#morpheus x oc
Text
Hello, Mr. Monster (Seven. Sacred)
Summary: Eros and Psyche inspired Soulmate!AU, Morpheus x female OC/reader
Master list
Chapter warnings: emotional distress, anxiety, recall of threat of assault/brainwashing, explicit smut
A/N: My treat! Happy Halloween! Only about half this beast is edited, but I gave myself permission to break the no-fic-til-first-draft-is-finished rule if I could complete it by Halloween, soooo... ENJOY! Happy to talk inspo music/plot/scream in harmony in comments and asks.
Chapter 6: Sacred
She wasn’t wearing shoes.
She didn’t entirely realize until she left the palace. The grand castle released her easily, giving her a side door to slip through as she tried escaping herself, and she hesitated when soft dirt replaced smooth stone. The fae’s work stripped a lifetime of callouses. A week ago, she could walk across gravel barefoot. Now… She could go back, admit defeat and finish dressing properly. But she couldn’t deal with any more of Gwen’s concern, and the urge to run boiled from her stomach up the back of her throat. Maybe it would burst out as a scream. Maybe she’d just vomit on her own toes.
No going back.
Something would catch her if she turned around, and she wouldn’t stop until the sensation drained away in sweat, blood, and tears.
Maybe she’d trip and earn herself some new scars.
She didn’t actually run, but she walked quickly, like she had any idea where she was going and had a schedule to keep.
The sunshine welcomed her, wrapping warm as her shawl around her shoulders, but she kept her eyes on the path, looking for loose stones to dodge or signs of other travelers. But she found no footprints. Heard no breaking twigs ahead or behind. No voices carried on the faint breeze. The world felt a little too perfect, as if it froze when she left her room, holding its breath as it waited for her to pass by. Too still. Like it might startle her if the clouds skidded along like normal clouds usually did. The blue overhead felt careful. Intentional.
The path led her to the edge of a river – or a lake – maybe a vast moat around the palace. She couldn’t see a way across, and she hesitated on the bank, toes curling into the grass as fingernails folded into palms. She wasn’t ready to stop. She needed to keep going. This wasn’t where she sat and cried. She had to burn out the panic, and she desperately needed a way across the water so she could escape into the green hills beyond.
Chewing on her lip, tasting blood, she squinted at the flecks of sunlight glinting on the water’s surface and tried to guess how deep it was. Impossible to guess. But it looked placid enough. Her was still wet, after all. A little more water wouldn’t hurt her.
She stepped from the bank, expecting a cold plunge, but she found sand barely an inch below the surface. Looking again, she could just make out a submerged path ready to help her ford the river, and she tried very hard not to question if it was there before she stepped on it. More than a little afraid it would disappear halfway through, she sprinted across the open water, splashing her clean clothes and making a terrible racket in the pristine stillness. Although the water wasn’t perfectly still, her steps left great ripples that carried the secret of her flight to both shores and beyond. Round whispers revealing her route, rolling off like a bell’s peel to tell the invisible something where she’d fled.
Her beautiful skin crawled, and she didn’t stop until she’d hidden herself in the green shadows beyond the far bank. Pine needles cushioned her steps, and she slowed to catch her breath, still moving forward, but only barely as the wood’s sap and moss filled her senses.
Her heart beat so fast it hummed, and the old ache stirred sharp and deep behind her ribs.
She was missing something. She needed something. She’d been hurt in ways her simple human magic couldn’t mend, but if she pulled the shawl even tighter, everything would be fine. The soft knit would hold her together like a bandage. Or a net. That shouldn’t comfort her, but it did, and she had too many battles to choose this one.
Being caught was alright so long as she was the one to trap herself.
She kept going, and her heart stewed in memories she’d hoped to leave on the floor of the bath. Things grew out of her helpless fears. Weedy jolts of terror that came back no matter how much she reasoned them away. Doubt spread like mold over every good thing. Confusion soared tall as a tree, and even the Dreaming’s determined sunlight couldn’t pierce its canopy.
She didn’t understand why Morpheus lied. And because she didn’t know that, the question her safety and future hinged on, she couldn’t banish every creeping dread that fed on its shadow. Everything she thought she knew felt fragile, and she wasn’t willing to test her assumptions’ strength. She’d thought he respected her. She’d thought her dreams could be a haven with him. She’d thought her life had changed for the better. For once.
But the fae took her for him.
Whatever she thought she knew, they clearly knew something else.
She walked on. Searching her thoughts. Wandering a strange land. Not at all ready to ask for answers.
The woods thinned into scrubby trees and thickets, fading from emerald to a yellowed olive green. Low stone walls rose and fell along the sides of the path she chose at random, bordering little fields full of pumpkins and graveyards bristling with angled headstones. Signs of structure beyond wilderness, a long-inhabited corner of a rural land, far removed from the gleaming palace with its lavender bath and magical bed.
But it was still so quiet.
Where were all the people? Dreams, nightmares, stories. The Dreaming may be vast, but it had nearly countless residents. Fin and Gwen spoke of whole villages, towns, homes full of strange, beautiful, and awful creatures crafted or invited into the Dreaming by its king. The silence rang false, and her heart snagged on a terrible idea.
The air in her lungs hardened.
She’d never left the unseelies’ court. She only walked through a vision boiled from poppy juice and desperate hopes. Maybe she still wore her wedding dress. Or maybe this was the truth of Love in Idleness. She could love her monster because she imagined he was better than he was. Her mind had broken and she found herself roving freely, left to convalesce on her own terms while in reality…
She’d come to a stone bridge fording a creek, and she practically fell back against the wall, sliding down, dropping her head to her knees.
Fucking fuck.
She’d walked so far, but the fear still had a literal chokehold.
Breathing. That mattered most. Whatever else was wrong couldn’t be fixed until she could breathe. She couldn’t even keep walking without air. Old lessons battled with her diaphragm as she tried to scold herself calm. Her old breathing exercises helped take the edge off the crushing sense of suffocation, but her nervous system hummed with tension, and she sat locked in place.
She couldn’t stop thinking about the dress, feeling phantom spider silk clinging to her skin, watching the threads stretch and tear with so little effort. Of all the things to focus on, maybe it was easiest. The only change she could easily escape. But also a reminder of the monster the fae believed her soulmate to be. Someone who would callously, willingly…
Her stomach rolled, and she lurched onto her knees. A little stomach bile came on the second, wrenching heave, but nothing followed. Not even water.
Fuck.
How long had it been since she ate? Time was so slippery in the fae realms, and gods knew how long she slept in the Dreaming. Her head pulsed as her stomach finally agreed it was overreacting, and she fell back to sit against the wall of the bridge, panting with her eyes closed against every little pain and discomfort knocking on her thoughts. They each wanted to let her know her body had been abused, and all their good intentions just made the message play on repeat, forcing her to not only face but feel everything that happened.
Sorely used.
An archaic turn of phrase, for sure, but fuck if it didn’t fit.
Her ears rang. A sure sign there was just too much happening inside. Even if she didn’t die at the hands of the fae, a rogue nightmare, or some demon Constantine hooked her into finding, her blood pressure would send her to an early grave. For sure.
Her head hurt. Her belly hurt. Her heart hurt. Now that she wasn’t walking, her feet ached, too.
It seemed like a good time to cry, but she hurt too much to do that, either.
So she sat with the pain instead.
Crossing her arms over her knees, she buried her face and tried to block out this world, her monster’s world, and create her own. Simple and dark and safe. The borders only extended to her fingers and toes. It ended where the air touched her skin. Her goal was to drown out the ringing in her ears with the cycle of her breath, and if she forgot anything else existed, maybe that would be possible.
She buried herself so well in her arms and the chorus of her panic that she didn’t notice the little creature approach until it touched her. Tiny claws pricked her ankle. It felt like a cat, a determined kitten scaling her leg to perch on her knee, and she opened her eyes sluggishly, pulling out of the sticky morass of her own head to find a ruby-eyed gargoyle peering into her face. It chirred, potato-shaped head tilting in wordless question.
Golden with little wings that looked entirely insufficient to keep its pudgy baby body airborne, it lurked happily in the grey area where things so ugly they could only be cute flourished.
“I should probably warn you,” she murmured, “that I’m really shit company right now.”
The little creature warbled, like it understood and disagreed. Its claws pinched the fabric over her knee as its wings pumped, lifting him an inch into the air.
Well.
That would show her for making snap judgements.
The little darling really could fly.
It tugged, trilling louder, and she got the idea it wanted her to come along.
“I don’t have wings.” She felt like she ought to apologize, explain her shortcomings the way she’d reason with a small child. “And I don’t feel so good right now. I’ll stay here. You don’t have to.”
Dissatisfied with her decision, her little companion dropped back to her knee, croaking a long, demanding wail.
“Goldie!”
The voice carried through the fog, rattling over the stones, and her little friend perked and turned to call back. Following the direction of his attention, she realized two whole Tudor mansions stood on the opposite side of the bridge. If she’d stumbled any further, she would’ve run into someone’s front door.
She desperately needed to get out of her own head before she walked face-first into an immoveable object and broke her nose.
“Goldie?”
The creature flexed its claws, essentially making biscuits on her knee.
“I think someone’s calling you,” she suggested. The name and color couldn’t be a coincidence. Not in the Dreaming. Everything made a slanted kind of sense here, if it made any sense at all.
The tiny monster, Goldie apparently, settled belly-down, folding its wings and all in a show of blatant refusal. It wouldn’t give up the new friend. Toy. Guest. Whatever the hell she was to it.
“Goldie.” The voice was nearer. Footsteps crunched on loose stones, and a pleasantly round man, with a pleasantly full beard and a pleasantly wide-eyed face, came along from the direction of the two houses, looking the wrong way. “You’re still awfully small to be wandering off, even if you can fly so well. Now, where did you – ” He turned, saw Goldie sitting on Aisling’s knee, and blinked his wide eyes even wider. She stared back.
He remembered his manners first, rushing to welcome her. “Oh! Hello. I didn’t know we had company.”
He approached with a smile, but he hesitated when he realized her position. She must look at least half as horrible as she felt, after all, and she hadn’t moved from her folded spot against the wall.
“Are you alright?” He grasped for solutions, for answers. “Did Goldie scare you?”
Exhausted as she was by her own terrors, she couldn’t help snorting.
“No.” Hell. Her voice practically creaked. She swallowed, trying to get her dry, aching throat in working order, but she only made the ache worse. Coughing, she spluttered, “He didn’t scare me.”
“But you’re not alright.” Those big eyes flooded with growing concern, and she wondered if it was because he genuinely gave a damn or because of some nebulous rule about guests and hospitality and all that shit.
“I’m not,” she confessed. “But I will be. Eventually. I always am.”
“Well, how about some tea while you wait?” He extended a hand, and Goldie fluttered up to his shoulder, clearing the way for her to rise. Now that the cretin had backup, it seemed confident she’d follow.
And since she had no other plan, she did.
“I’m Abel.” His warm, worker’s callouses rasped along her palm and around her fingers as he helped her to her feet. “It’s been a while since we had a proper dreamer here, I’m afraid. Are you lost?”
Very.
“I don’t know. And I’m a dreamer, but I’m not dreaming.”
He didn’t keep hold of her hand as he led her towards one of the two houses – presumably his – but he hovered. He had a good face for that, and he kept near, like he thought she might fall, which was fair considering how he found her.
“Then how are you here?”
A mirror. Knives, and spiders, and that damned dress.
“It’s a long story.”
“Maybe over tea, then.”
“Maybe.” Probably not, though. She couldn’t stomach that tale in her head yet. She couldn’t hold it in her mouth long enough to taste.
The courtyard between the two houses boasted a half-forgotten kind of charm. It grew in moss over crumbling busts and fogged over the windows with just a little too much dust. Cozy neglect. Cottagecore with fewer fairylights and more fog.
Abel held the door for her, and she found a sitting room as wonderfully cluttered as the landscape outside. Books stacked in towers supported forgotten cups, and old table cloths, rugs, and scarves littered every surface. She sat at the little table where her host gestured and admired the collection of his personal history as he busied himself with the stove.
“I should really tell my brother we have a guest,” he fussed. “He’ll be terribly angry if doesn’t have a chance to meet you, I’m sure, Miss…” His hand flew to his mouth, and he murmured his apology through the gaps between his fingers. “’M so sorry. I never asked your name.”
“It’s fine. I don’t mind. I’m – ”
“Let me get Cain. One introduction! Much easier. I’ll be right back.” He rushed out again, and Goldie fluttered to sit on the table, resting between her limp hands and blinking up like he wasn’t responsible for anything ever, at all, in the very least.
She ran a finger over his bumpy little head and sighed. “Aren’t you just proud of yourself?”
Goldie crooned confirmation, and she rubbed her nail along the loose threads in the tablecloth. A hundred tea stains bloomed over and across each other, but she didn’t see any crumbs from dinners past. The candle in the brass stick at the center of the table had dripped down to anchor the whole contraption in place, and she could only just see a faded red paisley pattern beneath it all.
If she were to read Abel’s cards, this would be the place. It had his rhythm: habit and footsteps and care. A place to plan the morning and end an evening.
The door’s ominously friendly groan announced the brothers’ return, and she looked over her shoulder to meet much less open eyes in a much less open face, shielded by spectacles and a mouth prepared to sneer.
But he blinked like his brother as Abel rushed to attend the kettle again, and he marched in with open curiosity.
“Well, you are a puzzle.” He made a little bow. “I’m Cain. You’ve met the dunderhead and Goldie.”
Abel set a steaming pot and three cups around the table, practically shaking with excitement. They really must not get company often. “And now she’s going to introduce herself, and we’ll all have tea while she waits to feel alright.”
Cain’s eye’s narrowed, and Aisling jolted to defuse the poisonous tension.
“I’m Aisling Hunt.”
Abel clapped, and the tension fizzled away as she tried to catch up with whatever connection he’d made. “Fine Gent’s Aisling? The witch from the Waking?”
“You know Fin?” She accepted her cup of tea, hoping for more about her friend. How did they know each other? Did they know where her friend was lurking? Were they at all like him?
Cain nodded, ignoring the cup and saucer his brother set at his elbow. “Better sort of nightmare. Reliable. Sharp. And if you’re really that Aisling, then I suppose we know why you’re in the Dreaming.”
She shuddered, an involuntary reaction she only just saved her tea from disaster by plonking it back on the table. Gossip traveled quickly in all realms, apparently, and while Fin was a considerate asshole most days, the fae hadn’t been subtle in their… gifting. She could ask how much her hosts knew, but then she’d have to listen to it. And she didn’t want to. Cain’s eye pierced her with a knowing glance, but Abel stood there in wide-eyed befuddlement, so she left them to their own assumptions and tried again with her drink.
Under any other situation, the tea would be very nice. Well-steeped, but not bitter, with a nutty note that made her think of toasted barely milk tea. In the moment, it was better than anything she’d ever tasted. Her senses sprang back from the fog of despair and remembered how nice it was to quench her thirst, how the steam opened up her sinuses, and she could smell the dried rosemary over Abel’s kitchen window. One sip was not enough. Tipping her head back, she drained it in one go and immediately decided manners were for losers, desperately holding out her cup for a refill.
Holy hell was she thirsty.
Abel quickly poured more, and Cain’s side-eye grew razor sharp.
