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popculturebuffet · 3 years

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New X-Men Xtrospective Part 1: E is For Extinction “They Will Need Us”

I am SO fucking excited for this one. As might not be obvious to ALL of my readers but should be obvious to some, I fucking love the X-Men. They are one of my favorite superhero teams period as are several of their spinoffs such as X-Factor (All versions), New Mutants, and Marauders. I love the wide cast, the hugely vast universe within the already vast and wonderful marvel universe, and the sheer amount of GREAT stories. I own all 11 movies, have several action figures, and two posters from Jonathan Hickman’s current and utterly dynamite run right above me right now as I work, as well as a marvel 80′s themed poster behind me that’s at least half x-men for good reason. I love this gang of mutants and I have not talked about them enough.

I”ve done some X-Men stuff sure: I’ve talked about hickman’s time as head writer of the books a year in earlier this year, I did a few scattered reviews back when I did single issues of comics, and then we get to the one I beefed big time: covering ALL of X-Men evolution. While it’s a noble endeavor I freely admit to overexerting myself: I recapped the episodes way too closely, gave myself no real schedule and did so while I was already covering two shows a week at the time. My point is it was a good idea, but the timing was REALLY fucking bad and if I do it again, I intend to do it right and iwth a proper place in my now properly paced schedule. I also planned to do the movies which, unlike evolution, I have solid plans to do once I clear out some of my projects. Point is I burned bright and then exploded and took a whole projecet with me phoenix style.

I had until this moment yet to do a really big x-men project, something digging into the comics, something that could help fans both of the comics and not get familiar with something really good, and help me dig into both the good and bad of something. I jsut needed the right start.

Then Christmas gave me that spark, that project that gave me the idea for a butload more x-men content on here and was the perfect starting point for some. See my friend Marco lives in Honduras, and so since i couldn’t afford to send him anything for christmas in the mail, as i’m not exactly rich, I instead offered him three reviews of anything.l He still hasn’t taken up two of them, nor one I gave him for graduating college, but the first one was a doozy, something he hadn’t read due to not liking the art, which is fine as I have some art in comics I don’t like everyone has diffrent tastes, at least for the first arc, and something VITALLY important to x-men as a whole and that’s the backbone of hickman’s current run: the first arc of new x-men, e is for extinction. And given New X-Men is one of my faviorite comics of all time I not only lept on it.. but decided fuck it I’m covering the whole thing. So every so often on here from now until I finish, i’m going to be covering Grant Morrisons ground breaking, mind shattering, status quo destroying run on the children of the atom. This.. is going to be fucking awesome. Buckle up.

New X-Men came about in 2001. Stop me if you heard this one: The X-Men, once marvel’s best selling title and one of i’ts most beloved, had been set adrift in a seal of editorial bullshit, bad writing, bad storylines and a stale continuity where not much could change or grow and things always reset to about the same place it was last week. If this sounds familiar it’s because it somehow happened AGAIN thanks to Ike Perlmutter’s bullshit, hence the current hickman run, but we’ll get into all of tha tsome other time. Point is as it was in 2018, so it was in 2001: The x-men were in bad straits and marvel reached out to a host of various creators to swing for the fences and find a new direction, something to bring sales and life back to the book. To my shock they actually took a LOT of diffrent pitches in before Morrisons won and from huge names: Geoff Johns, who had not yet returned to DC never to leave, Alex Ross, Keith Giffen.. all huge creative types. but in the end the best man won.

For those unfamiliar with him, Grant Morrison is a gloriously batshit scotsman with a long, storied and delightfully insane history in comics, mostly at DC before and after this comic. This is for good reason: DC scouted Morrison specifically because of his early work at 2000ad. See at the time Alan Moore had hit it really big with Swamp Thing, taking a d list, so so book and making it into an utter masterpiece and giving it thoroughly interesting mythology. Given it was a blockbuster hit that’s still widely loved and discussed, as it should be today, DC decided to repeat the strategy of asking British indie comics creators to come do the same to another property. This same experiment is why Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman exists, so.. yeah it was actually a great strategy and naturally Grant had their first big hit with Animal Man, a metafictional take on a b-list hero that made him a loveable family man, while also putting him through hell and playing with the medium and dc’s vast history, the last two being Morrison’s trademark from then on out.

They’d next go on to reinvent one of my other faviorite teams: THE DOOM PATROL! The patrol are a bunch of victims of strange accidents who got powers out of them that are basically curses... and Morrison solidified that concept, taking over after a weak run that ironically enough was trying to imitate the x-men’s success at the time. Instead Morrison just went all out with his weird shit for the first time and made them a team of broken but likeable people with weird powers fighting just the weirdest most incomprehensible shit, a run i’ll likely be digging into eventually along with the team as a whole. It’s also, along with Gerard Way’s recent run, the bedroock for the current and utterly masterful doom patrol series I need to catch up on. They also apparently once wrote a satrical comic starring and lik mocking hitler... a fact I somehow JUST learned but naturally doesn’t surprise me at all.

Morrison’s career at dc, after doing some creator owned stuff there when Vertigo opened up, hit it’s peak in the late 90′s as they were given the go ahead to reinvent the Justice League, with the wildly successful and awesome JLA, another book I probably need to take a look at that put the big 7 back into the team. And by now your probably getting the point of me covering his career pattern.. besides giving morrison the praise they deserve, and they’d have some really great runs after this.. and some terrible ones but no one’s perfect. My point is that at this point in their career Morrison’s greatest skill was taking something that had grown stagnant or been forgotten, blowing it up and reworking it into something glorious and new. Taking what worked, scraping away what didn’t and on the whole making something fucking glorious out of it. So here we are. The X-Men needed a new coat of paint and uncle grant had their lcd laced psycadelic paint bucket and brush shaped like a pidgeon at the ready. And for better, way better and admitely sometimes here and there worse,they changed the x-men for good. Some changes were rolled back out of spite, others finally got their chance after said rollback recently, and some were just outright thrown on the grown and smashed with a hammer. But for the most part Grant left a huge impact on the x-men and i’m here to show you why, warts and all. To me my x-men, this is new x-men. Now naturally there’s even more exposition but i’ts more in what COULD’VE been. Originally while Wolverine, Cyclops, Jean Grey and Professor X were all part of the team the other two members of the slim roster for this run, Beast and Emma Frost.. weren’t. Originally Morrison was going to have Colossus and Moira Mactaggert, long time team ally, token human until very recently, and now thanks to hickman one of the most important x characters peirod and long before that a fan favorite of mine, on the team, with Moira taking over for beast.

This.. didn’t pan out since Marvel apparently either didn’t give a shit about their plans or already had things in motion as the climax of the longtime legacy virus storyline killed both off. Colossus until Joss Whedon, bastard he may be, brought him back for his terrific Astonishing X-Men, and Moira SOMEHOW stayed dead until House/Powers of X. See this speaks to one of the big roadblocks morrison faced: Jonathan HIckman currently has absolute power and all his writers working in concert, a new way of doing things comic companies shold honestly copy en masse as it’s really working wonders. Grant.. was just one of many writers and one of three main x books the others being Chris Claremont’s XTREME X-MEN, basically “let the legend do what he wants since he can’t get freedom on the main book” and another writer on uncanny... before eventually chuck austen took over and I will tackle that horrible mess some other time. Point is while Morrison was setting the tone, costume style and making the big waves, they still didn’t have full power and thus had to play nice with eveyrone else. So their next idea was Rogue, making mer more like her x-men evolution version.. except Chris wanted her, so that was out, though being a decent enough guy he willingly gave up Beast since the moira thing meant Morrison needed a science person. As for Colossus replacement, as it turned out a fan had suggested Grant do something with Emma Frost since Gen X was canceled and while Morrison had zero intention for it clearly Emma clicked with hthem and she was soon both a main part of the cast and one of their biggest contributions to X-Men as a whole.

As for what I think of the needed changes.. they ended up being for the best. I do like Moira... but Hank ended up being a much better fit for the team dynamic wise and power set wise, while Emma was the same. While Colossus, Rogue and Moira are all fantastic characters, I think what we ended up with was just a better mix overall. I DO think the team is incredibly white, but that’s a general x-men problem, even with having an assload of diverse and intresting characters, so it’s not entirely his fault. All in all it’s a fantastic roster: four of the x-men’s best, their leader in the field for the first time in forever, and a new and intresting wild card. IT’s a nice ballance of characters and we’ll get more into it as we go. Now all the expositions done, we can finally dive head first into new x-men. I hope you survivie the experince under the cut.

After an utterly gorgeous and striking cover, the one used up top, we get one solid page to introduce us to Morrison’s mission statment, how they feel and how good Frank Quitely’s art looks

I cropped it best i could for tumblr but this one image immidetly says a lot. Our heroes are just.. easily taking down this sentinel, an old model... the same one we’ve seen a dozen times. What were once the grim, possible destroyers of an entire race of beings in days of future past and devistating killing machines in the present.. had become stale easily defeated murder bots There had been noble attempts to really make the sentiinels work again like the horrifying omega sentinels, humans forcibly converted into sleeper agent killing machines, during operation: zero tolerance, but otherwise they were mostly just a prop for the x-men to knock down. And that.. really is morrison’s whole point. Lampshading and mocking the fact the x-men had grown stale, things hadn’t really progressed.. and that it was time to move on. But to Uncle Grant’s credit, they not only uses this as a mission statment but it’s plot relevant: this mission will both be explained soon and explains why Logan and Scott are out and about enough to end up where the plot will soon need them. It also helps, via the sight of the syndey opera house establish something Morrison made a staple of their run: the X-Men going global. While the x-men were never really NOT global post claremont, Morrisons run has them handling rescue missions and what not worldwide far more often than most runs before it sans Claremont, and really made it feel like they weren’t just another super team but a global force of good with a specific goal and mission. More on the global aspect next time, as that’s where it really comes in but I felt it was important to show it was there for minute one.

So yeah before we move onto the first full scene of the run, let’s talk about the costumes.

We’ll talk about Emma’s later since she’s not introduced to the story for a while but yeah. There’s a sharp, obvious and immediate change just in the outfits, which take after the movie’s more military look, having the x-men not only look more like a unit but more like a professional orginization. Someone to come and help when needed. While this would take on more siginifigance in a bit, we’ll get to it, it also fits Morrisions own views that the x-men were less of a traditional superhero team and more something different on the edges that fought things out there, sorta what like he did with doom patrol. And it’s honestly a valid interpretation as the x-men are often seen as outlaws and misfits by society for beingn well.. mutants. Not as trusted as the avengers. So having them adopt this look played into that: Having them look more professional and focused as The X-Men have a less blanket mission statement than the avenger.. but also mildly threatning. Something to alarm the humans. It’s an utterly brilliant look thrown best together by the big yellow x’s, still giving it a nice flash of color to show off and show this is still a comic and this is still damn colorful.. this just isn’t your AVERAGE supherhero comic or the x-men your used to. IT’s a real shame the only fox x-men movie to use it was fucking dark phoenix.. a film where it didn’t even fit as xavier was getting flashier and more reckless so why wouldn’t he have more garish and colorful and more traditional superhero outfits. They did look good in their variants in first class though. Props there. Point is this is a classic, utterly stunning look, and tha’ts coming from someone whose fine with goofy superhero outfits and perpetually bitter hawkeye is almost never allowed to wear his actual comic outift and is instead stuck with shades instead of you know.. a mask. Or anything resembling an actual good looking costume. This though this is how you do a less superheroy costume: practical and realistic, but still cool looking and comic book friendly.

We cut to a mysterious lady, we’ll come to know her as Cassandra Nova and while I know her origin... i’m saving it for later as the comics themselves explain it eventually, and a simpering dolt she brought with her, Donald Trask, a distant relative of the creators of the sentinels who, via holograms she’s showing cro magnons slaughtring the neanderthal. Her point is that Mutants are going to do this and she’s clearly fearmongering him and trying to talk him into genocide: to wipe them out before they wipe out humanity. And it’s here we get one of hte most important plot points of Morrisons run and one of the most intresting: according to cassandra’s research Humanity will be no more in 4 generations. Mutankind is on it’s way to overtaking them at last.. i’ts still a few decades off.. but it’s coming. It’s sometihing that the whole decimation nonsense sadly snuffed.. and John Hickman has thankfully brought back. I’ll get to his run once i’ts complete in a few years, but point is it’s an utterly marvelous plot hook: Humanity, whose already attempted genocide a few times, is now in real danger of what their petty, racist, fearful attacks have been about: being replaced. It’s one of the central themes of the work the other two being “Just what IS mutantkind and what will it be”. WHat are they as a people? We’ll dig into these as we go but the threat of exctincion is the backbone of this arc... and will lead to something truly ghastly.

It’s then we get our title page.. which nothing really to add it just looks really good and helps show off who are cast is and what they can do with striking simple art.

