her like it's just the most plausible thing in any world. Doesn't he understand how pathetically hopeful it makes her? Does he really not get that it reminds her of things she's trying desperately to never ever think of? She had his love, and they were content. Her future had been beautiful, and now they're apart despite the fact that she can't even remember why that is most days. 

"It is merely the truth of the matter."

"No. The truth of the matter is that this isn't my home. I don't belong here. I don't belong anywhere, Morpheus."

And that, she thinks, is much closer to honesty than whatever bullshit he'd just been trying to sell her. He'd cast her out, had flung her away from his life and this realm like she was just a speck of filthy mud on the bottom of his boots, and there's no coming back from that. For either of them.

"I understand that-"

"You don't understand anything," May interrupts, unwilling to listen to his serene calm while he lies to her about how things are now. Her body trembles with the blazing inferno of everything going on in her head. She's fucking heartbroken, heartbroken and afraid. There are literally people trying to kill her, and he's dangling the prospect of being able to leave that behind forever over her like it's the universe's juiciest steak and she's just a starved dog. 

"You are frightened," he goes on, studying her as if he's trying to figure her out, as if the idea that she's scared shitless is surprising to him or something. 

May feels the air rush out of her lungs when she recoils slightly.  "Of course I'm frightened, Morpheus. I'm powerless right now and… and I'm at your mercy. You. The same entity that cast me out like I was nothing and very clearly hates me. Add that into the fact that there are insane makers trying to fucking enslave me, and I'm…. It's not exactly an ideal spot to be in, okay?"

A normal man might leave it, might wander off and give her a minute to process the enormity of how terrifying a turn everything in her life has taken, but not Morpheus. Oh, no. The universe, in its infinite wisdom and all around assholishness, can't even allow her to have that. 

"I have told you before as I will reiterate anew: I do not hate you. It would perhaps be for the best if you disabuse yourself of that notion immediately." There's an edge of frustration to his tone, like she's being annoying by thinking his actions couldn't spell out hatred any more plainly than they do.

"Yeah, sure."

"As you well know, I do not often bother with lies."

May scoffs, and it's a bitter, hollow sound. "You're saying that to me? Me? When you've lied to me more times than I can count?"

"Of what do you speak?" His voice is low enough that it's practically little more than a growl.

"You don't do to someone that you love what you did to me. So, I know now every time you said that, every time you confessed your love for me, you were really just bullshitting."

He rears back as if she's smacked him. "You… cannot truly believe this."

"I don't just believe it, Morpheus. I know it."

Magic starts to filter in on the pier behind them, the molecules growing denser and denser as it does. Morpheus, however, does not turn his attention towards the disturbance, instead keeping his intent gaze on her, his eyes burning with some emotion that she can't name. It almost looks like regret or longing or sorrow or maybe just a mishmash of all those things together. 

And May just resolutely ignores it, getting to her feet as the blanket tumbles from her shoulders to land in a heap on the wood planks beneath her. Not far from her stands Viego, and she doesn't waste a second in going to him, in wrapping her arms around his neck so that she can cling. Viego is safe. Viego has always been safe, and the relief she has at knowing he's okay is the best thing ever amidst all the contradictory feelings currently threatening to overtake her. 

He gathers her up in one of his big bear hugs, dropping a kiss in the tangled mess of her hair. "I'm fine, sis. Dream told me what happened, though. Are you all right?"

No, she's not all right. Why does everyone seem to think she should be? Why the hell do they all keep asking her that? May disentangles from him. "Of course I am," she lies anyway. 

His answering grin is a wide one for all that she can see how fake it is, like he's putting on a mask of playfulness for her benefit. "Fibber," is his teasing accusation. 

It surprises a small laugh out of her, and she's so caught up in her happiness at the small win of Viego not being dead, in seeing that he's well, that she almost doesn't notice as Morpheus stalks past the two of them. 

"Viego," he starts, his voice rough, "I will see you on the morrow," he throws out over his shoulder, the energy of a shift amassing around him.

May frowns at Morpheus in complete confusion. "Wait… What?"

"I have invited your brother to visit you here. I thought this compromise might lessen your anxiety concerning this situation."

He had…. He had invited Viego? He hadn't even liked to do that when they were happy and in love. And now he's offering it just because... because she's stressed? It doesn't make any sense. "I… Do you mean that?"

Finally, he turns back, his eyes meeting hers, softening somehow in a gentleness that makes her breath catch. She's taken aback by how haunted his expression seems, by how much sorrow is coming off of him in great shuddering waves of sheer melancholy. 

"I would not have spoken it had I not meant it, May." 

And then he's gone, leaving her behind to stare at where he had just been, a sharp pain radiating out through her heart as if something between them has been sundered anew. She tells herself that it's not her fault, though, and that it really doesn't matter. After all, things are already broken between them beyond repair. What's one more crack in the demolished foundation that their relationship had been built on? Maybe he had loved her in the past, but right now… Right now they are very much in the present, and she has way bigger things to worry about than upsetting him. 

For some reason, however, none of her attempts to convince herself otherwise actually do much about that dull, throbbing ache in her chest, the one that reminds her curiously enough of heartbreak.

Tag list: @julesandro @cozystorynook

If anyone else wants to be added to this list, let me know. I hope you all enjoyed this!!! <3

#morpheus x oc #morpheus x reader #sandman fic #dilf!morpheus #morpheus x pregnant oc #dream of the endless #sandman fanfiction #morpheus fanfiction #morpheus fic #sandman x reader #dream of the endless x reader #sandman oc #the bizarre breeding habits of anthropomorphic personifications #BBHAP #dad!morpheus

[alteon77]

The Bizarre Breeding Habits of Anthropomorphic Personifications: Chapter 6

It's a tale as old as time.

Two idiots fall in love. Two idiots fall out of love.

Neither one of them is expecting a baby to come along and derail their unhappily ever after.

Chapter One here, AO3 here, Masterlist here

Chapter Summary: A sentient television that's also a life coach appears in May's dreams. Morpheus learns about Twilight, and compromises are finally made.

In her room, May sits on her bed and tries her damnedest to relax. Viego had jokingly told her that she had all of the blankets in the house, and while she had laughed at the time, the eleven inch tall, incredibly heavy heap of them on top of her kinda feels like it might actually be every one they own. Not that she would ever admit this to her brother, mostly because he tends to get extra sassy for a week or two if she lets him think he's right about anything, and she's not going to deal with that. At least not with everything going on in her life at the moment.

Behind May, there's a mountain of pillows crammed between her back and the headboard and she's got a ball of yarn in her lap. Her two short, thin knitting needles click and clack rhythmically in her hands as she focuses half of her attention on the tiny sweater she's making and half of her attention on the Dateline episode playing in the background. She's not quite sure why she's been so fixated on true crime shows lately, but everytime Viego catches her watching one, he makes a face, the kind of face that says he's considering locking up all the knives in the house and barricading his door at night. 

Which is hilarious. Really. 

Mostly because May's not actually the violent type, but if she were the kind of entity to take part in the odd homicide here or there, then there are at least a dozen instances where she'd been justifiably pissed enough at Viego to warrant trying to kill him. What she's saying basically is that his mother-henning over her (and that's totally what he's doing whether or not he wants to own up to it) isn't going to be the thing that causes his death by her hand. 

Of course, it's all really a moot point since May isn't a murderer, and she imagines that if she were to start a career of taking lives, she wouldn't begin with her own family, for fuck's sake. 

Her mind blanks, and she shakes her head in confusion at the curious sensation. What the hell had she been thinking about? Something with Viego and the way he grimaces whenever he catches her watching true crime stuff. May frowns at the strange white spot in her memory. She's pretty sure that she's already getting pregnancy brain, and given that she's barely sleeping and definitely keeping absolutely no food down, she guesses she shouldn't be surprised by that. Then again, her issues with remembering things could also have more to do with the massive amount of stress she's been dealing with lately..

And there has definitely been stress. The truth is that things have been… tense in her new house. For the past week Morpheus has been coming by once or twice a day, and Viego… hates it. Or, she supposes it would be more accurate to say that Viego hates him. It's not enough that the father of her child is near silent and angrily awkward during these little visits, but to have Viego spend the entirety of them glaring at Morpheus like he wants to wring his neck is freaking her out six ways to Sunday. And of course Morpheus, who has always been an ass where Viego is concerned, doesn't even try to play nice. There have been no less than four occasions where she was pretty sure she was going to have to break them up from a proper scuffle, like two boys in a schoolyard fighting over damned Pokemon cards.  

Not that she's the Pokemon card in this metaphor. Oh no. That honor belongs solely to the kid growing inside of her, which is more than a bit… dehumanizing. Can she even say dehumanizing given that she's not actually a human? May doesn't know, but she's going to go with it regardless. It makes her feel like nothing but an incubator, like she's just here to carry and birth the baby and that's it. Every time Morpheus comes to see her, she catches him stealing glances at her stomach, staring at the very, very slight swell there like he's entranced or something. Months ago, she would have taken pleasure in teasing him, would have playfully welcomed him to come and sit at her side and try to talk to it or something. But now… now when he realizes that she can see what he's doing, he usually clenches his jaw and looks away, unwilling to bear her gaze on him.  

And it… hurts.  

It hurts a lot. 

Before she can dwell too much on that, though, her television starts acting up. It makes a weird grinding noise, the picture on the screen flickering as the whole things begins shaking violently. May stares in horrified, wide-eyed fascination as two long, seemingly flexible tubes sprout from the side of it, the black plastic of these new appendages gleaming in the light of her bedside lamp.  

Wait. What?

"Young lady, why are you watching this?" A voice demands in a high pitched British accent, and it takes May an embarrassingly long time to figure out that it's the TV that's speaking.  

Which… is fair, she feels like. She hasn't really came across a ton of televisions that talk and… have arms? Are those arms? May really doesn't understand exactly what is going on here, but she thinks she ought to respond. "Um… excuse me?"

The sentient electronic harrumphs at her. Properly harrumphs. Like a stern English nanny. "You are far too immature to view this sort of programming," it admonishes. "Let's see if we can find something more age appropriate for you." 

The image on the screen changes, and May gapes open-mouthed at Dora the Explorer telling Swiper to stop swiping. It's… a kid's cartoon. Did she just… get insulted by an electronic device? Had her TV really just called her immature? What the hell has her life came to that she's got to deal with snippy televisions now? What's next? Is her car going to start yelling at her for speeding? Is her toaster going to call her a slob for never cleaning it?  

All May knows for certain is that this particular television is obviously a super salty, super petty bitch, one that seems pretty judgey of her. She knows that she should probably just ignore it, just refuse to engage in an argument. 

But, nah. The gauntlet has been thrown. 

"I am not a child!" May sputters indignantly. "I'm literally thousands of years old which is kind of the exact opposite of a child." 

Those new spindly arms wiggle like they're figuring out how exactly to work before they're crossed just under the screen, and it reminds May of nothing so much as the pose an angry mom might take while getting on to her kids. "You're handling your relationship like a child, and you refuse to seek help despite the severity of your condition. Like a child." 

"I…" May struggles to address either of those accusations. The damn thing isn't completely wrong. She knows that there's something not quite right with her body and this pregnancy, that she's waaaay sicker than she should be, but getting medical attention is a little more complicated than the TV is making it out to be. For starters, who would she even go to? She's not human, and any maker healer who could help her has either been forcibly conscripted into the war raging on her home world, has been killed for refusing to be conscripted, or is so adept at hiding that it would take a miracle to find them. 

And as for her and Morpheus' relationship, Tina the fucking television can go blow a fuse for all May cares. Every day that she politely tolerates her ex's obviously reluctant, very grumpy presence is a day she is acting like an adult. Full stop.  

"Look, my health and my lovelife are none of your business, Tina. So back off." 

The TV shudders violently, thick plumes of smoke rising from its top, and May gets the strangest impression that it's trying to… trying to move from where it's mounted on the wall. "My name," it yells angrily, "is Tammy!" 

Legs start growing from the bottom of it, and May grabs the remote beside her to press the power button as hard as she can, like that'll actually turn it off or something.  

Which, surprise surprise, it doesn't.   

In fact, it kind of seems to piss Tammy off even more.  

May is at a loss for how exactly to deal with the soon-to-be walking, possibly homicidal television that apparently really really has it in for her. She clutches the remote tightly in her hand, ready to use it as a weapon if she has to, but it doesn't end up getting flung at the TV. Oh no. There will be no such dignity for her. When a darkly-clad figure just appears out of nowhere in the corner of her room, she chucks it at him like she's throwing a spear. It's only several seconds after she's done this that she realizes it's Morpheus standing there, looking as gorgeous as usual while he catches her hastily flung projectile with ease mere seconds before it can hit his nose. He glares at her and then flicks his eyes to the TV, which at once stills and returns back to its normal, inanimate state.  

"You are dreaming," he informs her, his voice low and smooth.  

No shit, she wants to say even as she bites her tongue to stop herself from doing that. They've been civil to one another this past week, polite even, and she'll be damned if she's going to be the one responsible for breaking their temporary peace. "Yeah. I uh… I think I got that," she responds instead, though she's unable to keep a healthy dose of sarcasm from her tone as she does so. Her heart still thunders in her chest, and she presses an open palm on it like that might calm it down. "Where's the door?"

Morpheus studies her for a moment before he stalks forward, closing the distance between them to return her makeshift weapon to her. He extends it to her like an olive branch, a rectangular one made of shiny black plastic and adorned with rubbery buttons on its front. "I believe I have managed to address the issue of the portal that was connected to my realm. If I have succeeded, then it should not bother you again." 

Right. His realm. It's only his now despite that it had once been theirs. Rationally, she knows she has no claim on the Dreaming, that it will never again be her home considering everything that's gone on between her and Morpheus, but irrationally it still hurts to hear him take back complete ownership of it. She had loved that realm, had loved it more than she'd ever loved any other world, and the reminder that she no longer has the right to even visit there is like a knife in the heart. May won't say that aloud either, though. She's starting to figure out that navigating this potentially explosive relationship with Morpheus is going to involve the both of them learning how to keep their mouths shut for the sake of not setting the other off. "Then… what are you doing here?" 

Morpheus stiffens, going tense as if he's upset at her for daring to ask him why he's doing something. "I… remain unsure as to whether any injury you receive in your dreams will transfer over to your physical form." 

May frowns. "Sooo, you're just going to… What? Monitor me while I sleep from now on?" 

"Yes." 

She snorts out a laugh, all too aware that that's a baaad idea for a couple of reasons, chief of which being how often a version of him appears in them. Usually naked. Almost always fucking her into whatever solid surface her mind has conjured up. Sometimes cuddling with her afterwards and professing his undying love to her. 

God, she's pathetic.  

"No, you're not going to do that," May tells him, still laughing despite the horror she feels at the idea of Morpheus ever walking into one of those dreams.  

He glowers as if she's just some lowly, insignificant thing, and she thinks she could smack him for that particular look. "What did you just say to me?" he growls, and she's suddenly very aware that he's still standing near to her, close enough that he's on the fringes of her personal space bubble. It's more than a little intimidating. 

She forges on anyway. As determined as she is to try and stay civil with him, she refuses to let him continue stepping right over her boundaries. "I said no. As in, my dreams are my own personal business, and you shouldn't be in them."

He scoffs derisively. "I am free to involve myself with anything that has to do with my function, May Westin. That assuredly includes your dreamscape." 

May huffs out a sigh and crosses her arms. "Were you watching me sleep again?" 

"You are asking how I, Dream of the Endless, knew you slumbered? Shall I explain my duties to you anew?" His pointer finger on his right hand twitches ever so slightly, one of the few tells he has when he's lying, and May narrows her eyes at him in suspicion. 

"No, I know what your duties entail. I'm asking you if you were out there in the Waking standing over me like a stalker while I slept." 

His face doesn't change because he can rock that mask of impassivity like nobody else she's ever met, but his eyes flicker for a fraction of a second in what May can only describe as guilty embarrassment. "Again, my function includes-"

"You totally were, weren't you?" she cuts in, unwilling to listen to his blatant bullshit on the matter. 

"I…" He glances away, and May thinks that if he were human, he would probably blush as he did so. "Perhaps." 

Well, at least he admitted it. Begrudgingly. But still she guesses that's something. "Okay. Then we've got to talk about the creepy Edward Cullen thing, Morpheus." 

His expression finally shifts, morphing into one of puzzlement as if he's trying to suss out what it is she's just said to him. He sits gracefully on the edge of her bed, settling on the plush, floral comforter like it's just another throne for him. It's completely unfair how he always manages that, how he can look so damn regal even when he shouldn't, and her stomach swoops at the sight in what could be either lust or a fresh bout of morning sickness. She's honestly not sure which anymore, but she's leaning towards it being lust when she starts vividly imagining him naked there as she climbs atop him, starts imagining herself rolling her hips as he groans beneath her, his hands clutching at her waist to steady her as she rides him with needful abandon.  

May bites her lip. These freakin' pregnancy hormones are really going to kill her when it's all said and done, and she forcibly tries to think of kittens or the Grand Canyon or standing in line at the DMV. Anything, really, to stop her from accidentally showing him what she's almost desperate to do, which in this moment is to fervently fuck him with all the desire that a solid two months of pent up lust can bring a girl. 

"I've no idea the meaning of those words," he confesses slowly, studying her oddly like she's broadcasting every filthy thought in her head in surround sound, and May hopes against hope that he's not actually picking up on what the smutty part of her brain is putting down. 

"Um…" she stammers, her cheeks uncomfortably warm in what she knows is a spectacular blush. "What?"

"Your continued references to Edward Cullen," he supplies helpfully.  

Right. Right. Twilight. She can… She can totally focus on that.  

"It's a…" May blows out a breath. It feels familiar, painfully familiar, to have to explain pop culture references to him. Despite that Dream has the entire collective unconsciousness kicking about in his awareness, he's still woefully clueless when it comes to much of anything about real life mortals. For her and Viego, blending in had been a useful skill, an important one. It had served to keep them hidden and alive in a world full of humans for many millennia, so she had made it a point to try and teach Morpheus how to better interact with the mortals they met when they took their sporadic trips together into the Waking. Though honestly, he had always seemed as if he thought these lessons were a waste of his time, and he had been the absolute worst student while she attempted to educate him on not acting quite so…. other around humans. "There's this book series that got turned into a bunch of films, and in them the main male character, Edward Cullen, is a vampire who sneaks into the main female character's room to watch her while she sleeps." 

"I… understand," he says in a way that lets her know he probably doesn't understand at all. "She is his prey then?" 

A smile tugs at her lips, and May looks down to hide it. "Nooooot exactly. They, um… get married, have a baby, and are fighting off a whole group of enemy vampires by the fifth movie." 

He regards her shrewdly as if he's positive that she's having a laugh at his expense. "Surely you jest." 

"Nope. Afraid not. It was a really popular franchise. Viego took me to see the fourth movie." 

"Viego? Why would he do such a thing?"

May bites her lower lip and stoically resists the need to laugh uproariously at the memory. "Not by choice. He, um, lost a bet with me and part of the terms of that bet were that he would have to wear a team Jacob shirt to the theater when we went." 

"Team… Jacob?" 

"Oh, yeah . I forgot to tell you about that in my super brief summary. He's the werewolf who makes the third point in the story's love triangle." 

His brows draw together, his forehead creasing. "I… have no words." 

"That's probably for the best. Viego had a ton of them- words, I mean- on the subject, more than I ever wanted to hear in a lifetime really. He ended up getting us kicked out of the movie when he loudly booed the wedding scene and threw popcorn at the screen while it was going on." May finally loses that fight with her laughter, giving in without intending to. Something in Morpheus' face seems to soften at the sight of her cracking up over Viego's antics, and it encourages her to continue on talking. "You want to know what the really weird part of that whole fiasco was?" 

"Because all the rest of what you've told me concerning this has been so very normal?" he questions dryly, a faint smirk playing on his lips.  

May ignores that because she doesn't think he'll understand that it was normal to a lot of people. "Viego… I think he really was team Jacob. At the end of the third movie when Bella, the main female character, decides she's going to marry that Edward guy, Viego went off on a two hour long rant about how Jacob was clearly the better choice and that she was an idiot for sticking it out with a vampire that was clearly way too old for her and flew a billion red flags." 

"Red… flags?" 

She nods. "Yeah. I mean I was team Edward, but he definitely did some sus things."

His nose scrunches up in the closest approximation she's ever seen him get to a WTF face. "You were team Edward? Whatever for?" 

May sighs heavily. "Because broody, pale assholes are unfortunately my type," she relays to him before she can really think about it, and when she realizes what stupidity she's just word-vomited out loud, she glances up wide-eyed at him. He looks extremely, extremely unimpressed by her answer. "Shit. Sorry… I didn't mean…"  

"What were the questionable things that you mentioned of this Edward's behavior?" he asks roughly, like he's forcing himself to be calm while he changes the subject, and May is strangely grateful to him for that. He's not the type to stick his foot in his mouth, but he knows that May is. And having him give her an out from this thorny and mortifying occurrence of it is… well, almost sweet. 

"He… tried to control where she went and who she saw, and he would sneak into her room and just stare at her while she slept." 

"I see. Despite that it is an odd way to woo a potential partner, this was clearly some sort of courting ritual on his part."

"They were all stalkerish things to do, period," May corrects. "And while we're on the subject of stalkerish behaviors, we've got to have a chat about Matthew." 

He goes blank, his mask of apathy slipping back over his features in a split second. "What of him?" 

"He seems to be under some ridiculous notion that he has to stay outside in the damn trees and spy on me."

There isn't an ounce of shame or contrition on his face as he nods once in confirmation of this. "Of course. I ordered him to do so." 

"Well, unorder him to do so," May says and when he predictably opens his mouth to argue, she cuts him off quickly. "He's more than welcome to just come in and hang out with me. I've always liked Matthew. His company… isn't a bother. At all." 

Morpheus regards her in confusion. "Very well. You are aware, however, that he is reporting to me." 

"Whaaaat? I'm completely shocked. Oh. Wait. Never mind actually." She scoffs at him. "Of course I knew he was reporting back to you. Why else would you have him stationed around my house like he was the world's cutest security camera?" She won't admit that it makes her feel safe, that knowing there is a constant link to an Endless who can get to her in a fraction of a second is hella comforting. Mostly she won't say this to him because she doesn't want to encourage his annoying tendency to spy but also… also because she doesn't want to own up to the fact that she might ever need him for anything.  

Morpheus makes a face, probably because she'd called his raven the world's cutest, like he's a puppy with a giant fluffy mullet and not at all like he's the esteemed companion to an Endless. But it's the truth. Matthew is adorable, and May would absolutely die on that hill.  

Nonetheless, she's got to finish hammering this thing out with Morpheus. It's not okay with her that she's being watched so much, that he's putting her friend in the difficult position of having to tell him things that are frankly none of his concern.  

She doesn't even get the chance to speak, though, because Morpheus beats her to it. "Then in the spirit of honesty between us, he informed me that you have been quite… ill of late." 

She's stunned, and she feels herself go tense with indecision. In the spirit of honesty is what he'd said. Should she tell him? Should she admit to him that she's been sick enough that it's starting to really worry her? "I… Morning sickness sucks." Unable to bear the way he's looking at her, she lets her eyes drift downwards to stare at the geometric design on her top blanket like it's particularly fascinating. "Viego found this tea that was supposed to help, but… I don't think it is." 

"Can I… Is there anything you need?" he asks her, his voice quiet, an uncharacteristic falter in his words. For some reason, she gets the overwhelming impression that he wants to reach out to her in comfort.  

It reminds her too much of his affection, of his care, and May's eyes burn as they well with tears. Once, she'd had that from him, and this kindness towards her wouldn't have been out of place in the slightest then, but… no longer. Thinking about the loss of him, the loss of their relationship, is a little like jabbing a serrated blade straight into her already bruised heart. "No… no. I'm… fine." 

"You do not… seem well." 

I'm not, she wants to say. She's so fucking far from well that it's pathetic, but… she can't explain that to him. She doesn't have a ton of pride left, but she's definitely got enough that she can't bring herself to let him know him how weak she really is due to the pregnancy.  

His brow furrows and his lips purse like he's disappointed at her or something. "And the fainting? Have you suffered from another such occurrence of it since your collapse on the pier? 

Fuck. She resists the childish urge to cover her ears with her hands and sing la, la, la, la, la at the top of her lungs in an effort to avoid this conversation. It makes her think that Tammy the television might have maybe, possibly had a teeny tiny point. But May doesn't want to do this with him, doesn't want to hear that concern in his voice that reminds her of when he used to love her enough to to be concerned. Now, she knows it's just the baby and the responsibility he feels towards it that's driving him to act like this. "It's fine. I'm… fine. The baby's fine." 