Aisling drank another cup. And then a third. But when she lifted a fourth to her lips, a familiar hand settled on her wrist.
“That’s a great way to make yourself sick again.”
Fin.
He hovered at her shoulder, calm and constant as anything, charming as ever. Just looking up at his smirk – always welcoming her into a joke whether she understood it or not – felt like setting foot on solid land after a long boat ride. It surprised her by how steady it was, and she remembered what confidence had always felt like when they went on their adventures, dragged along by his leads and her intuition.
She hadn’t even heard him come in.
Under his guidance, she settled the cup in its saucer, and she winced an apologetic smile for her hosts.
“Sorry.”
Cain scoffed. “For what? Drinking tea? Pah.” He eyed Fin with a considerably less charitable look, hoisting the teapot in a clear invitation for yet another refill when required. “You’re a guest, and a thirsty one.”
“I’m not surprised.” Fin pulled out a chair for himself, settling a wicker hamper on the table. “You sprinted from the castle like a bat out of hell, and you slept for ages before that.”
Abel gawked like her wandering was some great accomplishment. “You’ve wandered a long way from the Heart of the Dreaming. This is the border of Nightmare.”
Although she determinedly didn’t sip the tea, she kept her heads around the cup, letting the fading heat sink into her palms and remind her she was alive. And awake.
Nightmare. That made sense. She’d never entirely trusted dreams. They felt so sweet in her sleep, but they always stung when she woke up. She found nightmares more reliable. But distance was nothing in the Dreaming. Even she knew that. If the realm’s lord and master hadn’t chosen to let her have her head and run, she wouldn’t have reached the river.
Busying himself with the basket, Fin muttered, “This one never did like to keep to one place. Here.”
He pulled out a lump of cheese and a crusty roll, setting them on a plate he magically fished from the delicate chaos of Abel’s living space.
She looked at the food distrustfully, not sure if her belly rumbled in welcome or rebellion yet. But Fin was on a mission, and he fished out a dish of strawberries next, bright as gems and so ripe she could smell them. Plucking one from the top of the pile, he sliced it into three neat pieces, offering her one on the flat of his blade with an expectant expression. He’d done the work. She shouldn’t waste it.
“The tea will settle better with a bit of food,” he advised.
Cain and Abel kept their own counsel, either riddling out what they were seeing or collecting fresh fuel for the gossip engine, she couldn’t say.
She accepted the strawberry.
It tasted like summer. Ice cream in the shade, and the riot of growing things in their prime. Sunshine and sticky hands with her bare feet in a creek.
Food really wasn’t supposed to taste like that. It took her breath away, and she hesitated, balanced on the edge of Fin’s knife between enjoying the little gift and careening back into her overwhelmed panic. Everything was a step further than she expected, or a little too perfect, or grand in ways that made her feel so, so small…
Goldie, sitting by her elbow, trilled. She looked into his ruddy eyes and held out her hand in a silent demand for another bit of strawberry, even though she hadn’t finished chewing.
Fin tipped the next slice into her waiting palm, and she offered it to the baby… whatever. Goldie seized it with a delighted gurgle and crammed it in its mouth. The sliver of berry filled much more of his mouth than Aisling’s, and his cheeks ballooned with the treat.
“What do you say, Goldie?” Abel asked.
His – pet? Child? – offered a gulp, a belch, and a croak, which was enough to satisfy Abel.
Fin shoved the third slice of berry directly in her face.
And she nearly choked. Nearly laughed. It startled her, but she put her hand to her mouth and kept everything in – chewing and swallowing emotion and food. They saying went that laughter was the best medicine, and while she was a firm proponent of the wonders of antibiotics, her inner sky cleared just the tiniest bit. The cracks were still there. Her world was still more than a little broken. But the fog of war began to lift, and she could see some of what was left. What was alright. What might be alright with a little more time.
Moss would grow on the ruins, and rain would fill the holes into ponds for frogs and water lilies.
What couldn’t be repaired could be made new.
And if she ever cleared all the clouds from that inner sky, maybe she’d find another watercolor sunset waiting for her.
Fin, watching her very carefully, cut another strawberry, and she ate it all with more confidence than the first two mouthfuls. He sliced open a roll and spread soft cheese on the two halves, giving them to her one at a time. When she reached for her tea to wash the bread down, he didn’t protest.
His posture softened until he slouched in his seat, shoulders back against the wood and one ankle propped across his knee. The little wrinkles that forecast a frown smoothed back to the edge of a smirk. All his anxiety appeared in the hollow shapes left behind as it melted.
She was sorry to have worried him, but watching him relaxed helped her more than all the tea and food in the Dreaming could. He’d decided she was safe, and in this wonky wonderland, she trusted his judgement. Fin may not betray his maker for her, but he would never be ease if he wasn’t sure all was – or would be – well.
Rapid tapping interrupted the scene a few minutes after she refused more food from Fin. Sated, pleasantly full, and breathing easily, she didn’t jump at the sound, but her heart jumped when she saw the raven on the other side of Abel’s window. She’d bet anything it was…
“Matthew.” Fin nodded to the bird but didn’t move to let him in. Instead, he turned to Aisling and asked, “Feel up for a walk?”
“Back? That’s…” The best idea. The worst idea. She thought of the castle and the entity who ruled it. He needed to be stitched back into her story. She had too many frayed ends left in the wake of the latest tear, and she couldn’t begin any real work until she saw the pattern. All her questions and accusations coiled into a lump in her throat. “A long way.”
“Oh, I doubt it.” Since his question hadn’t really been one at all, he stood up, put the basket on his arm, and pulled out her chair.
It was time to go.
Cain and Abel stood, too, and Goldie bobbed up to Abel’s shoulder, sighing like a tired toddler.
“Thank you.” She hesitated in the doorway and wondered what the rules were in the Dreaming. Did she owe them something? Did they expect a token, or a boon, or some specific words? Should she start planning a thank you card? Was there a ritual, or – no. She was overthinking it. “It was… You helped. A lot. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome!” Abel beamed. Goldie warbled in agreement.
“Of course, she’s welcome,” Cain snapped, finding some unknowable annoyance in his brother’s manners. He looked back to his departing guests and nodded, slowly, almost like he was bowing. “Fine Gent. Lady.”
“Oh, I’m not-”
Fin looped his free arm through hers and tugged her off balance, moving through the door. Her confusion of thought was lost in the chaos of stumbling sideways to keep up.
“Thank you, Cain,” Fin said.
The door closed. The sounds, smells, and sensations of the outdoors crashed over her fragile senses like a wave, and she was very glad for Fin’s arm. She was… better. But still not well. The ground stayed firm under her feet, but the back of her mind whispered it would melt into quicksand at any second.
Fluttering wings and a familiar croak warned her just before Matthew came flapping in her face. “You’re awake! You’re alive! Thought you were gone forever when you didn’t come back to your van, and the boss-”
“Will explain his thoughts himself,” Fin interjected. He gave the bird a look, a suggestion or a reminder. Once upon a time he threw those her way in the Waking. When she was young and overeager to test her limits. When she ought to know better.
Matthew landed in a chaos of black feathers and clattering talons, hopping alongside as Fin led the way across the bridge. Back to forests, fields, and strange moats. Back to the Heart of the Dreaming. Whatever that meant for her. There was no rush, but Fin clearly had a direction in mind, and while he was willing to go slow, ambling rather than marching, he was on a mission.
She didn’t like the heavy feeling that realization left in her gut, full of the food he’d so carefully and considerately brought. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, but there was a new authority overshadowing their old dynamic, and she just didn’t like it.
Chastised, Matthew actually held his tongue for a few minutes. But every few steps, she caught him peeping up with sharp swings of the beak to glance at her, like he was waiting for a signal to talk again. He looked so awkward, fumbling along at their pace. And earnest.
And none of this was his fault. It wasn’t Fin’s. It wasn’t the raven’s. It… probably wasn’t their master’s, either.
She offered a wan, tired kind of smile that she hoped would ease the tension. He snapped it up.
The raven cleared his throat. “You look nice?”
And she always would. No matter how sick, or exhausted, or miserable, or – The phantom tingle of the fae’s thick salve gleaming with unicorn horn rolled down her arms, and she shuddered.
“Don’t.”
Matthew immediately dropped his head. “Sorry.”
Well shit.
“It’s fine. Just – yeah.”
And with that eloquent excuse of a non-apology, the three fell into a deeper silence.
The trees swallowed the two houses and the bridge that led to them. The path unspooled ahead, under darker boughs, and after a corner or two, the edge of the forest thinned. Too quickly. A slowly as she’d run. Impossible and sensical, because what else could it have ever been.
As the castle came into view, she fought against the dream-fall sensation demanding she wake up. She knew she couldn’t, because she was already, but that didn’t stop of her mind from spinning with the alien logic of this world. She was still looking for an escape, even if she didn’t feel the need to run for one.
A bridge – which she knew for sure wasn’t there before – connected the edge of the forest to the castle’s island. A low, discreet construction entirely unlike the arching causeway she could spy towards the front gates. The Dreaming hadn’t made it a challenge to leave, but it made returning even easier.
It invited her to come home.
Fin huffed, and she caught a smirk twisting his lips before he schooled it into a more dignified expression.
“You’re expected, it seems.”
Her hand spasmed on his arm, and he patted it almost condescendingly.
“Of course,” she murmured, demanding her stomach settle and her feet move.
Fin stayed with her across the bridge, through the garden, to the door that let her out. She felt like a stray dog being returned by a neighbor after a jaunt around the neighborhood, and it took conscious effort not to let her hackles rise. Inside, the castle was as quiet as it had been before, and she wondered again if people were being kept away from her on purpose, and if so, for whose benefit.
They stopped in the first crossroads between hallways. “This is where we leave you.”
“What?” Panic fluttered like butterflies through her gut. Fin settled (most of) them with another one of his looks – teasing, mocking her just enough to assure her this wasn’t anything like she feared. It made her feel stupid. It gave her courage. “I mean – fine. Okay. Why?”
“Why do you think?” Fin pointed to the left. “If you head that way, you’ll find yourself back in the room you woke in. Gwen and Jeff will take care of you.” He pointed to the right. “If you go that way, you’ll find him. If you’re ready to talk.”
He delicately peeled her fingers off his arm, stepped back, and performed a tidy bow. Duty performed, he left her with a wink and walked back the way they’d come in, a way that now offered many more doors and turns than she remembered.
“Good seeing you, Aisling. I’ll see you around?” Matthew didn’t wait for an answer. He launched into the air and flapped after Fin. A last caw caught and echoed through the branching halls, fading until she stood alone with her decision.
The still air pulsed with her thoughts, and her bare soles stuck to the polished floor, rooting her in a whirlpool of feelings she couldn’t face long enough to name. A crossroads. Her crossroads. Another gift from the entity she’d always feared would take away her choice. Was it respect or apology?
He’d lied to her, and even if he wasn’t responsible for… everything else, how could she trust he’d finished with masks? Kindness made for a clever veil, and he’d already surprised her with the face behind one helm.
But he hadn’t destroyed her. Hadn’t let others strip her will when it could’ve suited his purposes.
Romances between gods and mortals rarely ended well, and he was beyond a god. How could she ever hope to understand that? There was no world in which she could be his equal, where he could stoop low enough to grasp her human fears. Holding hands across a chasm like that always ended in a fall. Hadn’t she been enough of a fool already?
She remembered her first dream with him. He was more honest with her then than he’d been since, and the first thing he wanted to show her was the place where he held her the way she’d always held him. For that night at least, everything made sense. Maybe not the pain, but the agonies she’d suffered almost seemed worth it.
She didn’t know what to think. If she never faced their tangled wyrd, the potential bond she’d tasted so briefly, she’d never know how to feel, either. Maybe all this would kill her, but she couldn’t live without knowing.
So, she turned right.
Maybe it was her imagination, but the coolly lit hall seemed a little brighter as she made her way from the crossroads, looking for Morpheus.
She didn’t have to go far. The hall stretched straight ahead. No side passages to distract her. No doors to tempt her curiosity. Dream of the Endless wasn’t hiding, and as he reached out to guide her steps, he shaped the world to his intent.
The hall ended, rounding a little bend and opening into a high-ceilinged room that couldn’t decide what it wanted to be. A gallery. A meeting place. Something old and new and hollow. One wall bristled with shapes emerging from grey-veined marble. Windows stretched from floor to roof, bathing the sculptures of vines, trees, rolling waves, and writhing figures with soft light at odds with the relief’s high drama. There was no furniture. Only space waiting to be filled. And a lone figure. Waiting for her.
No obstacles. No games or tests.
It could all be so, so simple.
Morpheus wore his regal grace with the same ease as his long black coat. But it failed to shroud his melancholy, and his longing wafted through the room in perfumed spirals of burning incense. She breathed it in; it stung her eyes and plucked on the frayed tatters in her chest. Sympathetic pain bloomed, and she rubbed along her sternum automatically, blinking back tears so she could trade them for words.
He broke the silence first. “I welcome you to the Dreaming, Aisling Hunt.”
Without his helm, his voice sounded so different. Incredibly. Even more beautiful, like looking up into a night sky with stars that looked back, but less like a force of the cosmos, more a man who traded in the dust that made worlds. He regarded her, and her intuition thrummed, trying to answer in ways her human body physically couldn’t.
He paused, lips parted on a thought, and the formal weight evaporated, replaced with aching strain that curled his shoulders towards her, even across the room, like a plant bending towards the sun. Strange. Unsettling. She didn’t feel like something bright in his world, but at least he wasn’t hiding behind his grotesque helm again.
“I am, despite everything, glad to have you here.”
Oh.
It shocked her back into her body. Into feet just a little cold and still bare on the floor. Into flesh she was afraid to look at in case she started crying again. The hope and horror bridged, and the most urgent question grew like a weed up her throat.
Well. If he was going to bring it up, then…
“I need to know something.” She rubbed her chest, hoping to pry loose a scrap of courage. None lingered in her heart, but a few tatters could’ve gotten caught in her ribs, and even a slip would do her. “Before this – I need to ask you something. I think I already know, but I need –” She knew how quickly words and oaths could twist under desire’s pressure, and even if she’d committed to playing the fool, even clowns had their limits, and she wouldn’t dance into another lying mirror. “You said you wouldn’t steal me away to hide in shadows, but you could send others to take me, and this place is very bright.”
His shoulders drew back, and his chin lifted. He’d offered her formal welcome and she asked for formal confirmation that he hadn’t betrayed her. She wasn’t ready to burn for him as his sun. She had to know he wouldn’t snuff her out first.
“I did not ask for you to be taken. I did not ask for you to be changed against your will. I did not ask other hands to commit such sins in my name, nor will I in future.” Angling his face down again, he offered her a glimpse at the wrath hidden there. He had not forgotten her suffering. It would not go unpunished. And just as quickly as he revealed his rage, he buried it again, stowing the knives and earthquakes for the villains who’d driven her to ask for proof in the first place. He watched her absorb what he’d said, and his voice turned feather soft. “You are my most cherished guest, and though I ask that you stay until word has spread and it is safe for you to walk the Waking world, you are no prisoner.”
Blinking, she took a deep breath. It rattled all the way down to her fingers, and she shook out her hands to banish the trembling.