And since we’re already talking the art of the book, let’s take a moment to discuss an intresting detail of this run: despite it’s short length there’s quite a few diffrent artist, who we’ll talk about of course as we get to each one. The most common and notable though is Frank Quitely. Frank Quitely is one of Morrison’s closest and best creative partners, having a unique, squishy art style.. i.e. the one my friend didn’t like which is why i’m covering this. And while I like the art style quite a bit, I do get why it’s not everyone’s cup of tea: His art is squashed, weird, and admitely some faces can be good god no incaranate. But it’s also why I like it: his characters feel unique, each body and figure feels like it was custom made and thus feels.. real. Like this is a person before you. And given comics can often surrender to having everybody look the damn same, this is nice. His faces may sometimes look similar but his bodies are where the action is. But while having a realistic feel his work also has a weird alien quality that perfectly fits Morrison, and thus his run on x-men. I will say while I love All-Star Superman, his art fits less there in the more hopeful silver agey story, so he’s not an artist for EVERY STORY OF EVERY TYPE.. but when it comes to sci fi weridness, he fits it like a glove so i’ts unsuprising he and morrison are practicaley soul mates, nor that his art sets the tone perfectly for the run: this is something new, diffrent and strange.. and what says x-men at it’s best more than that?

So after our opening titles we cut to the mansion where Hank is showing off his latest and greatest invention: Cerebra. Cerbebra is a massively upgraded version of Cerebro, aka Professor Xavier’s iconic helmet that allows him to track mutants to help them out.. and covertly backup their conconousness for his long game plan, but shhhh, don’t tell anyone yet that’s not going to be retconned in for a few decades. Though i’m damn certain if Morrison has heard about the current era of x-men and how it both builds on what he built, shatters the status quo and is incredibly weird, he’d be damn proud. As for how it’s diffrent Cerebra not only has a large dome around it but said dome allows the machine to amply Charles powers to a global reach. He can now see mutants all over the world anywhere in the world, something I didn’t realize wasn’t ALWAYS a thing because it seems so simple. It’s also likely to bring it more in line with the movies. And while marvel has done TERRIBLE with bringing things in from the movies or in line with them in recent years, i.e. making star lord more like his movie self while forgetting that’s how he already used to be in canon before later writers thankfully did hte better step of merging the two, Hawkeye’s outfit, Cap’s outfit or Nick Fury Jr. But for every mistep there’s also been tons of times it’s worked out really well such as here, as well as bringing hulk into the avengers for the first time since the founding, making tony stark more like the mcu version and less like a nightmarish self righetous dicktator who rightfully gets beat up and called out a lot, making Scott Lang prominent since he became prominent in the MCU, Wakanda being a major force in the marvel universe as it always should have been and various titles that have popped up to tie into movies, often bringing back a team or property that hadn’t had a book in some time like Ant-Man, Black Panther, and Shang Chi just to name a few. It’s not always hawkeye looking all jeremy renner is what i’m saying.. though thankfully comics clint isn’t that uninteresting. Hopefully the series will change that.

So yeah along with a bigger shinier cerebro we’re also introduced to a big change in Hank whose taken on his lion form rather than his classic gorilla with a weird haircut or his return to that except bald. Here he’s more like aslan in a human body and I.. love it. It looks great, helps sell hanks delima of being brilliant while looking like a beast and makes sense: he kickstarted what was likely his own secondary evolution by drinking the potion that made him bestial, so it only makes sense his body wouldn’t be all that stable even if it took years to change again. And even that makes sense as hank was breifly turned back to his original hairless ape mutation during x-factor, easily one of the books.. worse decisions honestly and one that louise simonson thankfully later undid. That probably bought him some time hence why it’s only mutating further now. It also adds an intresting wrinkle which the run will explore further: how far does this go? Will he regress? and how much hank will be left? And how will society treat his new form?

For now he’s actually extatic. While he’s going through hormonal changes, and giving out some excellent banter with Jean

Which also includes one of the greatest lines in comic book history, one that’s been in my head for decades and made me absolutely love henry mccoy.

He’s just great is what i’m saying. As you can tell it’s stuff like this why i’m glad Moira fell through. While I love her.. Morrison’s hank is just a delight and one really questionable subplot aside, we’ll get to that, he’s one of the highlights of this run with an intresting internal struggle, and great chemistry with EVERYONE. And that is the main reason i’m glad Moira fell through as his history with everyone but Emma, who he still has a great raport with, means each interaction has weight. He’s close friends with both scott and jean and thus serves as their needed confidant, while still being able to buddy and banter iwth good old weapon x, and speak with his mentor charles as an equal. While I love moira... Beast just fits into the cast too perfectly and I 100% suspect Morrison was only using her because, while she’s awesome, Claremont wanted her and thus gladly snapped her up when he no longer had a science person. I’ll get into his Jean soon enough but she’s likewise fantastic and easily my faviorite version of the character.. not that until very recently there was much honest competition.

So Cerebra fires up showing a massive cloud of mutants, showing just how much of a huge spike theirs been with Xavier wondering what it all means.. and Hank seeing a weird flare on the mointor for just a second with his special eyes. But since Xavier isn’t stupid and isn’t the kind of idiot who just dismisses it as a fulke, and since Scott and Logan are in the field, he decides to confrence call them in to see if they can go take a look.

And naturally we get to see what their up to and get context for what the hell happened in the first page. Our heroes were on a rescue mission to save Ugly John, tha’ts what people called him, a three faced mutant who ends up passing out as they head out of the atmosphere for a second. Wolverine is regenerating and smoking out of his neck becaue he could still smoke back then before marvel decided “he’s setting a bad example”.. in a comic meant for teens and adults.

I mean I get it on some level as the x-men cartoon was a huge thing in the 90′s and Ben Grimm is basically a giant children’s toy with the mind of a surly 40 year old jewish man from yancy street, but stilll it’s just.. why. I may not like smoking but it’s not like it was SPIDER-MAN saying

It’s a grown man.. whose not a sterling roll model and who Claremont went out of his way to have Logan point out his healing factor means it really dosen’t hurt him in the long run and when Kitty, an actual teenager, tried one of his cigars she choked. I know it’s a weird thing to get hung up on but while i’m all for keeping kids from smoking, this was a really clumsy way to try and hehlp that that made no sense and will never make any sense.

One tangent later we find out that Cassandra was showing Trask a simulation on a flight to, unsuprisingly, south america, to a sentinel blacksite. Between covertly funding civil wars as they do, the US Goverment naturally founded an experimental sentinal project, and a second master mold during the production of the first line... when larry trask asks where it could possibly be well...

Subtly was not the trasks strong point.. or common sense... or.. not realizing their creations would dominate humanity too or not dying.

Anyways we then cut back to the x-men, as their having a psychic zoom meeting with Charlie giving one of his patnted big speeches.. and like a lot of this comic it’s too damn good not to use

The reason I couldn’t should be obvious: This one speech sums up the x-men, why their great and why their necessary in a nutshell: in a world full of prejucided morons.. there’s plenty of scared kids who NEED the x-men to protect and guide them, and with a surge in the mutant population, their needed now more than ever. We also get a good explanation in universe for the uniform change: Charles had them in the superhero outfits hoping humanity would accept them if they were packaged as something they know. Since that clearly hasn’t worked he’s trying new ways to reach out and thus going with a diffrent more rescue team approach to the uniforms. He assigns Wolvie and Cyke to go check out the flair as you’d expect and the meetings over. On the blackbird we get our first hint at a subplot as Logan noticed Cyclops couldn’t wait to get out of there, and is being a tad distant to his wife. He actually has reasons for being kind of cold for once instead of just bad writing as he just came back from being possed by apocalypse. Yeah that happened. So the experience has rattled our boy some what. More on that as we go. But Jean ducks the subject with hank but does breach the fact that Charles has been going kind of crazy with the spending, new uniforms and ambition lately. Hank explains it perfectly: After all the death, suffering and misery the x-men have endured lately, the aforementioned deaths I talked about that took Colossus and Moira off the roster, have lionzed Charles to make sure it was all worth something and look towards the future.

But enough hope time for horror as Cassandra makes her first direct move, trying to take over Charles brain , make his body her own and use cerebra to kill lots and lots of mutants. We then get one of the best moments of Morrisons run with Charles response to a horrifying monster trying to take his brain

While it is shocking to find out Charles has a gun..it’s a grim but kind of understandable precaution. The guy once got fully taken over by a brood, assembling the New Mutants in part because the brood wanted to create more of i’ts kind with more super powers. You’d be paranoid too if some of your beloved students were brought together partly due to your good intentions and partly because a space monster wanted to make more space montsters out of helpless teens, and even horribly gaslighted one of them. We’ll get to that some day. Point is Charles brain is one of the greatest weapons on earth and if the wrong person got a hold of it, it’d be the end of said earth. Thankfully Charles does not need plan gun, as Jean yanks Cerebra off him but the sheer HATE Charles felt from Cassandra, the sheer power has rattled him.. and also told him she’s in Ecuador and his X-Men need to be warned NOW. It’s a great way to set up just HOW powerful Cassandra is. Speaking of which as our first issue of the arc ends, we find out two things: Cass faked being int he government but really just used dead soldiers as prop.. and just what kind of sentinels are out there.. wild sentinels. Easily my faviorite variant of the old killing machines and one that’s barely used despite being really damn awesome. Their adaptive killing machines, designed to mutated just like their pray and take tech from around them, as a result they look like a jumble of guns and parts.. but not only does it give them a unique, cool look.. but it makes them ten times deadlier as instead of being big bricks of robots that while intimidating, the x-men know how to kill... their unpredictable variable killing machines. You can figure out how to kill one sure.. btu the next might be entirely diffrent. They are one of morrisons best creations and I hope someone uses the idea again.. aka hickman. Please use it jonathan I know your focused on nimrod but come on.

And we end on one of the best lines of the entiire run as we close out the issue

Yeah it goes without saying but i’ll say it anyway; Morrison is really damn good with dialouge and being damn quotable.

So we open with another great quote “When I got up today I didn’t expect to kill 20 million people”... and Cassandra being aware Wolverine and Cyclops are on their way and sending the Wild Sentinels to dispatch them. Also our heroes brought Ugly John along while while a dumb move, Wolvie does point out how dumb it was to divert to Ecuador with a civlian in tow.. after the plane crash of course. As for “wait what plane crash’, the sentinels attack and start picking it apart... and since letting them have such good tech is a terrible idea, Scotty blows up the damn plane. So to recap our heroes are stuck in ecuador, surrounded by murder machines, and oh look their there and knock off cyclops viser. Fantastic. So yeah our heroes are fucked. And naturally captured by the enemy.

The rest of the x-men are doing SLIGHTLY better. While beast makes a note for his girlfriend, more on that later on, Charles is in bed, half alive, explaning the rationale I gave for why he has the gun with Jean refusing to let him get back out of bed and you know.. put on the device that just nearly killed him. But when beast announces they lost contact with our boys.. yeah that ceased being an option.

Back in the Ecuadorian Genocide Factory, Cassandra does the obvious and kills donald trask as his real purpose..was to stick around and be stupid for a bit while she copied his dna so she could have full control of her new murder toys.She soon uses them, having a horrifying death chamber slaughter john.. or at least flash fry him. Wolverine takes it how you’d expect and since the sentinels need to “perserve trask dna”.. they can’t fire on him without killing her. Scott escapes.. and in a heart wrenching scene mercy kills john.. before getting badass.

To anyone who says Scott Summers is boring, unintersting, or a stupid asshole idiot head I present exhbit shut the fuck up. Morrison gets scott just right, deconstructing his emotional suppression, while showing him off as a dedicated, companionate man who gets the job done and who seconds after tearfully having to mercy kill an innocent mutant whose death was partially his fault, wastes no time making it painfully clear to the person responsible she WILL die if she tries that again. Logan however realizes she’s already won in some fashion as she’s grinning.. and yeah never a good sign when a genocidal madwoman is grinning like a loon.. and when we find out why.. it’s even less good> We cut to Genosha. A lot of you probably know what happned to Genosha but in case you don’t know what it is it was once a horribly racist country that genetically enslaved mutants and used them for slave labor. It was freed, but still struggled to truly move on.. till Magneto showed up, took the country for himself and made it a home for all mutants. When we last saw him he once again tried to take over the world leading to Logan seemingly killing him. Right now though Emma Frost finally enters the scene teaching some mutants.. when a young one named Negasonic Teenage Warhead.. yes that one and yes she was entirely chosen for deadpool for her name, reveals, via precognition, that their all going to die.. right as the sentinels attack.

Genosha.. is gone. In an eyeblink 16 million mutants are dead, a possible future gone, and one of their greatest leaders is no more. Yeah Magneto WAS alive.. but paralyzed so he could do nothing when his island was utterly slaughtered. Only a handful of mutants will be revealed to survive. Humanity had done a lot to mutants before .. but for once.. they’d succeeded in wiping a massive chunk out. What was an x-men location for DECADES at this point.. was now a smoldering crater. A what could of been that would hant the x-men ever after, even now into utopia it remains the darkest day in mutant history outside of hte decimation. It is a truly horrific moment.. and if the changes already hadn’t made it clear this is morrison saying “NO character is safe, nothing is safe, and nothing will be the same and I damn well mean that”. In one act of hate the world has changed. And it hasn’t finished changing yet.

Issue Three opens hammering in things, as Jean and Beast are in the ruins of genosha, with Xavier having found ONE surivor among the rubble, and our heroes sturggling to find even them, though Jean eventually picks them up and uses her TK to sift through the rubble.

They find Emma who emerges from a bunker in shock, clutching NTW... and not realizing she’s dead until later and revealing she now has diamond skin, her own secondary mutation. Secondary Mutation was a birlliant idea, new powers sprouting up within established mutants.. it’s just morrison barely used this great idea as did hardly anyone else. Only X-Men Blue ever really dug into it and those were artifical at that. IT’s a great idea..it’s just barely used and at most heavily implied to explain changes in powers like Jamie Madrox Multiple Personalities later on or Doug Ramsey’s vast increase in power. Disapointing.