He purses his lips again, and May decides that she's going to name that expression his lip-purse-of-doom. There's a dirty joke in there somewhere, but she swears she can't scourge it up in her fuzzy mind to save her life. "You are attempting to deceive me," he accuses.

"No. I just… really don't want to talk about this. And… it's not really any of your business. I'm not any of your business, which is why… we're gonna need to set some ground rules on what Matthew is allowed to share with you."  

"Allowed?" 

May's lips thin out into an irritated line. Sometimes, she really thinks that him being so obtuse is just an act, one meant to frustrate her into giving in to his demands out of a sheer desire not to have to tediously clarify things to him. "Yes. Allowed. You know what I'm saying to you, and I won't have your raven telling you every little thing about my life." 

He lips pucker as if he's been sucking on lemons, and it's a ridiculously sexy look on him. Seriously, what in the hell is wrong with her? "It is imperative that I-" 

"I don't care," May interrupts sternly, aware that she needs to leave him no wiggle room where he can try and wear her down. "Again, I will repeat that you don't have a right to that anymore. I'm open to Matthew sticking by my side to let you know if I'm ever in danger, but… what goes on with me personally is just…. It has nothing to do with you now."

"Nothing to do with me? We are to have a child together," he hisses, "and you would dare to inform me that I am not permitted to know the minutiae of your life?" 

"Because you're not. And I'm really trying to compromise with you on some of this stuff. I could have Viego ban Matthew from crossing the boundary of the wards tomorrow if I wasn't." 

He scoffs, the sound contemptuous. "Compromise. I am coming to utterly loathe that concept." 

"Well, you should probably get used to it. Like you've said, we're going to have a kid together. With the awkward co-parenting thing, there are going to be loads of compromises to be made between us."

He stills and then appears thoughtful for a moment, considering. "You believe we should learn how to… manage these inconsistencies in what we both want before the child is born. I… cannot fault such logic." 

May is taken aback in shock. "Did we just… agree on something?" 

His mouth curves up in an enexpected,  barely there smile. "Perhaps, but I… Will you answer me this honestly? The morning sickness worries you, does it not?" His voice is so… gentle as he asks this, his hand twitching like he might stretch it out to rest on her back in sympathy, and May is suddenly, irrationally furious at him. Everything between them is so broken, so stilted, and it's at least partially his fault. He'd been done with her, irrefutably done, and to have him now looking so earnestly tender at her just kind of pisses her off.  

Which is probably why she snaps. "What do you think? I can't keep any food down, and I hurt constantly, and I'm so tired that I don't even want to get out of bed, and my magic-" May catches herself before she can finish that sentence, closing her mouth shut so quickly that her poor teeth clack together. Shit, shit, shit. Cursing herself for her stupidity, she knows that she's messed up in mentioning anything about her disappearing powers to him, but it's not like she can take the words back now. 

He straightens up like a pointer hound on the scent of a wounded fox. "What of your magic?" 

"Nothing. It's fine." 

Tight-lipped, he asks her, "Why do you persist in lying to me?" 

"I'm not lying."

He scowls, and her stomach flip flops in something that definitely isn't lust. Bile rises up in her throat, and she knows she's going to be sick. Morpheus, unaware of this, keeps right on with their argument. "A lie of omission is still very much a lie. What is it you refuse to tell me?" 

"Listen, I need to wake up," she informs him as calmly as she can, swallowing thickly as she fights the urge to start heaving up what little bit of food she'd managed to eat that day. 

"No. Not until you've given me the truth." 

"I think I'm going to be sick, so unless you want me to choke to death on my own vomit, stop holding me here and let me go." 

His eyes bore into her, scrutinizing her as if she's just a bug on display waiting for him to pin her wings down. "If you must waken, then use your magic to pull yourself from the dream." 

"What? Don't be a jerk, okay. Just-" 

Unblinking, he observes her. "Unless you are incapable of it." 

"You're being ridiculous." She can feel the blood draining from her face, though.

He looks her over with an assessing stare, and she knows that he knows, that he's figured out exactly what she didn't want him to. "You have no powers, do you?" 

May gets to her feet in the dreamscape. Christ, but she wants to punch him. "Damn it, Morpheus. Get out of my head." 

"Then pay me the courtesy of being honest with me. You speak of compromise as one of the skills we must learn before our child is born, and I shall add another to that list. Truth, May. I am willing to compromise with you only so long as you are willing to cease this dishonesty with me." 

Her chest heaves in newfound panic as she stares at him, wondering over what she should do. She doesn't want to tell him a damn thing, but… he's not exactly wrong. They are going to be parents eventually, and it's not crazy for him to want the truth from her while they figure out how to navigate some of these issues.  

"All right… I…I  don't," she admits cautiously, her body trembling at the possibility of how he'll react. His temper has always been a problem, but when he’d loved her he had been more than content to gentle it around her, to keep calm in her presence no matter how bad their disagreements ever got. But… he doesn't love her anymore, and she's discovered in the wake of this fact that his anger is frightening as hell. May draws in a ragged breath. "My kind… lose our magic when we're pregnant." 

"I see. Were you to tell me this? Was I to know-" 

She crosses her arms over her chest as if she's trying to protect herself. "Look… being weak in front of anyone is… fucking terrifying. You… especially." 

He rears back like she's hit him, confusion and sorrow told in his features. "You believe I would… hurt you?" 

May doesn't answer for several moments, trying to think of how to diplomatically respond with a giant yes in a way that doesn't start another argument. "I'm just… on edge at the moment," she hedges. "I think with everything that's gone on in the past few months, I'm entitled to feel that way."  

His eyes blaze at this, a fire of his fury that's just been lit amidst the void black of them, and his hands clench into fists as his jaw tightens. "Perhaps you would feel less on edge in the safety of the Dreaming."

The fucking anthropomorphic personification. May almost throws her remote at him again. Is he really back on this? "Please tell me you're kidding. I thought we had agreed." 

"That was before I knew you were completely defenseless," he lashes out, his tone so deep that her dreamscape rumbles alarmingly.  

May can't help the way she stiffens in panic.  

His mood, mercurial as ever, flickers back and forth like a dying light bulb in a poorly lit room, making everything switch from bright to dark before she can even blink. It… scares her. She doesn't think it makes her a coward to admit to fear where his anger is concerned, and she reminds herself that Viego had designed their current wards so that nobody, not even an Endless, could shift another out of the house without spoken consent. "I'm okay. Can we… not do this?" She hates how small her voice sounds, how afraid she feels.  

"You are asking me to ignore the fact that you are utterly defenseless in this realm-" 

"I'm safe," she interrupts. "Viego's wards are-" 

"Wholly insufficient seeing that I traipsed right through them just weeks ago when I brought you home after your collapse in my realm." 

"They were set up so that you could always get in if you wanted. Not all of us banish people from our existence just because we're upset with them." 

It also probably had a lot to do with the fact that she still loved him, that she'll likely never stop loving him. When faced with the possibility of removing him completely from her life, she had been unable to take that final step, unable to visit the same shitty behavior on him that he'd easily shown to her. 

Of course, she doesn't say any of this. She won't ever say any of this. Not to him, at least. Her one-sided love makes her seriously hate herself. For fuck's sake, he'd yelled at her and kicked her out of her home, scaring her half to death then with the rage she could feel thrumming just under his skin, like he'd been so angry he could kill her if she dared to fight back. And May knows that he had been more than capable of it, that she had been lucky to escape his wrath without worse punishment. She's never lied to herself about what kind of entity she'd willingly crawled into bed with, never been idiotic enough to try and convince herself that he hadn't done terrible, morally reprehensible things to past lovers.  

She'd just never thought that he would do them to her.   

Despite that she had felt those stirrings of attraction to him during that very first meeting of theirs, it had only been after their ordeal in Roderick Burgess' basement that she'd even considered starting a relationship with him because she had believed he'd changed. She had thought (stupidly, she now knows) that captivity had altered him in some fundamental way, that he was kinder for it, more aware of the effects his actions might have on others. 

He had seemed regretful when he'd finally confessed his past deeds to her, and May had bought that regret- hook, line, and sinker- from him for a long long time, right up until the moment he'd turned his fierce, savage temper on her.   

Her admission about the warding brings him up short, however, and his whole body goes taut. "Upset? You believe I was merely upset? " He questions witheringly, his expression acidic in its fury. "Surely you were not foolish enough to think of my vitriol towards you then as something so mild?" 

That stings, and her stomach twists again as a fresh wave of nausea comes over her. " Don't call me foolish. I just… would really appreciate it if you could refrain from saying anything else cruel. I know that's pretty much your default setting, but I don't need you to make me feel any more pathetic than I already do. Okay? Thanks. " 

He's static before her, unmoving, the way that a snake gets before it strikes out and sinks its venomous fangs into a defenseless prey animal. May has no delusions that she'd be anything other than the prey animal in this little equation of him and her, and not for the first time, she wonders what in the hell she's actually gotten herself into. 

He clenches his fists more tightly at his side. "My… apologies," he grits out, the words rough. "I did not intend to… upset you" 

"It's… fine." 

"Do not use that word again," he seethes. "You are not fine. This situation is not fine. There is nothing that could conceivably be considered fine in any of this." 

She inhales sharply. "Okay. Sure. Nothing is fine right now. Is that what you want to hear? That I'm fucking scared? That I'm barely holding it together? That I'm terrified to bring a baby into the mess of my life where I'm currently being hunted like an animal? That I am horrified at the idea of having a child with an entity that hates my guts?" 

His face darkens. "If you would only come back to the Dreaming with me-" 

"And what, Morpheus? Should I come back to the Dreaming with you and subject myself to your attitude? Have a kid while I'm trapped in your realm? Worry that one day you'll get pissed enough to banish me again and keep our child for yourself?" 

Everything goes silent, her accusation hanging heavy in the air between them. 

He visibly recoils, stunned by what she's just said. "You… cannot believe me capable of such a thing." 

"I don't know what you're capable of. Not anymore. I honestly don't think I ever did." 

He glares at her, and she's sure he has some asshole response to that, something callous and biting to throw back at her, but he doesn't get the opportunity to destroy her with it this time. Her stomach gives one last somersault, and May snaps awake, rolling from her bed to sprint towards the washroom. She falls hard to her knees, barely managing to get the lid up before she's getting disgustingly sick yet again.

It's her fourteenth time that day, so she supposes she's not really surprised by it. Not anymore. But what does surprise her is when she feels the cold cloth on the back of her neck, the gentle hands catching stray strands of her hair and brushing them back from her face. She thinks that Viego must have came back, that it has to be her brother tending to her, but when she looks up with teary eyes, she's utterly shocked to see Morpheus there, crouched down on the balls of his feet as he regards her worriedly. 

Her face flushes bright red in embarrassment. She doesn't want anyone to see her like this, least of all him. "Go away," she mutters as she closes the lid to the toilet and pulls the handle down to flush it. All of her aches, from her head down to her legs, and she can't… do this with him right now.  

"I will not leave you alone in this state," he tells her, his voice as firm as his stubborn resolve. "Do you require assistance to stand?" 

Her body trembling, her muscles worn out with fatigue, and she shakes her head anyway. "No. I've got it." 

He ignores her like he knows she's just being obstinate, bracing her with a hand on her elbow as she gets to her feet and carefully makes her way to the sink so she can brush her teeth and drink a glass of water. He stays right by her side while she does this, like he's frightened she might faint, and months ago she would have thought him sweet for it, but in their current situation it just… hurts.   

Everything with him hurts these days.  

"Is there anything… that might settle your stomach?" he asks lightly, probably mindful of their most recent fight. "Is there anything you need… or want?"

"No, thank you." She's aware that she sounds brittle, hollowed out. "I'm just going to… rest some more." She can't look at him, can't bear to see the pity in his face.  

"Very well," he finally allows, his voice so tender that it makes her eyes burn with fresh tears. "If you require me for anything, you will summon me immediately through Matthew. Might… we agree on that at least?" 

"Sure," she mumbles. "I can… I can do that." She still can't lift her eyes to his, still isn't brave enough to glance up at him. 

"Will you permit me to help you back to your bed?" 

May shakes her head again, and it makes her feel dizzy. "No… I've got it, but thanks." 

"Then… I shall wait to take my leave until you are comfortably settled into it." 

"You don't have to do that." 

"Please let me… help you." May flicks her gaze to him at last, stunned to hear the please that's tumbled from his lips. He's never been the type to plead for anything, and for him to do so is shocking as hell to her. What she sees makes her heart squeeze tightly. He's troubled, clearly concerned for her. His eyes have faded back into their usual blue, but there are no stars or universes within them as if he's so anxious that they cannot manifest.

"Morpheus…."  

"You could consider it a compromise between us. I… only wish to know that you are… cared for, and it is not something that should be difficult for you to allow me."

Self-deprecation twists her guts, but eventually she nods anyway, giving in to him and hating herself for it. "I… okay. If it's that big of a deal to you." 

"It is," he tells her, and he seems so sincere as he does that she could almost believe his concern has something to do with her and not just the child she's currently growing. 

Nonetheless, he dutifully follows her to her bed, watching as she climbs into it and reaching out to assist her as she tugs her covers up over herself. He looks almost… fidgety, like he wants to… do more, like he's yearning to console her, to hold her, to… something.  

He's an enigma wrapped up in a mystery wrapped up in the origins of the universe, and May is far too fucking tired to try and figure him out in the moment. Before he goes, he walks over to her window and pulls it open. As her eyes get increasingly heavy, May doesn't quite know what he's doing until Matthew flies in and lands on the sill of it where they speak in low whispers, probably so Morpheus can relay his orders to the poor guard raven.  

The last thing she's aware of is Matthew landing near her as she drifts off into unconsciousness, fading quickly into an unnaturally restful sleep. And for the first time in ages, she has beautiful dreams, ones so full of peace and love that she thinks she doesn't want to ever wake up from the contentment of them. Though she knows she will.

Dreams have, after all, always been such fleeting things. 

NEXT CHAPTER

#morpheus x oc #dream of the endless #morpheus x reader #sandman fic #morpheus fanfiction #dream of the endless x reader #sandman x reader #sandman fanfiction #morpheus fic #sandman oc #BBHAP

[alteon77]

The Bizarre Breeding Habits of Anthropomorphic Personifications: Chapter 1

It's a tale as old as time.

Two idiots fall in love. Two idiots fall out of love.

Neither one of them is expecting a baby to come along and derail their unhappily ever after.

AO3 Here, Masterlist Here

May doesn't know what she's expecting really.

It's… not this, though. 

Her life, in her humble and not at all objective opinion, has always turned to crap in some form or another, and this is just more proof of that fact. She thinks as she stares down at the little white stick in her hands that she probably should have seen this coming, probably should have spotted the possibility of this catastrophe from a mile away given her often rotten luck. It's not enough that she was dumped, that she was kicked out of her home. Oh no no no. Now, she gets to be a single mother as well, and the realization of this makes her idly wonder when it is that the universe is going to start cutting her any slack or giving her even an ounce of compassion. She's pretty sure from past experience that the answer to that is a gigantic never.

In her small bathroom, she sits on the edge of the tub, scowling down at the obnoxious pink plus sign on the pregnancy test. She's partly horrified and partly angry, worrying over what in the hell she's actually gotten herself into. This is a disaster of the highest order, nothing less than the stupidest thing she's ever done. 

Her power, she knows, is going to be nonexistent while she's pregnant. For her kind, it's almost always this way, and she likely has a very limited time left before it completely disappears for a while. Which, in her opinion, sucks. She likes her power, likes being able to create things from thin air, likes to be able to defend herself. That last one especially is really important. As trouble friendly as she tends to be, the idea of being without her magic (and its ability to protect her) is kind of low key terrifying in the worst way. 

And it's not like she can expect any help from this baby's father. Her and Morpheus are finished. Done. Dream of the Endless had cast her out of his realm like a week old bag of trash, banished her from the Dreaming so completely that she was left unable to even dream. He'd looked at her like she was nothing as he'd done it, and she'd known in that moment that she was nothing to him. It had hurt more than… more than she had ever thought he could hurt her. She'd hoped, like the idiot that she sometimes is, that he would seek her out, maybe give her a chance to explain. But she hasn't heard from him in over a month, and she doesn't think she ever will again. 

Which is fine with her. Really. 

Or at least it will be. Any day now. It takes time to mend a broken heart after all. 

She contemplates this horrible mess of hers, the newest in an ungodly long string of them, and thinks she might cry. Or throw up. And knowing that she doesn't want to do either of those things again today, she forces herself to calm. Summoning up the last of her pitiful optimism, she tries to think over this as rationally as she can. This isn't completely terrible. Everything could be okay. Mortals deal with these sorts of things all the time, and they come out of it just fine. Lots of people end up pregnant unintentionally. And she doesn't have to make any decision right this minute. It might be best if she can come to terms with this and then figure out what she's supposed to do about it, figure out how to keep herself safe. She just needs to take a little time to process and think everything over. That's all.  

Of course the universe, being the salty bitch that it is, isn't going to give her something as simple as time. Not when it's so much more fun to make things worse for her. Honestly, she probably shouldn't have assumed that things could go anywhere but downhill from there. 

When Morpheus had banished her, he'd done so completely, thoroughly blocking her from everything to do with his function in an attempt to ensure that they would never see one another again. And this, on top of his casting her from the realm and verbally lashing out at her, meant that he had stripped her of her ability to dream. Since their split, she hasn't had a single night where she was capable of doing it, and so a week after learning of her pregnancy- when she sleeps and finds herself dreaming- she's… well, shocked is a good word for it. 

It takes her an embarrassingly long amount of time to realize, though, that this isn't actually her dream she's experiencing. 

She's in a tiny kitchen, the cabinets painted an unusual  green as a man putters about, humming a tune under his breath while he works. He's making tea, she thinks, and he doesn't seem to be able to see her. The invisibility is cool for all of five minutes until it starts to freak May out a little, and she finds herself trying to get the man's attention by means of clapping and waving her hands in his face. He doesn't stop what he's doing at all as she does any of this, however, doesn't let up in his work until the distinct jingle of keys being twisted in a lock sounds out through the otherwise quiet space. 

And then…. then a human sized dragon trots in the apartment wearing a smart business suit, a few shopping bags clutched between two raptor-like claws, claws that are painted a cute, entirely out-of-place pink. 

Not that May really knows what color a dragon should paint their claws. It's not something she's ever had to consider truthfully.

The man isn't even fazed by the dragon's appearance. He presses a kiss to its snout, and May realizes that the creature is also wearing lipstick to match the paint on its talons. May stares, wide eyed, while the dragon shrugs out of a deep purple blazer and sets its bags on the table before plopping down heavily into a wooden chair, a long tail peeking out from under its skirt to curl around two reptilian ankles. Or… she guesses those are the ankles? Do dragons even have ankles? Are they called something else?

Focus, she chastises herself, shaking her head slightly. The name for dragon ankles is super not important right now.

She turns her attention back to what's happening in front of her. It's almost…. sweet, really, how happy the man seems to see the dragon. And odd. It's that too. Not that May's judging. Love is love and every pot's got its own lid. It's frankly none of her business if this particular lid has scales and fangs. Each to his own and all that.

May takes a minute to glance around at the stranger's dreamscape when a few framed photos on a nearby wall catch her gaze. She almost laughs at what she sees there. They're wedding photos of the man and the dragon, him in his tux and her comically done up in a massive white bridal gown. The dragon, May gathers, is his wife. Surprisingly, it doesn't get any less strange as she continues to peruse the pictures. The bridesmaids are all giant cats wearing taco costumes, except for the maid of honor who's apparently a burrito, her fluffy feline head popping up over the edge of the tortilla it's wrapped in, bits of lettuce dangling from the bottom like fringe. And the groomsmen? Why, they're just large bottles of hot sauce with comically massive eyes, each donning black bow ties. 

May doesn't know who this guy is, but she's kind of dying to meet him when he's not dreaming. He's got to be interesting as hell if this little slice of his unconscious is anything to go by. Though she does wonder what it says about his marriage that he sees his wife as a dragon. Is that a compliment or an insult? May supposes that as far as dragons go, this one is actually pretty, like something a small child might draw. Her scales are a shimmery lavender that seems to shift with the light, and her eyes glitter green, reminding May of large sparkling emeralds. As the man talks, May moves a bit closer to inspect those iridescent wings where they're curled over the back of the chair, marveling at the otherworldly beauty of them. Somewhat transfixed, she almost reaches out to touch one amidst the peaceful lull of the conversation playing out in front of her.

This easy contentment between the couple isn't to last, however. The tone of the dream shifts abruptly when the man notices his dragon spouse staring kind of… provocatively at the toaster, her long lashes fluttering flirtatiously with the same energy of a young twenty-something chick trying to pick up a guy in a bar. May watches this unfold, unsure of what exactly is happening. They start bickering, and though May doesn't understand any of the words they're exchanging, she easily understands pissed off. It's really a language all its own, and one May is completely fluent in at that. 

She thinks, as her eyes dart back and forth between the man and the dragon, that they're fighting over the toaster. Or some imagined infidelity? Or maybe some imagined infidelity involving the toaster? It honestly wouldn't surprise her at all with the utter bizarreness of everything going on here. 

Either way, May is so enthralled by this little fight (and the prospect of something getting set on fire) that she almost doesn't notice the door when it pops up. Startled at the feeling of some great shadow looming over her, she looks away from the dragon- now raising its fists like it's about to throw hands with the smaller man- and is puzzled by what she sees.

She frowns at the unusual addition to this mundane kitchen. Well, mundane except for the square off that's about to happen between the well-dressed dragon and the poor guy that's trying to be in a committed relationship with it. Ignoring all that, though, this is really just a normal, commonplace space, and this tall, ornate thing doesn't belong. She walks over to study it, her eyes narrowing while she looks it over. There are designs carved along the frame, strange images worked into the wood of the actual door, and a dark black handle that's practically begging for her to reach out and twist it open. 

And like the idiot she can sometimes be, May stretches a hand out to do just that. 

It's a bad idea. A bad, bad idea.

When the liquid gushes out from the open door and into the dream she's in, flooding it quickly, May thinks that maybe she shouldn't have done that. By which she means she definitely shouldn't have done that.

The sudden rush is immense, briny water completely filling the space in less than a minute. Instinctively, she holds her breath as it covers her face, as she floats in the little kitchen for a few more seconds. The man and the dragon bob near her, seemingly unbothered while they continue their argument concerning the dragon's affair with the household's small appliances, bubbles escaping their mouths as they go right on yelling at one another. 

Ludicrously, May's kind of bummed that there isn't going to be a fire now and that she isn't going to see how this ends. She's reasonably sure that she's team toaster in this whole kerfuffle. Unless the toaster is sentient, of course, in which case it knew what it was getting into by having an affair with a married… er, dragon. But... is it even capable of movement? Can it run away? The toaster, that is. If the dragon's husband decides to enact revenge, will legs or wings sprout from its shiny surface to carry it to safety?

This absurdity, this disorientation of her thoughts, allows May to realize that holding her breath might just be fucking with her actual brain, starving it of oxygen so that she's feeling a bit... well, out of it.  

But that... makes no sense. This is a dreamscape, not something that should actually affect her in any real way.

Nonetheless, she resolves to leave this place, a growing anxiety urging her to get the hell away from here. Given that the entire apartment is submerged in water, though, she truthfully doesn't have a lot of options. There's really nowhere else for her to go but through the door, which she does. And once on the other side of it, she's greeted by the sight of light filtering down from above, piercing through the murky depths surrounding her. She's ridiculously relieved to see it, to have that beacon of hope to guide her. After all, it's basic common sense to make for the surface, to get to the air there so she might breathe again.

Despite that this is just a dream, the sensations around her are stunningly realistic. The water is cold, icy against her skin, and she has that unique, weightless buoyancy about her that one experiences while swimming. As she kicks her legs, they ache with the effort she's making. Her lungs, deprived of oxygen, burn with their need for it, and she briefly entertains the thought that maybe she's suffocating back home in her bed. 

The way she feels panic here is pretty damn realistic too. When she comes to the weary realization that she's not getting any closer to the top of the water, she kind of freaks out a little. Okay. That's a bit of a lie. She actually freaks out a lot. A lot a lot. Her panic is multiplied by a mere eleven billion when something grabs her from behind, holding tight around her waist where it starts pulling her, seemingly undeterred by her attempts to get free of its grasp. May imagines some prehistoric creature, something with sharp teeth and tentacles, something made of nightmares that might toy with her before swallowing her whole. Try as she might, she can't actually turn to see what it looks like, given that it's strong enough to keep her exactly where it seems to want her. She scratches at where it's got a hold on her anyway, digging her nails in hard enough to draw blood, but it doesn't even waver as it drags her up and up and up. 