“Thank you.” He gave, and he gave, and he gave. Time, space, reassurance. Her gaze roved the complicated mass of imagery covering the wall, looking for a theme. A hint. Frozen sailors reached for the land, tying sails against a wind determined to keep them at sea. Trees bloomed. Flowers fell. Fruit swelled, and snakes crept through their own shed skins as seeds burst from fallen, rotting apples. Time, loss, and rebirth without aim.
“What do you want, Morpheus?”
Had she ever actually asked him? She desperately wanted the truth. The whole thing.
“You were right.” Her own truth. An olive branch. An invitation and a plea. “Others shaped my view of you. So, now’s your chance. Tell me, so I can it from your own mouth. What do you want?”
In this moment, she was judge, jury, and executioner. No one would decide who or what she loved, and she would know the entity whose name she carried before she gave him anything else.
The air turned sharp. It cut the light like a prism, glittering in her monster’s eyes, a focus so sharp it broke sunbeams into their constituent parts. For all the black he wore, he practically glowed, a king in all ways, an open heart in more. Only here. In private. For her.
His eyebrows lifted, pinched. “I want you.” His voice was a song, weaving everything that could be beautiful between them into the simplest terms. “I want to be near you. I want to comfort you.” He approached, drawing his words out with cautious steps, hands hanging stiff at his sides. He halted, just far enough for her to feel safe, even when he spoke again, letting his lust drip into his tone, scenting his song with night-blooming jasmine. “I want to love you and make love to you.”
That was… honest. Heat rushed over her face, and she dropped eye contact like it was the source of the fire.
Fuck.
It was, actually.
When she first saw him, locked away in the cage beneath Fawney Rig, she thought his beauty was a warning, a good reason to look away and avoid him. Beautiful things were almost always cruel, but now… Well, things were different, weren’t they?
“I want you to know me.” He glanced out the window, and she instinctively did the same, looking over distant mountains and glittering bridges. World beyond worlds. “The Dreaming is a part of me. Simply by walking it, I feel you’re exploring me.”
They looked at each other again, just a little closer than before, and the hope in her monster’s eyes made him almost boyish. He was older than her planet, probably. But even an Endless must be reborn sometimes, in some ways, like the snake winding through the rotting fruit.
So, she’d met him when the water splashed over her toes. She let him comfort her when she drank the tea and ate the food of the Dreaming. Even if she hadn’t held his hand or looked in his eyes, and he was reaching for her in all but body now.
Fine.
Alright then.
She wouldn’t be anxious over a project she’d already begun.
“May I touch you?”
His smile bloomed soft and sweet. “Yes.”
Having the permission she needed from his strange eyes, his lips, the face she still didn’t know, she looked at his hands. She drew the tips of her fingers along his knuckles, a whispered touch asking for an answer, and he lifted the hand for her inspection, turning it over so she could see the creases of his palms. Invitation and vulnerability. Her touch wandered the lines, trying to read the silky flesh like a book. Palmistry had never been her forte, though, and she only found her own memories in his life and love lines.
“I know these better than your face,” she admitted. They felt safer, something secure to hold when his galaxy eyes threatened to sweep her away.
She found her courage in inches, lifting her eyes to his shoulders. His neck, his skin pale and untouchable as a reflection of the moon. Would she find the same strength in the rest of him as she did in his hands? The same possessive tenderness? The same call that felt like a puzzle coming together when she stroked his fingers, demanding and comforting as a deep breath after a dive?
Gingerly, like one or both of them was made of glass, she pressed an index finger to either side of his jaw. The barest caress drew along the edge of his face, not just feeling him, but listening to the hushed drag of skin on skin, until her two hands met, fingertip to fingertip, over the point of his chin. A sigh gusted down her wrists, along her elbows, and a rebel army of goosebumps sprang to life at his summons.
Without entirely meaning to, she looked up and met his eyes, and once she found them, they snared her.
It was entirely unfair for anyone to have actual stars in their eyes, and she read her doom in them as easily as she read her cards.
“I’d like to kiss you.”
His eyes flicked to her lips, and he shifted closer, keeping his hands to his side despite the way his want curled out to close the distance like a physical force. Well. It was his world. Perhaps it was. It found her heart and tugged.
Her own gaze dropped to his mouth, waiting to read his answer. “May I?”
“Yes.” His voice rumbled so low and strong she felt it like thunder. No hesitation.
She wondered if she’d have to rise onto her toes to reach him, but he swept down to meet her, giving rather than waiting for her to cautiously claim what she’d asked for. Her eyes fluttered shut at the first caress. A soft touch expressing and savoring everything she’d allow. There was no demand, but as she pressed into the kiss, chasing the delicate friction, he answered in kind.
Little sparks carried through her blood. Through her mind. Urging something to life. Drops of sunshine calling up flowers in springtime. He tasted like traces of smoke from a campfire on a cold night. Vellum and lignin. The last breath before a jump.
When she broke away to breathe, she peered into his face, and she felt the trembling rush of standing in a high place. In the Dreaming, were the butterflies in her stomach real, too?
His hands hovered, framing her face with restrained yearning.
“May I touch you?” Gravel thickened his voice until it nearly broke, and he searched her expression with bared desperation. “May I hold you so I may feel you are well? May I love you, my little hero?”
She settled her hands over his, kissed his palm, and guided his fingers to her cheek, closing the gap he’d left for her to decide in. “You may touch me.”
He accepted her permission with open wonder, taking a full moment to rest where she’d led him, moving just enough to stroke the line of her cheekbone with his thumb. When he freed himself of the spell she’d so innocently cast, he let his touch wander – sweeping over her brow, tracing her nose, cradling her jaw. But when he came to her mouth, he lost his focus. He replaced hand with lips, jolting back after the briefest, most chaste contact when he realized he hadn’t asked permission.
She grabbed the lapels of his long coat, shaking the fear from his expression. “You can kiss me. Please. You don’t need to ask. Not tonight.”
The worried frown he’d grown melted. A smirk washed up his face, dark with promise. But he didn’t tease her. He claimed another, proper kiss instead. Free to touch her, he angled her face with careful pressure, showing her how best to deepen the pleasure of lips, and teeth, and tongues, until she was equally breathless and reluctant to breathe.
Resting forehead-to-forehead as she recovered – as she gathered air to take the plunge again – he asked, “May I hold you?”
“Yes.” Her turn to answer quickly, for an ache to strain her voice.
Long limbs twined around her, drawing her close with a hand on her back and another on his him as her monster once again set to work trying to consume her. She did finally rise onto her toes, begging for more with eager hands slipping up his shoulders to comb into his hair. He gave her too much to feel, and she couldn’t give each piece its due. His lips gliding over hers. The secure warmth of his arms. Smooth skin and soft hair. The pressure of his chest against hers.
She knew pains like this. Sensations too overwhelming and complicated to make sense of. But she’d never felt pleasure the same way, and it swept her away faster than a riptide. She’d given the sea permission to drown her, though, so it was alright. More than alright. Wonderful.
He wasn’t as cool as he’d been when she first touched him. The rosy heat didn’t blush over his skin, but it pressed out to meet her, as if he was taking inspiration from the pulse and flush of mortality. Her blood warmed her because it must. He only warmed from a desire to be near.
“And may I love you?” A kiss to her cheek. “May I?” Another just below her ear. Withdrawing to lift her gathered hands to his lips, holding her gaze, he brushed a third kiss over her knuckles. “May I?”
Almost too disoriented to answer, she nodded, running her palms over his clothed chest. “Yes. Please, Morpheus – ”
His name on her lips tore through the last of his self-control. Finally. Finally given permission. Finally near enough to touch, and taste, and take. He crushed her closer with tender, rabid affection, kisses wandering to her cheek, down her neck, and back to her lips to share her sighs.
Maybe she wasn’t the sun, but how she burned for him.
Lovely as it was, she wanted his coat off. With their lips tangled together, she struggled to ask, but she pushed at it, and he wordlessly agreed, helping her peel it away from his shoulders to drop, abandoned, somewhere behind him. Her monster’s greatest frustration with the act was the time he spent with his hands otherwise occupied, and he grabbed her back to him like they’d been separated for years, not seconds.
His hand slipped beneath the soft shirt he so thoughtfully provided when she woke, and she whimpered into his mouth, caught off guard by how good this new wave of sensation felt. Fragments of control washed away with each graze of a knuckle or press of his palm along her back, pulled away as sand in the surf.
When she released her hold on his shoulders, he left her break the kiss, his eyes somehow even darker as he watched her reach for the hem of the garment. He helped her – carefully, reverently – guiding her arms and head out of the fabric. His lips parted as he looked her over, and he reached for the bottom of his own shirt. She mirrored his performance, helping him with the simplest chore of escaping his clothes, and when he emerged from the black shirt’s depths, he reappeared with a smile. A little amused. Deeply fond.
More kisses. Cautious hands mapping new spaces. Enjoying each other slowly so the heat could grow. Shared breaths, every shudder and shift pressed into the other’s flesh. Wrapped up in each other entirely. There wasn’t room for fear or doubt; they stood much too close.
Even when Dream pulled back again, something as fiendish as it was loving in his expression, she couldn’t remember there was a room or a world beyond him.
He spread his palm wide over the center of her chest, covering the flesh between him and his mark, and he pressed down. Gravity bent to his will, an intractable urge. She fell to his desire and found herself sprawled flat on something comfortable that wasn’t a bed. But he left her no time to wonder, following her with a rain of kisses that left her dizzy. As his hands crept down, he hovered, watching for her to revoke her permission, or even the slightest hint of discomfort. But by the time he’d reached the rest of her clothes, her hands fluttered around his, trying to slip multiple layers off in one go. She wanted her pants gone as much as she’d wanted rid of his coat, and he chuckled as she kicked them off the last inch.
Once she’d escaped the last fabric keeping her from his touch, she drew him back for a kiss, this one so soft it spoke his thanks. His care.
Although he rested between her legs, he didn’t rush. He attended her breasts, plucking yelps and giggles from hidden ticklish spots, rising back to her lips again and again as she grew hotter and more desperate under his hands. They might’ve spent a hundred years hovering on the threshold, finding each other in grazes and kneading grips.
At last, he roved lower, and even as he brushed his lips over hers, his thumb rolled over her bud. Slowly, tortuously almost, he fluttered over the nub, refusing to explore further until she whimpered and writhed. He traced down her folds and groaned. She could feel how wet he’d made her, and the mortification would’ve swamped her if she couldn’t feel how excited it left him. The bulge pressing against her hip left no doubt.
His fingers sank inside, curling to pull something out of her. She gave him a moan, a fluttering thing, unsure on new wings, and he hovered with his mouth hanging open in awe, like he could catch it. Keep it. Cage it in his ribs to keep. Before, when he’d pleasured her in the dream, he had plenty to say, even when his mouth was on her. That was worship. This was communion. A true meeting, a joining without words.
He worked her open diligently. And all the while, he held her gaze, feasting on it.
Every nerve sang for him, and he coaxed her to the very edge before she grabbed his wrist. He froze, looking for pain in her expression, and she kissed the worried line between his eyebrows.
“I want you.”
She didn’t need to explain. With a look so vulnerable he almost looked hurt, he said, “You have me.”
When he pulled back this time, he took her with him, and she sat astride his lap as he worked a mark into her neck, giving her time to change her mind. His pants had magically disappeared. She wasn’t at all surprised, though she’d wanted to help take them off herself. Next time, maybe.
Next time? There would be a next time. And another next time. And all the next times she wanted.
Elated by her revelation, she all but yanked his face from her neck so she could kiss him properly. He laughed, and it tasted like elderflower cordial, rich and sweet enough to make her drunk with one sip. She ground down on his length, and his hands spasmed on her waist.
“I’m ready,” she assured him with an eager peck. “I want this.”
He shifted, arranging himself to brush her entrance, but he didn’t press. Even here, he waited for her. She sank to meet him, her grip on his shoulders seizing as she stretched. His hold moved to her back, her neck, cradling her near instead of exerting any kind of control. And she was glad. She needed it as her eyes all but rolled back into her skull.
As light kisses rained over her face, she fought to relax, to take him entirely. She only opened her eyes once she had him. Once he had her. And once she saw him, she wondered how she could ever turn away again.
It was the way he looked at her. Fathomless patience meeting desperation. All of it honed by time. He’d craved her company before she was born, and he’d wrestled back his yearning until it cut into his soul to keep from scaring her away.
He wanted to be seen, and held, and cared for, too.
A thousand adoring words bubbled up her throat, but it wasn’t the right time, so she peppered them soundlessly down his neck and along his collarbones instead.
And she moved.
The drag was almost too much. The pressure brought stars to her own eyes, and although she refused to close them, sometimes she thought they’d fluttered shut, because the push and pull of their lovemaking really was blinding. He stroked up to meet each roll of her hips, crooning as she kissed and petted and squeezed him.
They were the turn of stars, the draw of ancient voids too vast for names, and all the voiceless songs strung between worlds.
She forgot the pain in her chest. She forgot she’d ever done anything but burn for her monster. Her Morpheus.
If she wasn’t the sun, she must’ve swallowed one.
The inferno melted her from the inside out, and she all but fell apart, wrapped around him, and cheek-to-cheek, he groaned in her ear. She panted, open-mouthed, fighting for air and sense as he kept his slow, deliberate pace. He hadn’t even begun to have his fill yet, and he held her all the tighter as her quaking limbs refused to play.
When feeling eventually returned to her legs, she pulled them around his waist, anchoring herself and refusing to release him as adamantly as he clung to her. The otherworldly sensations lingered, but she remembered herself a little more, found the cognizance to appreciate who held her, who she’d accepted. Who stoked the flame, sheathed inside.
Even as he worked her up to another orgasm, a painfully soft part of her heart burst open, and affection flooded her system. It bled open and free, forcing tears to her eyes.
She was safe, and he was hers, and she –
She really had to tell him somehow. She couldn’t bear to say it, though.
She’d be worthy of his face. She’d break him out of a thousand cages. If only he’d keep her so close and secure and warm.
This time when she trembled to pieces, there was no putting her back together, and her monster graciously followed her release. He kissed her as he came, holding her still so they could feel every shudder of the end. And when he’d finished, as their breathing steadied, he tumbled with her back into something soft, never once letting her slip from his arms.
#fic: hello mr. monster#morpheus x reader#sandman x reader#morpheus x oc#dream of the endless x reader
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Don't have the emoji for smut but I had a request that involves it: Reader isn't as experienced with sex as Morpheus is and is nervous about taking their relationship to that level; he assures them that they will get better at sexual things as they gain more experience and that he doesn't mind teaching them.
experience
the kingdom of dreams | warnings : insecurity, talk of sex, mention of past bad experiences, mention of past partners | a/n : hopefully you enjoy reading this, tysm for requesting☺️💗 | tags : @knight-of-flowerss , @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom | dream of the endless playlist
You and Morpheus had been seeing each other for a couple of months now. Your relationship was quite strange.
Usually people this far into a relationship would have done something even a little sexual by now, but Morpheus hadn't even seen you naked.
The only thing he had seen remotely revealing was your ankle (he won't admit it gave him a bit of a rush you know where).
Morpheus had begun to notice that every time he brought up the idea of sex you would completely ignore it and change the subject. Or when he would try and seduce you, you would always shy away from his touch.