While Charles takes in the tragedy and the fact his old frienmie is dead, the x-men wonder what the fuck Cassandra is and what to do with her.. why did she kill 16 million people, and what the fuck is she. I mean I know, but as I said i’ll explain that when the story does. IN the other room Beast tends to Emma who wants none of not fucking killing Cassandra.. and is utterly right. Bitchy, because i’ts Emma, but right: she killed 16 million people. Say what you want but while it may not be up to the x-men to kill her.. she shoudln’t be living much longer. She commited genocide. Emma decides fuck that and prepares to leave summoning a cab and making peace with being a glorious living fabrige egg. Emma did apparelty change in generation x.. but Morrison is responsible for returning her not only to being a bitch, but a gloriously delightful one And really I don’t think they reset her character entirely: she’s not the heartless monster she started out as: she has empathy, grace, and caring.. she just buries it under a lair of absolute bitch and after you know, surviving a fucking genocide who can blame her? And honestly.. I love their verison of her. She provides a nice contrast to the more idealistic, even logan, x-men and a nice contrarian voice in the room without being obnoxious and her style and sacrastic swagger makes her endlessly entertaning. Thanks to morrison she’s stuck around to this day and went from a pretty good character.. to a great one. And what makes her this way, or as jean puts it “such a bitch?”

With that settled, Hank explains what Cassandra is: a competing species. As he puts it sometimes evolution takes a quantum leap forward.. and Cassandra is the result. Thus she wants to wipe out the compettition and is so far above humanity, she dosen’t need them... especially since she knows what Hank now knows: humanity is at an end. As hank puts it we have an E Gene, one that basically shuts off a race.. and thus the x-men now know what we learned earlier and that cassandra wasn’t lying: in 4 generations there are no more humans and something has to repalce htem. And Cassandra wants it to be her.

Before Logan can do what he does best, and asks why she looks like charles, Cassandra escapes, and Scott briliantly urges them to fight only on instict as she’s a telepath. A damn awesome fight insues including Cassandra donning Charles Psoonic battle armor, Scott being put in his black bug room and the general good looking chaos you’d expect from a superhero fight. While this goes on Emma has an ephinany and realizes she likes to teach, the x-men have a school.. and she shoudln’t give up on helping kids just because of what happened and turns around.

Cassandra is near victory, slipping her way to Cerebra.. and planning to kill only one mind before getting to the millions she wnats, a horrifying slug manifesting around her.. only...

So the x-men accept this and cassandra rises.. seemingly saying “I am charles” Huh... and then charles uncaracteristiacally shoots her saying things must change

We’ll get to what all of that means next time as we close on Jean and Scott in bed. Scott explains why he’s been so distant as what I said earlier: fighting off apocalypse stripped away a lot of illusions about himself and he’s having a hard time walking back from that but Jean is willing to help.. but before they can resolve their issues.. charles has an annoucnment to make and grant has one last whopper of a suprise to end his opening arc on, and just like genosha...it’s a game changer of titanic proportions

No longer is Xavier’s School hidden. Their walking into the light now and so is charles. Hope they surivive the experince. Obviously this move is brilliant: while it removes the veil of saftey the x-men had it also brings on tons of new possiblities and unlike secondary mutation, this one not only stuck but would impact the x-men for good: no longer would they hide and cower.. their mutant and proud.. and their here to stay. E For Extinction is one of the best x-men stories period. Blisteringly paced, full of great character, great concepts and utterly terrifying and terrific moments that would impact the x-men all the way to present day. It’s beautifully drawn, well paced, and a masterwork. I highly recommend it and it’s a great kickoff to a great run. Shame the run couldn’t of ended on this kind of high but.. we’ll get to that. For now this is a masterclass in how to start a run and if you haven’t read it do so NEXT TIME ON NEW X-MEN: A bunch of weirdos try to harvest mutant organs, the x-men get a brain in a jar and a new teamate, and Scott maybe cheats on his wife. Until then, goodbye goodbye goodbye.

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scribhneoir-sidhe · 3 years

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so i recognize that this is. a lot. but,,,, 6, 8, 14, 22, 25, 28, 33, 35, 37, 50, 55, 60, 63, 66, 69, 77, 86, 91, 104, and 122? :)

0_0

Oh thank you, this is a gift

Okay, here we go!

6 (a book with a pink cover) : I'm gonna cheat a bit because only part of the cover is pink but Wild Beauty by Anna Marie McLemore is one of my FAVORITE books, so I don't mind bending the rules. Five bisexual latina cousins all crushing on the same girl, magical realism, and a very good application of social messaging to the themes. I won't say more than that, but really go give it a look!! also my copy is signed Viva México by the author so that makes me love it more

8 (a book you finished in one sitting) : Okay, a couple years ago when Tiamat's Wrath by James S. A. Corey (book 8 of the Expanse series) came out, I started reading it at breakfast in the dining hall, continued during basically all of my classes, and then finished it sometime around 10 or 11 that night (I think). For reference, a quick google tells me that book is about 166,500 words. And I loved EVERY minute of it!

14 (a book that made you trip on literary acid) : Okay, that has definitely got to be Harrow the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir. Just. All Of It. God, she does some really fantastic things with narrative mechanics in that book, plus just the sheer brilliance of the plot and the mountain of questions and theories I had once I finished it. Also the memes. The memes made me trip literary acid.

22 (your favorite thriller) : Okay, I think I've literally only read one thriller (if it counts, I'm not sure), but The Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo. I'm cheating since it's still fantasy, but I had a limited pool of options.

25 (a book by your favorite author) : Okay, so I tend to like books or series more than author's specifically easier to like a work of fiction than a person but I'm gonna go with The Hobbit by J.R.R Tolkien. I grew up reading his books and I've definitely taken a lot from his writing for my own style, and I still love the Hobbit.

28 (a book you wish you could read as a beginner again) : Oooh this is a really interesting one. I think I'd say Museum of Thieves by Lian Tanner. I can’t remember when I first read it but it’s a middle grade story all about defying authority and escaping corrupt systems. I really need to reread it at some point.

33 (a book with a white cover) : The Weight of Feathers by Anna Marie McLemore! (can you tell I like their writing?). Star crossed lovers of two performing families with magical realism threaded through the narrative! Really fun read and I always appreciate latine characters. There's also Roma representation as well!

35 (a book featuring the found family trope) : I'm gonna attempt to not read any well beaten paths, so I'll say Caliban's War by James S. A. Corey, the second book of the Expanse series (okay that's technically a well beaten path, sue me). A lot of the book is the main characters figuring out their group dynamic and challenging each other to be better and it's just so goooooood!

37 (your favorite heist book) : I mean, what else could I put here? Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo, hands down. Narrowly beats out Six of Crows, only because it has more cons, more emotions, and also Nikolai Lantsov. I'll never get tired of that book.

50 (a book that made you cry a lot) : oh boy, I could say Crooked Kingdom again, that’d be true. But instead I’ll say Persepolis Rising by James S.A. Corey (I read a lot of series, sue me. Also that series is gonna be 9 books long by the end, there’s a lot of material). Anyway I won’t say why I cried, it’s a spoiler, but oh man. I weeped.

55 (a book with a satisfying ending) : The Empire of Gold by S.A. Chakraborty! I really liked how it ended, it placed a lot of focus on the platonic relationships, it left a lot of plot open ended so it felt like the world was still alive, and it showed the main character as being in a position of power while still retaining the subversive and roguish qualities from the start of the series that I loved.

60 (a book that you think about at 3am) : The Empire of Bones by N.D. Wilson. This is the 3rd book in my favorite series, the Ashtown burials and just….. wow there is so much. It has so much depth to it while still being about a 13 year old standing up to a cadre of ancient death and pain gods. It has one of the most beautiful monologues I’ve ever read and that shaped my understanding of compassion and heroism. It has an orange mohakwed Irish monk.

63 (a book that actually made you laugh out loud) : I knew it would make it on the list somewhere but GIDEON THE NINTH BY TAMSYN MUIR. God this book was funny! I won’t spoil any of the jokes, but Gideon is a sarcastic little shit and I love all of her banter with Harrow and the rest of the characters get plenty of cracks in as well.

66 (a book that fucked you up) : oh boy The Lies of Locke Lamora by Scott Lynch. This book had some visceral shit in it. Like, not exactly in a bad way, its not a game of thrones situation, but stuff that made my fucking skin crawl. Very good book, I heartily recommend.

69 (your favorite mythological retelling) : I’m gonna go with Odd and the Frost Giants by Neil Gaiman. I first listened to it in audiobook form while on a road trip through the southwest and I really like coming back to it. Sort of reworks the original myth it borrows from, but in a really delightful and fun way.

77 (a book so useless you could use it as a coaster) : ATLAS SHRUGGED BY AYN RAND. Alright, I’ll be honest, I have not yet read this book. I probably will someday just to see how bad it really is. But from what I know about it I would rather get drop kicked off a roof than read that pile of self important, self centered ego circle jerking. In conclusion, I don’t like it.

86 (a book with an insane plot twist) : Okay a bunch of the really insane plot twisty ones I’ve already mentioned and I don’t want to do repeats, so I’m gonna bend the rules and say The Silent Bells by N.D. Wilson, fourth book of the Ashtown Burials series, a book that is not technically finished yet, it is being released serially in this really cool faux newspaper format. The plot twist is that this story ever got off the ground, because due to legal and publisher shenanigans the author wasn’t able to publish the book until 7 or 8 years after the last book came out. But he did! And I’m very happy!

91 (the shortest book you've read) : That would probably be Signs Preceding the End of the World by Yuri Herrera, translated by Lisa Dillman. It’s a really good book I read for an English class about a girl who crosses the US/Mexico border in search of her brother. It’s got a really interesting narrative style that I wasn’t used to and a really cool thematic structure related to the nahuatl journey to the underworld.

104 (a fluffy sweet read) : oh man, that’s tough, I don’t read a lot of fluffy things, even tho it’s what I prefer in my romances. Yeah, the closest I can get is Wild Beauty by Anna Marie McLemore again. (See the first question answered)

122 (your favorite winter read) : Hmmm I don’t necessarily have seasonal reads, but I’ll go with an old family classic The Christmas Mystery, which is about a boy who finds an advent calendar with little scraps of paper behind each door, telling the story of a little girl who in the process of chasing a lamb runs away to Bethlehem (and back in time) to the birth of Jesus, meeting angels and Shepards and other biblical figures. It’s a really sweet story and my family used to read each chapter every day of advent until Christmas Eve.

#COMPLETE #ho.ly.shit.#Jack thank you for that book workout #SNORT #that was an entire bookshelf #books #hope you like it!#long post

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goddamnelsa · 3 years

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Liz’s Top Books of 2020

blatantly stolen from @alamorn but also i wanted to feel accomplished that i did in fact read published books this year before descending entirely into mdzs/the untamed fanfiction :) :) :) :)

In two parts! Books I read that actually came out in 2020, and then honorable mentions of books I read in 2020 that were published in previous years. Enjoy!

Top Books Published in 2020 (which are not in any kind of order because I can’t like rank stuff, I’m not that kind of person)

The City We Became by N.K. Jemisin

What can I say except it’s N.K. Jemisin who wrote my favorite high fantasy series (The Inheritance Trilogy), won three consecutive Hugo Awards for her The Broken Earth trilogy, and she’s writing urban fantasy with Lovecraftian and superhero team flavor. I mean....obviously I was at the top of the wait list for this once my library ordered it. And it lived up to the hype!! Because of course!! It’s fabulously fast-paced with amazingly smart and interesting characters of diverse backgrounds. I kept thinking one of them was my favorite, and then another would have a great line and I would change my mind. It’s fine, they’re all technically one entity with several parts, so I can love them all and not choose (but it’s probably Bronca, let’s be real). And it’s the first of a series! And I’m counting down the days til there is more!

Axiom’s End by Lindsay Ellis

I definitely picked this up simply because Lindsay Ellis, one of my favorite video essayists, wrote it, and then ended up loving everything about it. I’m not usually one for First Contact stories, but I appreciate the very human-focused approach here, sticking solely to an ordinary girl’s perspective as she navigates being the person first in contact with a very alien alien. Cora’s attempts to humanize Ampersand are relatable, but I appreciate Ellis reminding us at almost every turn that Ampersand is super Not Human, no matter how much Cora reads into his actions. Ellis doesn’t gloss over the Science part either, especially when it comes to the race of aliens Ampersand belongs to. Again, the first of a series, and you will absolutely be screaming for the next book when this one is over.

You Had Me At Hola by Alexis Daria

Insert my obligatory “I don’t usually read romances blah blah blah.” Though, during lockdown, I attempted to branch out beyond my usual genres when I was attending a ton of publisher webinars about upcoming books. This one stood out to me because of its Latinx cast and the whole behind-the-scenes of a Jane The Virgin-esque show, based on a telenovela (of course). It is fantastic, a quick read with instantly likable and fun characters. And the tropes! We’re playing love interests but we have insane chemistry! A sensitive, traumatized male lead who learns to open up again! A sassy but insecure female lead who learns to let loose and love again! Hooking up, but we have to keep on the DL or else scandal! And of course, the extended families add to every scene they are in--I loved every interaction Ashton and Jasmine had with their families, it was the cherry on top of a fantastic read. Also the sex scenes are steamy.