All too soon, it's yanked her head above the line of the water. Despite the fact that she's probably about to be eaten by some weird, terrifying monster, she's still grateful for the sweet, sweet gulps of fresh air that she manages to draw into her starved lungs. When her chest isn't aching with the need to breathe, she tries again to twist away from the thing that has her, clawing at it in the attempt even though it hadn't helped her when the whatever had snatched her in the first place.   

"Stop struggling," a voice hisses in her ear, and May finds herself freezing, going rigid in nervous shock. 

That voice. That voice. Her stomach lurches alarmingly. It's been forty-six days since she's heard it. Not that she's counting or anything.

Because that would be pathetic and embarrassing, so she's… uh, definitely not doing that. Totally. Yeah.

"Morpheus?" she rasps out, her voice hoarse while he continues pulling her to a lone pier nestled in the vast expanse of the water surrounding them. As he gets closer, the ocean or sea (she's not sure which) rumbles loudly, energy shaking the very molecules in May's body. It burns a bit, making her grit her teeth against the force of it as the power all around seems to swell, growing heavier and heavier, more suffocating.

"Hold your breath," her orders tersely, and she doesn't have a second to question him before his grip on her goes impossibly tight and they're being sucked down into the watery depths anew.

It's not for long, though. Thankfully. The power bursts at last, water sloshing side to side, parting to form stairs leading up to the edge of the winding wood structure plopped in the middle of the sea.

Morpheus carries her to the base of them, releasing her with a mere moment more of support as she shakily gets her feet under her. Toes squishing in the mud, she manages to stand straight, flicking a hesitant glance upwards. Nothing for it, she supposes. She wants to be away from this creation forsaken water, and this seems to be the only way out. Determined, she begins climbing the steps, not expecting them to be so seriously slippery. Halfway, she loses her footing, but she doesn't actually fall, however. To her stunned amazement, there's a hand on her elbow- Morpheus' hand- bracing her before she can tumble down. It's a rough gesture, one that she thinks he does more instinctively than anything else. He's radiating rage and wrath, but she knows that he used to be oddly gallant, prone to such gentlemanly behaviors when they were in love. 

The way that he's glaring at her now, though, is anything but gallant or gentlemanly or loving. May looks him over, noting worriedly that he seems thinner than usual. Paler too, she thinks, but that could just be an effect of the blue and white light made by the many glittering stars swirling above them. She stretches her fingers to the inside of her opposite arm and pinches herself. Hard. It especially hurts given how cold she is, and May thinks in a fuzzy, disoriented way that she's not in a dream anymore, that she's actually in the Dreaming. Her stomach churns violently at the reality of that, enough so that she's worried she might throw up.

If she does that, she's for sure going to die of actual humiliation. Can somebody even die of humiliation? Is that a real thing? If it's not yet, and she pukes all over him, then it's definitely going to be. Because she's going to be the first to do it. A pioneer in the worst way.

"How are you here?" he demands, his hands clenched into fists at his side. His eyes are pitch black with fury, and May almost shrinks back from them. 

"I… I was dreaming. I thought…" She glances down, unable to bear the expression of loathing on his face for even a second longer. What had she honestly thought? That he had undone her banishment? That he had removed the block between her and the realm? That he had changed his mind? Surely, she should have known better. Bad tempered and stubborn aren't two qualities that lend much to the possibility of forgiveness, and Morpheus is nothing if not bad tempered and stubborn. "I don't know."

Only, she realizes that's not exactly true. She might not know for certain, but she's maybe got an idea of how she'd gotten here given that she has a little being currently growing inside of her and all, one that's half Dream itself. 

"You are banished. You should not have been able to enter any dream. You most assuredly should not have been able to travel through one into this realm."

She reminds herself to stay cool. He's probably just waiting to catch her in a lie. "I don't know why I'm here. What is it you want me to say?" It's not technically her deceiving him. She doesn't know for sure. She's really just guessing that it's the baby letting her walk through dreams and into the Dreaming. 

"Is this magic of some sort? What could you possibly have been meddling in to-"

"No magic. I don't know. Okay?"

His eyes, those dark wells of the abyss that they are, blaze at her. "Whatever it is you've done to accomplish this, do not think to repeat it. Your banishment stands. You are no longer welcome in my realm."

His realm. It's his realm again. Only his. Mere months ago, he had wanted to marry her, had wanted the Dreaming to be theirs. He had told her that it would be her home for the rest of eternity. To hear him call it only his is like knife between her ribs. "Message received. I won't repeat whatever it is that I didn't even do in the first place. Is that what you need to hear? Does it make you happy for me to take the blame for something that isn't my fault?"

"Nothing concerning you," he growls, his voice low and harsh, "elicits happiness in me."

Ouch. Her heart feels like it's breaking all over again, her chest getting tighter and tighter until she worries that she might start crying. She hopes against hope that she doesn't look as fucking broken as she feels at his words. The many sorrowful emotions churning in her stomach, she decides, she'll blame on the hormones. Her eyes burn, and she's struck with the overwhelming urge to run away, though she realizes that she can't since she's essentially trapped on this stupid pier with nowhere else to go but back into the water. And she's not going to do that.

No matter how tempting it might be right now. 

She's been without her magic for all of a week, and this is the most she's mourned the loss of it in those seven days. She's going to have to ask him for help, and the thought of having to do so stings her already bruised pride. There's nothing crappier when facing an ex than to have to plead for their assistance. 

"If you want me gone, you're going to have to shift me away. I can't exactly leave the way I came in," she bites out, crossing her arms over her chest defensively, waiting for the inevitable argument to come.

He scoffs at her, his expression mocking. "Surely your magic is capable of such a minuscule feat?"

She could hate him for that if only she could assume he knew that he was rubbing salt in the wound of her magic being temporarily lost. "Do you honestly think I'd still be here if it was capable of such a minuscule feat?"  

His eyes narrow while he studies her, a calculation in his gaze that's alarming, and May resists the urge to fidget under his scrutiny. "There is something… different about you."

No shit, May wants to say. I'm heartbroken and pregnant and the father of my child hates my guts. "I'm fine. Now can you send me home, or are we going to stand here all night and glare at each other?"

His lips purse in what May used to call his Blue Steel face, though he never got the reference for that particular bit of teasing. His eyes, still those angry black pools of anger, rake over her. It makes her uncomfortable and horny at the same time, and that she will absolutely blame on her pregnancy hormones when she can take a minute or two to process this mortifying situation. 

"Very well," he tells her, and May hates the way that she misses the sound of his voice, the way that she wants to take off her clothes and roll around naked in the thick, rich timbre of it. 

His power is gentle where it settles on her skin, soft like a lover's caress, and that makes everything so much worse. When she reappears in her house, she half staggers to her living room to collapse on her couch and start sobbing, big hiccuping sobs like the kind children give when they want something they can't have. She's so miserable that it takes her over an hour to realize that she's still soaked through. 

And she thinks then that her ending the day by crying wretchedly in a puddle of freezing water perfectly sums up her life right at this moment. 

Next chapter here

#sandman fic #sandman fanfiction #sandman oc #dream of the endless #sandman morpheus #sandman x reader #the sandman fanfic #BBHAP

[alteon77]

Updated Masterlist of Writing and Art

About the writer/artist: I like to write and paint. My current obsession is Sandman, but I enjoy most fantasy fandoms as well as anime (I think I’m on season seven billion of One Piece right now 🤣). I'm also weird as they come (and awkward, too), so just please ignore my oddball (coughTERRIBLEcough) sense of humor.

On a more personal note, I have PTSD and suffer from severe manic depressive episodes. Writing and art are my most familiar coping mechanisms, and I need them like I need oxygen. Seriously, there were times in my life that knowing I had to finish a story or a piece of art was the only thing stopping me from ending up dead. So, I don't take part in fandom drama. Having my peace and protecting my mental health are very big deals to me, and I won't risk those for anything if I can help it.

As for my writing, it ranges from short one-shots to ridiculously long novel series. I use third person POV (on longer series) as well as second person (on shorter things). I also try to always exclude physical descriptions when writing main character OCs and assign them nicknames to avoid using Y/N. I love to read Y/N fics, but writing them makes me feel like I'm at work. And who actually wants to ever feel like they're at work when they're engaging in a hobby? Definitely not me.

Lastly, there's usually more stuff on my AO3 page than I have listed here, because I forget to post it pretty often. Oops. I'll get around to moving it all over one day. Probably. Maybe.

Feel free to leave an ask if you want or just drop by my DMs. <3

Artwork links are at the bottom of this list, so if you're here for those, that's where they are.

Sandman 'Verse

All the Precious and Fragile Things (so easily do they break)

After banishing his lover from the Dreaming for her betrayal, Morpheus learns that she is pregnant with his child.

And that she’s been captured by a revenge-seeking Alexander Burgess.

What the both of them are unaware of is that this will set in motion a cascade of unfavorable events, causing a chain reaction that threatens the whole of existence itself.

PART I: All of This Past

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

PART II: These Tender, Loving Mercies

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

PART III: When It All Falls Down

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

PART IV: The Dark of War

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Epilogue

Sometimes He's Sweet

Morpheus hates the holidays.

As excited as she seems to experience the mortal holiday, he's… less so. Much less so. With the entire collective unconscious contained within him, this time of year can be wholly overwhelming, a miasma of too much red and green, too much worry, too much loneliness, too much excitement, too many similarly themed dreams, too many similarly themed nightmares, and far far too many holiday songs. It all bleeds out from the collective unconscious into his own mind, sticks there like weeping sap to a tree until he feels half-mad with the unrelenting presence of it, with his inability to get free from its cloying trespass upon his very being.

This is just a little sweet fluff for the holiday season. It takes place between chapters 19 and 20 of "All the Precious and Fragile Things". No spoilers here if you've read that far!

The Dog Debacle (or how best to sneak a dragon into the dreaming)

Morpheus' daughter gets a new dog.

Well..... kind of.

That Familiar Feeling of Family (or how Hob Gadling ended up as an uncle to his stranger's oftentimes feral children)

It's a pretty universally known thing that families are just strange. As Hob is quickly figuring out, however, this little fact is magnified by AT LEAST a billion when the family in question is Endless.

(A lighthearted story in which Hob Gadling finds out his stranger has married, makes friends with a homicidal maniac/ruler, and manages to become an exemplary uncle to a pack of magically mischievous children. Really, now all he has to do is convince everyone to stop calling his and Dream's weekly meetups "playdates", and then his life would be practically perfect.)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

The Maker, the Muse, and the Sundered Song

In his temple, what remains of Orpheus waits in trepidation. Something is changing. Something that he knows might alter the very fabric of the world as he understands it.

Finally freed from captivity, Calliope struggles to make any meaningful changes to the laws that saw her bound and taken in the first place. When the strange woman appears on Mount Parnassus and offers help, Calliope knows she would be a fool not to accept it. Even if she thinks that she's being lied to.

Meanwhile in the peace of the Dreaming, Morpheus grapples with guilt over his son's fate. As he basks in the love of his new children, he can't help but to regret his own failings where Orpheus is concerned.

And as for May, she's really just got a job to do. And her own traumatic issues to deal with. And if it's all hella awkward because she's having to work alongside her husband's ex-wife, she'll see it done anyway. There's even the small possibility that she might eventually admit to Calliope the truth about her identity. That is if she can ever actually work up the courage to say it aloud.

Chapter 1

Nothing in This Closet but Boots and a Boy

Morpheus is wildly protective of his daughter.

That's probably bad for the boy in said daughter's closet.

AU's and Other Stuff in the Sandman 'Verse

Of Exes, Hellhounds, and Waffle Fries

Morpheus shows up to rescue the woman he probably loves (though he won't admit it) from hellhounds and ends up getting roped into helping with her family. This is one of those extras that doesn't fit into the main story, but it's fun, so I'm posting it.

The Bizarre Breeding Habits of Anthropomorphic Personifications

It's a tale as old as time.

Two idiots fall in love. Two idiots fall out of love.

Neither one of them is expecting a baby to come along and derail their unhappily ever after.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Original Fanart

I like to play around with different styles and to try new things with my artwork. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't. I'm still learning, and I am so far from being a professional that it's laughable. But I only post things that I think look decent or that I think others might enjoy.

The Lover's Argument (Morpheus x oc)

Oneiros (Morpheus in Grecian garb)

Because I could not stop for Death, she kindly stopped for me... (Regency era Dream and Death)

#sandman fic #morpheus x oc #morpheus #morpheus x reader #morpheus fanfiction #sandman fanfiction #sandman oc #dream of the endless #dad!morpheus #dragons in the dreaming #preciousfragilethings #PFT #bbhap #fanart #fan art #alteon77 fan art

[alteon77]

The Bizarre Breeding Habits of Anthropomorphic Personifications: Chapter 5

It's a tale as old as time.

Two idiots fall in love. Two idiots fall out of love.

Neither one of them is expecting a baby to come along and derail their unhappily ever after.

Chapter One here, AO3 here, Masterlist here

Chapter Summary: A talk, a nightmare, and a few understandings come about. Morpheus learns a teeny tiny bit about compromise. Mostly just how much he hates having to do it.

May's always hated traveling.  

By horseback, carriage, train, boat, plane, or car. There's never really been a version of it that she enjoys, and given that her gastrointestinal system is currently waging a vicious, ruthless war on her at the moment, her mind hasn't really changed much on the subject. Usually, the reason for her dislike of travel can be put down to the fact that whenever she and Viego have had to do it in the past, it's been because they were running, fleeing from one place to another like criminals in the night.  

Now, though… Now it's mainly the morning sickness. 

In the kitchen of their new house, she looks at all the boxes and sighs. This could have something to do with her irrational loathing as well. Whenever they get to one of their temporary homes, there's always so much damned unpacking to do these days, so many things that they require to live in this century comfortably, and since she's useless as far as crafting the magical shields she's been left in charge of going through all their crap this time. Which is daunting and terrible and generally makes her think that Viego isn't her favorite brother anymore despite that he's kind of her only brother. 

She sets about sorting their many belongings anyway, and halfway through her second box, Morpheus just appears in her kitchen like some vengeful spirit of crappy days past. May's not surprised to see him, having not bothered to entertain the thought that he would give her even a day to get settled. After all, he's never moved, never had to deal with an eighteen hour car ride. How could he possibly know how draining those experiences are? As a small consolation, she at least has the pleasure of witnessing him look around at the disarray in something like horror. It's kind of adorable really, the way his brows draw together, the way his forehead creases, the way his lips press together as he gawks at what he probably considers unnecessary chaos.   

"Do you truly require this many objects?" 

May shrugs and takes a sip of her water where it rests on the counter. Her stomach churns when she swallows it down as if it's warning her not to even think about doing that again.

Because her stomach is stupid. And obviously doesn't know she needs to try and stay hydrated. "Well, some stuff comes in handy. Pots and pans, utensils, dishes, clothes…." 

His face is scrunched up in confusion as he studies what she's set out on a counter to organize. "Can you not simply create these things?" 

She narrows her eyes at him and reminds herself to stay calm. He'd do terrible in this kind of life being as unused to hiding his power as he is, but that's not his fault. He hasn't ever had to seek the safety of far away or had to worry about a group of savage makers tracking him down and violently, mercilessly forcing him to join their war by any means their twisted minds could conjure. "Sure," May explains slowly. "If we want to draw attention to ourselves. They can sense the magic, other makers, so we… don't do anything that might lead them to us." She points a finger over to where a gold, shimmering light is settling into the wall. "That magic becomes part of the fabric of reality here, so it's undetectable, but the other stuff? Not so much." 

He glances up, likely curious of the power that's weaving itself around the new house seemingly on autopilot. "Where is your brother?"

"He set the protection spells and ran to the grocery store."

"The… grocery store," he repeats as if the phrase is a foreign one, like he's trying the words out for the very first time. Which, May figures, might actually be the case.

"I wanted grapes." 

"Grapes?" He narrows his eyes and then waves his hand so that a bowl of them appears before her, and they are unfortunately as beautiful as anything else he creates, plump and a lovely purple. Her mouth waters at the sight of them.  

"No, thank you," she refuses politely. In that moment, however, they're probably the most difficult words she's ever had to utter in her life because she definitely wants this fruit like she doesn't think she's ever wanted anything before, but May isn't moronic enough to accept them from him. This conversation isn't going to be a pleasant one given that she's pretty sure she'll be forced to say No quite a lot for most of it, and he really really doesn't like that word.  

He purses his lips at her as though he's been sucking on lemons, and May almost laughs at that expression. It's not just Blue Steel. It's cranky Blue Steel. "We should speak," he begins gravely, his tone lower than usual. 

May stills from where she's putting forks and spoons into a drawer. "Yeah. We probably should."  

He draws in a deep breath as if trying to calm himself. "I would feel… That is to say, it would be... prudent for you to return to the Dreaming with me." 

May takes a deep breath too, preparing to deal him an answer that he really won't want to hear. "It is plenty prudent for me to stay here with Viego." 

As expected, he gets pissed. Instantly. What isn't expected, though, is the way that when his eyes burn black, it's only a minute or two before he forces them back to their normal blue, like he's really trying hard to keep his temper in check. "I strongly disagree. Why are you so adamant in your refusal to return to the realm? I believe that you once enjoyed being there." 

Oh, he's an actual fucking idiot. May glares at him, rendered speechless for a moment. She can't help it. No matter the civility that they're both painfully striving for, that was singularly stupid of him. "How very astute of you. I did enjoy it there, Morpheus. I enjoyed it enough that I even planned to make it my home. But then I was tossed out and left to rot in the Waking. Did you somehow forget that part? Because I haven't." 

His face darkens. "As I've said, I have rescinded the banishment," he grits out through clenched teeth, his hands tightened into fists at his side.  

"Until when? How long will it be this time until I'm kicked out again?"

His inhale is sharp, angry. "Recent… revelations have clearly changed my wishes regarding this matter." 

"I'll repeat that question then. Until when? How long will it be this time until I'm kicked out?" 

"Never," he hisses. "I will repeat to you that my wishes regarding this matter have changed." 

"Have they really, though? A baby doesn't have to-" 

"Surely you cannot be serious," he cuts in rudely, talking right over like she hadn't even been speaking. "A child alters everything."

He's… probably not wrong, but May won't admit that to him. It takes every ounce of willpower she has to simmer down from her sudden urge to throw a fork at him. In a barely composed voice, she says, "Look, I'm offering you an out. I know you don't want anything more to do with me, and so you don't have to be involved in this." She gestures at her stomach, and he looks like he wants to flinch for some reason. "You can walk away now and-"

"You dare to suggest that I would neglect my responsibility." 

"Stop interrupting me," she snaps, irritation rising up so quickly within her that she thinks she might be trembling from it. "All I'm saying is that I can handle this. Alone." 

"That you would even consider proposing such a thing lends to my belief that you've never known me at all."

An image of her being banished flashes across her mind, the fear and heartbreak of it so acute that it's as if she's being stabbed. He recoils a little, and May realizes that with her magic dwindling her mental shields are likely gone too, allowing him to pick up on exactly what she's thinking about. "I obviously didn't know you at all, Dream. I thought I did, but… but I didn't." 

"Will you truly vilify my understandable reaction to learning of your treasonous betrayal? I have condemned mortals to Hell for far less than your treachery." 

"That doesn't actually make it okay. You know that, right?" she demands in disbelief, because there's no way he doesn't get that. "Just because you have a history of doing shitty things doesn't mean you're excused when you do more shitty things." 

He scoffs, an incredulous fury about him. "You are being unreasonable." 

"Has it ever occurred to you that you're the one being unreasonable?" 

He lifts his chin a fraction and glowers at her. "It has not, because I am guilty of no such thing." 

"That response is a real shocker," May snarks as she tries another sip of her water, grimacing at the alarming way her stomach roils. She refuses to get sick in front of him. Absolutely not going to happen. She can't imagine anything more awkwardly mortifying than the two of them trying to have this conversation while she's hunched over a toilet. 

"You alone destroyed the love between us. Do you understand that I can never trust you again?" he bites out, and May feels herself go rigid. 

Her eyes well up, but crying in front of him is just another of those things she'd rather eat her own foot than let happen. She's sure these hormones are going to be the death of her soon, killing her with the sheer embarrassment of what they make her want to do. "I… can never trust you again either," May informs him shakily. "I… won't ever trust you again."

His face falls, and his expression is almost one… of hurt. That confuses her. Why would he be hurt? He doesn't really care about her, about their relationship. Her distrust should be less than nothing to him. He collects himself quickly, straightening up to fix her with a withering stare. "Trust between us or no, we are to have a child together, and it deserves the protection that only I can provide the both of you." 

She hates the truth of it, but she's also very aware that he's right. At some point, her and this little one might have to seek the sanctuary of the Dreaming, but… that isn't today, and she'll be damned if she goes back there with him any sooner than she must. "We're safe, though, and if that… if that isn't the case in the future, then I'll reconsider. But for now, there isn't really a need for you to have to deal with my presence, and… and there isn't a need for me to have to deal with the fear of being an unwelcome guest in your home, so let's just… not make things any worse than they already are. I'll stay here, and if anything changes we'll... revisit this discussion." 

He studies her for several minutes, weighing the compromise she's offered him. He doesn't want to agree with her. She can tell by the way his jaw is clenched tight as he grants her a single curt nod in acceptance. "I will come here, then. Frequently." 

She could refuse, she knows, could outright ban him from visiting, but honestly she just… doesn't want to fight anymore. Her head is pounding and her stomach is flip-flopping like it does right before it starts rebelling against her in the most disgusting way it can. "That's… fair," she allows. "You don't have to, but if you feel the need to check on the baby, then I… I understand that." 

He seems shocked at her easy capitulation, and May figures he probably thought they were going to yell some more. "Very… well." 

"It's not a trick, Dream. I'm completely serious. Just… don't be creepy about it. No… watching me sleep or anything like that."  

"Why ever would you think me inclined to such foolishness?" he asks with the tiniest hint of condescension in his voice, and May resists the urge to roll her eyes. Like he's never given her the Edward Cullen treatment before. "As if I would do something so ludicrous as watch you sleep."

In the dark of May's room, Morpheus stands near to her bed and unashamedly looks down on her as she slumbers. He's painfully aware that, were she awake, she'd likely fuss at him for doing this against her explicit warnings not to, and once again he feels the grief of their destroyed relationship acutely. His fingers twitch with the urge to reach out and stroke her hair, but he does not. Despite that she carries his child, he no longer has the right to caress her, no longer has the right to partake of such a gentle gesture of care for her.  

Though he cannot deny that he wishes to. Fervently.  

As he looms over her, he thinks on their discussion earlier. While he would never admit such a thing aloud, her reasons for refusing to return with him had been… valid. Uncomfortably so. He had never considered that his actions would have led her to distrust him as surely as he distrusted her, but the realization of it had stung. Still, he remains angrily confused as to why she would not simply tell him of her complicity in composing those spells for the grimoire. She had not denied that she wrote them during the fight that led to her banishment, but when he'd pressed for her reasons in doing such a thing, she had refused to even grant him an answer.  

And it had hurt.  

Immensely. 

They'd shared so much of themselves, or at least he had assumed they had, and her sudden reticent silence then had pierced through his heart like the sharpest spear, wounding and infuriating him in equal measure. And yet, no matter his incomparable rage, he had been unable to visit any harsher punishment on her than banishment, had been unable to lend his pain to inflict worse suffering. The depth of his love for her had allowed him to do nothing else but send her away. He supposes in hindsight that he is glad for that, glad that he hadn't condemned her to Hell or worse given that she had apparently been pregnant at the time, but the idea of it having even been a possibility frightens him more than he thinks he's ever been frightened in his exceedingly long life.

Tangled in her many blankets, May makes a noise in her sleep, the low, desperate cadence of it reminding him all too much of terror, of a prey animal in the maws of a great, razor-fanged beast, and the need to touch her, to comfort her nearly overwhelms him. Morpheus narrows his eyes at her in scrutiny instead, puzzled until he feels the prick of a nightmare at the edge of his mind.  

He doesn't even consider doing otherwise as he steps easily into her dreamscape. 

It's dark wherever she's at, the only light being a few rays of sun that filter in through a single barred window set into the stone wall of this place. He looks around, his face taut in uneasiness. What is this? Where is this? Why would she dream of something so… dismal? The meager bit of the floor illuminated is covered in rushes, and he believes he can smell the iron tang of blood in the air.  

"Morpheus?" May calls as she steps closer to the light, and he's immediately alarmed at the sight she makes. She's dressed in rags and paler than he's ever seen her, sickly and injured. There are bruises blooming on every bit of her skin that's visible, varying shades of blue and red and purple that he can clearly make out despite that she's standing partially in the shadows. "What… What are you doing here? What am I doing here?" 

"You're dreaming," he tells her. "Lifting the banishment must have allowed you to do so again." 