Quite frankly, it hurt his pride.
Did you find him revolting?
Currently, you and Morpheus lay on his bed cuddling. None of you were saying anything, just basking in each other's presence.
His brain had been gathering thoughts and inventing new insecurities all day, it was making his head hurt.
"My love."
Morpheus' voice was quiet and soft.
"Hmm?" You replied, your eyes still shut, taking in his scent.
"Do you-" Morpheus hesitated before carrying on. "Do you not want me?"
Your body shot up and you looked down at him in shock. "What on earth makes you say that?"
"You never want me to touch you, or even look at your bare body."
The sadness in his eyes caused a terrible ache in your heart.
"Do you not love me?"
Taking his face gently in your hands, you pressed a subtle kiss on his velvety lips. "Dream, I love you more than words could ever describe. I guess my bad experiences in the past have caused me to shy away from doing anything sexual."
"Bad experiences?" Had someone hurt you?
"No one has ever really satisfied me before, everyone I've been with was only ever concerned about getting a good fuck, so I don't really know much about sex besides the basics." You shifted your gaze from him, embarrassed.
"Darling," Morpheus rose himself gracefully. "I have had many partners in the past, I do know a thing or two." A smirk painted his face before it turned into a soft smile. "I know that I'm not great at communication, but know all you have to do is ask."
Dream leaned in and pressed a fleeting kiss to your neck.
"Thank you, my dream."
#the sandman x reader#the sandman fanfic#the sandman x you#the sandman#dream of the endless headcanons#dream of the endless x reader#dream of the endless#morpheus x you#morpheus x hob#morpheus x original character#morpheus x y/n#morpheus x oc#morpheus#morpheus x reader#morpheus headcanons#lord morpheus#morpheus x corinthian#tom sturridge x reader#tom sturridge#tom sturridge x you
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Morpheus is intrigued
Part II
The smell of your arousal must have been the cause. That's all he could say to defend his actions.
"Hello starlight," you jumped out of bed, your face hot with embarrassment.
"Morpheus," He noted how shrill your voice went. How you clenched your legs together. He noticed how you had inched far from the bed aswell.
"It seems you are in-"
"Nothing! absolutely nothing," you shaky legs howwver denyed you the pleasure of walking as you stumbled back from the bed. Morpheus on a hunch entered your thoughts. He was well....intrigued.
To see a retreating imagery of him in you fucking your brains out.
"Tell me starlight, do you want my help?" Morpheus was in love with you, you knew this, you were in love with him too but you were scared.
A mortal and an Endless.
So you always kept him close but not too close. As you stared into his eyes you wondered.
This could change everything...
Do I want to change everything.
No.
Maybe
Fuck yes
You bit your lip.
Yes.
"I want more than your help Morpheus," His eyes glimmered. He knew what you meant. He knelt down and took up your hand in his. Kissing it softly he smiled.
><
"It would be my honor," He pulled you towards him keeping eye contact.
He leans in and you feel yourself float as his lips gently graze yours. He kisses you so softly it feels like a dream. You notice how brighter the sky becomes through your lashes. A small smile crosses your lips. You bring him closer and sink into the kiss.
"I promise to give you the world in the palm of your hand. The stars dangling of you like jewelery, everything and everyone bowing at your presence, just say the word" he said.
And you knew he meant it
Morpheus got me Feral bro i need a sabbaticals of two weeks to properly write the smut bro cus i keep sidelining and avoiding. My brain moves faster than my fingers. Y'all be patient for me yeah. I promise I'll write you proud. Also if you want something custom check my asks and dms <333
Mrs. Black signing off <333
#morpheus sandman#morpheus fanfiction#morpheus x oc#morpheus x reader#morpheus#lord morpheus#morpheus smut#morpheus x y/n#morpheus x y/n smut#morpheus x you#morpheus x female reader#Morpheus x fem!reader#Morpheus x f!reader#i should really do kinktober#kinktober 23#Morpheus x black reader#!!!BlackReader!!!
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Do you do headcanons? If so can I request a dark!morpheus with human reader headcanons please?
i'm sorry this ended up more like a short drabble, i'll attempt a headcanon again later 🙈. this got a bit yandere-ish but i mean homeboy literally sent nada to hell for 'rejecting' him so 🥲.
Morpheus may not be infallible, but he is a quick learner – and what can one learn from falling in love with a mortal who deserted him despite his devotion? Many things, you realized.
“Be my Queen.” He would whisper to you, lips brushing against the shell of your ear, “I would defend you. My realm would defend its Queen. Nothing will ever touch you.” Such sweet promises, like a gentle finger stroking the space between your eyes to lull you to sleep. A false sense of security as you would later understand.
“You would be loved – so loved. I would worship you.” He made no effort to hide his desperation, his thirst and craving for you. He wants you to choose him of your own accord – it would be easier, or was it kinder? His head so full of you often muddles his thoughts.
At first the way you almost sink into him gives him hope that you would abandon all logic and simply drown in his love for you. Then you go rigid, back taut like the strings of a bow. He sighs then, resignedly almost. You needn’t even say a word – he knows you well enough.
A choice was made then. “Oh, my love…” The sound of regret was there, but the tightness of his arms around your waist and the dark glint in his eyes raised the hair on the back of your neck, a clear warning. “Know that I shall endeavour to never defy your wishes again beyond this transgression.” The quickness in which he extinguished your attempt to pull away at this left you breathless, your head shaking in disbelief.
“You may hate me now, but I swear I shall make you love me again.” One arm slithers up to hold the side of your face as a soft whimper escaped you, directing his thumb to brush lazily over your parted lips. You watch his brows furrow, as though in self-reproach, overshadowed only by the resolve in his eyes.
“My Queen.” It was never a question, you realized. He never asked.
He plants a tender kiss on the corner of your lips, not quite where he hungers the most right this moment, but it’ll do for now. He will be the light drizzle of rain that seeps into your clothes and before you know it you will be fully engulfed by him.
He's patient. He can wait.
#morpheus x reader#morpheus imagines#morpheus x you#morpheus x oc#dream of the endless#the sandman netflix#dream x oc#the sandman x oc#request#asks#answered#tag:my work#tag:answered#tag:anonymous#tag:headcanon
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Be careful who you bring home : Morpheus x reader
part 2 is up
request/summary by anon: you know how people get pets for emotional support? reader with anxiety or fear of loneliness finds a big black cat in a park and she is just: yeah, you are coming home with me. cat happens to be post imprisonement!morpheus. he wants to argue, but she quickly takes him to her apartment which is conveniently close to the park. reader cooing to cat: who is my little baby and Matthew seeing it from the street and laughing at his boss. with 142 for reader (maybe he said something while being a cat) and 153 for morpheus.
142 was "it's just your imagination", 153 was "put me down" I might have changed the request a little bit but I hope you'll like it. Also thete is a bit of a twist/ crossover in the story. Wonder if you'll get it :D
***
„Have you ever considered getting a pet?”
The girl in her mid-twenties, dressed in comfy, black clothes sitting in front of the therapist frowned in confusion.
“A pet” she repeated “and why would I need that?”
“You know, it is proven that they have positive effect on people who suffer from depression and anxiety, so maybe this would be a good idea for healing process”
“Do you give such advice to all of your patients, doctor Raynor? Did you give such advice to Bucky, as well?”
“We both know he is not that kind of guy.”
“Really, why not?” the girl shrugged “he had some goats in Wakanda after all.”
“Stop joking around.”
“Jeez, fine. I won’t get a pet. In my current mental state I can barely take care of myself, let alone any other living being. Any other words of wisdom coming from you?”
“Not with this attitude. You may leave for now.”
“You know if I was paying you that would be the shittiest session not worth a dime.” She grabbed her coat and without a word, hands in the pocket left the room and not-so-pleased therapist.
A pet. Good joke. A four legged animal who would wake her up in the morning and at night asking for food or caress. A being that would turn her life upside down since it would require constant care and supervision to avoid destroying her apartment. Nope. Thank you very much. She was good enough by herself. Determined to get her head and broken soul back together and get clearance to get back to SHIELD and field operations. She missed that, but apparently beating up a bunch of bad guys leaves you in emotional trauma and in need of recover. Bullshit! She was an agent, for god’s sake, not a crying mess. Her attitude was far from cheerful and optimistic but just today she had to curb her murderous thoughts since one of her nieces were supposed to visit. Jemma was five years old and was still going through her princesses, pink glitter and unicorns faze. She was a challenge to be around, but definitely worth it. Her father, agent’s sister were supposed to drop her in straight to the house, but just a minute ago she got the message about the change in plans. Since the weather was beautiful and it was not often this time of the year, he took the chance for a little walk in the park and decided to meet his sister there instead of in the four walls. As she approached the park, she noticed her family amongst other walking people. Jemma was running around, picking leaved and jumping into the pools with loud, happy squeals. She could not hold back the tiniest smile on her face.
“She’s gonna get all wet and dirty and then who will tend to that?” the girl mocked while coming closer
“Hm, don’t know. I think at this point she would be someone else’s responsibility.”
“Hello, brother.”
“Hello sister” he hugged her tightly “how you’ve been? Life still kicking you in the guts?”
“I mean, when it doesn’t? You know my line of work….” Her brother was convinces she was just some regular office worker dealing with boring documents, since that was simply safer for everyone.
“Right, so mundane and ordinary…..” he rolled his eyes
“Auntie!” Jemma turned around and run straight to her favorite relatives not caring about the mud she left on her trousers while clutching to her legs.
“Hi, cupcake. Don’t you have to much energy?”
“I have so much to tell you! About the rhyme I’ve learned and some new letters I came across and my friends and everything” little girl jumped around in excitement “And I know a new magic trick dad showed me. But I still don’t quite understand it….” she frowned
“It;s ok, cupcake, we can work on that.”
“Oh, thank god. Like I said, your responsibility now. Good luck.” Girl’s brother was quick to get himself some freedom “just don’t give her too much sweets, you know how she gets after that”
“Yeah, too well. See you in a couple of hours then. Come on, Jemma” she took her niece’s little hand sticky with some mysterious substance “ let’s go home.”
If only it was that easy. They only took a couple steps when the little one broke out from aunt’s grip.
“Look, auntie, a cat!” she run over to the bench where unusually big and beautiful animal was soaking up the sun. Before he realized what hit him, he was squeezed and carried by a little pair of still sticky hands and it was visible he did not like it.
“Jemma! Leave that animal alone. It may hurt you.”
Do not refer to me as “it”. I am a male personification. And put me down! Immediately!
She could swear she heard something in the back of her mind, but let it go. After all, cats do not talk and she was in therapy for mental trouble so it was probably just her mind playing tricks on her.
“Can we take him home, auntie, he’s so sweet, please” little girl pouted
“No. Of course not, look at… him. He is very good looking, so most probably belongs to someone. Not a chance he’s a stray cat. “
“I can’t see anyone looking for him” a couple tears showed up in Jemma;s eyes. “Please, auntie, please….” Great, now she was crying out loud getting the attention of few pedestrians.
“Ok, fine, fine, just please stop crying.”
“Thank you” Jemma stopped her actions in a second and smiled widely showing the jags in her mouth. “I will carry him so don’t worry about it, auntie” she held the cat even closer not caring about him writing in her embrace.
“Just be careful so he won’t hurt you” she warned following her niece, wondering what the hell she got herself into.
I will not hurt this little mortal.
At this point, the older girl was pretty sure she was going crazy. And to think that Raynor wanted her to have a pet to help her mental health, not deteriorate it.
***
“Auntie, look, I made him pretty”
“Mhm, great” she did not even bother to look up from some records she was currently reading “wait, you did what, Jemma?” a second later she came to realization what a five-year-old girl can mean by saying “made pretty”.
“Look, auntie” said five year old was quick to get the cat out from behind and proudly present it. Despite her rather gloomy attitude the older one could not hold back a laugh. Black fur was now embellished with colorful glitter and was wearing a crown. If it wasn’t for the lack of resources at home Jemma would probably extend her imagination even more.
“Oh” she cooed “look who’s pretty boy” her grin was now getting wider and wider. She was no expert on animal behavior but the look on its face clearly indicated it was not happy with the situation.
“I wanted to give him a braid, but the fur was too short” Jemma saddened
“Don’t worry sweetie, it looks just perfect. Like a ….”
“Princess!” Jemma squealed and turned around with the cat still in her embrace.
“Don’t you both dare. This is humiliating”. Once again there was this little voice inside girl’s head.
“Ok, honey, why don’t you let go of the cat now. I got a snack for you.”
“Chocolate cake?” Jemma asked innocently while playing with her fingers and shyly looking at the floor
“Apple and carrots”
“That is boooooring. And I don’t like carrots” Jemma whined
“Well, too bad for you. I heard veggies give you strength. And then your skin looks healthy and shines almost like the cat’s fur. Wouldn’t you like to look beautiful?”
“I’d rather be smart” Jemma retorted taking her aunt aback with maturity of this sentence “but I guess beauty can help in future. I saw on TV that pretty girls always have what they want so whatever” she shrugged and rushed towards the kitchen where the snack was already waiting for her.
“Unbelievable” her aunt shook her head “but she’ll be busy for a while, so how about we get you all cleaned up, huh?” she picked the cat from the floor and walked towards the bathroom ignoring the writhing animal, who was not happy about forced wash.
Put me down! It demanded again and the girl stopped looking him straight in the eyes trying to check out if she was really going nuts.
“Oh come on, girl, get yourself together. It’s just your imagination.”
She walked straight into the bathroom and started gently combing out the fur. Surprisingly, her action bring the animal comfort because surprisingly to both of them he started purring.
***
Two hours later, tired and sleepy Jemma was picked up by her father and her aunt could finally let the cat out into the wild. It was impossible earlier since the little girl was checking on him every five minutes, refusing to drop this action.
“Sorry about today. “ she muttered opening the door “but hey, on the bring side at least you have a nice story to tell to your fellow cats. Besides, you really are a pretty animal.” maybe it was another impression or the flicker of lights, but it seemed like the cats fur became a bit reddish and he squinted. “go, now, find your owners, get home safe, fella.”
It was just a couple of hours, but the girls was actually starting to think that maybe, hypothetically, Raynor was right about this whole “emotional support pet” stuff.
***
Morpheus bristled and crossed the street. Only on the other side of the road he changed back into the anthropomorphic personification of dreams.
“Um, boss?” his loyal yet rebellious Raven perched on the branch, tilting his head slightly. If he was still human he would probably laugh himself silly.
“Not a word, Matthew. Not a single word about it. To anyone” he reached for his sand and completely ignoring further words of the bird transported them back to the Dreaming “Do I make myself clear” he made sure before entering the palace.
“Sure thing, boss. But it was funny don’t you think?”
“Hold your tongue, Matthew!”
@somest1 @pinksirensong
#the sandman#sandman#morpheus x reader#sandman x oc#morpheus#the sandman imagine#morpheus x oc#morpheus fanfiction#dream of the endless#dream of the endless x oc#dream x oc#dream lord#dream lord x oc#the sandman netflix#lord morpheus#lord morpheus x oc#dream of the endless x reader#the sandman x reader#matthew the sandman#matthew the raven#meowpheus
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You’re so boring!