Beetle and the Hollowbones by Aliza Layne

I got this graphic novel as an advanced reader copy well before it came out, and after reading it, I was sCREAMING because I couldn’t tell all my graphic novel, queer coming-of-age-with-magic loving friends to immediately pick up a copy!! So thankfully, it’s out now, so I can scream to the heavens to please read this!!! It is such a sweet story with beautiful full-color art and fantastic world-building. It has the same silly, referential humor you see in a lot of kids/YA graphic novels these days, but Beetle packs in a lot of heart as well.

Stamped: Racism, Antiracism, and You by Jason Reynolds and Ibram X. Kendi

Like many people in May/June of this year, I was reading, reading, reading a lot of books about racism from as many Black authors as I could get my hands on. There were many not published this year that should definitely be read (So You Want To Talk About Race by Ijeoma Oluo being among the top), but this book really stuck with me because it is written specifically for a younger audience, and Jason Reynolds knows how to talk to kids about tough subjects. Stamped gets across difficult concepts like assimilationists and segregationists in an easy-to-understand, conversational style that doesn’t take away from any of the important history and nuance. This certainly is not The Book of antiracism studies, but it is a good starting point if you are daunted by lengthy title lists and aren’t sure where to begin. I highly recommend the audiobook as well, read by Reynolds himself.

(Side note: I watched this keynote address with Reynolds and Kendi which is an excellent primer into the background of how this book came to be. Reynolds is also just very interesting to listen to)

Honorable Mentions aka Books I read in 2020 that were published in previous years again, not ranked because I CAN’T, OKAY

White Is For Witching by Helen Oyeyemi

I read this book and then wanted to go back and read it immediately again, not necessarily because it was so amazing, but because I felt like I would get it even more if I did. This is a haunting little book that took turns I was not expecting, even with the book synopsis I read. It is disturbing and features descriptions of an eating disorder, so proceed with caution. However, if you like Gothic tales of haunted houses and the trauma inflicted on us by those who came before, I can’t recommend this one enough.

Gods of Jade and Shadow by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

My last book club read before the pandemic D: We didn’t actually get to meet to discuss this book, but my club (all librarians) were working at our emergency call center at the same time and all reading it, so we KINDA got to discuss it, if not in a formal book club setting. ANYWAY, it’s a thrilling jaunt through 1920s Mexico, following a fantastic Cinderella-esque heroine who makes a deal with a Mayan god to retrieve his body. If you are a fan of the Percy Jackson-brand of mythological adventures, this is definitely one to add to your list, especially if you are looking for something a little bit more Adult.

Scary Stories for Young Foxes by Christian McKay Heidicker

Okay, I know it’s a young readers/middle grade book, but HEAR ME OUT. This is whimsical and haunting tale about seven little fox kits who set out to scare themselves shitless by hearing scary tales. Only one kit will remain when the night is over, but the one who does will get to hear a surprisingly sweet, and well-earned, happy ending. If you are a Neil Gaiman-esque horror fan, I recommend picking this up. Its scares are fairly scary, especially for its audience, but it’s an engaging story about the lengths we will go for the ones we love.

Trail of Lightning by Rebecca Roanhorse

Did someone say Navajo monster-hunting heroine with magic powers navigating a post-apocalyptic world, oh and also saving it??? Look, Maggie is My Kind of Hero, in that she’s damaged, she drinks too much, she’s surly, but she has a seriously gooey heart of gold underneath all that armor. Navajo mythology is woven into this tale of monster-hunting, surviving. If you’re in Supernatural-disappointment-land, maybe give this a try! It has that Western-y, road trip feel to it, and again, I love the lead character. (It also has a currently published sequel and a soon-to-be-released third book as well!)

This is How You Lose The Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone

This was rec’ed to me by a librarian friend, with the words, “Oh, Liz, you’ll really like this.” And she was RIGHT. Red and Blue are on opposite sides of a war waged across time and decide to send letters to each other, at first, to taunt, but then, to understand, to learn, and to love. The details of the war don’t matter much, but what does matter is the achingly beautiful poetry with which Red and Blue reveal themselves to each other. I was told to listen to this one, but I’m glad I read it myself instead. The prose is very purple at times, and I appreciated being able to go back to passages to reread again and again. Oh, and it’s queer (Red and Blue are both female), and SPOILERS SPOILERS has a happy ending.

(also there is a wangxian remix for my mdzs buds. and also a semi-officially sanctioned fanfic sequel???? at least amal el-mohtar linked it from goodreads so whoo! also also it’s very funny)

And that’s my Year in Books 2020! Seeing it laid out like this, I had a surprisingly good year for book reading even though I felt like I barely read anything. For awhile, reading was Hard, and I just wanted to consume fluffy, sweet fanfiction, but I’m getting back into it. Oh, and please let me know if you check any of these out!

Here’s to a good year for books in 2021! ✨

#books #book recs #2020 #book reviews #personal #liz reads

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imbellarosa · 3 years

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I'm likely the most anxious person alive. My anxiety is just terrible. I'm never not worrying and panicking and feeling so paranoid about things in my life. Except now it's reached a whole new level where I'm constantly plagued with anxious thoughts in this fandom. It's kind of fully taken over my life where my first thought when I wake up is about them, to the hours I'm lying awake (oh it's fun being an insomniac) waiting for sleep to finally grant me some serenity. It doesn't matter how many

, Atimes I tell myself I have no control over anything and I'm only ever seeing a tiny bit of the whole story so it's pointless. I try so hard to choose to not worry and not go insane thinking about everything but alas, anxiety is not a choice. This has manifested itself in a multitude of ways. Lyric analysis used to be something I savoured doing bc I have always connected so deeply with words and literature and I'm always someone who wants to dig deep beneath the surface, to see the parts of ppl

& lyrics that others gloss over, just delving into the core of things, seeing ppl for who they truly are. But now, I feel like I am losing it, that it's all become like this weird obsession. We all know BNFs are like DO NOT CHERRY PICK LYRICS and basically IGNORE THAT WEIRD GUT FEELING ABOUT ANY LYRICS THAT MAKE YOU FEEL LIKE SOMETHING'S NQR and they can sue me but I don't work like that. I've been obsessing over certain lyrics that I can't decipher or find an alternate meaning to the literal

one & obviously if it were to be taken literally it would be bad. And I just get so mad at myself for not understanding when words have always been my thing right? Like it was always where I excelled with flying colours and it came so naturally to me and then I get so exasperated with them (okay mainly H for his unfathomable lyrics) bc I want to understand more than anything (& I think deep down he craves being understood too) but he makes it so hard. But that's not the extent of it, I just

worry incessantly about everything. I just can't turn off my mind and it feels like it's on the verge of exploding. I wish I knew how to just take everything lightly & just revel in this fandom & have fun but instead I feel jaded and vexed all the time. And sometimes that infuriation is directed towards them & I feel guilty as I know that's unfair but I can't help it but it just gets on my nerves bc of the things they do & say (or rather don't do/say) haha so fun!! Apologies for this whole spiel

Hey anon <3! First of all, my inbox is always open, so jot that one right down. Second of all, I’m gonna say something that might sound out of line, but I think I have to say it: this sounds like your mental health might not be in a great place right now. And I don’t mean your “in fandom mental health”, I mean it sounds like your anxiety is giving you a really hard time overall, which, believe me, I know how much that sucks. Life is a lot right now. But what I am hearing you say is that this fandom has become a really tangible manifestation of those anxieties. Let me know if I’m way off base here, okay? But I’m going to ask some questions (that you totally don’t have to reply to me - you can absolutely just take inventory on your own if that’s how you feel most comfortable.

Are you safe? If you’re not safe, is there someone you can call? If not, here is the International Association for Suicide Prevention so that you can find resources in your area. If you are at all contemplating this, please stop reading right here and give them a call.

If you are safe, do you have someone you can talk to about how you feel? This can be someone that knows who you are in the fandom and can talk to you with immediate replies, or someone outside of fandom, like an irl friend or family member.

This question is primarily to do with a non-professional support system: do you have one you feel you can trust? If not, what are the things you could do to work towards that?

This question is about professional support: it sounds to me like you’re saying that your anxiety is really impairing your day to day functions. If this is the case, do you have a professional you can talk with about potential coping skills? It sounds like fandom used to be one, but as the environment here changed, so did your relationship with it, and so maybe reaching out to someone that can point you in other directions for coping skills is a good thing. Because I don't know where you live, my best advice would be to call your physician and explain the symptoms you’ve been having and ask if they have a list of therapists that you could see for little to no charge. If you don’t have a physician (and I often don’t) then google is your best friend here. There are some resources available, but none of them take the place of seeing a doctor. In the US, if you don’t have insurance, you can go to a local community clinic and ask to be put on a waiting list for a therapist, if you’d like.

I know that you’re saying that your anxiety is making it really difficult to disengage with BNFs and the discourse and all, but do you think that we could take it one step at a time? Like, for example, the lyric thing seems to really trigger your anxiety, so could you unfollow one blog (just one!) that makes you feel like that, and then see if you like your dash a bit better? It is TOTALLY okay to unfollow someone for your own mental health, and it isn’t a negative reflection on either of you!

Do you think that engaging with other media would help at all? For example, Supernatural has 15 whole seasons of absolute campy goodness which I really, really unironically adore. When this fandom gets too much, I turn on an episode and get lost in it for a hot second. Another thing I really enjoy is Good Omens! The book is AMAZING, and the TV show is HILARIOUS! And while we’re on recs, I SUPER SUPER recommend anything by Neil Gaiman, but “Stardust” in particular is a great, soothing read for me, and I LOVE the audiobook! Ah! Hot Tip! I pay for audible, and it is one of the BEST things for my anxiety, especially when I pick the right books. The voices are soothing, the stories are great, and I can just...tune everything else out.

If other media doesn’t help, would other hobbies? Would you be willing to go on a walk once a day to look for pretty stones or to ride your bike out with a book and stay for a minute or to start drawing at home or to write? Is there a way that you think you could healthily express these emotions which are a really normal response to an abnormal situation (the world is kinda a mess rn)

It sounds like you are feeling really badly that you don’t think you can get a grasp on the songs. Is there something you can do to rebuild your confidence here? Can you talk about it with a fandom friend, or write down all your theories and see which one sticks or start a brand new analysis with something that has nothing to do w H or L and then come back to the drawing board?

These are just questions that I would ask a friend that came to me with these issues, but honestly, I cannot stress #4 enough - if your anxiety is overwhelming (and it sounds like it is) then speaking to a professional is *so so so* important. I think it’s time to go take care of yourself, anon, and the boys will be here when you’re ready to interact with their content again. They’ll wait, you know? And I’ll be here the whole time if you want to do check-ins with me. I want to know that you’re okay, friend <3

#anon asks #i answer #i think that maybe some lyrics are literal and some are not #and that sometimes you get a mix in a song #i think often it's harry that has less literal lyrics #you're right #and i think that he often distances himself from the story #which he is very much a part of #but anyways #take care of yourself my friend and come back soon #long post for ts #tw suicide #tw anxiety #Anonymous

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imagine-loki · 4 years

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Ragnarok

TITLE: Ragnarok CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 2: The Good Doctor AUTHOR: traveling-classicist ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine you take care Odin when he was homeless on Midgard (based on the deleted scene from Ragnarok). You take him in and listen his crazy stories about Asgard and Thor thinking he’s just some crazy hobo who needs help. Then one day, Thor and Loki break into your apartment looking for their father. Hela returns in your living room and insanity ensues. RATING: T

AO3 Link: Here NOTES/WARNINGS: Mentions of homelessness, drug abuse, alcoholism, and parental disownment.

————————————————————————————————–

The next morning, Theo was woken harshly by a pounding on her bedroom door.

“Theo! Theo! Get up! The frost giants are attacking Midgard again! I must call upon the armies of Asgard to help!”

Theo groaned as she sat up. She rubbed her face as Odin continued to pound on the door. “Theo, you must get up now!” At least he wasn’t violating rule number six.

“Alright, alright. I’m coming,” she said yawning. She opened the door and Odin grabbed her arms and whisked her down the hallway. “Odin, stop! You’re hurting me!”

He loosened his grip as they reached the kitchen. He pointed out the window to the snow that had piled up outside.

“Look, there, they must have attacked in the night. Thor must be in trouble if they were able to take back the Casket of Ancient Winters. I must return to Asgard to help. Heimdall! Open the Bifrost!” he shouted.

“No, no. It’s too early for shouting,” Theo said, sleepily, putting her hand on Odin’s shoulder. “Odin, there are no frost giants attacking. It’s just the snow from the storm last night, remember?”

“The storm?” he said. He looked down, trying to remember.

“Mmm-hmm. Looks like it was one hell of a storm too. There’s probably two feet of snow down there.”

“Hela?” he muttered. He put his hands on his head and rocked back and forth a moment.

“Are you alright, Odin?” Theo asked, seeing his distress.

“I need to remember but I can’t,” he said, pounding his head with his fists.

“Oh, don’t do that. It’s alright. Here, just sit down a moment. I’ll make you some breakfast. How do bagels sound?”

“Breakfast?” he asked.