May makes a divisive noise and glances away. Her face turned to the side, he notices the jagged cut on her cheek just below her eye. "You'll forgive me if I don't thank you for this." 

"I am not responsible for this nightmare. I did not craft it." 

"It's not… Never mind." 

His lips set in a hard line as he regards her with frustration. More secrets. More lies. How will he ever trust her if she continues to deceive him? "You were going to inform me that this is actually a memory," he accuses. "I gather by the state of you that it is a rather terrible one. When were you-" 

"That's none of your business," she cuts him off, a fine tremble to her voice, and he thinks to press the issue, to question her on it until she gives him the truth, but at that moment the energy in the dream seems to twist sharply, swelling and contorting as it rapidly grows larger. When it's expanded as far as it will, it bursts with a loud pop and then settles once again, leaving the acrid scent of magic in its wake.  

Though he's expecting it, the sudden appearance of the door still surprises him. It's rather large, the frame of it carved ornately in a style that certainly looks as if it belongs in the Dreaming. There's a faint sound coming from it, a sort of muted hum that resonates within him for some reason he can't explain. He leans down to better hear when he feels… something tugging inside of him, and it takes him a few seconds to realize that it's that same sense he's grown accustomed to in these weeks past, the one of May's panic reaching out to him.  

Like she's in a trance, she moves forward to the door, and he has to grab hold of her arm to pull her back, halting her advance. "May," he tries, peculiarly anxious now that he can feel the iciness of her skin under his fingertips. Why is she so chilled? Her magic should be keeping her warm, protecting her from the frigid conditions of this place even in her dream. "May!"  

With a dazed blink, she slowly comes out of her stupor. Little puffs of air curl from her mouth where she breathes raggedly as she flicks startled, disoriented eyes up at him. He stretches his power out and attempts to create something better suited for her to wear, something that will protect her from the cold in this nightmare, but no matter how he focuses on doing such a thing, the memory and the magic seem to be blocking his ability to do so.  

Morpheus is more than alarmed. That has… never happened before. 

He frowns. "How very… strange. This must be an…  unusually strong memory." 

"Traumatic ones typically are," May murmurs, still sounding worriedly disjointed as she huddles further into herself for warmth. 

He shrugs out of his coat and drapes it about her. "Here," he offers, his voice softer than he intends for it to be.  

"You don't have to-" 

Infuriatingly stubborn creature she is, May makes to remove even this paltry bit of comfort, likely because it's coming from him, and Morpheus grabs hold of the fabric to keep it on her. "You are freezing," he explains firmly. "And we've no idea what from this dreamscape is transferring over to the Waking given that the child is half… half mine." 

"You… think that could happen? That the baby could… carry over injuries to my physical body?" The prospect of this seems to disturb her greatly. 

He nods solemnly. "I believe the child is already exhibiting a capability similar to my powers over dreams, and… that is something I am easily capable of."  

She doesn't want to accept anything from him. It's laughably obvious, but she nods her head regardless and reluctantly puts her arms into the garment to properly wear it.  

The sight of her wearing little else but his coat makes his throat unexpectedly dry, and he swallows with great difficulty, a desire to close the distance between them coursing through his veins more fiercely than he's ever known. He's overwhelmed with the urge to kiss her (to take her apart with his lips on hers, to sweep his tongue into her mouth to taste her), the urge to bear her down onto the ground here (to worship her properly with every ounce of pleasure he can give, to coax her into a frenzy of need with his hands and his mouth as she makes those desperate noises he used to love) and have her fully (to finally bury himself inside of her, to steadily drive her higher and higher towards the peak of her climax until she moans for him as sweetly as she did before everything between them fell apart).  

He closes his eyes, willing the images away. He is all too aware that this is far from the time or place for such inappropriate thoughts. And truthfully, he knows better. They will never have that sort of physical intimacy again, and he's a fool for even entertaining the idle fantasies of it. 

"Is it… the baby? Doing this?" she asks, gesturing towards the door. Morpheus tears his attention away from her and his bothersome lust to stare at the oddity.  

"Yes," he answers offhandedly while he begins to study this entrance into their (his, only his) realm, the one he had not created. "I believe the child is attempting to shepherd you into the safety of the Dreaming." 

"Can't you do something about that? I mean… now that you know why I'm ending up in the sea?" 

"You yourself are a maker. Can you do anything to curb a growing infant's magic?" 

"No, but I make worlds. I don't…" she huffs out an exasperated sigh. "Believe it or not, this is my first time getting knocked up by an anthropomorphic personification. All of this is a little out of my wheelhouse." 

"Very well. Allow me to clarify this situation for you in the simplest way I can. There is likely nothing to be done." 

"I won't go back there. I don't-" 

"You are a fully grown woman," he informs her caustically, as if he thinks she is unaware of this fact. "These are the consequences of your actions. You might be better served foregoing your protests and gracefully accepting them." 

"Oh, fuck you."

"I believe that is precisely what has gotten us both into this mess," he snarks without sparing her even so much as a glance while he peers intently at the carving of the door frame. 

She scoffs. "Sometimes I really hate you." 

He stops what he's doing to aim a glare her way. "The feeling is assuredly mutual." This is a lie, of course. A rather large one. The feeling is not mutual, and he unfortunately knows it. He doesn't hate her at all, though he thinks that this whole mess might be dramatically easier to handle if he did.  

She stills like he's struck her, drawing in a ragged inhale as she does so. "I wasn't… wasn't being serious. It was just a… Never mind." She looks away from him, and he thinks that he sees a suspicious shine to her eyes, as if she might cry due to what he's said. 

"Apologies." The word leaves his mouth without any input from him or his simmering anger towards her. "I did not intend to upset you." 

She does not answer him, preferring instead to study the ground as if it's particularly fascinating. Shame twisting his stomach, he turns back uncertainly to his task. He doesn't understand why he should be rendered so… regretful at having hurt her. Had she not done the same to him? Are not the impact of her lies continuing to wreak havoc on his heart? Irritated at both this curious weakness he has concerning her and the dangerous annoyance posed by this link to the Dreaming, Morpheus resolves at last to reach a hand out to the knob of the door.  

"Don't!" May warns as she steps closer to him, and he notices somewhat distantly that she smells like him, so much so that he's almost overcome with the memories of when she always carried his scent on her in some way or another. "Don't touch it. That kind of… like, activates it or something." 

He lets his hand fall back to his side. "Then we'll need to travel by foot to somewhere in this dreamscape where the events are less… frightening for you."

Her bitter laugh startles him. "There's no way to walk out of here, Morpheus. It's… It's a dungeon. It's kind of made to keep prisoners from escaping, and… there's nowhere in this place like what you're suggesting anyway." 

He frowns at her. "It is the only way to break through the hold it has on you." 

"No… I… I get that. I'm just telling you that there's nothing like that here, nothing…" she glances down, seemingly hesitant to continue. "There's nothing here that's not fucking horrible." 

It's instinct for him to want to embrace her, for him to wish to offer comfort. Or at least that's what he tells himself as he resists the urge to do so with an almost herculean effort. "What… is this?" 

Eyes still downcast, she inhales through her nose and then exhales through her mouth, likely attempting to calm herself. "I… I've had this nightmare a million times, and I don't even remember quite what it is. I think it was from when me and Viego were kids, because… he's here sometimes. Well, the child version of him anyway, but… things happen here that I don't… I don't recall ever happening." 

That's… odd. Morpheus puzzles over this. Makers remember even as far back as their own births. To have her admit that she is missing whole chunks of her memories is wholly disconcerting. What could have happened here to bury those events so deeply within her? What terror had she suffered in this hell that she cannot even recall it during her waking hours? He can feel the helpless vulnerability coming from her, a thick, wretched fear that wraps itself around chest and squeezes painfully. He does not think he's capable of leaving her here to go through this on her own, and while he tries to convince himself that it's only because of the child she carries, he honestly knows better. "I suppose, then, that we have no choice but to wait until you awaken." 

"Okay," May mumbles as she starts stripping herself of his coat. "I… I get it." 

"Whatever are you doing?" he questions confusedly. 

"I assume you'll be leaving. I could be asleep for hours, and I…  know that you're busy." 

She thinks he will go, that he would so easily abandon her to whatever horror awaits her in this nightmare, and the realization of that makes his stomach clench. Does she truly believe him so uncaring? So fickle? And yet he knows the answer to that. Of course she does. Why would she think any differently of him given the events of these few months past? "You assume incorrectly," he says stiffly. 

Meeting her eyes at last, he loathes the tears he can see sparkling there, loathes that he is the foul creature to have caused them. May looks at him as if she's trying to figure out what she might owe him for this, as if she's weighing whether or not accepting his freely offered company might leave her in his debt in some way. "You don't… have to stay. I can… I can handle this alone." 

Alone. It's the same thing she had said to him about carrying and raising their child. He has no doubt that she's capable of managing anything on her own, but he doesn't quite know how to tell her that she need not do so, that no matter the thorniness between them he will care for this child and… and by extension her. "Nonetheless," he reaffirms as he reaches out to tug the coat back up onto her shoulders. "I shall stay." 

"I… Are you sure? I mean… it can get… not great sometimes." She crosses her arms over her chest as if she's still cold, as if she's attempting to conserve as much body heat as she can. To see her so chilled makes him frown in apprehension. 

"I will not leave," he relays, worry for her shoring up his resolve. "So you might as well cease in your efforts at persuading me to do so." 

"O-okay. If you… If you want to." 

He assuredly does not want to, but he will. For the child, of course. Only for the child.

Or that's what he tries to convince himself of, anyway, though he's all too aware that it's nothing more than another lie where she's concerned. He idly wonders how many more times he will be forced to tell himself that he no longer loves her before it becomes fact. 

She's clearly on edge in this place, her whole body trembling with something that isn't the cold. Morpheus watches her pace for the better part of an hour while he stands nearer the window. He does not speak, does not try to stay her attempt to walk out her nervous energy as he is well-acquainted with this tendency of hers after their many decades together. When it seems as though she's starting to tire, he suggests they sit, and she startles out of her mild panic to glance wide-eyed at him. 

"Sit?" she repeats as if the concept is bewildering to her. "Yeah… that's fine. We could… We could do that." Relieved, he gestures for her to do so first, and she shakes her head at the spot he'd indicated. "Not there…. It's got blood all over it." 

He flicks a worried glance at the area, noticing the alarmingly large russet stain there. His stomach lurches when he recognizes that it's hers. He has a great many questions on the tip of his tongue, waiting only for him to give them voice, but he does not. Whatever this is, she's afraid, and he knows he cannot compound that fear by demanding that she delve into it.  

Where she rests on the ground, she fidgets with the edge of his coat sleeves and seems unable to look at him. "So… this is awkward." 

He does not deny it. "Yes. It is." 

At the very fringes of his awareness, he senses Lucienne summoning him, but he resolutely ignores it until her calls become irritating enough for him to address. May must notice the way he stills to send a terse response to his librarian because she again tells him, "You… really don't have to stay. It's… I can manage. I know you've got stuff to do." 

He tilts his head back so that it's resting on the stone wall behind him. "There is nothing currently happening in the Dreaming that Lucienne is incapable of handling."

"How… How is the realm?" 

Studying her anew, he quickly surmises that she is attempting to engage him in small talk, and though he knows that he is not well suited to such conversation, he almost thinks that he will do anything if it might settle her restless fretting. "It is…" Flooded, he wants to say despite that he cannot, unwilling as he is to worry her further. "It is doing well. I believe the Dark Forest misses you." 

May huffs out a small laugh, and something in his chest tightens to hear it. "I bet that's fun. I can't imagine what saltiness that old broad is getting up to." 

"She is devouring subjects and relocating them to various areas of the Dreaming," he remarks dryly, far less amused by it than May appears to be.  

"Better than just not spitting them out at all, I guess," May answers with a little shrug, and he's struck with how weakened and frail she seems sitting across from him, swallowed up in his larger coat on her, and he finds himself ruminating on how she must be struggling now. She does not trust him, fears him even to some degree, and yet she has clearly decided to accept the burden and strain of his child growing within her. A great swell of…. something overcomes him. Perhaps tenderness or compassion? Perhaps that other ruinous emotion that he refuses to admit to when he thinks of her. 

He has a sudden insight that their bickering must cease as it will solve nothing. There will be many obstacles for them to face in their child's lifetime, and while they can never be what they were before, they might have a relationship that's an improvement on this one of animosity and stilted silence. He considers his next words carefully, more carefully than he tends to do. "Perhaps when you feel more comfortable to venture into the Dreaming, you might… speak with her." 

She sighs. "Morpheus-"

"You are the only one she will listen to," he continues, "and I find myself inclined to uncreate the entity altogether for her disobedience." 

May regards him in trepidation for his threat, and in that trepidation he sees the slightest possibility that he might achieve his aim concerning her living situation. "Don't… Don't do that. I'll… Later, I'll talk to her. Just… don't do away with her." 

His smile is a faint, barely there thing. "I've never understood your attachment to that particular part of the Dreaming." 

"She was…" May breaks off and looks down, but even with the scant light here, he can still make out the blush blooming on her face as if she's embarrassed. "She was so… scared when we started rebuilding your realm. The faeries had been cruel to her in your absence, and I… I don't know. I just felt bad for her. Stuck there and suffering for all that time." 

He glances around the space they're in again. It's a desolate, wholly unpleasant cell, cold and isolated. He thinks over her bruised, injured body when he'd first shown up here. Stuck there and suffering for all that time, she'd said, and Morpheus wonders just how long she had suffered in this nightmare. What had her captors taken from her here? How had they hurt her? She'd never breathed a word of this to him, and they'd had decades together for her to do so. While parts of her remembrance are… affected for some strange reason, she still seems to know some of what transpired in this memory, enough that she should have spoken to him about it. "Yes," he says at last. "I gather that is something you are able to relate to." 

She doesn't shrink away from his accurate assessment. "I… could relate to it," she admits haltingly. "But… I didn't know how to tell you that without bringing up this and by… by extension Viego, and I… I know how much you hated for me to talk about him." 

The confession stuns him. He had thought he was better at hiding his disdain for her brother. Viego Westin, everyone knows, is nothing less than a monster, a heartless beast that had murdered his own father in cold blood, that had destabilized the maker's realm by ripping the heart of it out and crushing it in his callous rage. No matter May's affection for her sibling, even she must surely be aware that he is directly responsible for the civil war that's been ravaging their once-home for millennia. He has more blood on his hands than he can ever hope to wash clean, and despite the charming exterior Viego tends to present, Morpheus has always known how deadly dangerous the maker is. It sets his teeth on edge to simply be in the same room as him. Still, May should have told him of this. "You might have tried nonetheless." 

"Has it occurred to you that I did try?" Her voice is so quiet that he almost doesn't catch her reply.  

Had she, though? Had she attempted to speak to him of this? Many times over their decades together she's complained of his temper, of his irrational anger at seemingly insignificant things. Had that been what stopped her? Had she hesitated at the possibility of his ire?  

He doesn't get the chance to ask her anything else as she gets to her feet and goes to remove his coat yet again. He stands as well, closing the distance between them to stop her from doing something so ridiculous. "I thought we had settled this particular matter," he growls, frustrated by her obstinacy. 

"I'm waking up, Morpheus. I can feel it," she says, a weariness about her that he's worried to see. "Thank you for… for staying." 

She holds the coat out, and when he reaches to take it back from her, their hands brush together. He's startled at the way his power sparks up at the sensation, at the way just that touch from her ignites a yearning within him like none he's ever felt. "I will… visit later today. If that is acceptable to you." 

May nods, only the tiniest measure of hesitation in the action. "I… Yeah, that's fine." 

When she awakens, disappearing from before him, Morpheus is puzzled by the way he… hadn't wanted her to leave, by the way he'd almost followed her into the Waking to stay a little longer in her presence. It is only as the dream begins to dematerialize from around him that Morpheus realizes he... he misses her.

And he finds that he hates himself for it.

NEXT CHAPTER

#morpheus x oc #dream of the endless #morpheus x reader #sandman fic #sandman fanfiction #morpheus fic #sandman x oc #sandman x reader #morpheus fanfiction #BBHAP

[alteon77]

The Bizarre Breeding Habits of Anthropomorphic Personifications: Chapter 4

It's a tale as old as time.

Two idiots fall in love. Two idiots fall out of love.

Neither one of them is expecting a baby to come along and derail their unhappily ever after.

Chapter one here, AO3 here, Masterlist here

Chapter Summary: Morpheus confronts May over the pregnancy, and her brother discovers that the news of an Endless baby is already spreading throughout the supernatural world as gossip.

As Viego opens the door and steps into the small herbalist's shop, his nose burns with the dueling scents of wormwood and sage, their presence so strong in here that he feels the need to sneeze. Repeatedly.  

Honestly, he hates this place for a myriad of reasons that don't have anything to do with how thoroughly it offends his olfactory senses, but he thinks that the choking, overwhelming smell of it is still pretty high up on his list.  

"Viego Westin," a voice purrs out in greeting from the counter. The woman who sits there is stunning, all cat green eyes and bronzed skin. Her hair, a dark red, hangs down to her shoulders in waves that shine in the low light of the store like rippling silk as she tilts her head in acknowledgement of him.  

This woman, he knows, is definitely the main thing he hates about coming here, the very tippy top of his list of reasons for despising this shop. 

He winces. "Hi, Cyrilla." 

She glances at Viego, letting her gaze rove over him suggestively, so blatant in her desire that the tips of his ears get hot. She moves out from behind the counter, sashaying to a set of shelves just past him, her hips swaying seductively with each step she takes.  

And Viego, the idiot that he is sometimes, can't help but to watch her walk.  

Granted, he's not actually stupid enough to risk getting entangled up with Cyrilla again, tempted though he is, since a couple centuries ago this admittedly beautiful female had tried to roast him alive (literally) when they'd broken things off between them. And he had learned his lesson from the ordeal. Well... mostly, that is. 

As he ogles her, he thinks that it would probably be best if he could just never have to interact with her again, but that's not really an option for their kind. Despite that makers can craft whole worlds, there are some things even they can't adequately replicate, and Cyrilla is usually the best bet for finding those ungettable gets when one is Earthside, making her something of a necessary evil.  

Flashing her his most charming grin, Viego says, "I've been looking for Altarae tea, and I've heard that you're just the lovely creature to come to for it." 

One of her perfectly plucked eyebrows lifts up in shock. "That is an exceedingly difficult blend to lay hands on, Viego." 

And oh, yeah, he was right to come here. She's definitely got some. That she didn't outright refuse him is probably the biggest tell, and Viego prepares himself to haggle. He pulls the neat stack of bills from his coat pocket before setting it on the shelf before them both. Unsurprisingly, she seems displeased at the already astronomical amount he's offered her, and so Viego sighs before handing over one of the other bundles of bills that he'd brought with him. That, at least, makes a wide smile spread over her face.  

It should, he thinks somewhat bitterly. She's just made rent on this place for four years. Easily.  

With impeccably manicured hands, she collects the money, moves back to her counter, and makes a show of putting it into her cashbox. "I have a little left in the back. Wait here while I go and fetch it for you." 

When she disappears through a door leading into her stockroom, the beaded curtains clack noisily together at being disturbed by her departure through them, clinking as they swing to and fro. Viego does as she'd ordered and stands awkwardly in the main part of the shop. Usually, he peruses the wares out here given that she tends to keep only her non-dangerous, human friendly things out in the open, but today he's too nervous to even think about doing it.  

Since he'd found out about his sister's condition, he's been thrumming with a sort of anxious energy. Immediately, he'd started searching out a new home for them, and luckily she hadn't even argued against a move, packing her things with no real fuss while he had started the tedious process of settling everything so they could leave. There's a method to their relocations in this age where everything is tracked via computers. First, they purchase a place under the name of one of their shell corporations (which they pick at random by writing all of them out on a piece of paper and drawing one from a hat) and then they contract a moving company to pick their belongings up and deliver them to a storage unit. After that, a new moving company picks their stuff up from that storage unit and delivers it to an all new storage unit. They rinse and repeat this a few times until everything finally makes its way to them, weaving a tangled web that would be difficult for the makers hunting them to follow. It also gives them the time to work the necessary protections into the new house, subtly threading their magic around the property so that they can't be tracked while they're sleeping and their powers are lessened. 

Point is, it's always a hassle to do all of this, and given May's non-stop sickness the brunt of the work has mostly fallen entirely on him. Not that he's upset about it. His sister is worryingly ill. Barely sleeping. Barely eating. She's starting to look more like a ghost, a fragile wraith, than the picture of healthy immortality she had been before.  

Viego isn't a healer by any stretch of the imagination, but even he can see that she's struggling under the weight of that Endless bastard's spawn.  

Even with the stress of resettling them somewhere else, he's watched her and mildly panicked. His sister is all the family he has left, and they've had each other's backs through thousands of years and more collective shit than all the cows on all the worlds put together could produce in a lifetime. He'd wracked his brain to think of ways to help her, and he'd finally remembered this stupid tea.  Altarae tea, something that he'd seen his own mother drink while she'd carried May and suffered similarly. The main ingredient of it, though, is an herb that only grows in their home realm, their war torn home realm, so finding it here on Earth has been a real pain in the ass.  

Hence him coming to Cyrilla.  

As if thinking her name has summoned her, she reappears with a small brown bag grasped in her fingers that she sets daintily on the counter. "I hope this lessens your sister's illness." 

Viego freezes, his hand outstretched to take hold of his purchase, as dread skitters across his spine. This tea has a few uses. It's not just for morning sickness. "Why would you think it was for her?"

Cyrilla laughs, a melodic, enticing sound. "Carrying is always so difficult for your kind. I've seen many maker females die from it." 

"Carrying," he repeats flatly. 

"Oh, sorry. They don't call it that anymore, do they? She's… expecting? Is that the phrase for it now? The more I age, the harder these things are to remember." 

"Cyrilla." Viego wipes a tired hand over his face, frustration creeping into his senses. Dragons are so fucking dodgy sometimes, especially when they've been masquerading as humans for as long as this one has.  

Yellow, reptilian eyes blink at him before she seems to remember that they're not supposed to be that color, and they fade into the emerald green that she'd had them manifested as before. "Why in all the worlds are you upset with me? I'm not the reason she's in such a state." 

He can't deal with her teasing, playful bullshit right now. He's too freaked out. "Explain all of it but this time like I'm a child. Stow the coyness if you can." 

Cyrilla frowns. "Aren't you a child?" 

It's only with a monumental effort that he bites back his groan of irritation. "Not for thousands and thousands of years." 

She scoffs. "I'm aware of your age, Viego. I just thought you weren't yet nearly old enough to be full grown." 

Which is… disturbing as shit if he's being honest with himself, seeing as how he and Cyrilla had been a kinda serious, definitely sexual thing centuries ago. If she thinks he's a child now, what the hell had she thought he was then? He lets it go for the time being, though, and focuses on getting answers. If the gossip mills have already gotten wind of May's pregnancy, then they need to leave the area. Like, yesterday. "I'm absolutely an adult. Please tell me what you're talking about." 

"There's not much to tell. Word traveling around is that your sister has been… seeded? No. They call it something else now, don't they? What is that term for it? It's just going to bug me until I remember." 

"You mean pregnant?" he clarifies while attempting to seem ignorant.  

"That's the name for it? Pregnant? It sounds horrid," she says with vague disgust clear in her tone. "Like a disease. I much prefer seeded." 

He chuckles at her for all that he feels nauseated by his terror. This is bad. So, so bad. "Where did you even hear something ridiculous like that?" 

Her eyes narrow at him, scrutinizing, before she shrugs one delicate shoulder. "Just around. You know how gossip is, and this gossip is particularly juicy. A maker and an Endless having a child? How deliciously scandalous." 

"Sorry to disappoint you, gorgeous, but it's just gossip. She's not pregnant," he lies, forcing a little amusement onto his expression like he finds even the idea of it humorous.  

Pointedly, she lowers her eyes to the bag of tea leaves. "Of course. How foolish of me to assume. Will you be using this then for impotence? Or gout?" 

Neither of those things really affect makers, and she knows it. "It's none of your concern what I'm using this for," he bites out as he snatches the package from the counter. 

Her grin is all coquettish glee as he heads to the exit of this damn hellhole. "It was a pleasure doing business with you, Viego. Please do come again."

When May wakes in her bed, she's more than a bit confused as to how she'd gotten here. She considers that maybe she'd just stumbled to her room after being shifted home, but since she's not wet or damp and is still very much wearing the pajamas she'd fallen asleep in yesterday, she dismisses that possibility pretty quickly. She doesn't have access to enough of her magic to even do something as minuscule as warming herself, much less to dry her clothes so thoroughly. Groggily, she works her way to sitting up and rubs her face in a vain attempt to wipe some of the tiredness from it.  

And then her stomach turns over.  