#the sandman#sandman#morpheus#sandman oc#sandman x oc#morpheus x oc#morpheus x reader#sandman fanart#dream of the endless#pandora#the sandman dream#sandman x reader
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dream of the endless you’re such a mr darcy variant
#the sandman#dream of the endless#morpheus#the sandman x reader#dream of the endless x reader#morpheus x oc
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Lady of Tales
“And you remained here... all this time?” The Lord of Dreams slowly approached the guest in his realm.
“As soon as I heard and found the state of the place” The Lady of Tales responded.
“Why? This realm is not your own.”
“I am well aware of that Lord. I do not have a realm at all. I am no queen or ruler of any type. However, I will remind you, sir, that your realm is where many tales either begin or find their home. I refused to sit idly by and not lend a hand where I could.”
Dream of the Endless glanced around Lucienne’s library. While most of the Dreaming was in ruin when he returned, the library was nearly perfectly preserved. Aside from the occasional cobweb, cracked window and broken tile, not a story was out of place.
The wandering woman grazed a hand along the shelf closest to her. “Lucienne knew more of this realm than I did. She knew best how to keep things throughout the realm while I saw to her beloved library.”
“I am certain that your fondness for it helped matters” Morpheus said, remembering the being across from him’s favorite place from her many visits prior to his imprisonment.
She chuckled, a light and free type of sound that the King of Dreams and Nightmares vaguely remembered with the smallest hidden beginnings of a smile. It was nice to know that not all things changed in the course of a century.
“It is a relief to know that the king has returned to his kingdom. There is much work to be done, I know. But the worst the Dreaming has seen is hopefully behind it. I do not wish there to be any more trouble here.”
“That journey starts with the reclaiming of my tools... If I am to fix things here, I will need them.”
“You could always take me with you” she suggested.
“No.”
The Master of Stories however had already opened one of the books from her centuries old backpack, one she had made for herself since the beginning of humanity. A place to keep her things as she traveled, collecting and preserving the stories of humans.
The journal was old, not nearly as old as any of the tools Morpheus needed to seek out, but it was an impressive old thing. The pages that held words, featured the names of various places in beautiful calligraphy, the ink shimmering slightly. The woman procured a pen from one of the old holsters on the side of her bag. She quickly wrote a word and smiled at the King of Dreams.
“And when has an utterance of that word ever stopped me?” She did not wait for the Endless to answer, instead sending him a smile and wink. “Give Lucienne my goodbyes and my best. I’ll being seeing you soon.”
The journal closed and she was gone in the blink of an eye.
Morpheus sighed, what would come would. He’d see her again on his journey, that was certain. There were other matters to attend to at the moment.
---
Series Masterlist
#master of stories#courier of fables#lady of tales#dream of the endless x reader#dream x reader#morpheus x reader#the sandman x reader#dream of the endless x oc#dream x oc#morpheus x oc#the sandman x oc#the sandman oc#the sandman#x reader drabble#oc drabble#drabble
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That Familiar Feeling of Family (or how Hob Gadling ended up as an uncle to his stranger's oftentimes feral children): Chapter 1
It's a pretty universally known thing that families are just strange. As Hob is quickly figuring out, however, this little fact is magnified by AT LEAST a billion when the family in question is Endless.
(A lighthearted story in which Hob Gadling finds out his stranger has married, makes friends with a homicidal maniac/ruler, and manages to become an exemplary uncle to a pack of magically mischievous children. Really, now all he has to do is convince everyone to stop calling his and Dream's weekly meetups "playdates", and then his life would be practically perfect.)
AO3 here, Masterlist here
Hob is running.
Now, that isn't an unusual occurrence in and of itself. After all, the immortal has been forced to flee many many times in his centuries of existence, and he can say without a speck of arrogance that he's become rather adept at it. But this running is dramatically different for one very large reason.
A literally large reason.
In that it's the first occasion, at least as far as he's aware, that he's ever had to try and outsprint a gargantuan bloody dragon.
Try being the operative term here, because while he is indeed foolishly attempting it, he's also failing miserably if the puff of steamed breath that's tickling his neck is any indication. Which he guesses makes an inordinate amount of sense. Really, has he mentioned already how massive his pursuer is?
The beast behind him lets out a loud, guttural roar, its feet causing the ground to shake as it chases after him like it's just a giant dog and he's got a half opened packet of hot dogs in his coat pocket.
Hob idly wonders whether he'll actually die if (probably better to say when) that thing finally catches and devours him. He's never had the misfortune of being consumed before, so he's not quite sure how that will work out for him. What if there's just an arm left? Will it still be him? Will he spend his eternity as nothing more than a single discarded body part that has sentience but no way to speak?
"Archibald! No! Bad!"
The voice, when it calls out this rather ludicrous admonishment, is definitely that of a child. A little girl if he had to guess, and when he does a quick glance around to see where she might be at (so he can hopefully save her from being eaten) he's shocked to spot her standing near his would-be killer. For a minute, Hob can't make sense of what he's seeing. The girl is in front of the reptilian monster, uncomfortably close to one of its frankly enormous nostrils, and she's pointing a finger at it, wearing the sternest expression on her youthful features that he's ever seen in his life.
The dragon crouches down, hanging its head as if in shame while the child, his possible savior, roundly chastises it. "Archie! You know better. What would Dadda say?"
She softens her scolding, though, by running one of her tiny hands along the leathery snout over its mouth, the same mouth that Hob is completely certain is filled with rows and rows of razor sharp teeth, and he isn't quite sure how to handle this. What’s the protocol here? He feels frozen as he watches the scene unfold before him, not knowing whether he should intervene and usher the girl out of harm's way or whether she’s really in any danger at all, since she seems almost as if…. as if she commands this thing? Like a young Daenerys Targaryen, except for the facts that she looks to be about five and she's clothed in a ridiculously frilly pink dress paired with shiny, immaculately black combat boots.
He's honestly… so confused. But he finds himself moving closer anyway, driven by that curiosity he’s never lost in all of his hundreds of years of living.
The girl seems to gentle towards her… pet? Can a dragon even be called a pet? He's having difficulty thinking of this nightmarish creature as anything so mundane, but even he has to admit that it’s exactly what the hellbeast appears to be regardless.
"He won't let you… won't let you be a dragon if he… finds out about this."
The dragon, that he's just starting to process must be named Archibald or Archie, since he's heard her say it a couple times, lowers its massive head to nuzzle against the child, a puff of steam unfurling from its nostrils to ruffle her hair as it huffs like it's pouting. She soothes it then, stroking her fingers along its dark scales, the ones that seem shot through with a little sapphire when the brilliant sun from above hits them at just the right angle.
"I know," she goes on. "I won't tell him, Archie, but no chasing the dreamers. Dadda was ad… ada…" She frowns at this as if she's struggling over the word.
And Hob, having once had a precious son of his own who sometimes got caught up on pronouncing things, can't help but to offer a quiet, "Adamant?"
The little girl's face lights up, her ocean blue eyes widening at him in something like grateful glee. "Adamant," she repeats slowly. "That's… it."
He takes a minute to study her then, this too young dragon tamer. She's a small child, lovely in that same ethereal, unnatural way that he's always associated with his stranger. Her hair is a mess of riotous raven curls that seem to be coming loose from a single braid plaited at the back of her head, and her complexion is almost translucently pale save for the bright rosy flush on her cheeks.
"I'm… Hob," he supplies with only a mite of hesitation.
Her smile is almost overwhelming in its joy. "Hi, Hob! I'm Aurora!"
And he opens his mouth then to ask after her parents and where they might be, to question her about the ferocious looking mythological beast that she seems to be in control of, but he isn't afforded the opportunity to do any of those things. Another voice joins them before he can, a melodic, otherworldly one that Hob knows all too well.
It's his… stranger.
His coat is longer here, draping down to the ground like something Hob would have worn in his goth punk days back in the eighties, but other than that he seems to have on the same black shirt, black pants, and black boots combo that Hob last saw him in.
Hob takes a minute to gawk. He isn't ashamed to admit that his stranger is beautiful, all marble skin and high cut cheekbones, his hair a wild disarray of windblown black that sticks up at odd angles, almost as if it's the one part of his appearance that his magic can't seem to render as tame.
"Aurora, what have I relayed to you concerning Archibald? I was told that he was in dragon form and terrorizing the wolves yet again."
"Dadda," the girl in question starts, sounding very contrite. "He won't do it… anymore."
His stranger's face tightens in what Hob thinks is supposed to be a severe expression, though it's clear he's not quite getting there in his daughter's bubbly presence.
Wait.
Waaaaaait a minute.
What?
What did....
His… daughter? She'd said Dadda, hadn't she? Hadn’t she…. referred to his stranger by that title? His stranger? His stubborn, broody, took-a-century-to-admit-that-Hob-was-even-his-friend stranger? For a moment, Hob feels like he needs to sit, like he might pass out between the running for his life not ten minutes prior and the revelation that this child could belong…. to…. to Dream.
Not that Hob ever really calls him that. He’d only gotten the name a few years ago when they'd last met, and while it had been a nice piece of information to have (and long overdue in his humble and frustrated opinion) he’d spent over six hundred years referring to his stranger as just that. And he honestly doesn’t see this habit of his changing anytime soon.
"I believe that is what I was promised when last he engaged in such unruliness," Dream goes on, seemingly oblivious to the panic attack that Hob is having. Truthfully, that shocks Hob not at all.
"He's still a… a baby, Dadda."
And yeah. Hob’s not wrong. She'd assuredly called him Dadda, had just said it again even.
"Be that as it may, he is not permitted to wreak havoc on the realm or its inhabitants. No matter his age, starshine."
At last, Hob seems to find his voice, and he uses it to let out a small, barely there, "Dadda?"
He flushes a little with embarrassment as soon as the word is out of his mouth, because it sounds… not great. It's definitely not what he imagined himself saying at his next meeting with his oldest friend. But his stranger only goes stock still, his shoulders tensing as he glances towards Hob, his eyes narrowing in something that Hob thinks might actually be confusion.
Which… is all too completely understandable. Although, Hob will confess that he's never thought that his mopey stranger would ever be capable of looking as thoroughly perplexed as he does right this moment.
"Hob Gadling?" Dream questions.
"Is that… Is that your daughter?"
"It is," he allows slowly. "This is Aurora."
And while he introduces them, albeit awkwardly, Hob thinks he detects a fair amount of fatherly pride in the way that Dream puts one elegant, long fingered hand on the girl's shoulder to pull her against his side, in the way that his rather harsh, angular features soften as he smiles down at her. Seeing this, he supposes, might make him happy in any other situation, and it's a nice thing that his rather… er, reserved (i.e. cold, distant, and emotionally repressed, though Hob would never say it aloud) stranger is obviously comfortable enough with him to show it.
But… this isn't any other situation. This is a rather… big piece of news that Hob's just been walloped over the head with.
“You have a child?” Hob blurts out, his brain processing this revelation so sporadically that it’s almost humiliating.
Dream's brow furrows. “I believe that I only just conveyed as much to you. Are you…. quite well?”
“I’m sorry. A daughter? I can’t…." Hob struggles to articulate his thoughts, an utterly unsurprising complication given that he's relatively certain that this has to all be some strange fever dream. "Why didn’t you tell me about her the last time we met?”
Dream narrows his eyes again before glancing down at the girl. “Starshine, go and assist Archibald in returning to his dog form.”
Dog form? Dog form? That fire-breathing beast becomes a dog? For some reason, he's picturing Cerberus, with its three terrifying heads and the blood of those unlucky dead who try to escape the Underworld dripping from each of their corresponding fang-toothed maws. Hob wonders idly if the aneurysm he's sure to have soon is going to kill him.
“But Dadda….”
“No. He is forbidden from being a dragon for at least a week. Especially since I now see that he has been chasing the dreamers despite my explicit directive not to do so.”
Pointedly, he looks towards Hob, who in turn swings his gaze to his young, temporarily forgotten, savior. Her eyes have gone wide and pleading, and Hob feels his stomach lurch in guilt.
"I was… just walking about, old friend."
And that wanker, that enigmatic tosspot (who hadn't even bothered to tell him he had a child) only raises an eyebrow in an expression of such incredulity that Hob knows he's trying to call bullshit without actually speaking the words. "Walking?"
"Yes. Briskly."
That eyebrow goes somehow higher up on Dream's forehead. "By which you mean you were running."
Hob shakes his head. He's done some shady things in his very long life, but even he's not heartless enough to separate a girl from her… er, pet. "No. Not at all. Just… strolling. Vigorously."
And for some reason, Dream seems amused by this, as if he is aware that Hob is lying and it's humorous to him. “Very well. Three days then, Aurora.”
She claps gleefully (like she's just won something grand) before wandering out of earshot to presumably tend to her dragon/dog, and Morpheus grants Hob a small smile when she's gone. "You need not have lied on that vile monstrosity's behalf, Hob Gadling."
"I didn't-"
"You indeed did. This is my realm. I know all that transpires within its borders."
There's a loud pop from where the girl and the dragon are, and when Hob swings his gaze over towards them, he sees a great quantity of smoke clearing rapidly away.
"Obviously not, or else you'd know it was on your daughter's behalf that I stretched the truth a bit," Hob snarks back.
Aurora steps out of the cloud before plopping down on the ground, followed immediately by a small, fluffy… thing that comes running out from behind her, yapping loudly. Hob winces, thinking that he almost prefers that menacing roar from earlier to the high-pitched noise it's making now.
"You utterly discarded the truth in this case, friend."
Hob crosses his arms over his chest in a defensive gesture. He can admit to feeling a little… well, hurt that Dream obviously hadn't bothered to inform him of his child, and despite that being referred to as a friend by this brooding pillock does make him slightly less upset, he's still angry.
"Pets are important to children. I didn't want to see her lose one to your temper."
Little Aurora pulls a sketchbook and a container of pencils from the bag that Hob is absolutely positive she hadn't had with her before. Humming, she munches happily on something that Hob thinks might be crackers, and he is suddenly aware of the fact that someone must have taken the time to pack these for her. Hob, to preserve what little bit of his sanity he has remaining, is going to assume that it was this child's mother who'd done so since he can't for the life of him imagine this eternal god-like entity before him puttering around a kitchen and preparing snacks like a normal bloke. That might be more unbelievable than the dragon as far as Hob's concerned.
"Ah. I see," Dream tells him, and it sounds almost as if he's trying to be… kind? "Let me set your mind at ease then, Hob Gadling. Even were I willing to hurt my daughter and do away with that ghastly creature, my wife would never allow such a thing. So, you need not worry over the matter."
Hob feels himself go rigid. Did he just say….. "Wait a minute? Wife?"
"You are soon to wake, Hob."
"Oh, no, no, no," Hob protests, putting his hands up, palm out, towards Dream. "You need to explain to me what you mean by wife."
It's no use, though. Between one blink and the next, Hob is lurching from his sleep, the image of his stranger smirking at him still fresh in his mind. His breathing is heavy, and he's soaked through with sweat, enough so that he knows he's going to have to change the sheets today. Wearily, he scrubs a tired hand over his face, and he tells himself that all of that must have been some strange fever dream, after all.