“Yeah! I’m going to make a bagel. I’ve got plain, blueberry, sesame seed, marble. What would you like?”

He was breathing hard and seemed confused. “I don’t know,” he said.

“I know, I just gave you a lot of choices there. You can never go wrong with a plain bagel and some cream cheese, though,” she said as she popped two bagels into the toaster. She put on some coffee and walked over to him, putting her hands on his shoulders, trying to calm him down.

“I’m sorry, Theo,” he said. “I am an old man and a fool.”

“Oh, no you’re not. Well, maybe you’re a little old, but you’re not a fool. Didn’t you tell me once you were fifty centuries old?”

“Yes, yes, I think I am,” he said, seeming to calm down.

“Well, sir, you’re older than dirt. Almost as old as the pyramids. I bet you’ve seen a lot in your time,” Theo joked with him.

He looked down, solemnly. “I have.”

The toaster popped. Theo made up his bagel, a banana, and a cup of coffee for him. “Here, have something to eat. It’ll cheer you up. You know I’m just joking with you, right? I don’t think you’re older than dirt,” she said, worried about his sudden solemnity. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

“Yes, I know,” he said. He seemed suddenly weak.

“If you’re still hungry later, I can make you up some eggs or maybe some bacon, if you’re up for it. Just let me know.”

“Alright,” he said and ate slowly.

Theo checked her emails again. She worked from home as a social media manager for several large tech businesses in New York, including Stark Industries. She enjoyed being able to work from the comfort of her apartment. She didn’t do well in office environments.

“Odin, I need to get a bit of work done today, so I’ll be in my room for a few hours, but the door will be open if you need anything, okay? Just give a holler,” she said.

“Work? What sort of work do you do, Theo?” he asked, seeming to come out of his funk.

“Oh, well I work for a few big companies here in New York. I just manage their social media presence, keep an eye on their analytics, marketing, that sort of thing.”

“Oh, is there any fighting involved?”

“Fighting? Good Lord, no! Well, not the physical kind.”

“What is your preferred weapon?”

“Odin, I don’t have a preferred weapon!” Theo said, laughing, though a bit unnerved by his questions.

“Oh, come now, sure you do! A strong lady such as yourself. My son loves the warhammer. Melee weapons are his specialty. Mine too, you know. I think he got that from me. My other son prefers magic and long-distance weapons but he’s still rather skilled, I suppose. He got that from his mother, of course.”

“Ah,” Theo mused, trying to entertain his fantasies while she answered emails on her phone.

“I apologize about all that business with the frost giants, earlier,” he said.

“Oh, don’t worry about it, Odin. No harm done,” Theo said.

“I am always concerned they will one day rise again. Especially, after what Loki did to them.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Theo muttered, mouth full of bagel. She swallowed her last bite. “Odin, I’m going to go get some work done now. In my room. Why don’t you have a seat on the couch and read through a book? There are all kinds, like I said. Have your pick and if you need anything, I’ll be just down the hall, okay?”

“Yes, alright,” he said, seeming rather agreeable, again.

Theo sighed, feeling she could get some work done while he read. She went back to her room and opened her laptop. It was quiet and peaceful in the apartment for about ten minutes before Odin wandered into Theo’s room.

“Your chambers are very untidy,” he said, spooking Theo from her work.

“Odin!” she cried. “Rule number six, Odin! Please, at least knock first! Don’t sneak up on me, please!”

“Theo! I need to visit the Doctor, so I’ll be going now.”

“The doctor? What’s wrong? Are you feeling sick?”

“Sick? Oh no! I’m not a human, remember. I don’t get sick like you do. I’m going to visit the Doctor to see if he’s found out anything about Thor.”

“Is this that magician doctor you were telling me about?” Theo asked. She was not amused. Odin had told her about some crackpot ‘doctor’ he had found on Bleecker Street spouting all kinds of nonsense to him. She thought he was some nutjob crystal healer after Odin once told her he was talking about these infinity stones that could solve all the universes problems or destroy it.

Theo thought he was just another asshole looking to take advantage of an old man. What sort of medical doctor allowed an old man to go homeless after being turned out on the street by a defunct nursing home? Surely, there was something he could have done.

“Yes, Strange.”

“Yes, he is strange. Odin, it’s freezing outside, and I doubt the streets are even clear yet. Can we wait til after lunch at least?”

“Oh, alright. Can I have some whiskey?”

“I don’t have whiskey. You can have water, though.”

He grumbled and walked out of her room. She sighed and put her hands on her temples. She rolled her eyes and went back to work. She rushed through to get everything done in time to take Odin out. She did not want him going out alone. The last thing she needed was him getting lost or forgetting that he was living with her now or worse, being taken advantage of.

She hoped that by the time she finished and made him lunch, he would have forgotten about seeing his crazy doctor friend. She really did not want to go all the way downtown to see this bastard in the freezing cold.

When she had finished her work a few hours later, she emerged from room to see Odin sitting at the kitchen table with a book in his hands. His eye flitted across the pages as he read. She smiled at him.

“What are we reading?”

“Norse Mythology by this, this Neil Gaiman. Do you people really believe all this nonsense about us?”

“Ha! Well, I suppose there are still some people that believe in the Norse gods. And that is, of course, a work of fiction based on the old Norse myths. Why? Is some of that a little fantastical?”

“It’s rubbish! Is this actually popular?”

“I suppose, so. It must be, you’re nearly all the way through it!” Theo said, pointing at the book and laughing. Odin shook his head and continued reading. “What would you like to eat? I’ve got some cold cuts; we can make some sandwiches.”

“Yes, yes, that sounds fine. And maybe some beer?”

Theo rolled her eyes as she walked to the kitchen and pulled out some bread and meat and cheese for sandwiches. At least, he wasn’t asking to see that doctor anymore. She made him a sandwich and grabbed a bag of chips from the pantry.

“What if I made you some tea, instead of beer?”

“Meh, I don’t drink tea,” he grunted as she set the plate in front of him.

“Alright, well what about soda or juice or coffee or anything else?”

“What about mead? Do you have any mead?”

“Wha–? Mead? Are you some hipster brewer now?” Theo laughed. “No, I don’t have mead.”

“What sort of place are you running here? No mead?” he laughed.

“Not a hotel, you silly old fart.”

“I am not a fart, young lady,” he said.

“Sorry, my liege,” she mocked a curtsy.

“You should work on that, you know,” he retorted.

“Bite me.”

“You know, you remind me so much of my beautiful wife. She had such fire in her. I think,” he laughed to himself. “I think she passed a bit of it along to both our sons. Oh, I love her so much.”

“Aww,” Theo said. “She sounds lovely.”

“Oh, she is,” Odin said. “I wish you could meet her. She likes you a lot.”

“Does she?” Theo knew that his wife had passed away a long time ago. He had spoken a few times about her. “Is that Frigga?”

“Yes, she thinks you’re very kind for taking care of an old fart like me… Agh, woman! I am not an old fart!”

Theo could not help but sputter and laugh at Odin’s outburst. She wondered if she’d ever get tired of his weird fantasies. When she was young, she remembered her grandpa had had dementia when he was Odin’s age. He thought he was a fighter pilot in the Great War, dropping ‘bombs’ on his neighbors in the retirement home. The ‘bombs’ normally being unsolicited farts on little old ladies and grumpy old men.

During his time there, before he died, Theo had gotten used to her grandpa’s wacky stories, some of which she thought had some truth to them. He had been a fighter pilot in World War II, and he had dropped many actual bombs on people. Some of those stories he remembered rather vividly, like Odin remembered his sons and his wife.

“Well, you tell Frigga, you’re in good hands,” she replied.

She meant it. She had been preparing to take Odin in for months, even while she was helping Jacob and Emily before him. She was prepared to have Odin stay with her until… well, until the end. She wanted him to have a happy rest of his life. Not living out on the streets anymore.

“You’re a good lass, Theo,” Odin said. “Your parents are lucky.”

“Pfft, don’t tell them that,” Theo said, immediately wishing she hadn’t.

Odin looked at her questioningly. “Why not?”

“Oh, well, um, my parents and I don’t really talk anymore. They don’t want me in their life anymore. At all.”

Odin shook his head in disbelief. “Why not?”

“Um, that’s a good question,” Theo said, laughing to cover how uncomfortable she was by the topic. “We fell out a few years ago and haven’t spoken ever since. They sort of disowned me. They didn’t ‘agree’ with the choices I was making, as if they were really my choices. Anyways, we don’t talk anymore. They live upstate. Or at least, I think they still do. I send them birthday cards and Christmas cards and letters every now and then but I never get responses.”

“What sort of parents don’t want their children around?”

“Bad ones,” Theo muttered. She stood and took their plates to the kitchen, trying to end their uncomfortable conversation. She washed the dishes and put them on the rack. Odin sat in silence at the table. When she had finished with the dishes, she returned to the table and sat down.

“Theo?” Odin asked. “Do you think we could go visit the Doctor on Bleecker Street?”

Theo sighed. She looked out the window at the street below. The streets and sidewalks were rather clear now. “This man is a friend of yours?”

“Yes, he’s a good man. He’s very knowledgeable about the happenings of the universe.”

“Mmm-hmm, well, I wouldn’t want you to go by yourself, so let’s go.”

“Are you sure this is the address?” Theo asked, teeth chattering in the cold. She looked up at the old, art deco apartment bloc with the ornate windowpane.

“Yes, this is the one. 177A. He is the Sorcerer Supreme, so be nice,” Odin said, rather chipper even in the cold.

“What is that, like a sandwich?” Theo asked, sarcastically, laughing and rolling her eyes. Odin stepped up to the door and rang the bell.

“Hello, Doctor. It’s me, again. I’ve brought a guest. Please, don’t teleport her into space.”

Theo turned her head slowly to face Odin, staring at him. She shook her head. Hopefully, this crackpot wasn’t home, and they could go home and get some hot chocolate. She wrapped herself up in her long scarf and coat.

The door creaked open and a man appeared. He smiled at Odin.

“Wong, hello, is the Doctor in?” Odin asked eagerly.

“Hello, Odin. Yes, he is upstairs. Come in and I will go get him.”

“Good. This is my friend, Theo. I am her roommate, now.”

“Oh, very good. It is nice to meet you, Theo. My name is Wong,” he said, greeting Theo with a handshake.

Theo shook his hand and smiled. “Hi,” she said.

“Please, come in.”

They both entered the large foyer. In front of them, a grand staircase led up to an upper floor. Wong ascended the stairs and disappeared. There were strange cases filled with artefacts, lining the walls. Theo walked up to one, examining the strange wooden item behind the glass.

“Odin? Is this a museum?” Theo asked him.

“Hmm, I suppose it is, of sorts. Of Midgardian magical artefacts.”

“Magic?” Theo said, skeptically.

“Odin!” A man’s voice rang out from the top of the stairs. He appeared in blue robes with a red cape. Theo raised a brow at him. “I have not heard from nor seen Thor. I’m sorry to disappoint you again. I will come straight to you as soon as I know anything, though. Oh—” the man broke off as he came down the stairs. Wong trailed behind him.

“Ah, Doctor,” Odin began. “This is Theo, she is—”

“Oh, Lord,” the doctor rolled his eyes. “Another drug addict.” He grabbed Theo’s arm.”

“Wha-? Excuse me?” Theo said, in disbelief, trying to pull away but his grip was strong.

“What is it? Heroin? Cocaine? Meth? Let me see,” he said, taking her sleeve.

“Strange!” Wong shouted.

He pulled up her sleeve to reveal the scars of old track marks. Silver dots and lines peppered her skins. Some still purple only just beginning to turn silver with their age. Theo gasped. The room fell eerily silent.

“You know, they all start to look the same, these people—”

The doctor broke off as Theo’s fist connected with his face.

“Get off me!” she shouted, putting as much force as she could into her swing.

He let go of her arm and collapsed onto the floor holding his bloodied nose. Theo was fuming. She ripped down her sleeve. Tears welled in her eyes. Her fists clenched. Her jaw tightened as she tried to find the words to rebuke this revolting piece of trash, excuse for a human at her feet. She wanted to kick him, but she knew she couldn’t.

“You deserved that, Strange,” Wong said. “This young woman has been caring for Odin and you’ve insulted her.”

“Indeed,” Odin butted in. “I’ve never seen such disgusting disregard for personal boundaries and I’m from another Realm. Come, Theo. We should not have come here.” Odin took her arm and started leading her towards the door.

“Wait, Theo,” Wong said, running down the stairs and stepping over the doctor. She did not meet his eyes. “I am truly sorry for Steven’s actions. They were unwarranted. We are very grateful that someone is taking care of Odin.

“We’ve been very worried about him since we realized he was here. He is a very special case, as you surely know. We have tried to get in contact with the Avengers and SHIELD to notify them he is here, but no one is answering us. Steven has been trying to contact Thor, but he is too far for us to reach him.”

“What are you talking about? This man is sick, and you knew and left him out on the streets? What are the Avengers or SHIELD gonna do? Blow him up? Spy on him? He needs care from a real doctor, not some moron with a mail order degree,” Theo spat and walked out the door with Odin. She raced down the sidewalk ahead of Odin until she reached the street. She felt so hot, she might melt the snow around her.

“Theo?” Odin asked. She stopped and waited for him to catch up. She hugged herself, brushing away the tears with the back of her glove. Her breath was hot in the cold air. Her cheeks felt hot and red from the embarrassment and shame she felt. Odin walked up beside her and stood patiently.