It roils, bile churning in it like every bad decision she's ever made in her life is trapped in there and trying to claw its way up through her throat. Carefully padding to the bathroom, scared to jostle herself too much, she sits down on the edge of the tub and, in absolute desperation, tries to talk herself out of being sick.  

"Hey there, stomach," she starts sweetly, "let's have a chat about this. I'm sure we can reach some sort of agreement. There's no need to keep sending everything I eat out through the escape hatch, you know?" 

Her stomach gurgles loudly, a kind of angry sound that makes it seem as if it's trying to communicate with her. And if this is the case and her stomach is attempting to engage her in conversation, it's definitely not saying anything nice right now. In truth, it's coming across more like her gastrointestinal system is cursing at her. Quite a lot and drunk-pirate-on-shore-leave style.  

It clenches alarmingly, and she practically chokes on the swell of nausea rising there. 

"How dare you," she hisses down at her abdomen, fully aware that she probably sounds insane in that moment. "I haven't done anything bad to you at all. You want fries. I give you fries. You want apple juice. I drink a whole bottle of it. And what do I get in return? Oh, just you getting salty with me is all. Frickin' ungrateful is what you are." 

It gurgles even more loudly than before and twists so hard that she feels like she's on a roller coaster. She swallows in some vain attempt to keep her meager dinner from the night before right where it's at, and after three tries of this, she gives up the fight and flings open the lid of the toilet, half frustrated and half hopeless in her surrender.  

"If I didn't need you," she rasps out at her body when she's finished vomiting, her throat raw like it's been burned with acid. "I would leave you in a dumpster."  

Her stomach wrenches like it's warning her. 

And May, stubborn as she can be sometimes, doesn't bother to heed the warning. 

"What? It's the truth. You think just because there's a baby hanging out near you that you can do whatever you want? Well, I am here to tell you-" 

It doesn't let her finish, saying fuck you in the loudest, clearest way a large intestine can. Bile rises with a vengeance, and she has to scramble to hunch back over the toilet. When she's finished emptying her stomach yet again, feeling shaky and somehow still nauseated in the wake of having to do so, she stumbles to her bathroom counter to brush her teeth at least three good times in an attempt to eliminate the taste there. She wonders if she can just not eat ever again, because right now anything seems better than going through all this every day. Can she really throw up if she doesn't actually consume food? Is that a thing she could try? It's probably something to ask Viego about. 

Not that she really wants to speak with her brother about any of this. He'll likely just press the issue of her telling Morpheus about the baby, and May's not quite on board with that just yet. In the future? Probably. But right now when she's so weak and emotional, when he's made it so clear that he doesn't want anything else to do with her, confessing this to him is a hard pass. 

In the meantime, May trusts Viego to keep his mouth shut, but she knows that he thinks she's being an idiot about it. Over the many millennia of them living in one another's pocket, her brother has really perfected the abstract art form of simultaneously always having her back while managing to always let her know when she's being incredibly stupid. Honestly, he's frickin' Picasso at it by this point. And to be fair, she has considered trying to broach the subject with Morpheus, to sort of test the waters on where he might stand, but she has no idea how to even begin to manage that without outing herself. It would look shady as shit if she just started popping off random So, where do you stand on your ex having your kid type questions. He's already pissed off to the millionth degree when he has to pull her from the Dreamer's Sea, and while he can be clueless about things sometimes, she's pretty sure even he would know something was up if she started asking stuff like that.  

And then, as if she's conjured him from thin air, she glances over at the door and sees Morpheus just…. standing there, a tall blot of darkness contrasting sharply with the white tile of her bathroom. May yelps in surprise, and it's muscle memory that makes her fling the tube of toothpaste she's holding at him in defense. 

Which he, of course, annoyingly catches easily in one hand. 

After that, they're both plunged into a few overlong moments of incredibly awkward silence. Like strippers showing up to a funeral and getting half their act out before they realize they've accidentally went to the wrong address. That kind of awkward silence.

He's staring at her as if he's trying to focus, and May feels herself go still like a prey animal that's just found its way into the path of a giant, razor-fanged predator. "W-what are you doing here?" 

He stretches out the toothpaste to her, and she takes it, her fingers fiddling with the crimped end in nervousness once it's back in her hand. At last he answers, "I brought you home last night. You fainted on the pier."

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. May panics a little. Okay, fine. She panics a whole lot. He's not supposed to be here, and he sure as hell isn't supposed to know there might be anything wrong with her. "Um… Thank you?" 

"Are you ill?" he asks, and May has to stop herself from closing her eyes at the timbre of his voice. It washes over her, all deep and rich, somehow as unfairly attractive as the rest of him is.  

She hesitates at his question. A part of her, that often ignored rational side, is practically screaming at her that she should just tell him, that she should lay everything on the metaphorical table and prepare herself to deal with his inevitable freak out. "No… No, I'm not… ill." 

"That you collapsed would seem to indicate otherwise." He's so rigid, so tense that May thinks he could be a statue. He'd probably be called Sorrow and Stubbornness Told in Marble or something like that.  

She studies him anew. In the dark, starry night of the Dreaming, she had thought that he seemed gaunt and thin, but here in the bright light of her washroom it's painfully obvious that he hasn't been taking proper care of himself. His face is more angular than usual, harshly so, and his skin is paler than it should be, an almost gray cast to it. She thinks that he hasn't been eating either, and this neglect has lent a leanness to his form that reminds her all too much of how he'd looked in captivity while they'd been held in Roderick Burgess' basement.  

Her chest tightens with sentimentality as she makes up her mind. She's going to just do it. He… He probably deserves to know. "I… I'm…." She tries to speak it aloud, but it's harder than she thought it would be. Her words refuse to cooperate as she considers how pissed he's going to be about this. A baby? And with a woman he can't even bear to be in the same room with? "I'm… I mean..." Trailing off, she tears her gaze from him, irritation with herself driving her to stare down at the floor. She gives up on her confession far too quickly, feeling like the lowest form of a coward for her inability to just spit it out. "Never mind. It's nothing." 

"I see," he says, and there's a roughness to his voice that sets May on alert. In three great strides, he crosses the distance between them to stand right in front of her. It's instinct that makes her take a step away in retreat until her back is flat against the wall. She wants to run, wants to escape from the sudden thunderous expression on his face, and her heart starts thumping loudly enough in her chest that she feels dizzy again. 

"What are you doing?" she asks in alarm. He's so close to her that she can smell him, that ozone other scent that used to remind her of home and love and everything else good in her life. So quickly she almost doesn't register it, he reaches a hand out to her stomach that May unthinkingly tries to block by grabbing a hold of his fingers.  

"Don't," he grits out through clenched teeth, staring at her with eyes that have burned black in rage. His jaw clenches just before he shakes off her pathetic restraint of him and opens his palm against the lower part of her abdomen where their child grows, and May can feel the light of the baby flare a little at his touch like it's saying hello. 

He… He knows. May gasps shakily and tries to shrink further into the wall, looking away from him.  

"Were you to tell me?" he demands, his tone low with fury. "Was I to know that you carry my child? Or was this to be yet another secret between us?" 

Her eyes well with tears, and she hates that she might cry. Doing so always makes her feel weak, and she curses her hormones for it in that moment. ""Morpheus… I… " She draws in a shuddering breath, finally gathering enough courage to glance up and see his terrifying, menacing expression. "I hadn't decided yet." 

He scoffs and regards her in angry astonishment. "You had not decided?" he questions bitterly. "You had not decided whether or not I should know of my own child?" 

May winces. When he says it like that, it sounds a little… well, not great. "No. I hadn't." 

"What gives you the right to deny-" 

That pricks her temper. The right? He's asking about rights? He hadn't been bothered with rights when he'd discarded her like an old pair of socks and then completely blocked her from her home and friends and the creatures that she loved like family in his realm. To hear him bring up the concept now is laughably out of touch.  

"Oh, I have all the right," May cuts him off and straightens up in the midst of her own indignation. "As long as this baby is growing inside of my body, I have all the rights to make all the decisions about it." 

His mouth purses, a sign of his displeasure as those void black eyes of his stare down at her disdainfully, like she's nothing more than the lowest creature he's ever had the misfortune of knowing. "And that is the reasoning you would have used to keep this from me?" 

May resists the urge to growl at him. How can he be this dense? With everything that's happened between them the past few months, she'd think it would be easy for him to understand why she might be reluctant to tell him about having a kid. "I wasn't… I didn't know. Okay? It's not like we're kissing under the roses or anything lately. You banished me, and you've made it pretty clear that you don't want anything else to do with me. Telling you that I was pregnant just… It's a bigger thing because of all that." 

"Our relationship was ended due to your tendency to keep secrets. Why would you think that another of them might improve anything between the two of us?" 

"I kept one secret," she throws back with a glare leveled his way. "One. That you didn't even give me a real chance to explain-" 

"Ah, yes. I am in the wrong because I did not wish to hear any more of your lies." 

Christ on a potato, but she wants to punch him for that. "One lie-" 

"A hundred lies. A thousand of them," he seethes. "Every time you opened your mouth, you might have given me the truth, and yet you did not." 

That brings her up short. Is that really how he sees it? "It… It wasn't like that." She wants to admit to him that she tries not to even think of that stupid book, wants to admit to him that whatever happened with it was so bad that she can barely remember much of it at all, but her words stick in her throat.  

"It was exactly like that," he snaps and then removes his hand from her, standing tall as he does so, his anger fading away into a mask of impassiveness. "Collect your things. You will return with me to the Dreaming." 

May can't help her small, derisive laugh. "No, I won't." 

"This is not up for discussion," he growls, glowering at her. 

"You're right about that. It definitely isn't up for discussion. I'm not going back there with you." 

His chest heaves as he struggles to control his temper. "I have rescinded the banishment." 

Aww, you're such a fucking sweetheart, she thinks sarcastically but doesn't say aloud, unwilling as she is to add any more gasoline to this inferno raging between them. "Yeah. That's really nice of you, but my answer remains a firm no. As in not happening." 

"You are surely aware that you are unsafe in the Waking given your current condition." 

"Really? I had no idea…. Oh, wait. Actually I did. What do you think all the boxes are for? I know I'm not safe here. Viego and I are leaving." 

"You are indeed leaving," he relays sternly. "With me. Immediately." And it reminds May of a spoiled toddler on the verge of a temper tantrum because they aren't getting something they want. 

She knows from past experience that they could go back and forth with their No, I won't and Yes, you will alllll day long, so she goes for a different tactic. "Look, you don't owe me anything. Just because I'm knocked up, you don't have to… protect me or-" 

"I am, however, responsible for the child you carry, May. And as such, that makes me responsible for your welfare until it is born." 

Until it is born. She knows rationally that he doesn't mean that as a dig at her, but it hurts nonetheless. She can't help but to remember when he'd asked to bond with her, when he'd sworn to love and honor and care for her always. This offer of care is entirely different from that one. This is simply him viewing her as yet another duty he must see to, a task he must monitor, and it sets her teeth on edge. "I'm not coming back there with you. So drop it." 

He opens his mouth to argue, but they're both interrupted by the sound of the front door opening.  

"Sis!" Viego yells, "Get dressed and get your stuff. We gotta go. Like now." There's panic in his voice as it travels across the living space of the house, up the stairs, and end up filtering through to where she's at. "Sis! You hear me?" 

"I heard you. I'm getting ready!" she shouts out. 

Her brother, when he gets to the doorway of the washroom, goes as tense as Morpheus is. Warily, he glances first at Morpheus and then at May. "What's going on here?" 

"Nothing," May supplies and crosses her arms over her chest. "He was just… going." 

"No. I do not believe I was," Morpheus disagrees with a scowl aimed her way. "This conversation is far from finished."

"For the time being it is. We'll… talk later." 

He glares and balls his hands into fists at his side. "Then I will send Matthew to watch over you until we have the opportunity to settle this... matter." 

"Morpheus," May tries, "you don't-" 

His bearing turns fierce in a split second, his voice dropping to a deep and dangerous pitch. "Either Matthew follows you, or I will throw you over my shoulder and-" 

"Like hell you will," Viego cuts in, and Morpheus spares him a glance, seemingly amused at his foolish bravery in challenging an entity so powerful as an Endless. Viego is fazed by this subtle intimidation not at all. "If she said no to whatever, then she means no." 

"Both of you, stop it," May huffs out, exasperated as she's always been at their bickering. "Viego… can you give us a minute?" 

He doesn't want to. It's clear in the way that he hesitates. Slowly, he nods anyway. "A minute, sis. We could have… visitors very soon." 

He means that someone is after them. As usual. This is the part of living in the Waking world that she'd really hoped to never have to deal with again. Being on the run sucks, and she'd grown indescribably tired of it thousands of years ago. After she's sure Viego is out of earshot, May blows out a breath and turns her attention wearily back to Morpheus. "Look, Matthew can come with us. It's a long drive, and I wouldn't mind the company." 

He's studying her like he's suddenly worried, which almost makes her laugh at him. He hadn't worried for even a second when he'd cast her out of her home and thrown her back into the hell of having to flee enemies at every turn. Safe in the peace of his realm, she can imagine that it's probably difficult for him to understand how quickly a life of constant fear can grind a person down. His tone softens fractionally as he tells her, "It would be more prudent for you to simply return with me to the Dreaming."

She shakes her head. "No. I'm not doing that. What I am doing, though, is trying to compromise with you. Do you know what a compromise is? Because it's not me just folding like a boiled noodle and letting you have your way because you're in a mood." 

"I am not in a mood,  as you say. I am merely attempting to manage your safety despite your infuriating obstinance." 

"First off, you have no right to call anyone stubborn. Ever. You're the most stubborn entity to ever exist. Secondly, I'm not your subject, so you're going to just have to deal with me not following your orders." 

"No. You are not my subject," he agrees. "You are, however, the recalcitrant female carrying my child, and it is foolish of you to put yourself in unnecessary danger simply due to your ire towards me." 

"Woooow. Narcissistic much," she breathes out in caustic wonderment. "You think I'm refusing to go back to the place- that you, my fiance, threw me out of- just to… What? Aggravate you?" 

Eyes flashing in carefully contained fury, he bites out, "That certainly seems to be the case." 

"That's... not it at all." She doesn't know how to explain to him all of her contrary feelings on returning to the Dreaming. She doesn't have the emotional bank account to tell him that she can't bear to be there, that she can't bear to walk around in the realm that was meant to be her home and know that she could be kicked out again whenever he decides she's worn out her welcome.  

"And what reason have I to believe you?” he  demands of her witheringly. “Especially given your tendency to deceive me." These words are completely meant as a dig at her, and the pointed comment hits its mark with startling, terrible precision. 

It's like he's stabbed her with his callous reminder that it’s all her fault that they’ve separated, that it’s all her fault he will never trust her again. She looks down at the ground, unwilling to let him see the heartbreak written plainly on her face. "I'll keep Matthew with me, but you… you need to go. I can't…. do this with you right now," May informs him, her tone as broken and pathetic as the rest of her feels. 

He's quiet for a minute or two. "Very well," he finally allows, and his voice seems… gentler somehow, as if he regrets what he's said to her. Though that notion, she knows, is a ridiculous one. He wouldn't know regret if it hit him in the head with its shoe. "I will seek you out when you arrive at your destination." 

And with that, he shifts out of her home, dematerializing from in front of her in a second. She hates the way that emotions swell within her and bring tears to her eyes at his departure. She hates herself for the fact that she hadn't wanted him to leave, that she had nearly called out to him to stop before he was gone. 

But most of all, she hates that his promise to return sounds like nothing so much as a threat to her. She just hopes that by the time they can talk again, he will have calmed down enough so that they can actually approach this mess more like the mostly mature, impossibly old entities they are and less like two opponents in an arena trying to draw blood. 

NEXT CHAPTER

#sandman fanfiction #sandman fic #morpheus x oc #sandman x reader #morpheus fanfiction #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless #morpheus fic #BBHAP

[alteon77]

The Bizarre Breeding Habits of Anthropomorphic Personifications: Chapter 2

It's a tale as old as time.

Two idiots fall in love. Two idiots fall out of love.

Neither one of them is expecting a baby to come along and derail their unhappily ever after.

Chapter one here, AO3 here, Masterlist here

It's raining again in the Dreaming.  

Or, Morpheus supposes, it might be more accurate to say that it's raining still in the Dreaming as the rain has not let up for over a month.  

He stands on the balcony of his private chambers, their private chambers only scant weeks past, and watches the deluge as it wreaks havoc through the realm. It has been forty-eight days since they were contentedly in love, forty-eight days since he discovered her betrayal and cast her from his life and his realm. Not that he is counting the time since their disastrous separation, of course, even though he is aware of it.  

Painfully aware of it even.  

By mortal standards, their love had been a slow one to bloom. He'd first met her in 1832 when she'd invited herself into his kingdom, frustrated and full of ire, to inform him (less than diplomatically) that she would be venturing into the dreams of another. Beautiful though she was, he'd been half amused and half infuriated by her audacity as he'd questioned her regarding her intentions in doing such a thing. She had introduced herself as May before relaying to him that her brother had found himself enthralled by a succubus.  

And not for the first time at that.  

Troublesome siblings were something Morpheus had unfortunately related all too well to, with at least two of his six near constantly attempting to find ways they might embroil him in their spiteful games. So he had granted her request in an odd show of compassion and thought it generous of himself, only to have the fiery female tartly tell him that she had not sought his permission, that she was merely there as a courtesy. Fool that he was, he had felt his heart start to thud loudly at her boldness, at the determined way that she both thanked him and dismissed him in one fell swoop. The manner in which she spoke to him, fearless despite his terrible reputation, was a novelty, and he had thought then like a love-struck boy that he wished to see more of her. 

Despite this, he hadn't actually laid eyes on her again until 1946, and the circumstances then had been… less than ideal. He'd remembered who she was, though, on that first horrible night that Roderick Burgess' men had held tight to her arms outside the binding circle and tried to threaten her into assisting them. They'd marched her away when she told them no, and while their captors had been far too afraid to even consider getting near him, May… she had not been so lucky. She had been hurt. Badly. He had never witnessed it, had never seen them so much as strike her, but every time Roderick Burgess had his brutes roughly throw her to the ground before his glass prison, she was freshly bruised or bleeding, a testament to the suffering being inflicted on her. His heart had ached at the sight, his worry sickening as their captors had demanded that she communicate with Morpheus using her magic, that she force the Endless to reveal his secrets, that she cajole him into granting them gifts he could not give. 

As a maker, May had been more than capable of speaking into his mind, had even made a habit of doing so when she was lonely in that shared nightmare of theirs, but she had remained resolute in her continued refusals to Roderick Burgess when he commanded this of her, firmly telling him time and time again that it couldn't be done. No matter the consequences she'd endured for her obstinacy. 

Her strength had noticeably began to dwindle by the end of that first year of this treatment, new wounds staying for longer on her than they should because of it. And so when she'd seen the opportunity to facilitate their freedom, to take advantage of an argument between their jailers to scratch a thin line through the painted sigils trapping him, she hadn't hesitated for even a moment. She had saved him in this way, and he had felt compelled to save her in turn. He'd knelt at her side on the cold floor of that basement, looking her over as the blue glow of his power cast its hazy light over her injured form. Gently, he'd reached out and brushed the shattered glass from her unconscious, broken body before carefully gathering her up in his arms and taking her far from their captivity and everything they'd suffered there.  

It wouldn't be until they were free of that nightmare that Morpheus would understand why May's magic had been so dulled in that place, and the branding burned onto her arm, the one binding her magic, had been the very first thing he'd healed on either of them. Jaw clenching in fury as he'd worked, he had found himself wishing that Roderick Burgess had not died during their escape. For if that mortal had survived, then Morpheus would have assuredly taken great pleasure in tormenting and killing him anew for his cruelty towards her. 

Nonetheless, gradually over time May had recovered fully from her ordeal, and he had done the same. Both of them had found solace in one another and their shared experience as they mended, a friendship blooming between them from it. He had trusted her when she first started offering him her hesitant physical contact, had even found himself eventually coming to crave those shy touches of hers, and they had began to fall in love after that, bit by bit, as she had assisted him in rebuilding the desolated remains of his realm. From their many conversations, he'd quickly learned that beneath her seemingly spirited, sometimes waspish exterior, she was actually… quite kind, bright and good in a way that he had noticed influencing him long before either of them would dare to admit their feelings to one another. 

He had grown to love her completely over the decades after that, had grown to regard her without any suspicion. And because of it, he never could have foreseen her betrayal. He's known for most of his existence that love never ended well, especially for him, and so in hindsight he supposes that he should have guessed that their love could do naught but to crush him in the end. Instead he'd foolishly allowed himself to hope, to believe in better, to trust in her, and now he's been left with nothing but his heartbreak, clearly paying the price for that rather spectacular idiocy on his part.  

Heavy thunder rolls through the Dreaming, the force of it so great that the glass window before him trembles violently.  

Seeing her only days prior had somehow made his melancholy worse, but he had been unable to do anything then except rescue her from death. No matter the pain she had caused him, he knows that… that he still loves her, that perhaps he will always do so. Such is the nature of that cursed emotion. His love for her had gotten inside of his heart like delicate glass, had shattered during that final argument mere weeks before they were to wed, and he is all too aware that no matter how desperately he tries, he remains incapable of digging all the many shards of it from his aching chest.   

This lingering affliction was why he had been troubled by the state of her when last they'd spoken. She had appeared ill when he'd finally gotten her to the safety of the pier. Her skin had been sickly pale, her limbs shaking from exertion. There had been dark smudges beneath her eyes, a physical symptom of her exhaustion, of her fatigue that was so overwhelming he could almost feel it in his own being. It had taken every last shred of his self control not to check her over, not to ensure that she was uninjured then. He'd wanted to comfort her, to close the damnable distance between them and take her in his arms once again, the urge to do so nearly overcoming his fury at her.  

A clap of lightning splits the sky before him, the shade of its electrical arc a dangerous red. He thinks that he must calm himself, that he must rein in these destructive feelings, as a small knock sounds from the door of their- his, only his- chamber, startling him from his maudlin thoughts.  

"Enter," he answers, knowing as he does that Lucienne is the only of his subjects that would dare come to this sanctuary of his and risk his wrath. 

She does as he commands and makes her way into their- no, his- sitting room to stand there with her hands held behind her back, obviously waiting until she has permission before she begins her daily attempt at coaxing him from this place. He tells himself that this time he will be kinder while she does this, that this time he will not react to her honest concern with churlish anger. His librarian simply worries for him and is unable to understand that she need not do so. He is Dream of the Endless, eons old, powerful, and so he is assuredly not wallowing in his despair.  

No matter how many times Lucienne might accuse him of it. 

He huffs out a resigned sigh but stays facing the deluge outside, continuing to watch it as it falls. "Yes?" 

"Sir…" she begins reluctantly, and Morpheus has an almost immediate impulse to end the conversation at the falter in her voice. She obviously seeks to speak to him of something he will dislike hearing. "Sir, parts of the realm are… flooded. Two of the islands… are completely submerged." 

"And?" 

He can feel the frustrated heaviness of her glare on his back. "And perhaps you might see to it," she supplies with only the slightest speck of irritation in her words. 

His duties. Always his duties. Even a moment to process his grief is not allowed to him by his function. He finally turns to her, his face kept carefully blank to mask the roil of emotions within him as best he can. “Very well.” 

She’s relieved and wary all at the same time, but she modulates her tone as she asks, "My lord…. when might we expect the rain to…. settle?" 

His jaw clenches. The truth is he does not know when the storms will fade away. He does not wish to admit this to her, does not wish to admit this to anyone, but he thinks they might rage for a long while yet, powerless as he seems to be at quelling this particular manifestation of his misery. 

"I know… not, Lucienne," he confesses and feels a curious pang in his chest, right where his heart is, that reminds him a little of broken glass slicing into that infernal organ with every breath he takes.  

She frowns, her expression changing to one of pity. She understands what he cannot bring himself to say aloud then, and for that he is… grateful. "Of course, sir."

"I will… leave at once to see to the islands. Have you evacuated the subjects there?"

Before she can answer, there's a strange pull at his mind, something familiar and unfamiliar all at the same time.  

He thinks… that it is May. Again? She should not be here, should not be capable of entering this realm after he had reinforced the banishment following her last trespass, and yet her panic cuts through him, cuts through everything else in his thoughts.  

She is… frightened. She is dying.  

His whole body goes rigid. He tells himself that this time he will not care. This time, he will refuse to intervene.  

His resolve lasts less than a fraction of a second. He should not care, he knows. What is she now to him but a betrayer? But a deceiver? Regardless, he shifts to where she is, surprised to find her in the Dreamer's Sea again. She's drowning, he thinks, just as she had been when last he'd discovered her here. He doesn't hesitate to jump in after her, doesn't hesitate to grab her up and practically drag her to the pier, and later, perhaps, he will wonder over this. He's been far crueler to lovers in the past for far less egregious offenses, had even damned one of them to an eternity of Hell for simply refusing him, but with her he seems incapable of even leaving her to the consequence of her own folly. 