Reaching out for the bottle of water he keeps by his bed, Hob is alarmed to see a piece of paper folded and tucked there. He snatches it up, opening the thick parchment to reveal an array of hearts drawn and colored in what he thinks might be twenty different shades of crayon. The message at the bottom is done in a messy, childish scrawl, and it reads:
Deer Mr. Hob. It wuz nise to sea u. Visit agin turmeric, pleeze.
And Hob Gadling, who'd once won immortality just with the questionable skill of being able to run his mouth, finds that in this case, he can only stare blankly at the invitation in complete silence.
NEXT CHAPTER
#hob gadling#sandman fic#morpheus x original character#dad!morpheus#morpheus as a father#morpheus fic#sandman fanfiction#morpheus fanfiction#morpheus x oc#sandman oc#dragons as cute fluffy dogs#dream of the endless#morpheus hob gadling bromance#hob gadling as a reluctant life coach to an ornery endless#morpheus x reader
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do you guys think neil gaiman knows we call his dark charismatic and extremely powerful anthropomorphic embodiment of the universe’s natural forces, baby girl?
#i think he knows#morpheus is my baby girl#meowmeow#baby girl#my princess#the sandman#dream of the endless#the endless#sandman#dc comics#dc#john constantine#lady johanna constantine#netflix sandman#morpheus x reader#morpheus#morpheus x oc#reader insert
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The Sandman and The Girl Without Dreams
Chapter 10: Fates Tethered Threads
20,430 words (53 pages). This chapter has been an absolute terror to write, I hope y'all enjoy it!
TW: Desires rude AF, general distress, depictions of drowning, smut (if y'all liked Soft Dream buckle up), minor angst, confrontations, blood, violence, cliffhanger (I'm warning y'all now 👀)
When Dream entered the library he felt lighter than he had in decades. He felt whole, as did his realm, everything was as it should be for the first time since his capture. Lucienne greeted him politely, pulling out the books she'd picked out and fixing her glasses on her face nervously.
"What have you found?" He asked looking down at the slightly dusty pile.
"I'm not sure," she admitted with a sigh. "When you gave me the name of our lady I looked high and low attempting to locate anything about her here in The Dreaming. As you predicted, nothing."
He nodded. "She does not dream, so it is unlikely we'll find her here."
Lucienne glanced at the book in her hands and held it out to him. "Last night, shortly after the two of you… returned to the palace I found this on my desk."
The book was bound in multicolored threads, glistening in the light as it moved. Penelope Barlow carved into the front. His finger traced over the letters. "How is this possible?"
"I don't know, my lord," his librarian admitted. He moved to open it when she cleared her throat. "Sir, if I may…"
"What is it, Lucienne?"
"I read what was in the book, sir, to be certain it was our lady. What you find will no doubt distress you. And I only wish to remind you that The Dreaming is still weak and in need of you now more than ever."
"Lucienne," he interrupted.
She sighed. "It appears… It seems one of your siblings was involved in our lady being severed from The Dreaming."
His chest burned and he moved to open the book again, but just as his fingers curled around the edge he felt a blinding pain pierce his head. Dreams vision swam, the pain so great he had to steady himself against the table. Lucienne gripped his arm, her startled voice incoherent in his ears. When it vanished along with the heartbeat he'd been feeling beside his own since he’d brought her back to The Dreaming he dropped the book. "Penelope!"
Teleporting to his room the fear turned into all out panic at the sight of the bed in disarray and her bag of trinkets on the ground, the small objects scattered across the floor. He couldn't breathe. The room filled with shadows as his fear gave way to anger. Luciennes warning swirled in his mind. One of his siblings was behind this, and once he found out which one nothing short of his lady's return and their cries for mercy would satisfy him.
***
This was getting ridiculous. They stared down at me with their wide grin unfaltering. "As lovely as you look down there, Petal, I think you should get up."
"You," I said, seething. "You were at the bar that night."
Their hand pressed to their chest as they looked away faking a bashful reaction. "Oh, how very flattering this is! The Lady of The Dreaming recognizes little old me."
"Who are you?" I chose to ask instead of attempting to retaliate against their obvious teasing.
"I am all that you Desire."
Desire. "You're one of Morpheus' siblings."
They shrugged. "But of course."
"Why are all of you so obsessed with dragging me places?" I demanded lifting myself up off the floor.
Desire looked confused, the first genuine emotion I'd seen from them. "I didn't bring you here, Petal."
"What?"
They rolled their eyes. "You don't catch on very quick, do you?"
I'd forgotten how easily they got bored and how rude they were. "What do you mean you didn't bring me here?"
"I did nothing." They said, "Here I was, walking the halls of my realm and then poof a little flower tumbles into my path. You brought yourself here. It's what you do after all."
"What I do?"
"Yes, Weavers are notorious party crashers." They smiled. "Though none before did so as frequently or as elegantly as you."
"Weaver?" It wasn't the first time someone had called me that, but all the times before I'd written it off as some odd term among these beings.
Desire groaned. "What have you been doing all these years? It should be quite obvious what Weavers are by now." I stared at them, waiting. "Good god woman. Fine, I suppose if any of us were to let the cat out of the bag it'd be me."
Did that mean? "Have I met more of you?"
"You've met all of us," they cooed, stroking a long finger down my cheek and squeezing my hand. "Even The Prodigal before he vanished. Though I’ve heard many a rumor that says you were far more intimately acquainted with him than any of the others, even dearest Dream."
“I’m not intimately acquainted with any of you,” I growled. “Do all of you know what I am?”
"Yes," they said, grinning at the victory of their insult striking me. "All except our darling Dream. It would seem he's far too busy with his desire for you to put the pieces together by himself."
Dream. I wanted to cry. He must’ve been so worried, so angry at another sudden disappearance. The ring. I looked down to my finger, a hopefulness unfurling in my chest only to find it gone. Desire tutted in front of me, twirling the ring between their fingers. "Now, now, why would I let you go so soon? After all, we have so much to talk about."
"Give it back," I demanded, a cold possessiveness filling me at the sight of my ring, his gift to me in their hands.
They laughed. "Petal, that might work in my brother's realm, but here…" They spread their arms wide. "I'm the one in charge."
I sighed. "Please."
"Oh, you do sound so pretty when you beg!" Their golden eyes glowed. "Tell me, is that how it sounded last night when my brother finally laid his claim to you?"
It wasn't embarrassment that made the blood rush to my face, it was anger. "How would you know anything about that?"
They scoffed, turning to walk down the long twisting hallway. "I can feel the echoes of it just swirling all around you. It's sickening. Though I am impressed." I followed beside them, putting a distance between us as they looked over at me with a sly grin. "All my previous attempts to bring my brother to his knees with lovers had failed. All my attempts to twist that smug self importance were wasted. But you… You managed to do all of that and more. You make him weak."
I glared at them. "He's more powerful now than ever. And once he finds me, which he will, he's going to be pissed."
"I'm counting on it," they purred back. "Now, please sit."
A table filled the space in the middle of the room, the same glossy red material that surrounded us. It was adorned with gold and black flowers, candles and every decedent food I could imagine. Lobster, crab, oysters, lamb, caviar. I stopped walking and watched as they sat, throwing their feet up on the table to lounge. "What do you want?"
They rolled their eyes. "Sit, Weaver. I've been nothing but welcoming to you, and while I love the rebellious attitude I'm growing bored of it."
Though their words held the same flippant and disinterested attitude, the flare in their golden eyes prompted me to listen to the threat that the words veiled. I sat across from them and squeezed my hands together in my lap. They gave my ring a final look before setting it beside them. Maybe if I was quick eno- "No games, Petal. I just want to have a chat with my future sister, there's no need for this to be so… Hostile."
"Why am I here?" I asked outright.
Desire laughed and filled their plate with food. "You came to me and yet you think I somehow know why?"
I sighed. "I didn't try to come here. I was just.. I was relaxed and then everything was bright and loud and I was here."
They hummed. "Sounds to me like your little bedroom fun awakened something in you. Kinks aside, you are different you know. Special."
I hated the way they said it. "How so?"
"Not only are you a Weaver, but you're also soul bound to my brother and thus to his precious Dreaming." They indulge themselves in an oyster before continuing. "Who knows what else you…" A smirk. "Milked dry last night."
Clenching my jaw I glared at them. Now wasn't the time to pick a fight but god did they make it hard to keep this civil. "What is a Weaver?"
Desire checked their nails and quirked a brow at me. "Why should I tell you?"
"Because knowing is what I most desire. And that's your job, isn't it?"
"I like you," They said smiling. "And because I like you I'll share my knowledge. For a small price."
"What do you want?"
"Dinner," they said happily. "Just the two of us. We can go wherever you wish, but when I call upon you you'll answer."
I thought it through for a moment. Surely they'd given me enough information that I wouldn't need to resort to a deal. The gleam in their golden eyes told me they knew something more though, something I wouldn't be able to find in The Dreaming library or on my own. "Just dinner? No tricks or games? Just food and conversation?"
"Yes."
"Sorry if I'm having a hard time believing that's all you'd want."
They shrugged. "Let's just say that me sharing my information doesn't just benefit you. So, do we have a deal, dear Weaver?”
With a tense nod I settled back in my chair. “Fine, I’ll have dinner with you when you call. Just dinner, nothing else.”
They clapped their hands together and smiled widely. “Fantastic!”
Silence filled the space and they stared at me, waiting for me to ask my questions? “What is a Weaver and why do you keep saying I am one?”
“I keep saying you are one because you are.” They said simply, “As for what a Weaver is, that’s a bit more complicated and quite long winded.”
“I’m sure you’ll manage to simplify it,” I replied with a barely concealed venom that made their eyes sparkle.
They looked far too pleased at my thinning temper. “Humans, the universe, this whole mess is made up of and bound by threads. I don’t bore myself with all that nonsense, it's all Destiny’s problem anyway. All I know is one day he went into a tisy because his precious book had changed, and with that change the first Weaver was born. The book calls them Fate Weavers, ones that can not only see the threads of this universe and all within it but manipulate them, change them, even make new ones. The divides between realms are thinner for them, which is why you poof away from one place and plop into another. Destiny says that Weavers go where they’re needed, blah blah boring.”
“You said Weavers, as in more than one? What happened to the others?” I asked quietly.
“What happens to all humans, Petal. Weavers are still human. After the first, others followed and it became another natural law of the universe.” They cleared their throat and in a mock voice that sounded like they were trying to imitate Destiny they said, “There must always be a Weaver, only one, or the threads of this world will snap and everything will be plunged into an early grave. Or, that’s what Destiny and his little book claim at least.”
I met their golden gaze. “You don’t believe him?”
They smiled. “Dear, I won’t pretend to care what he does with that book of his. He’s by far the most boring of them all. Your Dream, however, has my full attention.”
Dream always seemed uncomfortable about speaking of his siblings. Death he seemed fond of, but he’d never willingly spoken of the others. When I’d told him I visited Destiny’s garden he was upset, concerned, when there seemed to be no reason for it. Was Desire the reason he was so hesitant to speak of his family? Or was he, perhaps, the reason behind the spiteful gleam in their eyes. “What did he do to make you so angry?”
“Nothing,” they replied, though I couldn’t tell if it was the truth or not. “He’s just so… self important and uptight. Messing with him is quite fun.”
I hummed. “I think there's more to it than that.”
“Do you now?”
“I think he hurt your feelings,” I stated. “I think he made you feel lesser, and I think you’re looking for a way to make him feel the same.”
They scoffed. “You know very little, Weaver. Now, hush up so I can finish telling you about your history, since it’s apparently my job to educate Dream's new pet.”
I let the insult roll over me and nodded. “Fine.”
“Since the beginning there have been plenty of your kind, but the last one got a bit greedy with the power given to her. I don’t know what happened or why, but whatever it was gave way to you, Destiny’s favorite.” Favorite? I wondered to myself. Nothing he’d said or done had particularly stood out to me as favoritism. They continued, “You are soul bound to Dream and you are a Weaver. Those two things alone make you quite special, but the thing that takes the cake is your pretty little starkissed blessing.”
“Starkissed blessing?”
They gestured toward my head. “Your glow. The reason you’re still alive, petal. It seems our mother dearest fished you out of Death's path and gifted you with immortality, well, for the most part.”
“Mother?” Fuck me, I’d worked my way through his siblings and now I’d apparently met his mother. Dream was going to lose his mind.
“Night, the mother of the Endless.” Desire said in a tone that sounded calm, but held an edge I couldn’t fully understand. “Though her and daddy have never really cared much for this world, nor my siblings and I, they created us. Our father, Time, only ever speaks to Destiny nowadays and even that’s rare and Mother always favored Dream above the rest. She’s… detached to say the least, though she seemed to like you well enough to save you.” Desire nearly scoffed. “Perhaps it was solely because of your connection to Dream, or some other selfishly motivated idea of hers. I don’t care much, all I know is her little blessing keeps you from aging and your substantial Weaver magic heals up those pretty wounds of yours and your connection to my brother and his realm gives you far more power than you should have.”
“So, I’m part human, part Endless and blessed?” I asked with furrowed brows. “That’s too much.”
“Indeed it is, Petal.” They agreed. “It makes you interesting at least.”
Desire was rude and spiteful and grew bored easily. They were unlikable in nearly every way, yet, I found myself feeling far more comfortable than I had been around most the others. They lied and were deceitful by omission, yet something in me told me they weren’t playing a game now. “Why tell me all this?”
“Because Dream obviously isn’t going to. He’ll do what he always does, keep you in the dark, safely leashed somewhere he can have constant control.” Desire’s smile fell, for the first time during our conversation. “You’re special, one of a kind, but above that you have a good heart. The things you desire are…” They paused, looking down at the ring they’d taken. “They’re good. It’s infuriating, yet refreshing after dealing with centuries of boring people and boring desires.”
“So, you like me?” I asked with a smug grin.
They rolled their eyes, whatever moment of honest tenderness they’d been willing to show me long gone and the gleam back in their golden eyes. “I find you interesting. The others would let you fail right from the start, but I see no fun in that. I’d much rather watch you try first, then fail. Besides, it will make Dream absolutely livid when he finds out it came from me.”
“And asking for dinner in return for all this?” I pressed. “Why would you want that?”
“To gossip of course!” They laughed. “I have so very much I’d like to tell you about my brother.”
“Why not tell me now?” I questioned.
Their Cheshire smile widened. “As I said earlier, we don’t have all day. Your dear Dream is no doubt throwing a fit trying to find you, and once he gets here he won’t want to stick around.”
Guilt filled my lungs at the thought of Dream. I hadn’t meant to teleport, to leave, and I was certain he would understand that, but it still did little to ease the uncomfortable sensation in my gut. “Will you give me my ring back now?”
“No, petal,” they chuckled. “I want to draw out your visit for as long as I can. The angrier I can make Dream, the better.”
“So what am I to do, while we wait?” I asked, more annoyed with their refusal to return my stolen possession. “Twiddle my thumbs and listen to you bitch?”
With a shrug they pulled their feet from the table, circling it to stand beside me. "What has my big brother shared with you about himself?"
“I haven't asked.” I replied. “He's respected my past and I intend to respect his.”
Desire made an amused face, kneeling down to meet my height. “You'll grow to rethink that stance.”
“No I won't.” I insisted with a cold glare. “When he's ready to open up about whatever it is that’s got you all giddy I’ll be there willing to listen. We’ll work through it together.”