“I knew you had a preferred fighting style,” he said. “I just didn’t expect it to be your fists!” He laughed a little. She could tell he was trying to cheer her up. A little smile crept across her face. “Is your hand alright?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied, looking at her reddened knuckles. “It’s fine. I’m sure I’ve had worse. I’m sure I’ve punched worse. That guy’s a real ass, Odin. He wasn’t even nice to you. He was so dismissive. I don’t think he’s looking out for you, I really don’t.”

“Mmm, perhaps you’re right. We won’t be returning here.”

“I’d much rather take you to see a real doctor,” Theo began.

“Oh no, I don’t need a human doctor. I’m not ill. I was just hoping Strange knew something of Thor.”

Theo shook her head. She would work on convincing him to see a doctor some other time, right now she wanted hot chocolate and the biggest chocolate chip cookie New York had to offer.

“Do you like hot chocolate?” she asked Odin.

“What’s that?”

“Oh my God, how can you even live in my house and not know what hot chocolate is? Come on, sir. We are going to get some hot chocolate and cookies.”

They went to Theo’s favorite hot chocolate café. It was, of course, extremely full since the weather outside was frightful but she knew the owner well and the next available table was cleared for them. She ordered her favorite hot chocolate for both of them and a plate of their fresh hot chocolate cookies.

While they waited, she felt tense. She did not want Odin to ask about what had happened. She sighed and looked out the window at the people and cars passing by outside.

“You don’t believe in the gods, do you?” Odin said.

“Hmm? What you mean like the Greek gods or the Norse gods?”

He nodded.

“No. I don’t,” she said. “But to be fair, I don’t believe in any gods. Not the old ones or the ones that are popular now. I don’t believe that there are such things.”

“Well, good. You shouldn’t because there aren’t.”

“Odin. You tell me on an almost daily basis that you’re the king of the Norse pantheon.”

“And I am. But I’m not a god.”

“You don’t make any sense.”

“I am Odin, the King of Asgard. But I am not a god.”

“Okay,” Theo said, thinking it better to agree with him than argue with him.

“Do you not believe in Thor, the Avenger?”

“I know who you’re talking about, yeah.”

“He’s my son,” Odin said.

“I… I…”

“You don’t believe me,” Odin said.

“Odin, I… It’s not that… I just… I find it hard to believe that an Avenger like Thor would put his dad in a home and then forget about him. If all this is true, why aren’t you on Asgard with him?”

Odin looked away, suddenly distraught. “I… I don’t know. I can’t remember,” he said. He put his hands on his head and started to hit himself. Theo jumped up, seeing that she had upset him.

“No, no. It’s alright, Odin,” she said, pulling his hands away from his head. “Don’t do that. It’s alright that you don’t remember right now. It’ll come to you. I’m sorry. Look, here comes our hot chocolate.”

He looked up, seemingly excited about the arrival of this new drink and food. The waiter set it on the table and rushed off to serve the next customer.

“Here,” Theo said, handing Odin his hot chocolate and the biggest chocolate chip cookie on the plate. “Give this a try. I always come here when I’m upset about something or in a bad mood or whatever. Even when it’s sweltering outside. Hot chocolate and cookies always makes me feel better.”

“Does it have alcohol in it?”

“No,” Theo laughed. “It doesn’t need alcohol. It has the next best thing: sugar!”

He took a sip and his eyebrows raised with the taste.

“Uh huh. It’s good, isn’t it?” Theo said. “It’s even better when you dip your cookie in it.” She broke her cookie in half and dunked it into the hot chocolate.

“How old are you, young lady?” Odin asked.

“Does it matter? You’re never too old for hot chocolate and cookies. Doesn’t matter if you’re my age or fifty centuries old.”

“Hmph,” he huffed, looking at his cookie.

Theo smiled. “Well, if you don’t want it, then I’ll have it,” she said, reaching across the table for his cookie.

He pulled away and gave her a steely glare. “No, it’s my cookie,” he said.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

When they had finished their hot chocolate and cookies, they started back towards the subway station. They passed by several shops along the way. Theo was getting cold again and when she was cold, she tended to get tunnel vision. Odin, on the other hand, enjoyed looking into the shop windows. He stopped suddenly, staring in at one of the shops.

At first, Theo didn’t notice and continued walking. When she glanced beside her to see her companion missing, her heart skipped a few beats. She turned around, frantically looking for him over the crowd. She stood on her toes to see over everyone’s heads and found his white hair standing close to a shop window. She pushed back through the busy sidewalk and came to stand next to him.

“What are we looking at?” she asked.

There were several large, professional photographs, hanging in the small, independent gallery. Odin was taken by a beautiful landscape photo. Tall forested mountains with a large body of water beneath.

“Where is this?” Odin asked.

“Mmm,” Theo mused, looking at the photo. “I’m not sure. Looks Scandinavian to me. Like the fjords in Norway. Let’s see, what does this little card say,” she leaned closer to the window to read the display card. “Aw, yes. It was taken in Bergen, Norway.”

“It’s beautiful. I’d like to go there someday,” he said and then lowered his head. “I don’t think I ever will.”

“Oh, don’t say that. It is a beautiful place, though isn’t it. I’d love to go hiking in those mountains. I bet the view from the top is amazing.”

“Mmm,” he said. “It reminds me of home.”

#Loki #Lover #God of Mischief #Others #Submitted fic #submission #chapter 2 #traveling-classicist #ragnarok

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thenightling · 4 years

Text

Friends in the Dark (A Sandman fan fiction)

Friends in the Dark:

Disclaimer: This is a Sandman fan fiction. The Sandman belongs to Neil Gaiman and DC Comics.

This fan fiction is inspired by the currently circulating idea of Hob actually being the one to rescue Morpheus from his imprisonment after Morpheus misses their centennial meeting. In the new Netflix Sandman series Morpheus’ captivity has been extended from seventy-two-years to about a hundred and ten years. That means Morpheus would have missed his annual meeting with Hob Gadling.

Art work by @artwinsdraws

This fan fiction may be read as a pseudo-sequel to the fan fiction titled “Time will Crawl” however, this fan fiction can be read completely on its own without any difficulty.

The title is from a song that technically doesn’t exist yet except in the dreams of Aurelio Voltaire. The lyrics are currently housed in the library of The Dreaming but should reach The Waking World within the next year. I know them because I heard a short live version of the refrain on Youtube.

“You can sit in the cold dark night, And just hope for a spark. You might make your way in the day, But you’ll need friends in the dark.” – Lyrics by Voltaire.

Friends in the Dark

Chapter 1:

Friends will be friends:

“What do you mean you can’t find him?”

“I mean... If he is who I think he is, he will only be found if he wants to be found.” The old man replied in a tone that sounded like an effort at gentleness.

“I didn’t tell you he was anyone other than my friend.” Robert Gadling said in exasperation. He was tired and frustrated. The man he was talking to was supposed to be the best in his field.

“Look, the man you described… He’s not quite a man. He’s… How do I put this? He’s the Oneiromancer. He’s Morpheus. King of Dreams and Nightmares. And if you angered him-“

“I may have wounded his pride but I know him. I know he would have come.”

“How can you be so certain?”’

“I told you, he’s my friend.”

“Creatures like that don’t have any friends.”

“If you can’t help me just say so and stop wasting my time.” Robert said in annoyance.

The man sighed. “You don’t have anything that belongs to him. If you had something maybe we could cast a tracking spell, but he could obscure himself against things like that if he doesn’t want to be found.”

The man’s expression changed. It was subtle but it was troubling.

“What? What is it? There’s something you’re not telling me.” Robert said.

“No one’s seen The Sandman in over a century… There are rumors from The Underworld that something may have happened…”

Robert was growing impatient and now worried. Few things could really surprise him and right now he felt like he could be told anything and handle it in some stride. He reached into his old coat and pulled out the torn fabric of dark velvet Victorian Jacket.

“What is that?”

“I accidentally tore it from his coat when he was having his little tantrum the last time we spoke. Is that enough to track him with?”

“And you kept it all this time?”

“At the time I worried I’d never see him again. …I thought it might be the only memento, proof he was real…” He felt silly and sentimental.

“So there is a chance he’s deliberately avoiding you?”

Robert’s face was reddening. “Look, I haven’t survived seven-hundred-years purely on my good looks. I trust my instincts. If he doesn’t want to see me, fine, but I have to see him first. I have to know for sure.”

Saying something like that to anyone else might have looked completely insane but Robert Gadling knew the old magicks. He understood sorcery and he knew the old man was aware of his true age.

Robert (Hob) Gadling had been born in the fourteenth century of England. He looked like the average middle aged man but he had long ago decided not to die and had somehow succeeded in this endeavor, whether by sheer will, or the invention of Death herself, it was hard to say. But he believed it was by his own will that he refused to die. At least that was the explanation that enabled him to sleep easily at night. Death, on the other hand, knew better…

Currently Robert was clean shaven though he had worn facial hair in the past. He had light brown hair and brown eyes. He was light skinned as many English men of his original time were. He figured he was a little short by modern standards but that didn’t bother him. He had been tall by common standards in his own time. He wondered how strange he’d seem in other people the centuries to come.

Robert (or Hob as he was sometimes known by those old enough to remember Hob as a nickname for Robert) was wearing fairly mundane clothes. He had a plain button down shirt and blue jeans. The clothes were generic enough that he could have been wearing them in the nineteen sixties or nineteen nineties and no one would have questioned it as being out of place. You live long enough and you learn what fashions will survive multiple decades without too much scrutiny. And it becomes far, far easier to do simple clothing shopping.

During Hob’s last encounter with his friend, Hob had made the bold move of admitting to Morpheus that he knew the reason they met every century was because he (Morpheus) was lonely.

Morpheus had not taken that well at all. In fact Morpheus had taken offense to that notion. With his pride wounded, Morpheus had said “You dare? You dare imply I might befriend a mortal? That one of my kind might NEED companionship? You dare to call me lonely?”

Hob was not technically mortal. He had not been mortal in a very long time but his friend had a way of looking at anyone who had been born human (even if they became something else, or gained immortality) as “mortal.” His prejudice was showing along with wounded pride.

Hob had stood his ground. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

As Morpheus had stormed off in his anger Hob had called after him. “Tell you what. I’ll be here in a hundred years’ time. If you’re here then, too-- It’ll be because we’re friends. No other reason. Right? …Right?”

At the time he had feared Morpheus might not return for their centennial meeting. He hoped he would return. But Hob had also feared Morpheus would not.

Hob felt foolish and almost like a stalker in wanting to track him down now but his seven-hundred-year-old instincts were telling him that something was wrong. And if Morpheus was avoiding him he would apologize and they could go their separate ways once and for all but if there was another reason… He had to know for sure… He needed… closure at the very least.

The older looking man was starting to look thoughtful. “You keep things like this and out-right say the Lord of Dreams was having a temper tantrum?” The old wizard let out a wheezing laugh. Perhaps he was reading Hob’s thoughts, his very memory of the last time he and his friend had spoken and parted ways.

“If you’re not his friend you’ve got balls.” He shook his head. “Even if you are his friend you’ve got balls… Follow me.” He seemed to admire Hob on some level and this shifted into respect.

Hob and the old wizard walked from the dimly lit, and very cluttered, occult shoppe’s main room. They entered a private back room that served as a magical laboratory. The laboratory was no less cluttered than the main part of the shoppe. There were books in chaotic little stacks and piles. There were bottles of potions and powders on the shelves in a variety of colored jars and containers. Some glass, some modern plastic Tupperware and labeled with white tape or stickers with writing done in black, felt-tip, marker. There were odds and ends of magical trinkets and crystals. And on the far side of this room was a small “hot plate” device plugged into the wall with a rather large cooking pot on top of it. A make-shift modern cauldron.

The old man carried the torn, old, velvet over to the cauldron and took up a crystal that was wrapped in a black cord. He set to work on the tracking spell. The contents of the cauldron, which was murky and brown, began to bubble from the heat and then the bubbles began to rapidly and probably unnaturally increase. The crystal was spinning, spinning faster and faster as it dangled from the black cord.

Something was reaching its crescendo.

The old wizard set down the crystal on the edge of the cooking pot with the cord it was attached to.

He grabbed Hob’s arm. “GET DOWN!”

Hob had lived long enough to not question the command and instead, by pure reflex, descended into a crouch under the wooden table with the old man. There was a crashing sound as bits and pieces of crystal went flying everywhere.

“Gadzooks, Man! ...That’s not good, is it?” Hob asked, stating the obvious as he slowly lowered his arms from where they were over his head to protect against crystalline shrapnel.

The old man shook his head and politely seemed to ignore the near-comedic use of an archaic exclamation. “He’s either blocking the spell or-“

“Or someone’s blocking it for him…”

__________________________________________________

Chapter 2:

Time:

Time will crawl… And crawl, and crawl, and crawl…

Come! Come! Come!

Morpheus had felt the words as surely as he heard them, faint and echoing in the void. Old magick. It had felt it like a tugging at his very soul. He was too weak to resist the pulling that dragged him down, down, down… Forcibly pulling at his essence.