And it is her folly. He is unsure how it is she is entering the dreams of others, but he knows that it is her doing no matter her denials.  

Shivering, she collapses on the wooden planks of the sole structure here, coughing out water while she trembles. His heart lurches at the sight. He wants to go to her, wants to wrap her up in his warmth until she is not so chilled.  

This he will not do, however. He might be unable to allow her death, but this… this urge he can control, and so he steps back, his hands clenched at his sides to keep them from reaching out to her.  

"You must cease this," he growls, anger clear in his tone. The fact is that she indeed must stop this reckless insanity of hers. The Dreamer's Sea is a manifestation of his being, one created to contain mortal dreams and keep them from spilling over. He had designed it in a way that it would not allow anyone but him to break through its surface, making her attempts to travel it borderline suicidal.  

She doesn't stand, seemingly too weak to do so, though her ability to lash out at him in a temper remains unhindered by her near drowning. "What a great idea, Morpheus. I hadn't stopped to consider-" She stops herself with another coughing fit, this one severe enough that he would wince at the sound of it if he were not keeping his face held so tense. When next she speaks, her voice is a harsh rasp, but it does not dull the bite of her sarcasm. "I hadn't stopped to consider that I shouldn't go to sleep and find myself dying in that stupid water every night. Thanks so much for that well-thought out advice." 

He's enraged at the nerve of her for daring to take such a tone with him when she is the trespasser here. "How are you entering this realm?" His voice dips low in warning, in threat.  

"I don't know. I'm not doing anything. I even tried not opening the door tonight, but it flew open on its own and sucked me in anyway."

"Door? A door appeared to you?"

She lets loose another cough, this one wracking her frail body in a way that makes him tighten his fists at his side in a greater effort not to comfort her. "Yes," she finally answers. 

"Perhaps you would not find yourself pulled in by this door if you were not traipsing through the dreams of others," he bites out, his tone gravelly. 

"I'm not… not doing it on purpose." 

"There is no other way to do such a thing." 

Unexpectedly, she huffs out a bitter laugh. "Believe whatever you want. We both know that nothing I say is going to convince you of… well, anything." 

Indignation surges through him so quickly that he feels his eyes bleed black with his fury. As if she's expecting to have to defend herself physically, May gets sluggishly to her feet. "You would dare?" His voice is a mere rumble he says this, the rage of it dangerous to any other entity. Before him, however, his once love seems more tired than fearful, as if she's so very worn out that she's resigned herself to whatever vitriol he will level at her. 

"Look, I don't want to argue. Thanks for not… letting me die and all, but you can just send me home now." 

"What has happened to your magic that you cannot make the return with your own power?" 

Another acerbic laugh, this one fainter than the other, and Morpheus decides that he doesn't like to hear such a noise from her. She had always been so happy when she was in the Dreaming with him, always so full of creation and love. This jaded creature seems so different from his May that it almost disturbs him. Then again, he supposes that she is no longer his anything and as such he should not concern himself with this sorrowful change in her.  

"Is it really any of your business?" she questions as if she knows what he's thinking. Her eyes flick away from him seemingly to avoid his gaze, and he has the distinct impression that she is hiding something from him with this guilty gesture. 

His worry for her is a sudden, unexpected thing, and before he can stop himself, he asks, "Has something gone amiss in the Waking? Are you… safe?" Makers, he knows all too well, are hunted by many. Their realm torn apart by civil war for millennia, they've scattered across the universe even as their numbers dwindle more and more with every passing decade.  

She brings her arms up to cross over her chest as if she's embracing herself, as if she's trying to hold herself together with her own shaking limbs. "I'm fine."  

He frowns at her, instantly on alert. She doesn't sound fine by any possible meaning of the word. As if he cannot help himself, he steps closer to her. "What is the matter? You are… changed... somehow."

"I'm grieving. I know that's probably hard for someone like you to understand, but I'm… I'll be fine." 

He goes rigid at her words, at the accusation buried in them. As if he does not understand mourning. As if he is so unfeeling that he could not fathom being as torn by their relationship ending as she is. His worry dissipates in the iciness of his ire. How very foolish he is in her presence, so sentimental that he allows himself to forget her duplicity. He vows that he will never err in this way again. "Very well. I will send you home, but know that if you wander into this realm yet again, I will leave you wherever you land… even should it be these waters." 

She curls in on herself a little. "Okay. I… I am trying not to… Just never mind. You'll… do whatever you want, and you won't let me… let anything change that." 

His heart contracts almost painfully, his chest burning with the force of it. "I will do what I must." He does not give her a chance to answer as he pushes his power out and shifts her home. After she's gone, he stares at the place she had just been in, his fists loosening at last, his eyes prickling with the unshed tears that he refuses to let fall.  

By the time he gathers himself enough to return to the palace, a hurricane is ripping its way through the Dreaming, leaving a devastation in its wake that's almost as great as the devastation of his tumultuous emotions. 

May wakes the next morning with dried tears on her face, her stomach roiling sickeningly, and a rather alarming headache.  

She's very quickly learning that pregnancy isn't at all like the books and the movies make it seem. Oh, no. In reality, it isn't beautiful, isn't magical. No. Instead, it just really… well, sucks. 

After sitting up in bed and getting dizzy, she has to practically sprint to the bathroom to heave up the meager contents of her stomach. Honestly, she's starting to think she should just bring a blanket and a pillow in here and start sleeping camped out next to the toilet. It might do something for that about-to-faint feeling she gets when she has to stand upright to run in here. Contemplating over whether or not she can fit an inflatable air mattress in front of her bathtub, she brushes her teeth and downs two full glasses of water in an effort to rehydrate herself. With her powers disappearing more and more every day, she knows that she can't depend on her magic to keep her healthy like she always has.  

Only her contrary body, however, apparently doesn't want to do the hydrated thing since the water just makes her sick all over again. Dropping to her knees so fast that it sends shockwaves up through her actual fucking spine, May uncontrollably retches, and while she does, she finds herself regretting all the choices she's ever made in her life that have led her into this rather codependent relationship with a toilet.  

"You sick or something, sis?" It's her brother, leaning against the frame of the bathroom door, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes narrowed in concern.

There are a hundred scathing responses to that question on the tip of her tongue. Does he think she's just hanging out here on this cold tile floor because of the aesthetics or something? Her vision blurred by tears, May still manages to cast an annoyed look Viego's way. "What do you think?" 

Yeesh. Is that her voice? It sounds like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together.  

Uncaring of her current grossness, Viego ignores her aggravation and steps forward to crouch at her side and put a comforting hand on her back. "How about something to drink? Maybe something with some electrolytes in it?" 

This is the dichotomy of her brother, the one that Morpheus never understood. On one hand, he can be a feral monster, one who's killed his way through the millennia in an effort to make them as safe as he could (to make others safe too sometimes even if he always refused to admit those particular murders to May). On the other hand, though, he loves her as much as he had when they were children still, when he'd whisked her away from their home realm to this one and promised in his little boy voice that he would protect her.  

And he had. He'd practically raised her, had been good at it even. While she doesn't remember very much of her time before Viego had brought them to this world, she remembers everything afterwards. The basic facts are that underneath that dangerous persona he shows to everyone else they meet, he's actually gentle, and for all the things he's ever done that others might condemn him for, May never stopped seeing him as that little boy who'd taken care of her, who'd given her as much of a childhood as he could, who'd always been there for her.  

That he'd killed their father was no matter to her. After all the horror that monster had put Viego through, May likes to think that she would have been the one to do it if she were strong enough at the time.  

Her thoughts blank for a moment, and she forgets what she had even been turning over in her head as Viego, still at her side, studies her worriedly. She knows the second he realizes what's going on with her because he freezes and then recoils a little. "Holy… shit. You're-"

"Don't say it," she pleads. Saying it out loud will make it seem more real somehow, and she can't… can't handle that right now, especially not with Morpheus' latest dismissal still fresh in her mind. 

To his credit, he clamps his mouth shut immediately. A couple of minutes pass before he even considers opening it again. "Not… happy news then?" 

"I don't… I don't know." 

He frowns at her. "Do you know who the father is?" 

May rolls her eyes. "Of course I know. Not all of us sleep with anything that has a pulse." 

"Please please tell me it's not that Endless bastard's. Please, sis." 

Without answering him, she shakily gets to her feet, and he doesn't press for an answer as he takes a hold of her arm and helps her up. "What are you even doing here? I thought you were going to be in Italy for another month with…. What's her name again?" 

He absolutely sees straight through her attempt to change the subject, and though May knows he's probably got a bajillion questions, he promptly shuts up about both her pregnancy and the Endless responsible for it. Viego has always been good at that, at letting her process things in her own time and come to him when she's finally sorted it and needs to talk. "Giselle," he supplies nonchalantly as he hands her a tube of toothpaste from her little cup beside the sink. "We had an argument, and then we tried to fuck it out instead of fighting it out, which led to a bigger argument and more fucking, and then a massive argument and… well, you know how it goes." 

She doesn't really know how that goes actually. As May scrubs her teeth with all the ferocity of someone who's just had a dog give birth to puppies in their mouth, she thinks over this. Despite that her and Morpheus were together for several decades, they'd never had hateful sex. He'd always seemed as if he was holding back with her, like she was something delicate that he had been afraid to hurt. Which is kind of hilarious now considering how thoroughly he'd ended up crushing her. When she's finished scrubbing her tongue, she spits into the sink and says, "I mean, you and Giselle lasted longer than I thought you would." 

Viego makes a face at her. "It was only two months."

"Yeah. I know. I stand by what I said. I thought three weeks. Max." 

His grin is contagious, the brightness of it making her smile too. Just a little smile, because her head is throbbing like she's got the worst hangover of her life, but a smile nonetheless.  

"Oooooh. Someone's cranky. Maybe we need some coffee?" 

Aaaand the smile is gone. If it's possible, her reflection goes even paler in the mirror. With how sickly white she's been lately, she's kind of morbidly impressed by how much color she sees draining from her face at the mention of the dreaded C word. She's pretty sure that she's mourned the loss of coffee more than the loss of her magic, which is really really saying something. Her stomach, fickle hell beast that it's been lately, had noped out of allowing her to have any once it discovered the joys of tormenting her with morning sickness. 

"Fries," she blurts out, surprised at how firm she sounds in this very stupid request of hers. 

His eyebrows raise. "Um, sis, it's eight in the morning." 

"Hash browns then. I just want fried potatoes of some kind." 

Viego looks totally iffy on the idea of her eating fried anything right now, but May doesn't care. "That's probably a bad idea. You know that, right?" he tells her like the boring big brother he can sometimes be. "If you're… sick, then something a little… less greasy might be better on your stomach." 

Is she going to be a brat over this? Why, yes. Yes, she is. This is the first food she's wanted anywhere near her mouth in two weeks, and she's suddenly ridiculously hungry. "Let me try that again. Viego, I'm getting dressed and going out for hash browns. You can join me or stay here and finish your lecture. The bathtub might stick around and listen to you but only because it doesn't have legs to run away." 

"Sheesh. You are cranky." He sighs in resignation. "Alright, stupid hangover food it is. Get dressed and grab a coat. It's cold out there." 

Of course, because her stomach is evil incarnate, May ends up getting sick again. Viego offers to go and get the food for her and bring it back home. He offers to do this for her like he's being sweet or something, but May knows better.  

He just doesn't want her riding in his car if she might puke in it.  

Not that she's bothered. It's totally fine with her as long as she gets what she wants to eat soon. While he's gone, May showers and brushes her teeth again, wondering at what point she needs to start worrying that she's accidentally scrubbing the enamel right off of them. She pulls on her comfiest clothes, a baggy pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt she had stolen from Viego that reads: Ass, Grass, or Cash. No one gets this hot mess for free. 

After that, she plops miserably down on the couch and pulls seven or eight blankets over her, one at a time. For the past week, she's been so frickin' cold that it's like the baby is sucking up all her warmth for itself. She shivers all the time now, even when she's wearing three layers and covered in a mountain of blankets, and like everything else to do with this pregnancy so far, she's finding it… kind of terrible. 

When Viego returns a half an hour later, the first installment of Kill Bill is playing in the background, the violence on the television screen strangely soothing to her. Probably because of her foul mood. Her brother sits beside her and makes to grab the top blanket of her little pile, but May holds tight to it. "It's mine. Get your own." 

"Pretty sure you've got them all, May." He laughs teasingly, and May would smack him if she wasn't so reluctant to stick her hand out from under the blessed heat that can only come from several layers of thick, plush fleece. 

Like she's a dog, and he's trying to lure her out of a corner with treats, he waves the bag in his hand at her, and the smell is… heavenly. A greasy stain spreads out from the bottom of the brown paper, and her mouth waters in anticipation.  

"I found you fries," he announces, and she detects the smallest hint of pride in his voice. 

"You're my favorite brother," she replies, snatching it from his hands like the feral animal she apparently is before roughly pulling it open. 

He chuckles at her. "Yeah. That's nice. I'm your only brother." He puts his arm around her and tries to pull her to him. "Come here, you idiot." 

"What are you-" 

"You look like you need a hug." 

May bristles at the pity she can see in his face. It does nothing good for her raging irritability today. "I'm fine," she informs him tartly as she takes a bite of the greasy carbs before her like they might make her feel better.

"May, I've seen corpses that have more life in them than you do right now." He should be expecting retaliation, really, but he seems caught completely off guard when he yanks his arm back from her sharp-nailed pinch. "Ow, that hurt."

Mouth full of half-chewed food, she mumbles, "Good. I meant for it to." 

"And after I slept with Ernie down at the diner to get him to make you fries." 

Thinking of the very happily married, very hairy Ernie in a passionate embrace with her brother makes her choke as she attempts to swallow. "Wait. What?" 

"Very sweet guy. Likes to snuggle after." He smirks playfully at her. "I'm kidding. I told him you were sick, and he did me a favor." 

May eyes him suspiciously. "A favor." It had seemed like he was gone for way longer than he needed to be. "Are you… sure?" 

"Yes…. I didn't actually fuck Ernie. Now eat." 

Mindlessly, she sticks another fry in her mouth and chews. This time, when Viego puts an arm around her and tugs her closer, she gives in and leans towards him, comfortable with his embrace in the way that millennia together have made them. She knows that Viego, despite his ruthlessness, can be just as cuddly as she is sometimes. Like a giant, albeit homicidal, teddy bear. 

He doesn't speak as they watch the movie together, as she finishes off the entire bag of fries, and when the credits roll, May hugs his torso and clings to him like she used to do as a child. Viego is safe, she reminds herself. He has always been safe. She can talk to him about anything, even when talking seems hard.  

"It's Dream's," she confesses quietly, hating the brokenness in her voice. "The… the baby." 

He lets out a little hum, the sound low enough that she can feel it vibrate in his chest. "I know, sis." 

"And he… he banished me. He doesn't want to have anything to do with me." Her eyes well with tears that spill over, but she doesn't wipe them away, feeling too tired to even lift her hands right now.  

"He didn't… banish you because you were pregnant, did he?" 

"No. I… I haven't told him." 

His hold on her tightens. "I don't want to tell you what to do," he starts with, like he always does right before he proceeds to do exactly that. "But you need to come clean to him, May. He'll find out eventually anyway. Big secrets like this never stay buried like you want them to." 

May doesn't answer. She thinks, though, that she certainly doesn't have to tell Morpheus a damn thing, that he had said all that was needed between them both when he'd tossed her out of the realm and then threatened to let her drown if she showed back up again. As far as she's concerned, she'll manage this all on her own, and Dream of the Endless can just stay in the dark concerning this child's existence.

She ends up very being wrong, of course, and Viego ends up being unfortunately very right. Big secrets don't stay buried. She'd just thought that when it was all said and done, she would have longer than four short days before Morpheus found her out.

Next chapter here

#morpheus x oc #morpheus x reader #sandman fanfiction #sandman fic #dream of the endless #sandman x reader #morpheus fanfiction #sandman oc #BBHAP

[alteon77]

The Bizarre Breeding Habits of Anthropomorphic Personifications: Chapter 8

It's a tale as old as time.

Two idiots fall in love. Two idiots fall out of love.

Neither one of them is expecting a baby to come along and derail their unhappily ever after.

Chapter One here, AO3 here, Masterlist here

Chapter Summary: Morpheus and May are set upon by an enemy at the doctor's office. Once they're free, May contemplates her stupidity in getting pregnant. Morpheus makes a concession at last.

"We must leave this place," Morpheus says from the door in a deep, frankly bossy tone that surprises May. He'd been doing so well, had been acting pleasant by her (admittedly low) standards for his behavior, and to see him finally giving in to his tendency to pitch a fit kind of disappoints her. She'd known right from the jump that he hadn't wanted to come here with her and that he hadn't thought a human doctor could do very much for her at all, but he's been almost… decent up until this. And while his moods have always been mercurial (which is the understatement of the millennia), she can't imagine what it is that's brought on the beginnings of the pout party he seems to be heading into.  

May narrows her eyes at him, thoroughly unimpressed. "Excuse me?" 

He glances back at her, likely sees that she's wearing her you're being a jackass and I hope you're ashamed face, and huffs out a long-suffering sigh as if she's the one being unreasonable. He looks up at the ceiling for a split second, essentially rolling his eyes though she knows he'd deny it if she were to call him on it, before he stalks to the chair she'd set her clothes on. He snatches up the neatly folded pile, thrusting her pants and underwear at her with a tense moue of aggravation, and May blanches ever so slightly. She doesn't mean to, but it reminds her of how he'd appeared during that last giant fight of theirs, that final one of their actual romantic relationship where she'd ended up both banished and broken-hearted.  

As if he notices it, he gentles fractionally and sets the bundle tentatively beside her atop the tall bed she's sitting on.  

"Please dress," he asks, his tone almost polite. "It is imperative that we make haste." 

And then he fixes his gaze on the wall opposite her to give her a minute of privacy as she scoots off the table, slides on her underwear, and starts shimmying into her jeans. She doesn't quite know what's caused this change in his demeanor, but he's holding himself stiff where he's facing the door, the line of his shoulders rigid as if he's waiting for an attack. Just the sight of him like this, clearly freaked out about something, is enough to make fear roil in her gut, more nauseating to her than even the constant morning sickness is.  

"Okay. I've got everything back on. Want to tell me what the hell this is?" 

"You have been followed. There is a dark magic covering the entirety of this building," he answers as he studies her face, his eyes boring into her as he delivers this awful news.  

Shit. Dizziness washes over her, and she reaches a hand out to the wall in an effort to steady herself. Shit, shit, shit. Makers. It's got to be makers. There's nothing else that would hunt her so quickly, nothing else that would be able to blanket a whole fucking building in a spell like that. She thinks on where the nearest escape route would be, grateful in that moment that Viego's been a stickler about her knowing all the ways to get out of a place since humans first started carving extra doorways in their mud-brick huts. "We've got to get to an exit. There's one down the hallway and to the left." 

"I thought to simply shift us," he counters with a confused frown. 

"No… The spell that they're using, it's like a magical net. One made for makers. It probably won't do anything to you, but I can only walk through it on foot. It's to… to stop us from freeing ourselves quickly when they corner us. Any makers that have ever tried to use their magic and shift through those things have ended up torn into a million pieces. And we don't regenerate from that." 

He recoils, obviously stunned. "Are you… aware of who hunts you then?" 

"It's… my... own kind. Wars need soldiers, Morpheus, and… and most of us don't want to fight. They send out seekers who… who find us and force us to…" She swallows thickly past the lump forming in her throat as she tries to calm herself down. She doesn't want to admit this to him, doesn't want to give him one more reason to look down on her. "They force us to either enlist or die." 

In an instant, anger tautens his features as he glares at her, his eyes fading into obsidian pools as a scowl twists his mouth. "And you did not think to inform me of this?" he hisses.  

Her fear fades away like a bit of smoke from the end of a freshly-extinguished candle, and it's replaced with a rage that's directed entirely at him. Jesus on a Dorito, but this bastard can rile her up like nothing and no one else. 

"It wasn't an issue before," she snaps caustically. "It hasn't been an issue until right this moment, so here I am telling you about it right this moment. See how that works?" 

"Knowledge that you are under threat right this moment, as you say, does us little good at this juncture, whereas an advanced warning might have allowed me to have an alternative plan in place for just such an occurrence." 

"Alternative plan? From you? Mr Act-First-and-Think-Later? We both know how that conversation would have went. You would have fussed, then pouted, then fussed some more, then gotten all caveman-" 

"Caveman?" he cuts in incredulously. "You would dare to call me such a thing?" 

"Puh-lease. Your caveman name would be Morpheus of the Moods, and you'd wear a black loincloth. You know, now that I think about it, your helmet even looks a little bit like a beating club. I mean if you held it from the bottom, you could maybe use it for that and-" 

He steps closer, getting all up in her space. "Perhaps you should be grateful that I am, in fact, not given to such physical violence else you would be no more."  

May can't help her derisive scoff. "Like your words don't hurt me too? The way that you speak to me is-"

"I merely speak to you as if you are the female who foolishly ventured outside of the wards that were protecting you and-" 

"Anytime you feel like it, you can stop acting like I just slipped out for an ice cream cone, you actual jerk. I went for medical attention. Because I was sick. Worryingly sick. And I know you couldn't care less if I were to keel over dead, but I am carrying your child, so maybe you could… I don't know? Care about that?" 

"If I did not care in some capacity, I would not be here." 

A door slams loudly outside, and both Morpheus and May turn their heads towards the sound. There's a muted growl that reverberates through to them from another room before a high-pitched scream breaks the stillness of the area beyond, filling the silence with someone else's pain.  

May's breath stutters in her lungs, her grief a biting, vicious thing within her. There are… people out there. Innocent people. And they're being hurt or killed. She doesn't know what exactly she can really do to help them, but she's sure she has to do something. As if he's reading her thoughts, though, Morpheus steps in front of her, solid and immoveable as he effectively blocks her way.  

"I forbid such a thing," he tells her, yet again acting as if he has any right to stop her from doing anything at all.  

"Morpheus, let me go and-" 

"No." He shakes his head in refusal. "It would be a foolish endeavor at the least and a likely deadly one at the worst. I will not allow it." 

"There are humans out there." 

"Yes," he drawls, as if that doesn't really matter to him. 

"And they're being murdered," she explains slowly, like he's a particularly dense student and she's a weary, completely frustrated teacher.

"Yes." 

He really doesn't seem to get why that's a bad thing. Fucking monosyllabic monster. "And I intend to go and help them." 

He raises an eyebrow and opens his mouth to speak, closes it, and then opens it again to let out an annoyingly simple, "No." 

She rolls her eyes at him. "Not to sound like a five year old, but you're not the boss of me." 

"As you've made infuriatingly clear on many occasions." 

"Yeah? Maybe you should take a second to reflect on the reason as to why I keep having to make it infuriatingly clear." She goes to dart around him. "Now if you'll excuse me-" 

She loathes how much faster he is than her, as evidenced by how easily and quickly he's right back in her path, preventing her from leaving all over again. "No." 

"Are you serious with this?" she demands waspishly. 

"Need I remind you that you are currently powerless and with child. Our child," he supplies through gritted teeth. "I will not stand idly by while you run headfirst into danger." 

"Then what do you suggest we do? Just leave all those people to rot?" 

"If it ensures your survival, then yes."

For fuck's sake, if he says yes or no to her one more time in this conversation, she's going to hit him. "You sound like Desire, just so you know. Callous and cruel. I can really see the family resemblance right now." 

His eyes flare, the smoldering fire of a million galaxies within them burned to ash in his stare. His hands clench into fists at his side, like he's fighting the urge to snatch her up to him and shake her in a temper.  

"My sibling would leave you here to your fate were they in my place," he snarls, and the sheer fury in his tone equally pisses her off, terrifies her, and… kind of turns her on all at once. "And while I appreciate your attempt to shame me into protecting those mortals caught in this unfortunate happenstance, it will not prove successful. My responsibility is to you and the child you carry. No other." 

"I was just making an observation, not trying to shame you into anything," she says smoothly, even though it's a complete lie. She'd totally been trying to manipulate him into helping her. "But while we're on the subject of your siblings, Death would be absolutely disappointed in you for this." 

If looks could kill, she'd be nothing but a smoking pile of gooey remains where she stands. "My answer remains no." 

"Fine." 

He peers down at her, seemingly wary at her agreement. "And you will cease this bothersome persuasion at once." 

"Fine." She won't in reality, but he doesn't need to know that. If he's going to accuse her of being a liar as often as he does, then he has nobody to blame but himself when she plays the part.