“So confident, yet so naive.” They clicked their tongue, stroking my cheek. “You’re sweet, Petal. So when my big brother fucks you over, which he will, know that my door is always open to you.”
I grit my teeth. “Thanks for the generous offer, but I won't need it.”
“My big brother's past lovers all ended in tragedy.” They said, with a hint of warning. “This will be no different.”
“Do I look like a tragedy to you?” I asked with a lethal calm. I’d survived far worse than a break up. Dream and I were bound together, no gossiping sibling was going to sway that.
The gold of their eyes sparked at the challenge. “No, I don't suppose you do.”
I stood, their eyes following me. “I'm leaving.”
Desire laughed and gestured to the air. "I'll not keep you prisoner. You came to me, I'm certain you can find your own way out." My eyes flashed to the table, but the ring was gone, back in Desire's hands. "I'll be keeping this though, wouldn't want you to cheat now would we."
"It belongs to me." My head began throbbing, a vivid thread woven of red, gold and black appeared wrapped around Desire's neck, disappearing and reappearing at random as I blinked.
They turned and started walking away. "If you're still here in an hour do come find me for drinks."
The thread trailed behind them, leading back to me. As I looked down at myself, threads of all colors and thickness and brightness covered me and everything around me. Some were solid, others were fraying and tense as if they were pulled too tightly and then there were the ones that moved like they were liquid. They began to glow brighter and brighter the more I looked.
When I looked back up, the glossy red of Desires realm was replaced by a vast expanse of darkness, shimmering with far away stars. I could still see the outline of the walls and table, but it was dull and devoid of color. On the right was a thick golden thread that glowed and hummed with warmth. It was fluid, moving like a river of molten gold. On the left was a thin silver thread, ridged and unmoving with waves of freezing cold rolling off of it.
My head began throbbing as the lights grew brighter and brighter until I could see nothing else. A ringing in my ears echoed as I curled into myself, shutting my eyes to try and save them from the burning brightness. For a minute all I could do was force myself to breathe, and then slowly the ringing faded and the light went out.
Opening my eyes slowly darkness surrounded me in a dull room, lit by a handful of mostly melted candles. Not again. I stood, carefully, my eyes straining in the darkness. The sound of heavy rain and thunder and waves echoed all around, but there was no window or door in sight. I picked one of the candles up, doing my best to ignore the burn of melted wax and began to move through the darkness.
All around the floor was covered in squeaking rats, they moved when I came close and minded their business, but I could feel their beady eyes watching me. "You shouldn't be here."
I jumped, twisting to look around me for the voice. "Hello?"
"You shouldn't be here, Weaver." It said again, familiar and sad. "No one comes here. No one wants to."
"I'm sorry," I said softly. "I don't know where I am… Or how I got here."
"It feels different from last time." The voice mused, sounding even closer but as I looked no one was there. "You want things now, you've grown and put much behind you, but it's still there. You buried it."
My heart began beating faster. "Who are you?"
The voice chuckled a little, but the sound was strangled, forced, wrong. "Your sister in law."
Sister in law? Desire said something similar. "You're one of Dream's siblings?"
The rats grew restless at the sound of his name. "Yes, he's not fond of us though. Not like he is with others, with you."
"I'm sure he cares for you in his own way," I replied cautiously. "Can you help me?"
"Help?" The voice echoed. "Help you. Oh yes, yes I will help you."
A door appeared in front of me, the rats lining the path forward. A chill ran up my spine. "Where does it lead?"
The voice was in my ear now. "To help."
My feet didn't move, but the door grew closer and closer until it passed over me, opening and closing tightly once I was through it. The dark hallway was lined with mirrors of all shapes, sizes and adornments. I looked into them as I passed, watching my reflection twist and change shape right before my eyes. This place was officially the worst and I wanted out. Now. How did I do it last time? I kept moving, the rats on the floor breaking away to carve a path for me as the small candle in my hand lit the area.
Light, a tiny sliver of it, peeked from a half open doorway at the end of the long hall. Maybe someone was here, someone who could help send me back to The Dreaming. I opened the door slowly, and the more I did the less light shined. A mirror, tall and long, lined in a frame of fish hooks stood in the center of the room. I walked closer.
The reflection was blurred, but as I got closer it cleared until I stood looking into Olethros' eyes. I swallowed a broken sob just as the door behind me slammed shut. When I turned to the noise another mirror blocked my path, the family that had died in the fire staring back at me. I turned again to another mirror, an old lover. Another mirror, another dead friend. All around me were mirrors and every last one of them held the shape and faces of those that had died because of me.
My lungs burned as I tried to keep breathing, tears filling my eyes and spilling with no resistance. Olethros spoke. "Fighting almost always leads to death and destruction. Are you prepared for that?"
"No," I breathed.
"Auntie Pen! Auntie Pen!" The voices of the children chanted.
"We're safe, right Penelope?" Their parents asked.
I covered my ears. "Not this."
"Do you love me, Penelope?" My old lover asked.
"Please!"
"Come on Pen, you gotta live a little!" My friend insisted.
"Stop."
"Penelope," they all began to cry out to me, repeating conversations we shared, calling out to me.
I looked up at Olethros. "I'm gone because of you."
"Stop."
His warm eyes went gray. "They killed me because I tried to save you."
I was on my knees now, weeping. "Stop!"
"All of us are dead and it's your fault!"
"Your fault!"
"Because of you!"
"STOP!" I screamed as loud as I could, my hands slamming down onto the floor, rats scattered away from me as below my hands the ground began to crack. A line of golden light illuminated my right hand, winding around my wrist like a band or… Or a chain and a line of silver on the left, mirroring the gold perfectly. My right hand burned and my left felt frozen. Chest heaving I slammed them down again and again and again until the floor finally gave way.
I was falling, falling for what felt like hours until I hit the cold water that raged below. The waves were too strong, pulling and pushing me under with a force I couldn't fight against. I fought and raged, desperate to break the surface, but I couldn't. Fear seized me, my lungs burning as I tried to scream. The more I fought and raged against the waves the further down they swallowed me. It felt like an eternity had passed before I shut my eyes. I was going to die, for real this time. I was going to die. Dream would blame himself… He would be heartbroken, he’d lost me once already. No. No. NO!
Air stung my skin and the ground beneath me burned. A hand rubbed and patted my back, urging my body to purge the water I'd swallowed. Gasping and clawing at the pebbles beneath my fingers I sobbed. "Breathe, Weaver. You are safe."
"Destiny?" I choked out as the garden around us became clear.
"Yes."
I looked up at him, my body finally finding a way to breathe again as I threw my arms around him. He didn’t return the embrace, but steadied me with a hand on my back. "Will you please answer my questions?"
"Some, yes."
His scent soothed me, filling my body with a sense of familiarity and safety. "Do you have tea?"
He offered me his hand. "Yes. Your favorite."
"Thank you." I whispered.
***
"Dream," his sibling purred as he approached. "I was wondering when you'd show up."
"Where is she?" He asked roughly.
Desire smirked. "She was here some time ago, though she was in quite a hurry to leave."
"No games," he said, the hold he had on his temper losing its grip by the second. "Where is she?"
"Gone." They said, pursing their lips and twirling something on their finger. "She did leave this for you though."
Dreams heart lurched into his throat. Her ring. Why would Desire have her ring? "How did you get this?"
"She gave it to me," they said, eyes glowing, smile widening. "Said if you came looking to return it to you."
No. She wouldn't do that. Fear and nauseousness filled him. Unless… "What did you tell her?"
They gasped, a hand flying to their throat. "Me? Gossip?! Dream I would simply never!"
His hands slammed into the table, the force of the blow cracking the glossy red material. "Enough. What did you say to her?"
Their smile didn't falter. "I may have mentioned your string of tragedy with all those other lovers. Or perhaps it was an implication of keeping secrets? Oh dear, it's so difficult to remember."
Dream stood, slowly circling the table to stand above them. If Desire knew anything about what he’d learned and twisted the truth to make him out to be some villain in Penelope’s eyes… No. He refused to think of the damage they could have done. "Last chance, sibling."
Golden eyes sparkled up at him. "Are you that desperate, big brother? If I’d known she’d finally be the push I needed to get you this worked up, I’d have sought her out years ago." They held the ring up to him.
He took it from their fingers, resisting the urge to break them completely, clenching it in his palm. "What did you do?"
"Nothing. I offered her some information on her unusual circumstances and she left."
Wordlessly he grabbed a handful of their hair and pressed their head into the table. "Where is she, Desire?"
"I don't know." they replied. "Perhaps our brother would?"
Their brother? Dream loosened his grip. If they knew what he did... Had they told her? "What do you know?"
A wide grin. "I've heard a rumor... One that our darling Weaver was not too pleased to hear."
"She wouldn't believe anything you said." Though directed at Desire, the words were entirely for himself. A poor attempt to soothe his fear.
Beneath his grip they shrugged. "I only offer what I've heard, Dream. But, as for the location of your darling Weaver I truly have no clue as to where she'd ended up. I do hope it isn't anywhere dangerous."
His gut twisted even more at the thought. She could be anywhere and without the ring he had no way of finding her quickly. Damn him. He should have noticed it sooner! He should have known what she was the second he saw her! If he hadn't been so distracted he could have kept her safe. And now. He released Desire. Now he might very well lose her again, for certain this time.
"If you attempt to disrupt my personal affairs with my lady with your gossip again I shall free your lying tongue from your mouth." He growled.
Desire's laugh echoed around him as he walked away. "I do hope you find your lady, Dream! She was quite keen on not staying put for long. I do hope she’s not avoiding being found, but you're strong now so even if that is the case it shouldn't be too much of a challenge!"
Had she left? He thought as he felt The Dreaming curl around him. Was his sibling simply trying to goad him on, or was there some manner of truth to their words? Dream sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. If Penelope learned of Nada… If she'd learned of what he'd done to her, would that be enough for her to leave him? He looked down at the ring in his palm. Why would she have given it away? He needed to find her… Now, before it was too late.
***
Destiny had summoned food to go with our tea and for a while we just sat at his table silently drinking. I was starving, thirsty beyond imagining even though I’d no doubt swallowed half a damn ocean. So for a while the safe silence allowed me a chance to eat and recover from nearly drowning. But with each passing minute my head throbbed more and more. “Is it true… Am I a Weaver?”
“Yes.”
“Desire told me they were of your domain.” I said. “If that’s true why am I bound to Dream and not you?”
Destiny took a drink of his tea. “Your bond to Dream is not something that can be changed or influenced by either of your functions. It is because it is.”
My fingers traced over the mark. “So there's no logic behind it? No rhyme or reason?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Don’t you know everything though?”
He was silent. Though that told me what I needed to know. Our bond was something no one would have answers to, not in this life and maybe not in any other. That didn’t bug me, I didn’t care where it came from or why, I was just glad that it kept me linked to him even after all the years we’d been apart.
"Well, I don't suppose you'd be able to tell me exactly what I'm supposed to be doing as Weaver?"
"Your duty is to keep the balance of this world in check." He looked over at me. "How you do that is entirely up to you."
I curled myself deeper into the warm shawl he'd given me. "But if Weavers are of your realm then why don't you just tell me what needs done."
Destiny sighed, setting his teacup back into its plate. "Desire wrongly assumes you are made of my realm and thus I have dominion over you. Weavers are not of any realm, but the whole universe. You are not bound by the laws my siblings and I are, nor are you strictly bound by the laws of mortals."
"So I'm some kind of cosmic wild card?"
"If that is how you wish to see it." He answered with a smile.
"Why are you answering my questions now and not when I first showed up?"
"Perhaps you are simply asking the right questions this time. Or perhaps it is my duty to ensure you do not knowingly break the laws of the universe nor do you seek out knowledge beyond that which you are capable of understanding.”
"What if I did?" I asked, remembering Desires words about the previous Weaver. "Break the laws I mean?"
Destiny seemed to sit up straighter. "I would be forced to tear your heart out."
Oh. Okay. "Why that specifically?"
"You're resilient creatures, but the heart is where the threads, your individual ones specifically, are most concentrated. It is crude, but on occasion necessary."
"Is that what happened to the previous Weaver?"
"No."
I tilted my head. "What happened then?"
Again Destiny was silent. I couldn't tell if this was one that meant he'd spoken all he could on the subject or if he'd simply not wished to speak more of it. Either way it was obvious that there was a more ominous question hanging in the air, one I had apparently gotten close to. “Does my bond to Dream make me dangerous?”
He tilted his head slightly. “Yes.”
Fear shot through me. “Could it be used to hurt him?” Destiny seemed to understand my true question… Could I hurt him?
“Weavers are perhaps as close to my brother as mortals can get. Reality bends to your will as it does his. In theory any Weaver could use such power to harm him or any of the Endless. Your bond to Dream makes you a particularly unique threat, as his realm will also heed your commands. But, I do not think that will be your fate.” He said calmly. It was the most solid answer I’d gotten from him, and some part of me told me it was his way of easing my worry.
With a sigh of relief I looked around the garden. “So, how do I do this whole… Weaver thing?”
“However you choose to.”
“Destiny…” I grumbled.
“There is no one path, Penelope. How you find access to the threads is your own path, not mine nor any others before you.” He explained softly.
I rubbed my arms and sighed at him, my head throbbed even more and before my eyes, curled around Destiny’s book and up the chains was a glowing gray thread with small veins of brown. “What do they mean? The threads?”
“They represent the world around us.”
“Desires was red with smaller thinner strings of black and gold. Yours is gray with brown. Are all the threads different?”
“Yes.” He said simply. “Everything is bound with the threads, but no one thread is like another.”
“What do the colors mean then?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “That is something I’ll leave to you to determine.”
"Can you see them?"
"You alone can see them, but in theory it would be possible to show them to others."
I sighed. “I’m going to have to talk to you a lot more aren’t I?”
I could have sworn he smirked as he lifted his teacup back to his lips. “If that is the path you choose.”
“Damn you and your cryptic answers,” I said with a laugh. “So, now what?”
“Now you choose a path.”
We stared at one another for a while, before I asked, “What if I pick the wrong one?”
Last time he’d given me a cryptic reply, one about there not being right or wrong. This time he only smiled and said, “I have faith in you, Weaver.”
I stood and gave his shoulder a pat as I moved past him towards the shrubbery covered in butterflies. “Guess I’ll see you around, boss.”
This path was far shorter than the one I’d walked down last time. The butterflies dispersed halfway through the walk, and before I could call out to them or say anything my head swam again. It was less painful than the other times, the brightness far more bearable as I looked at the threads, every one of them leading back the way I'd come from, all but one. I poked the green thread, watching in awe as the smaller specks of brown, gray seemed to shine beneath the touch. Tiny sparks of red and black lifted off of it, disappearing into the air.
The green thread led further down the path, deeper into the maze. The smarter choice would be to turn around, follow the other threads and the butterflies, but the thread now between my fingers hummed and sang, the small vibrating tune one that felt familiar, urging me to follow it. With it pressed between my fingers I walked down the path, following every twist and turn for what felt like far too long before the maze opened to another smaller courtyard. In the center a tall half destroyed marble statue stood. It was impossible to pick out any prominent features, but it still held a beauty to it. The thread was wrapped tightly around the sword the statue held at its side, torn threads of red and black peeking out from beneath the green.