He had fallen forward and slammed into hard flooring. He had been disorientated at the sudden presence of gravity. He could feel the magick of the binding circle sealing him in, closing him off from all those who had a psychic link with him within his realm. He saw them, the mortal occultists, in their dark robes, as they moved to get a closer look at their prisoner. They moved like a swarm of insects. He blinked his completely-black eyes behind the tinted lenses of his helm. The tiny star pupils being the only hint that there was more than mere darkness to be seen in his eyes.

He lay there, stunned and …and so very tired… He had never felt so weary in his long life… He had struggled so hard against the summoning magick and after that he could barely keep his eyes open. Someone had grasped at the helm he wore. Someone grabbed at it with both hands. Someone tipped his head, against his will, to carefully remove the helm. They took full advantage of his weakness and disorientation. Someone pulled the helm free from his head. He had felt his own dark fall around his bone-white face. His cloak was taken. Without the cloak he actually felt the cool, damp of the cellar in English summer time. Never mind about the cloak. That could easily be replaced. He could conjure another… as soon as he was free he could conjure another...

He blinked. The ruby amulet was snatched and finally the pouch of infinite dream sand was snatched away. The pouch was something he loathed to be without. He felt more naked without that pouch than without raiment. That he could not allow. He summoned what strength he had left and sat up to reach for the pouch. He stopped as if there was an invisible wall in front of him. He could not pass the edge of the magical binding circle, which was on the ground around him, and he knew it. His belongings were just out of reach…

The attempt to cross the circle was as impossible as asking a mortal simply leap over a building. It was just impossible for him.

So tired… So very tired… The room was growing dim and the floor was strangely inviting. He fainted…

That was as close as he had ever gotten to true sleep. He did not, by nature, sleep…

Trapped. Observe. Threats. Patience. Patience… Patience…

It had been many years since that first night in nineteen sixteen…

When Roderick Burgess had died not much had changed for Morpheus. Roderick’s son, Alexander, was the one holding him captive now.

At some point, relatively recently, he had over-heard someone mention the year as being twenty nineteen.

Morpheus made no show of his feelings to his captors. He simply sat there on the floor of his crystalline cage, staring out at the two guards.

In nineteen sixteen The Dream Lord had been drawn down, summoned and trapped with their (as he saw it) “petty hedge-magicking.” What year was it now? Close to twenty-twenty, he suspected. It was hard to tell.

Mortals tend to have this naive fantasy that time moves differently for creatures such as himself, being ageless and (for all intents and purposes) immortal. Unfortunately that was not the case.

If only he could just blink and it would seem a century had passed. No. Sadly, this fantasy was merely that, a fantasy. As mortals age they perceive time differently from when they were children. In childhood summers would seem to go on and on. As adults, however, whole decades seemed too short and so they imagine that is how time must be for immortals, an ever increasing sense that this or that passage of time was too short and so nothing to them. If only that was the case…

No. He felt time. He felt time the way mortals do. Time moved no differently for his kind as it does for mortals. And in prison it crawled at a snail’s pace. Perhaps it was even worse for him because, as the living embodiment of dreams, he usually did not sleep. That meant the third of the day that human prisoners could escape their bonds by entering his realm, he could do no such thing. There was no relief.

Imprisoned time moved agonizingly slow, like the crawling of a snail. And unlike mortals he did not have that blessed release of sleep. He was, after all, the lord of Dreams. He never dreamed, himself…

No. He never dreamed. All he could do was remember…

He remembered his own wounded pride on the night he stormed off from his friend. How he longed to set that right.

He sat on the floor of the crystalline cage that they had long ago placed around him. The curved glass of his crystal prison reminded him of a fortune teller’s crystal ball only just big enough to hold a full-sized human man. How menacing the mortals managed to seem when looming over him, just outside of the crystal, where light and size were distorted from his quartz-crystal prison and shadows hung heavy over the glass.

Quartz crystal has innate power. It could contain and confine magick. It held him as surely as the binding circle around his cage- as firm and unyielding as stone or steel to a mortal’s prison.

The mortal captors had been clever to make his cage out of crystal. Everyone knows most mineral and glass come from sand. Burnt and reshaped sand. The thing that he used to sculpt dreams now worked to trap him.

The binding circle that they had drawn on the floor held his spiritual essence while the crystalline prison held his physical form. Both of these traps would need to be broken or opened for him to be able to truly escape.

He was hungry. They had never thought to feed him in all the years he had been their prisoner. They just assumed that he did not need food. And he did not need it per se. He would not die without food but he still felt hunger, nevertheless. A great and terrible, gnawing hunger. And he was not about to ask for food. He was far too proud for that. And he would not give them the satisfaction to show them that he suffered for not eating. It would not kill him but he still suffered for it.

He tried not to think about the hunger, that aching, hollow feeling chewing away within himself. Eager to eat just about anything. Even a baked potato would have been nice. Do the English still bake potatoes? He wondered.

He could imagine the taste. The potato’s skin cooked so thoroughly that it was like parchment around the soft white inside that could be crushed by the pressing of a fork. Flavored with salt, pepper, butter, sour cream. Perhaps some mild cheddar cheese and crushed bacon…

He wasn’t one for heavy meals but this simple one that he imagined seemed divine. He could practically taste it. No. He would go mad if he let himself think about the hunger too long. Try to think about something else…

He thought of Hob. He thought of the smell of the Kerosene lamps and the candle wax in the late Victorian pub. The strange sense of warmth and that feeling that was the direct opposite of being lonely. He missed that warmth. That sensation of… not-lonely.

He missed Hob…

He thought of his own wounded pride. The anger he had felt when Hob had suggested that they (Hob and Morpheus) were friends. How foolish he had been to not return to Hob sooner. Would he ever see his friend again?

He longed to set things right- to do or say something subtle to admit to Hob that he was right without actually saying the words that his pride did not want him to speak out loud. He thought of the clever ways he could perhaps acknowledge that yes, they were, in fact, friends without uttering an apology or acknowledgement of being wrong. He couldn’t dare admit, even to himself, that he was wrong. And it was Hob’s own fault, wasn’t it? He was the one who had to spoil things. He was the one who had to go and poke at the situation and demand confirmation. Why did he have to spoil it by making him have to call their situation a friendship?

He missed him so much…

Morpheus blinked. He was no longer in the pub, storming away from Hob. He could no longer taste the discarded wine still on his lips. His memories were as vivid and real to him as dreams are for most people. It was as close as he could get to dreaming… remembering…

He was back in his cage. Staring at the two guards just beyond the glass.

What time was it? Guessing from the two particular guards and the wrist watch that one of them wore, it was close to three in the afternoon. It was hard to tell from his little prison. He had not seen the sun (or stars) in over a century.

If only he could sleep as mortals sleep. If only he could experience that sweet, temporary release, just once. To simply know what it was like to lose oneself to a third of the day in The Dreaming… Mortals had no idea of the treasure that they had, the gift that he, himself, usually provided. A gift that he, himself, could never know… had never known… ________________________________________________

Chapter 3:

What Dreams may come:

Hob Gadling pulled to the side of the road, in the red nineteen seventy-three MGB convertible. He had owned this particular automobile since the days when it was new. Today he figured it would be considered a classic. Yeah, a classic, all right… Polished up nice but rusted in all the important areas and a serious petrol guzzler. The car looked nice but it was about as functional as any old jalopy or puddle jumper. He only chose it today because it was a car he wouldn’t mind abandoning in a field if he had to.

He was parked about a quarter of a mile from Fawny Rig in Wych Cross, Sussex England. The paperback copy of an occultist’s memoir sat on the passenger seat beside him. It was some self-published nonsense about The Order of Ancient Mysteries but it was Hob’s first real clue about what happened to his friend.

For over thirty years he had searched. And he had found one dead end after another, including a few attempted cons and scams from people who thought they could take advantage of a mad man trying to find a character from a faery tale.

The book had been the first major clue. It had been written by some dead occultist who had claimed that he and the rest of his order had succeeded in invoking and trapping the King of Dreams. The book had been vague and full of strange claims about archaic powers and curses and nonsensical and far-fetched boasts about demon invocations and boogeymen.

He would not have believed any of it until he had read the description of the creature they had caught. The bone-white flesh, the solid black eyes, the messy dark hair. It had to be him. It just had to be.

The book hadn’t said where they had captured the being (whom Hob angry noticed they kept calling “it” when referencing the capture) but Hob had learned that The Order of Ancient Mysteries was once run by a Magnus Roderick Burgess and this had been his home estate. It now belonged to his son, Alexander Burgess, whom he had fathered very late in life. Alexander would have been quite old by now, himself.

If they had him, his friend- if they had Morpheus- what were they going to do to him? Pass him along through the generations like some strange inherited pet? Who would get him next? The butler? As far as he knew Alexander Burgess had no children of his own. Would they seal up whatever dungeon they had him in and leave him to rot?

This was still a long shot but Hob had to know. If he was there he couldn’t just leave him at the mercy of these charlatans. And if Hob got arrested for this- well, breaking-and-entering was not the worst crime he had ever been arrested for. He could handle it.

Hob took the old colt revolver out of the glove compartment. This was also an antique and would have been difficult to smuggle into England today but he had brought it into the country in eighteen ninety-one, so it was long before modern firearm restrictions, and back when smuggling was far easier.

Hob had lead a very colorful and long life. At one point he had even been a slave trader, something that Morpheus, himself, had chastised him for. Hob regretted that now. He regretted that more than anything. He would spend the rest of eternity making reparations for that if he could. How could he have ever been so callous to another human life?

Morpheus had seemed so revolted. “You take pride in treating your fellow humans as less than animals?” he had him.

Hob had tried to shrug it off with “Like I said, it’s a living.”

But Morpheus would not let it be. “It is a poor thing, to enslave another. I would suggest you find yourself a different line of business.”

Morpheus was right. It was wrong to hold another like that. And if Morpheus was in there he had to get him out now.

Hob checked to make certain the colt revolver pistol was still loaded. Each chamber of the six shooter held an old bullet. He had tested it only the night before to make certain it still fired. He loathed the idea of having to use it but he knew it would be stupid to go in unarmed, especially since he didn’t practice magick, not really. All he could do was hope a pistol was enough.

_____________________________________________

Chapter 4:

Locked within the crystal ball:

It was early evening. It was hard to tell from where he sat on the floor of his cage but he knew it was early evening. One guard was reading a newspaper. The other had a Stephen King novel. Though Morpheus knew nothing of the technology, the men knew that their wifi devices would not work down there. The rural setting combined with the thick stone walls made it impossible to get a good signal in that dungeon of a cellar.

There was also the concern of the residual yet powerful magick in the air, which by its very nature, interfered with sensitive electronics and could even cause them to short out. They had been specifically ordered not to use their mobile devices down there and so they had to kill time through other means.

Morpheus watched them with cold contempt. He was measuring how long it took for the one with the novel to turn his page. The other occasionally fidgeted. Morpheus could tell by the man’s eye movements that the fidgeting one was not actually reading the newspaper.

The man was just seeking out a long word to play a childhood game of seeing how many smaller words he could make with the letters of the longer word he found. It was some kind of time-killer he had learned from spending too many childhood hours in doctor’s offices before wide-spread cellphone and Internet service.

Morpheus understood nothing of Internet, or mobile phones, but he understood the restlessness of a bored mortal. How often did these restless people eventually drift into his own realm when they got like that? He almost felt jealous of the bored mortal.

There was a noise from above. It was faint as the walls were designed to be soundproof but even in his magick resistant prison Morpheus could hear the scuffle.

“Hey! You’re not supposed to be here! What are you doing!?” Came one voice. There was a sound of crashing furniture.

“Someone get Maguire!”

The two guards finally realized something was amiss when the door to the hidden room opened with a heavy creaking sound.

The one set down his paper, the other- almost in unison-set down his novel. They stood up from their folding chairs.

At first Morpheus thought he had been psychically touched by his youngest sister, little Delirium, and madness was finally upon him or perhaps his memories were somehow seeping into reality, confusing past for present like psychic imprints and echoes of long ago events.

He stared in wonder at the familiar yet disheveled appearance of Hob Gadling.

Hob was wearing a casual suit and open, light colored blazer jacket. It was slightly rumpled, as if he had been wearing it for more than twenty-four-hours and rather restlessly.

Morpheus was not aware that the suit was over thirty-years-old and very likely the suit Hob had worn to the pub for their centennial meeting that he was now extremely late for.

Whether consciously or subconsciously, Hob had (on some level) chosen to wear this suit on purpose now.

Morpheus hadn’t even noticed that he, himself, had risen to his feet. The guards rushed toward the man who seemed both frightened yet determined.

_____________________

Chapter 5: The Rescue:

As Hob had raced down the stone staircase, hoping his gut instincts were right, he nearly couldn’t breathe once he entered the dimly lit room. He was panting for breath but then the shock of what he saw caused what air was there to get caught in his throat.

There were two men rising from folding chairs to meet and / or attack him- more likely the latter. And behind them, just barely in view… There he was! Naked and locked inside what looked like a ridiculously over-sized, novelty, snow globe paperweight.

Hob couldn’t hold back a gasp when he saw him. “Gadsbudikins!” He was glad no one was there to comment on the archaic exclamation that had worked its way into his, proudly modern, vocabulary.

He had never seen Morpheus in such a state. He knew his friend was skinny and pale but to see him like this was something all-together different.

Morpheus was emaciated. The ribs protruding so that he could see each one incased in milk-white skin. He was entirely naked. He knew his friend’s pride. He could only guess at the humiliation that, alone, must have brought to him. How long had he been in there? Whether a day or a century, ether was too damn long.