He frowns, his forehead creasing in confusion. "You will engage in no foolishness once we step outside of this room."

Of course she will. There will be lots of what he deems foolishness when they leave here, and May's not even sorry for telling him any differently. "Fiiiiine." 

He purses his lips at her in a sign of displeasure. The monosyllabic moody bastard must not like the single word treatment either, which is good for her. Knowing that she's upsetting him almost draws a smile from her despite the shitstorm they're still in the middle of.  

"You are the single most contrary creature I've ever had the misfortune of knowing," he bites out, taking a hold of her arm as he begins forcibly pulling her to the door. Outraged, she struggles to wrest her limb from his, trying to yank away for all the good that it doesn't do her since his grip is as unyielding as iron shackles. 

"Cut it out," she growls. "If you'll remember, I don't like manhandling unless it's in a sexual context, so kindly fucking release me immediately." 

When he turns to glower at her, his gaze is still burning, still fiercely intense, but not in the way it had been earlier. With a start, she realizes that she might recognize that look, all wrath and lust and need told in the nightmare abyss of obsidian eyes. And despite that she's not sure that's really what it is, desire ignites within her, sending an unexpectedly heady rush of want thrumming through her veins with so much force that it's dizzying. She can see one of the veins running across his neck as its beat speeds up, and when he swallows, she can't help but to follow the movement of his Adam's apple as it bobs with the action.  

May squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head a little as if to clear it. What the hell is wrong with her? Pregnancy hormones aside, this is not the place for her ill-timed lust to be jumping up and down, screaming woo-hoo, and urging her to just do it, bitch. They're kind of under attack, and she really really needs to be focusing on that.  

"The… exit is to the left?" he questions, and his voice is oddly hoarse as if he's just as overwhelmed as she is by their strangely heated exchange, by the sudden change in tone of their argument from anger into arousal. Which is frankly ridiculous of her to even consider, since he's the one that decided they wouldn't be having sex anymore and all. 

"Y-Yeah."

"Very well.… We will…" He swallows again, and May forces herself not to stare at the column of his throat as he does so. "We will go."  

His hold on her arm gentles, becoming almost soft as their eyes meet. She draws in a shaky gulp of air, thinking for one wild moment that he means to kiss her, that he means to push her up against the wall and start something they very much shouldn't be engaging in here. Or anywhere, really, since they're broken up and everything.  

And then the door swings open.  

Morpheus doesn't waste a second in facing the threat and tugging her roughly behind him so that he's standing between her and whatever the hell is trying to get to her. May peeks out from around his shoulder, and she's surprised to see… well, a normal enough looking guy standing there. He's in black jeans and a black t-shirt, wearing a leather bomber jacket and boots to complete his ensemble. There's a mop of riotous, golden curls atop his head, and his lips curve into an almost charming smile.  

She'd call him handsome if not for the heavy darkness she can feel coming from him, if not for the way that the magic of him sets her teeth on edge. May doesn't like to judge. Not really. But given that he's exuding a creepy, sexual predator vibe and he's probably came to end her life, she doesn't think it makes her a bad person to refer to him as Asshole A in her head. 

"Apologies," he greets in a deep voice that irrationally makes her want to punch him. "Am I interrupting something? We've been listening to your entertaining domestic for some time."

Which, ouch. Embarrassing. And awkward as anything to know that someone else had been standing outside the room as they'd bickered like an old, married couple.

Four others take a place flanking this brand new adversary, the movement so seamless that May thinks it seems kind of choreographed, like they're all part of some ghoulish flash mob that's gonna bust into a dance number any second now. 

But Asshole A's performing arts goons aren't just people or makers. Oh, no. Things couldn't be that easy for them since the universe is obviously a salty bitch that hates May with the fiery passion of a thousand suns. Instead, these jerks are fierce warriors of a lost race, the kind of mythical creatures that many have forgotten even once existed, and obscenely expensive to hire if one has need of their services.  

"Dragons," May warns, pointing at the mob squad from Hell.  

"I am aware," Morpheus answers flippantly, as if it's no big deal to him that those four things near Asshole A could shift form into giant, fire-breathing beasts at any minute. Which, knowing what she does of his power, she supposes he probably isn't actually fazed by it at all. 

Hellhounds come padding up at the rear of the scouting party, and she's reminded of clown cars at the circus. How many unnerving things can one smarmy bastard fit into a doorway? She can't help but to think this guy is flexing his little collection of horrors in front of them, which is almost hilariously out of touch given that Morpheus is the literal King of Nightmares. 

Nonetheless, the hellhounds start closing the distance, making May more than a bit freaked out. Iridescent drool dribbles from their mouths, their snouts red-tinged with blood, and Morpheus pulls her more surely to him.  

"I see the rumors are true," Asshole A says, a feral grin tilting his lips up. "Our princess is clearly in whelp." 

May grimaces a little at that descriptor. Who actually calls it that anymore? Not that it truly matters, she supposes, because this jerk is about to get flattened for his arrogance. In front her her, Morpheus is deadly calm, deadly still, and from where she's pressed against his back, she can feel how tightly his muscles are coiled.  "Whom do I have the displeasure of addressing?" he demands icily.

Asshole A inclines his head slightly in a sort of mocking bow. "I am Viktor. Of the Bloodless Lands. But there is no need for you to introduce yourself, Dream of the Endless." 

And May hates his voice, hates the amused way he's regarding them as if being on the other end of Morpheus' fury is funny or something.  

"Why is it that you are hunting this woman?" Morpheus inquires, the sound of his words all honeyed threat, its timber smooth with the promise of lethality, and May recognizes it well as the tone he uses before readying himself to aim some good old-fashioned annihilation at an enemy.

Viktor raises one douchey eyebrow at the two of them. "Why is it that you stand in defense of her? Is it your child she carries, Dream of the Endless? Does that hybrid filth in her womb belong to you?"  

Honestly, May is pissed, which is a wholly understandable reaction in her humble opinion. She's about two seconds away from metaphorically stepping out of her imaginary high heels and taking off her damn nonexistent earrings to kick this fucker in the face. Hybrid filth? He did not just say that about her baby.  

But then of course, because all evil bastards have to have a freaky animal minion or two, another one of the hellhounds growls and snarls as it starts approaching them, its sharpened nails clicking ominously on the floor as it prowls closer.  

And while May might be furious, might be angry enough to visit physical violence on this jerk, she's really really not suicidal. And she'd have to be to even consider crossing paths with that thing, since it would assuredly make ribbons of her squishy, magic-less body in a matter of seconds. Instead of becoming a squeaky toy for the universe's most hideous canine, she tucks herself closer to her Endless ex and tugs on the sleeve of his coat. "Morpheus-" 

He holds out a hand, the gesture being his version of I've got this and kindly cease the words coming out of your mouth thing that irritates me to no end, and May doesn't need to be told twice as she shuts right up so he can concentrate. She's under no delusions that if one of them is going to drop the savage beasts inching nearer and nearer to them, then it's definitely going to be him.  

"Now that is impressive," Asshole A- sorry Viktor - observes almost… conversationally, like him and Morpheus are just two buddies sharing a pint at a local pub. "How ever have you trained her to follow your command? When last she was in my keeping, I could not stop her bothersome screams for the life of me. Even when I had her gagged, she still always managed to make an abundance of disagreeable noise." 

"Wait. What?" she protests. "I don't even know you." And she's a hundred percent sure of that. Because she'd absolutely remember this guy, this grinning jackass, if she'd ever had the misfortune of meeting him prior to this showdown. 

"You do not recall our time together, my little princess? It is a strange thing to forget, no?" 

My little princess. The words rip through her mind for some reason, tearing at it like a tornado might snatch up a house and smash it apart in its winds. My little princess. That voice. Why the hell is it suddenly so vaguely familiar?  

Her thoughts still, and there's a bright, glaring white cast over everything in her memory. May shakes her head, wondering what she'd been thinking about. Maybe… something about the bastard in front of her? Maybe something to do with the hellhounds? Maybe something about the way that Morpheus is urging her back behind the shelter of him so insistently.  

"Interesting," Viktor murmurs as his eyes rake over the small sliver of her left visible despite the shield that Morpheus has made of his body. His gaze on her makes her feel dirty for some reason. "I wonder what he did to accomplish such a thing." 

Accomplish what? And who? What the fuck is this guy talking about? She resolves herself not to pay too much attention to it, though. Evil villains have to do their evil monologues she guesses, and this guy seems like he's just trying to rile her up even more than she already is. Besides, Morpheus doesn't seem very curious about it either, so it must not be that important.  

"We will leave this place, Viktor of the Bloodless Lands. It is best that you do not attempt to hinder our departure." 

"Of course, Dream of the Endless," Asshole A- sorry, Viktor- allows with as much magnanimity as a king. "You are free to leave whenever you desire. But the traitorous whore must stay in my custody, I'm afraid." 

It's a declaration of war, a slap in the face with a white fucking glove, and May knows then that they're going to fight. Morpheus wastes no time in reacting as the hellhounds give a great bellow that withers off into a whine before they fall over and into unconsciousness, hopefully having the worst nightmares possible in their comatose state. The atoms in the air get heavy, dense with the weight of his power, and May's ears ring with it. Shadows roll through the area like thick plumes of sentient black smoke, creeping closer to Morpheus where they slowly unfurl as if to defend him, an army answering to the summons of its master.  

And as the wisps of it touch her skin, May is stricken with terror.  

It's like every nightmare she's ever had is hitting her all at once. In her mind's eye, she's falling from a tall cliff, her heart racing as the ground rushes faster and faster towards her, and May squeezes her eyes shut, trying to will the images away, trying to stem the flow of panic  overcoming her. It doesn't work, however, and instead the bad dreams seem to come faster, more intensely. 

(She's walking through what looks like a hallway, its walls made of spongy red flesh that thumps rhythmically, pulsating with the heartbeat of whatever creature's gullet she's ended up in. Digestive juices start to trickle in at her feat, the glistening liquid sizzling as it burns through her shoes, as it burns through the skin of her heels and toes. It hurts, the acid melting her where she stands, and when she glances up at the dull roar of gushing that she hears, she sees a great wave of the goop flowing towards her. She spins to run, to get away, but she ends up slipping instead, falling face first into a caustic puddle that dissolves part of her nose….)

Makers magic crackles in the air, cerulean blue and luminous where it stretches out through Morpheus' shadows, tearing at them in the way that lightning would split a pitch black sky.

(A beast, lethal and strong with leathery, wide-spanned wings and rippling ebony fur, tackles her to the ground with enough physical force to knock the air from her lungs. It stinks of death and rotting meat as it tears into her throat, grinning from atop her as its razor-fanged maw drips rivulets of blood from the pointed tips of its teeth.  

"My little princess," it croons, its stifling breath foul on her face. She screams, and it sinks its claws into the meat of her cheek, dragging them across it in the blink of an eye as it easily shreds the flesh down to her jawbone…. )

She clenches the fabric of Morpheus' coat, holding onto him as if to anchor herself despite that the energy he's exuding burns hot like fire against her palm and fingertips.

(She's in a dungeon, trapped there. Her frail, bird-thin body aches and throbs with pain. She glances down at herself, taking in the blood coating her thighs, the bruises covering her, and the arm hanging limply at her side. Everything on her hurts in some way or another, makes her feel hollow and dirty. Defiled.  

"She put up a fight," one of her jailers jokes, and fury swells within May, a need for vengeance, for wrath, rising inside of her so swiftly that she almost dry heaves what little food she has in her stomach right then and there. "Ol' Viktor must like that kind of thing, though, mustn't he? I cannae tell ya how many corpses I've dragged from tha' chamber o' his."  

Her other captor sighs as if his coworker is especially irritating. "That's not it, Raelish. Not with her, anyway. He's got to solidify his rule, hasn't he? And what better way to do that than bonding himself with an heir to the throne."  

Realization dawns like a blast wave cresting a hill after a sun's explosion, and she begins to tremble in her apprehension, in the dread of what her future might hold….)

It's too much. The pressure of power, of the nightmares, is suffocating, overcoming her as she leans her forehead against Morpheus' back. He goes rigid at the touch, and May knows then and there that she would beg him, plead with him to make the torrent of terror stop if only she had words, if only she could voice anything at all. But she can't speak, can't even utter a sound as the fear of everything in her head swallows up her ability to think, to breathe.  

A fresh bout of dizziness hits her, and her knees buckle at its onslaught as she tightens her grip on Morpheus in a determined attempt to keep herself upright. She can't pass out. Not now. This would be the worst time and place for that, and May refuses to let her body overrule her common sense on this matter. A whistling shriek whirs right by her head, the well-aimed blast of a battle spell coming so close to her that it mutes her hearing into a low roar. Her vision starts to waver in and out, and May finds that she hates herself for this weakness, for this feebleness that makes her feel like nothing but a liability. 

Not that she has long to ruminate on this self-loathing, however, because between one heartbeat and the next, she's crumpling to the ground in a dead faint. 

And when she falls unconscious, she's thrust into her dreams. Or more appropriately, her nightmares.  

She's in a desert, the sun blaring down  and a pile of kindling arranged around her. Orange and yellow flames spread out over her body, climbing up her ankles and legs and torso until they're scorching along her shoulders. She opens her mouth to scream, to make any noise she can, but it's useless. Her throat is so very dry, the smoke choking her as it rises from the blazing inferno that's currently consuming her physical form.  

She almost cries in relief when the door appears.  

It's smaller than she remembers, and the ornate carving around its frame seems somewhat faded, but May still thinks it's the loveliest thing she's ever seen in her life. It's a chance to get out of this, to escape. However, it's not pulling her at the moment like it usually does, as if it's too weakened to do such a thing, and it gives her pause.  

She hesitates, because she doesn't know what will happen if she goes through it. Will the dark magic cast over her in the Waking register this as a shift through realms? Will it shatter her if she flees this way? Can she really afford to care as agony creeps over her awareness like the heat of the fire burning her alive? 

May takes the chance. She reaches out and grasps the handle, twisting it open as water rushes over her. It's cool on her skin, washing away the remnants of the nightmare as May steps through to the other side and finds herself in the sea. Adrenaline propels her to kick her legs out and swim for the surface, hopeless though she knows it will be. If Morpheus doesn't come and get her, if he doesn't rescue her, then she's assuredly going to drown.  

The light filtering in through the dark waves above her gets brighter, fuller despite that May isn't overly optimistic of it meaning anything. Maybe she's just able to get closer to the top now from practice or something, because fuck knows she's spent enough of her time trying to free herself from this watery grave in the past month or so. And that's why she's as shocked as anyone when her head emerges from the water and she's drawing in large gasps of breath, filling her lungs with it like a desperate woman.  

She floats amidst the expanse of rippling waves, thoroughly confused as to how she'd made it out of there before she feels Morpheus' solid arm wrap around her waist and tug her into his warmth.  

"How?" he asks, his voice rough, his expression wary as he pulls her the six or so feet to where the steps for the pier manifest on command. He appears anxious to get her out of there, so anxious that he hasn't yet bothered to dry his hair or mend the small bruise on his angular cheek. He must have been hit with one of those maker's spells, and while it probably didn't do him any damage whatsoever, May is all too aware of how much those damn things sting.  

"I don't… I don't know." It's the truth. She has no idea why she'd been able to swim to the surface today, but something tells her that it might not be anything good.  

Her legs feel like jello when she tries to get them underneath her, and Morpheus allows her to lean on him as she walks, slow and steady to the beautiful structure of wood only feet above them.  

"Permit me to carry you," he suggests, and May stubbornly shakes her head. She's already proven herself enough of a burden today without Morpheus having to pick her up, without him having to lift her into his arms like a bridegroom might a new bride before readying to cross the threshold of their home together for the first time.  

"No… I've got this. I'm… I'm fine." 

But she's not fine. She'd have to be an idiot to be fine. May falls to her knees on the wood planks at the top of the stairs, and Morpheus surprisingly goes down beside her, albeit much more gracefully than she had.  

Even more shocking is that he circles her in his arms, refusing to release her from this mimicry of their past, when it was second nature for him to tenderly embrace her. May wants to be strong, wants to pull away from the solace he's offering, but she can't. Instead, she curls up against him as her body shakes with the chill, her fingertips and toes tingling painfully from it, and Morpheus responds by tightening his hold of her. 

"Shhh," he urges as if to soothe her, and she very distantly realizes that she's crying, letting out big hiccuping sobs into the fabric of his shirt where her face is pressed against his chest. "You are safe." 

And damn does she want to believe him. She doesn't think she's ever wanted to believe anything so much in her entire life, even though she can't place much credence in his words at the moment. She knows the truth. His comfort is just a lie, one of many he's given her. The idea of safety isn't possible, more fairytale for her than it could ever be fact. She'll never be free from the threat of those bastards coming for her, never be free from having to spend her days running like an animal. And she's going to bring a child into that? She's going to curse a kid by dropping it into a situation where it's always at risk, where it always knows fear, always knows the unsettling truth of how one day, suspicion might be the only thing that will keep it alive.

She'll have to teach it that suspicion, have to teach it to walk into places and make escape plans, to watch everyone around them for signs that they might be out to trap them. She'll have to teach it to be afraid. 

May thinks at that moment that she's… she's a monster.  

How could she be stupid enough to let herself get knocked up? And by Morpheus at that? He doesn't care for her beyond the unfortunate circumstance of her being pregnant. And she's the moron who's going to have a baby with him? What the actual fuck had she been thinking? 

In a daze of self-denigration, May untangles herself from him, sniffling as she firmly orders herself to stop crying. All of her feels numb now in a way that has nothing to do with the freezing cold water he'd just helped her out of.  

Morpheus regards her strangely, his eyes narrowed in scrutiny, and May can't stand the sight of him in the moment, all falsely concerned and caring. She's horrified and regretful and so damned ashamed of herself for what she's done. Being a semi-intelligent, mostly mature entity, she's all too aware of the fact that she's fled from one enemy only to end up on the doorstep of another, only to end up in his arms even. And she shouldn't do that, shouldn't let herself forget for even a second that Morpheus could be just as much of a danger as those assholes hunting her. 

"I can't do this. I need… I need to get back to Viego." 

He appears reluctant to grant her this, appears as if he will haul her back into his embrace despite the distance she's attempting to make. "Very well," he says at last with a small nod. "I must ensure that he is not under attack, and then if you still wish it, I will return you to him."   

Her heart stutters in apprehension at the thought of Viego being cornered by that scouting party, at the thought of him fighting them off on his own. He's powerful, sure, but he would also be horrendously outnumbered. Her stomach swoops alarmingly. "Please don't… don't leave him alone," she pleads, despising the meek smallness of her voice. "If he… If he's caught in it, please don't let him… die." 

Morpheus hesitates for only a minute. "I will see to his safety," he finally grants like a king who's answering a petition by bestowing a great boon, his tone so very gentle that May's eyes fill with tears anew. "As you… ask of me." 

"Thank you." And she means it, sure as she is that he doesn't have to do a thing for her, that he's probably just trying to calm her down now for the sake of his baby in her belly.  

"Allow me to take you to the palace while you wait for me to manage this task," he requests. "It is… cold here, and you are chilled through." 

She doesn't want to go there, doesn't want to be around her almost-home and all the bittersweet memories of it. Not today. Not with the way her emotions already feel flayed and raw. She crosses her arms over her chest, forcing herself not to shiver. "I'll just… stay here if that's okay. I don't… really feel up to the… to visiting your home." 

He doesn't look angry, doesn't look upset. If she had to describe him as anything in the moment, it would be almost… sad. Slightly defeated even. But that would be ridiculous of her, wouldn't it? After all, he'd been the one to toss her out in the first place, the one to sever ties with her and declare them over. 

His power brushes over her, and while she almost flinches at the feel of it, she's left blessedly dry, blessedly uninjured in its wake. There's a thick blanket that he's obviously manifested around her shoulders, a cozy thing that she wants to burrow into as she drifts off to sleep. He takes a handful of the material in each hand and pulls it closer together, wrapping her more surely in its warmth. "If you will not go to the palace, then please keep this on. It will… prevent you from freezing." 

"I mean, I've already burned alive today, so there would be a certain symmetry to becoming a popsicle after that, I guess," she murmurs, a poor attempt to tease that falls flat if his frowning, sorrowful expression is any indication. "I won't… take it off," she agrees, the least she can give him in return since he's going to possibly help Viego on her behalf. 

Seemingly satisfied with her capitulation, he casts one more worried frown at her before he shifts away, disappearing to presumably check on her brother. And when he's gone, May buries her face in her hands and tries not to think about how she would give anything to know the peace, the easy contentment that she'd had mere months ago. 

She forces even the thoughts of it away, though, because in reality she's never going to have that again, and it's really best if she just goes ahead and accepts it. 

NEXT CHAPTER

Tag List: @julesandro @cozystorynook

If anyone else wants to be added to the taglist, let me know! I hope you all enjoyed this! <3

#morpheus x oc #morpheus x reader #sandman fic #dream of the endless #sandman fanfiction #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus fic #sandman oc #morpheus fanfiction #BBHAP #dad!morpheus #morpheus x pregnant oc

[alteon77]

Hiii, how're you doing?? In light of your recent update on 'The Bizarre Breeding Habits of Anthropomorphic Personifications' on ao3 (seriously those who haven't read it yet, you should totally check it out!!!), I just want to thank you sooooo much for your timely updates!! Your posts always make my week!! ❤❤ And don't worry I'm gonna be commenting my unhinged thoughts about chapter 15 asap!!😂😂

But more importantly I wanted to share a song with you!! The one that imo resonates a lot with how I see Maypheus' ship (esp about Morpheus' devotion towards her) 😭❤!! Idk if you're familiar with Bollywood songs but whenever I'm thinking of my fav King and Queen of the Dreaming, this song in particular comes to mind:

https://youtu.be/IV6wnEPMbL8?si=QDOvwl4bs84-n6iD

It's called "Labon ko Labon pe Sajao"— as in, "Decorate my Lips upon Yours" and I somehow managed to find an English translated lyrics video! If you're interested and/or have some time to spare, please listen to it and tell me what you think?? ❤❤

And as always take care >w< <33

First of all, THANK YOU times about a billion for the ask!!! And OMG, thank you sooooo sooooo much for reading!!! ❤️❤️❤️

As for the song you recommended, I LOVE Bollywood music!!! I mean, to be fair, I love just about any kind of music (and no, I'm unfortunately not exaggerating 😂), so I'm kind of open to it all. However, I want you to know that I added this song to my playlist yesterday morning before work, and I think I've listened to it about thirty times so far. It's officially on my permanent writing list for this fic. It's beautiful. Like, ridiculously beautiful. Now, I didn't watch the video with the lyrics until I got home, so it could have been an absolutely gorgeous song about peanut butter for all I knew. 🤣 But as soon as I got a chance, I copy-pasted your link and.... just give me a minute to swoon, because the lyrics?!? They're perfect. Completely perfect. 😍

Morpheus is devoted to May in The Bizarre Breeding Habits of Anthropomorphic Personifications, even if he doesn't quite want to be right now, so there's all this longing between them, a sort of pull that neither of them quite understands. He's hurt, but he still loves her, and she's kind of rocking that same vibe towards him. Rationally, they're separated and romantically done with one another. But love and dreams aren't exactly rational, are they? And that's a big part of their dynamic at the moment (which might be fueling the fire of certain aspects in their relationship very, very soon 😉)

Seriously, thank you again for this!!! It made my entire frickin' week!!! You take care, too, and I hope you have a wonderful day!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️

#morpheus x oc #sandman fic #dream of the endless #sandman fanfiction #morpheus fic #morpheus x reader #sandman oc #sandman x reader #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus fanfiction #bbhap

[alteon77]

The Bizarre Breeding Habits of Anthropomorphic Personifications: Chapter 3

It's a tale as old as time.

Two idiots fall in love. Two idiots fall out of love.

Neither one of them is expecting a baby to come along and derail their unhappily ever after.

Chapter one here, AO3 here, Masterlist here

Chapter Summary: Morpheus discovers they're having a baby. He's not quite sure how to feel about it.

Viego pulls another blanket up to cover May where she's dozing on the couch, his mind whirring with the implications of the mess she's now in.  

And he discovers pretty quickly that he's fucking terrified for her.

His little sister is going to have a baby, and his stomach twists with worry as he processes this. She'll be almost completely stripped of her magic soon and unsafe as shit because of it. A powerless maker, he knows, is a dead maker. Without her magic, she could very well end up as just another casualty, as just another of their number that is dwindling more and more with every decade that they're relentlessly hunted. 

The rest of the supernatural world believes it's humans and magic users doing this, but Viego knows better. It's their own kind that are responsible for the deaths, the civil war from their home realm spilling out into every world connected to it. Those that fled the persecution and fighting are given a single choice when they're found: to join the war effort or be executed.  

Some choose to go back, but most others would rather die. And so they do. Horribly. Brutally. With no mercy. 

Viego scrubs a tired hand over his face, his ever present paranoia making him weary as he walks to the front door. They can't stay here. They'll need to go to ground again, and right now his sister looks so sickeningly frail that he worries to even shift her through this world, much less to take her to another. He steps out onto the porch for a bit of fresh air, resigned to talk with her about this when she wakes up. She's probably going to be pissed, but he doesn't know what else to do, doesn't know how else to protect her. And truthfully, he thinks that he shouldn't be managing her safety on his own while she's powerless anyway. That Endless bastard had been the one to knock her up, and part of this responsibility should absolutely rest with him too.  

And Viego thinks the love-struck personification would probably gladly take it on if only May would fucking tell him that she was pregnant. Not for the first time, he curses her stubbornness even as he knows there's nothing to be done for it. It's her choice. All of it. And he won't take that from her. He won't… won't allow that to be taken from her by anyone.

He'd vowed a long, long time ago that he would never let her be hurt like that again. 

The leaves on a tree near him rustle, and he panics for a split second, a swell of crackling red power materializing in his hand. Are they here already? Have hostile makers already found them? He'd thought for sure they'd have a little longer to get everything in order before they left, a necessity if him and May wanted to avoid causing any suspicion with their neighbors or the townspeople as they fled.  

"Whoa! V! It's just me!" the voice calls from a nearby branch and Viego frowns in confusion. When the bird lands on the porch railing in front of him, Viego thinks that he really shouldn't be surprised at all to see him.  

This raven, this little servant of Dream's, used to devotedly follow May around like some sort of avian puppy dog. Of course, that had been before Dream had cast May out like she was nothing to him, a turn of events that both infuriates and baffles him. As much as Viego has always disliked the anthropomorphic personification of dreams, any idiot could have seen that Dream had loved May with a nauseating fervor. The idea of him just tossing her from his realm doesn't track with that tenderly affectionate sentiment he'd had for her. Like, at all.  

"What are you doing here?" Viego growls out. The fist that isn't burning with his magic clenches tight at his side as if to stop himself from grabbing the creature and throttling him in a rage. He forcibly reminds himself that he's pissed at Dream, not at the damn raven, and it settles him a tiny bit. 

Matthew's wings visibly ruffle. "Calm down, man. I'm just checking on her." 

He says this so simply, so easily, like Viego isn't right to be suspicious that the bird could have came on that Endless asshole's orders. "Did he send you?" They both know who he is, but Viego won't say his name aloud, half afraid as he is to accidentally summon him.  

The raven scoffs. "Are you kidding me? He'd pluck out all my feathers out if he knew I was here." 

With narrowed eyes, Viego studies him. Matthew sounds honest enough, or at least as honest as a talking bird can sound, and if he really isn't here on Dream's command then maybe Viego might be able to get some real answers from him as to why May was banished. "Do you know what the hell happened between them?" 

"Boss man, he… uh… he found out about the grimoire," Matthew nervously relays.  

"What about it?" 

"Come on," Matthew huffs in disbelief. "You know what. That she wrote it." 

Viego closes his eyes for a moment, the power in his palm fizzling down to nothing as pity and frustration wash over him. Their past always seems to catch up with them in some way or another, and what else is that damn book but one of the biggest fucking remnants of their horrible history? Viego thinks then that he understands what's going on here more than he wants to. May had indeed added spells to that universe-forsaken book. They both had as children, but neither of them had had any real choice in the matter. Torture, he'd learned at a too-young age, was a very effective tool of persuasion. "And I guess he won't forgive her." 

Matthew hesitates. "He asked her about it, and she… she wouldn't answer him." 

"No," Viego supplies tonelessly, his own guilt a vicious, gnawing thing inside of him. "She probably couldn't." He's all too aware that even if she had tried to access those memories, she'd likely been blocked, making it so she wasn't even capable of giving Dream any explanation at all. The facts are that she doesn't remember the details of it, the terror of their ordeal having long since been... hidden in her mind with very few traces left behind for her to draw from.  

Blinking, the bird asks, "That's a weird thing to say, Viego. What do you mean? Why couldn't she?"

"It doesn't matter," Viego tells him as he waves his question off. "Look, he's not welcome here. Either in her home or her life. Not right now, at least." After all, he's not quite sure whether or not May will actually ever tell Dream about the baby or if the bastard will actually want anything to do with it if she does. 

"Yeah. I, um… I kinda figured that." And with his tone, it's almost as if Matthew... agrees with him, almost like he would forbid Dream from seeing May too if he was in Viego's shoes.

An idea comes to him as he looks at the raven, though, something in him softening at the clear affection this creature has for May. His sister had spent decades in the Dreaming, making friends there as she always tended to do, but unlike the mortals that she would sometimes grow close to, she'd been expecting these particular entities to be in her life for the rest of it. She'd been excited at the prospect of getting to keep them forever, at the prospect of being able to set down roots in a way that she and Viego had never been able to do. On the occasions that Viego had visited her in the Dream King's realm, he had been happy to see her so happy, had felt his heart go tight to see her settle contentedly into the sort of life that she'd always wanted and that he'd never been able to give her.  

A life where she was allowed to belong. 

She was too used to her and Viego having to continually move, too used to their constant running in an effort to stay one step ahead of the makers on their trail. Dream had given May calm and peace, had given her the possibility of permanence.  

And then the selfish git had yanked it right out from under her, rescinding his offer of marriage and her new home and apparently even her friends in one fell swoop. Viego's anger at this roils inside of him. "Does anyone else know you're here?"  

The bird lifts his wings, flapping them once before bringing them back at his side, and while Viego isn't an expert in avian body language by any means, this strikes him as a nervous gesture. Matthew looks down and reluctantly mutters, "Lucienne." 

Viego's eyes widen, his whole body going rigid at this piece of information, and he can understand the raven's unwillingness to admit this to him. Lucienne is Dream's right hand man, or… well, er… woman. "Is she the one reporting to him then?" 

Matthew shakes his head almost frantically. "No! Not about this. She's just worried too, V."

The raven seems genuine, and Viego finds himself gentling at this. He can imagine that they are worried, that they had grown as attached to May as she'd grown to them, and he feels his chest tauten at the thought. For far too long, he had been all May had, and despite that he had tried to give her as much companionship as he could scrape together, she'd never really had enough. Sure, she'd collected a few mortals over their many millennia like petals falling from a wilting flower, but their shortened lifespans meant that they could never stay with her the way that these immortal Dreaming creatures were able to. He knows that his sister is probably as heartbroken at the loss of them as she is at the loss of Dream. And while he can't fix the divide between her and that Endless fucker, he can try and make sure that she at least gets to have her friends in her new life. With this in mind, he comes to a decision.  

"I don't want him near her," Viego starts roughly, knowing that when or if May decides to tell Dream, it needs to be on her terms. "But you and Lucienne can see her if you want. I know she misses you two." 

Matthew noticeably perks up. "Really? She'd be okay with that?" 

"Yeah. Stop spying on her though. It's creepy as fuck." 

"Sorry… It's just habit these days." Excited, the raven readies himself to take flight when he, almost as an afterthought, adds, "I'm going to go and tell the boss lady. We'll be back... probably in a couple of minutes." 

And as he flies up and away, Viego can't help but to huff out a laugh at Matthew's obvious elation before he heads back into the house to wake his sister. He's relieved that May will have something to lift her spirits in the coming months, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, she might not fight him so much about going back on the run if he can offer her something like this regardless of where they end up. 

It might not be a marriage with the love of her life and a place to call her own, but he knows that she'll nonetheless be grateful for the chance to have the companionship of those she loves. Well, the ones she loves who will actually stick by her side, anyway. And really, in the coming months, that might just be the only kind of friends she truly needs. The ones who will stay. The ones who will love her no matter her past. The ones who wouldn't ever think to banish and leave her alone.

"Sir," Lucienne greets while Morpheus sits on his throne, poring over the census register that his librarian had brought him the night before.  

He doesn't even spare her a glance as he informs her, "There is an entity missing from this." 

"I sought out all the dreamfolk, sir." When he does lift his eyes to look at her, there's a confused frown on her face. "They should all be in there." 

Thoroughly perplexed, he studies the last page of the tome again. He can feel there's a name not listed here, though for the life of him he can't seem to pull it up in his vast awareness. This sense of not knowing is wholly unsettling to him, but he forces his attention away from it for the time being. "Do you require something, Lucienne?" 

"My lord, the Dark Forest is acting up again." 

"Acting up?" he questions, his brow creasing in puzzlement at the odd statement.

"It's started swallowing up the dreamfolk that reside within it and… relocating them to various parts of the realm." 

"Ah… I will see to it then." He's been slowly easing back into managing his duties, trying to ignore the ever-present pang in his heart at May's betrayal. The transition has not been an easy one, but he knows that he will not be afforded the opportunity to neglect his function for much longer, no matter his grief. 

Before him, his librarian hesitates, clasping her hands together as she usually does when she's preparing herself to broach a subject with him that she'd rather not. "Sir… if I might." 

He nods slowly, tensing for whatever she will say. "Yes?" 

"There have been many... upheavals in the realm of late. I believe the forest is only reacting to the… changes." 

He stares blankly at Lucienne as if he does not understand what meaning she's trying to impart, a trick of impassivity he had learned ages ago but which he finds himself using more and more since his separation from the woman he'd sought to make his queen. He thinks he knows exactly what his librarian is attempting to relay to him, however, exactly what she is trying to communicate to him without directly speaking it aloud. 

The forest misses May.  

It makes sense, he supposes. She had been more skilled at soothing the temperamental woodland than he ever was, taking over its care almost immediately after she'd come to the Dreaming. May's touch with the realm was secondary only to his, and he's not fool enough to think that she hadn't possibly been more adept concerning some aspects, given that she was a maker and better suited to such things. The Dark Forest, in particular, had always preferred her to him.  

He stands and makes his way down the stairs leading away from his throne until he's only a few steps above Lucienne. His tone cold, he asks, "Are you pleading mercy on its behalf?" 

She doesn't blanch at his icy fury, doesn't flinch away from the possibility of his temper. "I am merely… suggesting that you keep this in mind while you interact with it." 

She means to say that he shouldn't burn it to the ground in a fit of rage as he's often threatened to do. He doesn't understand why this should be so. May was attached to that wretched creation of his, but he has no such sentimentality towards it. "I am aware that she held affection for the forest, Lucienne, but I do not, and as such I will handle it as I see fit." 

"My lord… if she were to ever be allowed to return here, she would never… forgive such an action on your part."

His chest aches with loss, and the pain of it drives him further into the throes of his anger. "A moot point since she will never be allowed to return here." 

"Of course." Her eyes flick to the floor, a clear attempt at avoiding his glare, but he thinks he catches something in their brown depths before she hides her face from him. Hope, he thinks, and… and guilt. What cause would she have to feel either of these things? Morpheus moves closer to her, and when he reaches the bottom step, May's scent flits across his senses. Recoiling slightly from this, he scrutinizes his librarian anew. Why would she smell like May? Furthermore, what transgression might she have committed to make her avert her gaze from him? 

Realization slams into him with all the force of a hurricane, the treachery of it almost agonizing. "You've been to see her?" he breathes out.  

Lucienne… doesn't deny it, but she does inhale sharply. "She is banished from the Dreaming, my lord. You never specified that we might not visit her outside of this realm." 

"That forbiddance was plainly implied," he bites out.  

"My apologies then, sir." 

She doesn't look apologetic in the slightest if he's being honest. If anything, she appears frustrated with him. How can she not understand that he will not risk any of his creations to May's likely duplicitous intentions? He opens his mouth to explain it to Lucienne, to tell her why this is as it must be when he thinks on how May had looked when he'd last seen her. She had been pale, worn, as if she carried some great burden on her shoulders. Morpheus thinks that he should be pleased by this, should take joy in her suffering as thoroughly as she had taken joy in lying to him, in playing him for the fool. 

But he cannot. 

He hates that he cannot. 

The fury in him evaporates, and fear takes its place, swelling within him so suddenly that it's nearly staggering. "Lucienne," he starts, his throat suspiciously dry as he tries to swallow down the lump there. "Is she… well?" 

His librarian seems surprised by his question, but her features melt into an expression of worried bleakness. "No, sir… I do not believe she is." 

He means to demand that she elaborate on this, that she explain to him what's affecting May so grievously, but he does not get the chance. Something tugs on his mind, the sensation one he's grown all too accustomed to these weeks past.

May is drowning.  

When last he'd pulled her from the Dreamer's sea, he had threatened to let her die if she found herself in these waters again, and yet he knows that he is no more capable of that then he is of forgiving her for her betrayal. His pride burns at this. Morpheus has always considered his decisions final, his word immutable, and yet he doesn't think twice about going back on his oath as he shifts to her, as he dives into the water and saves her yet again.  

He hauls her from the sea and onto the pier, his anger rising as he stands back and waits for May to settle. She coughs out great quantities of water and tries to relax the way her chest heaves in its desperation for air. Her shoulders shake with cold, and he clenches his hands into fists in an effort to stay himself from doing something foolish like warming her with his power or stripping off his coat to drape about her.  

She deserves no more kindness from him than he's already given her this night by rescuing her from an early death. 

Trembling, she gets weakly to her feet, seemingly preparing herself to have an argument with him.  

"How?" he demands for the seventh time in as many days.  

May closes her eyes and lets out a heavy sigh. "I really, really don't know. Trust me, this is just as annoying to me as it is to you." 

Trust. Trust? He feels himself go rigid with his rage, his murderous incredulity no doubt showing on his features as she takes a step back from him.  

"Trust you?" His tone is a roaring inferno set atop a solidly frozen glacier. "You would dare to request such a thing in my presence?" 

She puts her hands up, obviously frightened. "No… Look, I just… It's a figure of speech, okay? Just calm down." 

"Do not order me to calm," he growls as he advances on her, and she takes another step back. When she does this, she finds herself teetering on the edge of the pier, and it's instinct for him to reach out and pull her more surely back onto it, to yank her to safety. 

His hand around her upper arm, he tugs her into his chest without meaning to. Her breathing seems to come faster at this contact, and where she's pressed against him he can feel the rapid beating of her heart.  

"I wasn't… ordering you. I… I'm sorry. I didn't think."

"Not thinking seems to be an all too common occurrence for you," he rumbles out harshly, her proximity to him making his heart throb in pain and longing. He should release her, he knows, should move away, but he… he thinks that he's not even capable of doing so in this moment. 

The insult registers, and she glowers heatedly at him for it, her earlier fear forgotten in her fury. "Oh, fuck you," she snaps. 

"What did you say to me?" His tone drops dangerously low at her response, at the disrespect with which she's addressing him. 

As utterly uncaring of his quiet menace as she always used to be, she snarls, "You heard me. I said fuck you." 

"You will leave this realm and never return," he commands, an icy edge of finality to his voice. How dare she speak to him in this way. How dare she even think that she has a right to show anger at him after the offense she's committed, after the act of treachery she'd so effectively wielded and run him through with. 

"That's what I'm trying to do!" May yells in frustration. "Maybe you should do your actual job and make it so I'm not drowning in this fucking sea of whatever every night." 

"My job?" Warningly, his grip on her arm tightens enough that she winces at it, and he has to force himself to loosen his hold and temper his strength. 

"Yes. Your job. Craft the banishment more thoroughly or reinforce it or something. I'm done with this." 

"I reinforce it every time you enter in this way," he hisses. 

At his admission, he witnesses her heart break before him anew as if she's only just understood they they are, in fact, finished with one another. Her face drains of what little color she'd had, and she stiffens in his hold, her jaw clenching. Her eyes well with tears before she glances away.  

"Let go of me," she demands, a sorrow to her voice that cuts at him. 

"If I release you, you'll fall into the sea, and I'll be forced to pull you out yet again," he grits out through clenched teeth. 

She tries to get free of his grasp on her regardless, and when she finds it unrelenting the fight seems to go out of her. Softly, brokenly she requests, "Then… just send me home. Please." 

"I will personally escort you there." It's a calculated offer on his part. He needs to see what it is she's doing to get here, needs to get some idea of the exact magic she's working to break through his banishment so he can more thoroughly strengthen it against her. For the sake of his sanity, he cannot continue being forced to interact with her so regularly.

Alarm washes over her features, and he narrows his eyes warily at this abrupt difference in her demeanor. "No. Just send me there. I'm not welcome in your home. What makes you think that you're welcome in mine?" 

"I will go where I wish." Morpheus regards her as if he's amused by her audacity, as if she's nothing but a particularly annoying fly that's just ordered him to keep his hands out of a fruit bowl.  

But then, in an instant something seems to change with her. She's heavier in his hold suddenly as if he's the only thing keeping her upright, and her eyes go out of focus, distant. He's seen this before, remembers it once from many years past when her magic had faltered after she'd used too much of it at once. Reaching out with his power to examine her, he's unnerved when he feels… nothing. There's naught but a void where her magic should be.

"Not to… to… my home." Her voice is barely there, and she unexpectedly tips back slightly, as if she's unsteady, as if she's dizzy. Using her free hand, she tries to push away from his chest anyway. "Let go…" she slurs.  

"May?" he questions, concern flooding him. And then, before he can even say another word, her eyes roll back in her head and she collapses completely.  

Panicking, his terror a living, biting thing inside of him, he gathers her up more surely in his arms and lowers her to the wood planks of the pier. "Beloved," he calls and shakes his head at the idiocy of his unthinking endearment. "May," he tries again more firmly this time, all the while loathing the rough hint of fear for her he can hear in his voice. 

With hands that feel as if they might be shaking, he checks her over, relieved to find that she seems physically fine save for her missing magic. She has simply… fainted. It worries him still, and this worry, he knows, is misplaced. They are nothing to one another now, and as such he should not care. The only correct thing for him to do in this moment is return her to her home. He lifts her back up and with a thought, he reluctantly does just that, shifting them both straight to her room in the Waking.  

It's uncharacteristically chaotic in here, filled as it is with a great quantity of boxes, but her bed thankfully remains intact. He dries her with the lightest touch of his power before gently laying her atop it, pulling the covers up and over her so that she won't become chilled as she sleeps.  

His hand twitches with the urge to brush her hair back from her face, but he stays it. She is no longer his, and such an intimate gesture is no longer his right. It doesn't stop him from watching her as she slumbers, though, that endless pain in his chest piercing him with every beat of his heart as he does so. He hates himself for this emotion where she's concerned, hates himself for this weakness. There's a part of him that wishes for nothing more than to crawl into bed with her, to enfold her in his arms and never let her go.  

Tearing his attention away from her, he looks around the room instead in idle curiosity. He had sought answers as to what she was doing to allow her passage into his realm, had he not? At this remembrance, he studies his surroundings more carefully. It appears as if May will leave this place soon given that most of her belongings are seemingly packed away. There is a stack of books on the table beside him, though, and he thoughtlessly picks the top one up to peruse it. The title makes him frown in confusion. What to Expect When You're Expecting. There's a woman on the cover, her belly swollen with child, and Morpheus feels an odd thrum of confused panic nearly overwhelm him. Why would she have something of this nature? He snatches up the next book and his stomach twists viciously. Your Pregnancy: Week by Week.  

His heart, that poor battered organ that has been bruised and damaged far too many times, thuds loudly enough in his chest that he fears it might rouse her from her rest.  

The bottle beside the books seems almost as if it's calling out to him, demanding his scrutiny, and so he plucks that up as well. Feeling unusually faint, he reads the label. The words Prenatal Vitamins make his vision blur. Removed as he can be from humanity, he still knows exactly what these are and what their purpose is. 

Morpheus thinks that he might very well be sick.  

This cannot be. This should not be. They are no more, their relationship set ablaze by her lies and left as naught but ashes.  

Understanding cycling through him almost violently, he tries to remember how she'd appeared the last few times he'd seen her, how pale and fatigued she'd seemed. His hand opens, and before he even has time to think on what he's doing, he pulls the blankets from her and sets his palm atop the very, very slight hardness he can feel on her lower abdomen.  

The spark of life growing there reaches out towards him enthusiastically.  

His stomach swoops, his mind blanking out for a moment. A child. There's… there's a child there. His child. Their child. 

In this tiny being, he can feel his own essence twined with that of May's, can feel the mixture of maker's magic and Endless power within it. He sits on the edge of the bed, his legs feeling strangely as if they might go out from beneath him. 

Stunned, he almost withdraws his hand away from her belly, but… but the baby seems… excited to sense his presence. Its power stretches out to brush against his fingertips, and he can feel everything that it does. Its thoughts are scattered, barely formed, and fragmented, but it clearly communicates that it's been trying to get to him. 

May had told him that she wasn't responsible for her ending up in the dreams of others, and with a sinking feeling in his gut, he understands that she had likely been truthful in that. This… little one of theirs had been attempting to get them both to the Dreaming and to him. His eyes well with wetness at this, his emotions overcoming him. He swallows thickly. Their baby. 

They're to have a... baby. 

Absent-mindedly, he strokes his thumb over May's stomach while he attempts to process this, and she twitches sleepily in response to the caress.  

He's uncertain of what to do, of how to handle something of this magnitude. Months ago, this news would have been welcome, would have been happy even. But now… 

Now it is decidedly less so.  

The realization that she had lied to him again is like a pail of ice water being dumped on his head, and he carefully suppresses his quickly rising anger, unwilling to allow this new little one of his to sense his wrathful rage. May's had numerous opportunities to inform him of this… development, and yet she had not. She hadn't breathed a word of it in his presence, and the awareness of that stings. He tries to calm himself, tries to tell himself that he will speak to her and demand the truth when she awakens, and that settles him slightly.  

He will grant her a single chance then, he decides with grim resolution, a single chance for her to give him honesty.  

A single chance, he thinks, and nothing more.

Next Chapter here

#sandman fanfiction #sandman x oc #dream of the endless #sandman oc #sandman x reader #sandman fic #BBHAP #morpheus x oc #morpheus fanfiction #morpheus fic

[alteon77]

I HAVE WAITED SO LONG TO SEND THIS IN AND I’M SO HAPPY I CAN FINALLY SHARE THIS WITH YOU THE WAIT WAS FUCKING WORTH IT

OMG, I LOVE THIS!!! 😍 I was not prepared, though. I spit coffee out all over the place when I opened this. 😂🤣😂

And I'm so glad you thought the wait was worth it. 🤗 Morpheus has totally realized that he's fucked everything up big time. His POV chapter is happening next, and the words "sheer panic" come to mind. 🤣

Thank you so so soooo much for this. Seriously, I'm getting ready to edit the next chapter, and I'm going to be laughing all night at this image. And yes, it's totally going to be my screensaver for the next little bit, because it's that hilarious. 😂 So, just thank you so so sooooo much again!!! ❤️❤️❤️

#bizarre breeding habits of anthropomorphic personifications #BBHAP #you are awesome #Seriously awesome #<3

[alteon77]

Hello! I’ve been reading Bizarre Breeding Habits for a while now, and it only just occurred to me why May’s fear of Morpheus is so strong in a way that Morpheus can’t understand: it’s because in May’s point of view, Morpheus nearly killed her (or at the very least attacked her) without understandable provocation and then took her away from her home. In her mind, there was absolutely no reason for him to do that and it’s highly likely that May thinks he’s trying to gaslight her by saying that she betrayed him (especially since she can hardly even remember what all happened the day she got banished because of the memory spell).

Sorry for the late response to this! This one got lost in the bottom of my ask inbox, and I only found it while I was going through everything today.

Okay, so I'm going to dive into this here.

As a teeny tiny spoiler, I will tell you that he does grab her arm during their fight right before he banishes her. You bring up a really interesting point, though. We don't really know yet what exactly happened during that fight because neither one of them has recounted it. And there's a reason for that. I promise. A big, very very important reason.

You have no idea how much I want to give you spoilers right now. 😂

May might very well think he's trying to gaslight her, but she also just might think he's a jerk who doesn't listen at all. It's a tossup at this point because her mind isn't quite all there. She is very suspicious and afraid of him now due to their fallout, though. She knows vaguely that she had something to do with the grimoire, but she's not exactly sure why she did it because of the memory spell.

I hope that answered some of your questions! Send me another ask if you want, or you can message me in my DMs. I'm honestly fine with either. And thank you so much for reaching out!!! 💛💛💛

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[alteon77]

Updates:

For anyone who's been asking about an update, I should be putting out new chapters of "The Bizarre Breeding Habits of Anthropomorphic Personifications", "That Familiar Feeling of Family", and "The Maker, the Muse, and the Sundered Song" either later tomorrow tonight or the next morning. I'll answer the rest of my asks soon too. <3<3<3

#BBHAP #Updates #That Familiar Feeling of Family #The Maker the Muse and the Sundered Song