He was distracted briefly by the pitiful sight so he was caught off guard by the punch from the first guard. The other guard was trying to grab his arm.

Morpheus was barely aware he had placed a hand to the cold, crystalline, glass. When was the last time he had actually touched the wall of his cage? He didn’t leave any fingerprints as he did this.

In the struggle the first man, the one who had thrown the punch, pulled a knife. Morpheus’ own expression had shifted to one of genuine fear for Hob.

He watched helplessly as the knife pierced the belly of his friend.

There was a clanking sound as the bloodied weapon fell to the floor.

Hob doubled over in pain. For a brief moment Morpheus thought he was witnessing his friend’s corporeal end from this extended life- but no. His older sister, Death, had seen to this long ago.

Hob was in considerable pain but he struggled his way free and staggered back into the mouth of the entrance into the hidden chamber. One of his hands held his wounded belly, the shirt slowly becoming saturated in his red blood.

A well dressed, older looking, man was coming down the stairs, following the same path Hob had taken. The two guards were readying the next assault when Hob turned, and fumbling, he drew out his pistol. His hands were shaking but he managed to steady himself.

Paul Maguire (husband to Alexander Burgess, Morpheus’ owner…) raised his hands slightly and took a step back. “Sir, I don’t know what you want but the police have been called.” Paul bluffed.

“With what you’ve got down here? Yeah, right. Tell me another one. I’m taking him out of here. If anyone tries to make a move…”

Hob was improvising. He grabbed Paul and drew him close, holding the pistol to the side of Paul’s head, maneuvering to separate himself from the guards by using Paul as a shield. Hob had lived many lives, not all of them honorably, and this was not his first unfair fight.

“You’re going to open that… Whatever the Hell that is. And let my friend out.”

“Your friend…?” Paul asked in confusion.

“Did I stutter?!?” Hob had always wanted to deliver that line, or at least he had ever since he had seen it written on a meme on Facebook. “YOU HEARD ME! Now!”

Paul carefully, slowly, drew out an antique looking key from his pocket, moving very slowly to show he was not armed, and with trembling hand passed the key to the second guard. The one that had not punched or stabbed Hob.

Morpheus took a step back.

The guard walked to the crystalline cage and put the key into the discrete lock in the base. The crystalline glass slid away at a near invisible seam, creating an opening. Hob shoved Paul, forcibly, back against the first guard. He walked to the cage’s opening. He saw Morpheus just standing there. He took off his own jacket for modesty’s sake. “It’s all right. I’m getting you out of here. Come on.”

Hob’s foot lightly brushed over the binding circle. It was hard to tell if it was deliberate or not but the deed was done, the circle was breached.

Morpheus stepped toward him. And for the first time in over a century he spoke out loud. His voice partly psychic, heard in the mind and audible at the same time, seemed feeble and weak from lack of use. “Hob…? Hob Gadling?” he asked as if not entirely certain he was really there.

“Yeah. It’s gonna be all right. Come on.”

The two guards and Paul seemed uncertain of what to do next. They hadn’t exactly fully prepared for anything like this despite the years of meticulous care to make sure the prisoner did not escape.

As soon as Morpheus was out of the cage and past the edge of the binding circle, Hob draped his jacket over his narrow shoulders.

“Cheese and crust! What did they do to you?”

Morpheus opted against answering but he held the offered jacket tightly over himself.

Hob, holding the pistol in one hand, placed his other arm around Morpheus, escorting him up the stairs and outside the house, no one tried to stop them. Morpheus stumbled weakly but he steadied himself each time this happened.

As soon as they were off the Fawny Rig grounds, just past the old iron gate, Morpheus stopped in his tracks, barefoot and mostly naked, but oblivious to any chill.

He was staring up at the stars. He hadn’t seen them in over a century. Hob simply let him look. They certainly were beautiful. The stars gave the illusion of permanence. But for all the change that might happen there were still stars in the darkness, even if one burnt out and another was born, there they were- always and forever. Maybe that’s what immortality really was, the willingness to be ever-changing and yet ever constant, like the universe itself.

After some time Morpheus spoke, his voice still weak. “I have to… I have to return to…”

Hob looked down at the weak, semi-skeletal figure that he was supporting. “Return to where you originally came from?”

He nodded.

“Okay. How do we do that?”

“You must sleep.” He said simply, clutching the jacket around himself.

_____________________________________________

Chapter 6: Rest:

They walked for some distance. Every so often Morpheus lost his footing and almost toppled but each time he stumbled Hob caught him.

At one point he was certain Morpheus was looking at the blood on his shirt in concern at the stab wound.

“It’s nothing.” Hob assured him. “I’ve had worse. I don’t think they’re chasing us but we really need to keep moving. ”

When they finally reached the convertible, Morpheus stared at the automobile blankly.

“Oh, that’s just a horseless carriage. We call them cars now.”

“I see…”

Hob opened the passenger door for him and pushed the book off the seat. Morpheus understood to climb inside onto the seat. After he got in, Hob shut the door behind him.

Hob went to the driver’s side and climbed in, seating himself. After shutting his own door he started the engine (which took several tries, as the car looked pretty but lacked functionality) but soon they were on the road away from Fawny Rig.

Hob didn’t bother to tell his companion to put on a seat belt. Any sort of restraint seemed like a bad idea right now, as if it was something that could potentially trigger post traumatic stress. He already half-imagined that Morpheus would develop some kind of permanent claustrophobia after that long captivity and that seemed perfectly reasonable to him right now. So he didn’t ask him to put on a seat belt. And it was not likely either of them were about to die from a car crash.

After a quick stop at small convenience store they continued on the road for some distance and finally they reached the hotel parking field.

Hob looked at his friend, trying not to show the pity he felt. Instead he reached into the glove compartment and took out the small bag with the new bottle of extra strength Unisom sleeping pills he had just purchased at the convenience store.

He aligned the arrows on the child safety cap, removing the cap easily, and then punctured the seal with his thumb, taking out several small capsules into his hand.

He then removed the cap from the small bottled caffeine-free Coca-Cola he had also purchased and had been in the bag as well, with the bottle of Unisom sleeping pills.

“Well, bottom’s up.” He raised his bottle as if it was a wine glass and then gulped down the five or so pills he had in his fist with a healthy swig of the soda.

Hob wasn’t certain if the amount of sleep aid capsules he had just swallowed was enough to potentially harm an ordinary man, but he knew he was not an ordinary man. And his adrenaline was too high right now. There was no way in Hell he was going to sleep without chemical assistance.

“Hob?” Morpheus looked as if he wanted to say something.

“Not now.” Hob said. “I’ll never get to sleep if you start chatting. Save it for when we get you home.” He said this as if Morpheus had ever been the talkative one. He knew he wasn’t.

There was a trace of a smile on Morpheus’ face. “Thank you…”

“No problem. What are friends for?” He half expected the old tantrum to flare up but there was not the slightest hint of that now. Morpheus leaned back in his own seat to wait.

“I’ll… Turn on the radio while I wait for this stuff to kick in…” Hob said this to break the awkward silence that was threatening his drug-aided nap.

By some twisted irony the song Mr. Sandman by The Chordettes was playing. Hob gave an uneasy laugh. “Bet you hate that song, don’t you?”

The sudden music with vocal accompaniment seemed to startle Morpheus at first but his tension faded with Hob’s own nonchalantness about it. “Actually… I have never heard it before…”

“It’s about you… I think…”

“Is it really?”

_________________________________

Chapter 7:

Home:

The song wasn’t even over yet when Hob found himself standing in a dimly lit pub in the fourteenth century. And there was his friend, quite naked, and seemingly indifferent to his own nakedness. Hob figured Morpheus must have left the jacket in the car.

His friend was crouched in front of the fire place, tearing into a leg of mutton from someone else’s plate. Curiously the tavern was empty except for the two of them, and yet several tables were loaded with untouched drinks and dishes of food.

Some of the food didn’t really belong in this time period as they had not been invented yet- like chimichangas, New York style pizza, Kentucky fried chicken, and Twinkies. These anachronistic snacks and meals were the first give-away that he was dreaming.

Morpheus helped himself to the diverse array of strange foods. A little of this, a little of that, he was gobbling as much of it up as he could. He seemed famished, eating as much as he could, as fast as he could.

“Hey… Maybe you should take it easy?” Hob said in concern. “You know when humans are starved for a long stretch of time they have to slowly reintroduce their body to solid foods. Maybe start with some soup? …Or you could just eat the entire bucket of KFC… Sure. Why not?”

After he had his fill Morpheus stood and seemed to be concentrating. Slowly something swirled up around him like dust… or sand. Yeah, it was glittering, golden sand.

From that sand dark robes were taking form on his body. Seamless and not quite stylized in any particular way. Hob felt that at the moment the feebly conjured clothes vaguely resembled a black Snuggie.

With some cold determination Morpheus walked out the door of the pub and into a surprisingly beautiful night, with a sprawling nebula smeared overhead like oil paint.

Hob hastily gave chase “Hey! Hey, where you going?!”

Outside the pub there was a beach. Funny. There was never a beach so close to the pub before but then Hob remembered this was a dream. Morpheus was kneeling in the sand, gathering some of it.

“Hey, what are you doing?” He caught Morpheus’ wrist.

Morpheus did not shrug him off. “I have to get my revenge.”

“Revenge on who? Roderick Burgess and his crew are dead!”

“His son yet lives.”

“His son? You’re going to go after his son?!”

“You disapprove? His son could have freed me. I would have shown him mercy if he had let me go. Instead he kept me as his father had, threatened, insulted, and tormented me. He must pay.”

“He didn’t know! He didn’t know what to do and you probably scared him. I’m not justifying it but I’ve lived long enough to know revenge isn’t going to make you feel any better.”

“But I… I waited so long…” He sounded uncertain.

“You’re sick. You could barely stand. You’re still recovering. I’m pretty sure you don’t want to be wandering around in a half-finished Snuggie. You’re going to waste what little strength you have getting revenge on someone whose biggest crime was apathy and being a jerk?”

“What is a Snuggie?”

“Never mind that.” Hob said with a shake of his head. “Revenge isn’t worth it. You’ve got to forgive him. You know as well as I do revenge isn’t going to bring you any real satisfaction.”

“Who are you to tell me what will satisfy me or not?” Morpheus said angrily.

“The man who just saved your life! That’s who! You can listen to me or not, that’s up to you.” Hob let go of Morpheus’ wrist. “But the way I see it... You need rest. You need to recover. And you need to learn to forgive. Going after Burgess’ kid, who inherited you like a pet parrot, isn’t going to make you feel better. You’re weak and you need rest. Is there any where I can take you where you’ll be able to do that?”

“You’ll be waking up soon…”

“So hurry up then and tell me.”

Hob walked beside his friend, down the twisting. dark path, surrounded by gnarled old trees. Up ahead was an old house, probably eighteenth century or early Victorian. And next to that house was a graveyard beside a similar, somewhat larger house. “You sure this is where you want to go?” Hob asked.

Morpheus nodded.

“It looks like The Crypt Keeper lives here.”

“Something like that…”

It was the pudgy one, Abel, who opened the door to the house of Mystery. The thinner one in the pince-nez spectacles, Cain stood behind Abel. Both looked stunned at who was at the door.

Hob stood with the weakened Dream King leaning on him. Behind them was the dopey eyed, dog-like, big, green, gargoyle that had followed them as soon as they entered the gate.

“Can you two look after my friend? I think I’m starting to wake up….”

Before Hob could get an answer he found himself back in the driver’s seat of the parked car. He looked to the seat next to him. It was empty except for some glittering dust and his jacket.

He noticed something else too. The pain in his stomach, where he had been stabbed, was entirely gone. He would have healed on his own, mind you. A wound like that couldn’t kill him, but it took hours, if not days to recover from such an injury. Now it was as if the wound had never happened at all.

Morpheus had heeded him about not wasting his energy on futile and cruel revenge. Instead he had spent his energy on something far more important. He had used what little strength he had to heal his friend…

______________________________________

Chapter 8:

You’ll meet friends in the Dark:

The funny thing about having a friend who is the King of Dreams is it’s hard to tell when something really is just a dream. He worried that the part about delivering Morpheus to that old Haunted House to be tended to was just in his own mind, a fevered and addled dream from injury and over-the-counter sleeping pills.

Hob sat nervously at the pub. The meeting was now some decades late. He sincerely hoped the part of his recent adventure that took place in dreams was real. That sounded silly to him upon reflection: “the part that was in dreams was real...”

Nervously he sat, worried his friend was not coming. And then he saw him as if he had been there the whole time. Morpheus stood in a modern, long, leather jacket. His messy dark hair slightly more stylized. His skin still bone-white, his look still improbably slight, features still gaunt, and thin. The eyes were black but the tiny star-like pupils in the middle of that blackness seemed more alert, twinkling with old power.

“I- I wasn’t sure you’d be coming.” Hob said.

“Really?” Morpheus was smiling. It was a small smile but it was there just the same. “I have always heard it was impolite to keep one’s friends waiting. Would you like a drink?”

The End

#Friends in the Dark #Neil Gaiman's The Sandman: Fan Fiction #The Sandman #Morpheus #Dream of The Endless #Hob Gadling #Robert Gadling #Robert Hob Gadling

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