I let my fingers glide up the thread, brushing softly against the cold marble that began to shake beneath my touch. As soon as I pulled away the marble shattered, the force of it sending me back so hard my head hit the ground, which was now a cracked and broken foundation. "Ow," I mumbled to myself, pressing my hand to my head.
When I managed to shake off the blow I forced myself to my feet, looking out at the endless sky of debris and metal that floated all around me. As I turned, a tall building came into view, ornate and old, a museum? The tall statues on either side of the steps were cracked away to nearly nothing, the pieces floating in the air around them. Two doors hung loosely off the hinges, creaking softly as the building trembled. Inside looked just like a museum, but it was all wrong.
Marble statues were shoved into a corner, each of them misshapen and cracked. The paintings that lined the walls were terrible, even for abstract works, some were even torn or burned. Every sculpture or wood carving, all of it was wrong. Torn up bits of ink stained paper floated in the large cold room. The further I moved the less art I found, weapons instead lined the walls, hung and polished with broken glass floating around them. Echoes of clashing steel, pained screams and shouting echoed from each one sending chills up my spine.
In the very back was a small oak door, one that opened before I even touched it. The room was small, everything packed and cluttered together. A large bed sat shoved into the far corner, the pillows torn to shreds, feathers still hanging around them, the blanket thrown over something in the center of the room. At the foot of the bed was a small dog house, the roof of it caved in and the name scratched off. The fireplace on the right whistled softly, ash built up at the bottom of it. Paint splotches covered the sleek cracked floors and a broken easel was laying on the ground with paint brushes and ink pens thrown around.
The humming returned as the world of threads filled my vision, the green thread pulled taut leading to whatever the blanket covered up. With every step I took sliced slivers of red and black threads flew up from the ground filling the air. I carefully pulled the blanket away, revealing a small glass case with an old and tattered paper butterfly in it.
My breath caught. This way my butterfly, the one De had given me and that I'd given to him. My fingers brushed against the glass. "Olethros."
The name shook the building, the glass shattered under my fingers and the butterfly floated up into the air. I had just enough time to catch it before the floor gave way beneath my feet and sent me plummeting down into the debris and shattered void. There was nothing to find purchase on, nothing that did not crumble immediately beneath my touch. All I could do was fall until there was no silhouette of the building, nothing but the tiny butterfly I clung to.
The longer I fell, the less I could feel or see or hear. Even when the debris and glass cut me or hit me no pain stuck. It felt like the world around me had been stripped away as the dark world of threads filled my vision. The green thread clung to the butterfly in my hands, but now a blue thread glowed, silver and lavender veins glistening in it like stars, wound around my finger where Dreams ring had been. I somehow managed to grab hold of it, the mark burning as I held it tighter. I want to go home. Please take me home.
I felt a pull, strong and steady catch me and I fell faster, the debris that surrounded me falling with me. When the ribble beneath me hit the ground black sand scattered all around, I curled up, landing on top of it roughly as the debris followed. With wobbling legs I stood and wept happily at the sight of the ocean. The soft salty breeze wrapped around me lovingly, The Dreaming welcoming me home. I stood on a mountain of rubble, as a voice began shouting, growing closer to me I turned to find Lucienne running through the sand.
"My Lady!" Lucienne cried as she approached the bottom of the rubble pile. She reached up toward me, offering two helping hands.
"Lucienne!" I sobbed jumping down into her arms. The smell of books and berries filled my nose and I breathed out a relieved sigh. I was home. "God I've had the craziest day."
She pulled back at that, looking me up and down before she shook her head. "My lady, you've been missing for nearly three weeks."
"Three…" I laughed a little. "No. That's… I was…" Oh god, Morpheus. "Lucienne, where is he?"
"Lord Morpheus paid a visit to Desire not long after you disappeared. They told him you'd left and didn't want to be found."
"Why would he believe that?" I asked softly.
"They had your ring, my lady. They claimed you gave it to them to return to Lord Morpheus if he came looking for you."
Fuck. "That fucking…" I shook my head, now wasn't the time. "Where is he?"
Luciennes eyes grew sad. "He's locked himself in the throne room. No one has been able to get in for a week."
"Take me there, please?" I begged, clutching her arm.
She led me through the gates and into the the realm now covered in dark storm clouds. When we finally reached the large doors leading to the throne room they were shut by gnarled back roots. Oh, Dream… He spent all this time thinking I'd abandon him, thinking that I'd run from him. God that fucking asshole was going to get their ass kicked if they ever called in on that dinner. I stepped forward, Lucienne catching my arm quickly. "My lady! I do not know if it's wise for you to approach. I fear it may be dangerous."
I gave her a reassuring smile. "He would never hurt me."
She let go of my arm and held her hands together. "Be careful, my lady, please."
The black roots snapped and curled away from the door as I moved closer, pushing it open just barely enough for me to fit through before closing again. Dreams throne room was pitch black, not even the night sky above could be seen. The marks on my wrists glowed in the darkness, illuminating the swirling shapes that filled it. Nightmares.
The mark was cold, almost as cold as the silver that lined my wrist. The nightmares moved away from me as I continued forward, searching for his familiar face and pale skin. "Dream?"
The nightmares echoed my voice, but it was twisted and wrong, whispering things into the dark that I hadn't said, that I'd never say. Had he been torturing himself this whole time? I called out louder. "Dream?"
The steps to the throne nearly tripped me as I stumbled into them. I climbed carefully moving until I reached the top and found the messy hair and slim frame I'd been looking for. He was slumped over on his throne, his head hanging low as he stared down at the ring that lay in his palm. "Oh, Dream."
He didn't react to my voice. I reached out to touch him, but he flinched harshly away. "Leave. I've not ordered you to mock her with your imitations."
He told them to do this? I dropped to my knees in front of him, cradling his hands in mine. "Morpheus."
When he finally lifted his head, face set and rage in his eyes, preparing to take it all out on the nightmare he mistook me for, a broken breath left him instead. "Penelope?"
I nodded, smiling through the tears. "It's me."
The pure pain that filled his eyes struck me to the core. "You left."
"No." I cupped his face in my hands. "No, I didn't leave. I mean I did but…" I sighed. "I got lost. Really lost as it turns out, but the whole time I was trying to get back to you."
His hands closed around the ring. "You gave them your ring…"
"Absolutely not!" I insisted. "They took it off my finger while I was adjusting to, well, crash landing into their realm."
"They took it from you?" His brows furrowed and his grip on the ring tightened and his face turned in anger. "I should have known that they-"
I pulled myself into his lap, forcing him back into the seat and clung to him. For a moment he was dazed, sitting still against me, but as my heart hammered against his chest and the mark sparked to life between us his arms moved, wrapping around me and pulling me in even more. "I'm so sorry."
Dream sighed into my neck, his hands squeezing me tighter. "I thought you'd left."
Pulling back I pressed my forehead to his. "I would never leave you, my Dream."
His cold breath fanned across my neck as he held my face. "If you wanted you could go home-"
"You are my home." I whispered, pressing a kiss to his head. "You always have been."
Dream slid the ring back onto my finger and pressed a desperate kiss to my knuckles. "Never take it off again, please."
I kissed him everywhere I could. "Never. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to cause all this trouble."
The nightmares were gone, the starry sky lighting the throne room from above. "It wasn't your fault. I should have recognized what you were."
"You know then?" I asked softly, my lips stilling against his jaw.
"Yes." He sighed. "Forgive me for not seeing it before."
"No," I stopped him. "I'm the one that needs to be forgiven. Even if it was out of my control, I still hurt you." I pressed my lips to his neck. "Let me make it up to you?"
He groaned as I nipped gently at his throat. "I can deny you nothing, my love."
My body slid down until my knees hit the cold floor. Dreams hand curled onto the back of my head as I pulled him free from his pants. "You don't have to-"
"I want to," I said, looking up at him. "It's my turn to worship you, my lord."
I could feel the hot ball of lust curl in him, burning hotter when I took him into my hand pumping him slowly. He clenched his teeth, his eyes smoldering down into mine as I pressed a soft kiss to the underside of his cock before pressing my tongue flat against him. His head fell back against his throne with a shuddering breath and a phantom tingle of pleasure that coursed through to me as well.
Hollowing out my cheeks I took him into my mouth, dragging and swallowing around him as his hands gathered up my hair and gripped it tightly. "Penelope," he moaned breathlessly. His voice rippled another wave of arousal through me as I continued my movements, looking up at him through my lashes and gripping his thighs tightly. God he was gorgeous like this. A true king receiving the worship he deserved.
When his hands tugged at my hair, pulling my mouth from him I groaned, ready to complain when he dragged me back into his lap and pressed his mouth to mine in a sloppy, desperate kiss. He coaxed my mouth open and tangled our tongues together while his hands ripped the pair of shorts off me and pressed me into him.
The tip of his dick brushed against my clit, ripping a moan from my throat. "Morpheus."
He pulled me up, positioning himself at my aching hole. "Promise you'll never leave me," he breathed against my neck. "Swear it."
My hands fisted in his coat. "I swear, I'll never leave you. I'll always come home."
The word caused his hands to tighten around my hips and force me down onto him, sheathing himself all the way to the hilt. My breaths were ragged as my cunt squeezed him. "Home," he said. "You're home."
With a gentle hand on his cheek I looked down at him, tenderness soothing over the hurt. "I'm home."
With one hand on my hip and the other on the back of my neck he lifted me off him with ease, nearly pulling out entirely before sliding me back down. As he slowly began quickening the pace his hand slid down my spine, over my breasts until his fingers settled between my legs. We gasped and moaned and bit at one another, marking each other with teeth and hands. The pleasure building between us both made my head spin, the world melting away and the familiar blue thread enveloping me and Morpheus.
It was him. His thread that tethered us that had brought me home. My heart burned as I gently pressed a finger to it. Beneath me he gasped, moving his hips faster, pleasure etching into the stoney coolness of his face. "What are you doing?"
"I don't know," I answered, fingers running up the thread before stilling completely. "Does it hurt?"
"Fuck, no," he chuckled a little, star filled eyes meeting mine. "Don't stop."
I pressed my lips to his, resuming my movements and basking in the glorious sounds he made beneath my trembling thighs. "Come with me, Dream." I demanded as the coiling pleasure built up tighter and tighter. "Please," I breathed before the coil snapped. My hand closed around his thread tightly as I came and with that motion his release followed.
We held one another close as we both caught our breaths, but eventually he kissed my shoulder and pulled back. "Are you hurt?"
"No," I said softly. "Just a few scrapes and bruises. Nothing I can't handle."
He examined my skin, gently taking note of each mark. "What happened? Where were you?"
I leaned into him with a sigh. "After you left I was relaxing when this god awful headache made me fall out of your bed. When the pain was gone I was in Desire's realm."
His grip tightened. "What did they say to you?"
"Breathe," I reminded him softly running my fingers through his hair. "They told me I was a Weaver, explained it a little, refused to give me my ring back and left."
"Why were you not there when I arrived?"
"I saw the threads," I said, gesturing around us. Something in his eyes and voice made me feel like there was something he hadn't said. That thought gave way to an all too familiar pinch of hurt that I quickly reburied. "And then I was somewhere else. Darker, creepy with a shit ton of rats and freaky mirror tricks."
"Despair." He shook his head. "You certainly have been busy."
With a laugh I nodded. "I'm sorry I worried you."
Dream smiled, pressing his lips to mine. "You're home now, that's all that matters."
"I love you, Dream of the Endless."
"I love you, Penelope the Weaver."
A light knock echoed from the throne room doors. "My lord? My lady?"
"Oh shit, Lucienne!" I missed hopping off his lap and looking down at my bare legs. "Did you have to rip them?"
Dream grinned. "No, but it was far more enjoyable."
"Can I get some new pants then, mighty lord?"
His eyes ran down my legs. "No, I quite like the sight of you."
"Dream!" He waved his hand, a knee length skirt draping over me, no underwear. "Really?"
Standing, his own clothes now clean, he pressed me into his body. "It's been nearly three weeks, I'm nowhere close to done with you, little Weaver."
I'd been hearing people call me by the title for weeks, but the way he said it was my favorite. With a playful shove I followed him down the steps where Lucienne entered the room with a sigh of relief. "My Lord, I was so worried!"
"I apologize, Lucienne, for my dark behavior," he said stiffly, as if we hadn't just fucked on his throne. "But, My Lady is home now."
She shook her head. "Where have you been?"
"A lot of places," I told her. "Which reminds me, do you have any books on Weavers in that library of yours?"
"A Weaver," she smiled. "Of course. I'll gather every volume I can, my lady."
Once she'd gone, Dream set his head on my shoulder. "Let's attend to your cuts."
I closed my eyes, taking in the softness of his hands as he wrapped them around me. "They're tiny little scrapes, Dream. They won't even need band aids."
When I opened my eyes we were already back in his room with the tub standing in front of me. "Tiny or not, I'll see to it they're taken care of."
"This is just an elaborate plan to get me naked, isn't it?"
He nipped at my neck. "I hardly need to resort to such things."
I hummed. "Very true, with that voice you can get anything you want."
"Anything I want?" He asked. "That's quite a powerful thing."
"Says the Endless," I teased. "Are you getting in with me or are you gonna just stand there?"
We were both naked in the blink of an eye. Dream settled into the hot water first before practically pulling me in between his thighs and massaging my tense shoulders with his hands. I didn't remember falling asleep, but when I woke we were wrapped up in the silky bed, his arms wrapped around me, one of his hands was running his fingers through my hair and the other held a book.
I lifted my head, pressing my chin to his chest. "Good morning, my love."
Squinting I looked out the window at the now rising sun. "How long was I asleep for?"
"A day," he said with a chuckle. "You must've been exhausted after all your traveling."
Groaning, I let my head drop back onto his chest. "I feel like I've been hit by a truck."
The book bounced on the side of the bed beside me as he ran his hands soothingly up and down my back. "Rest then," his lips pressed to my head.
"But you have things to do," I murmured against him.
"I can do them later."
"No," I sighed, pushing myself to sit up. "I've got things to do too. No more lounging around." The soft caress of his hand up my spine brought me right back down against him. "Okay, five more minutes."
Five minutes turned into ten. Ten minutes turned into an hour and an hour turned into three. When I'd finally managed to shake off the stiff tiredness in my body and pull the needy Dream Lord off me I sat up and stretched, all too aware of his eyes on my naked back. "Don't even think of it."
He chuckled. "You're far too beautiful for me to resist, my love."
As he moved from the bed to his wardrobe I bit my lip at the sight of his prominent muscles and cute, tight ass. He chuckled at my thoughts as he picked out an outfit, though from here they all looked the same. "I could say the same to you, my lord. And why are you physically picking out an outfit? You have magic, you know."
"Some things I like doing with my hands," he said, looking over his shoulder at me with a grin. "As you're well aware."
Blushing, I wrapped myself in his sheets and moved behind him, kissing his shoulder. "Do I get a fancy wardrobe too?"
"Would you like one?"
"Maybe," I admitted. "If it's not too much of an intrusion on your space."
With a wave of his finger a second wardrobe appeared beside his own. "Your heart beats in my chest, Penelope, a wardrobe is hardly an intrusion."
I practically vibrated all the way to it, opening it up to find the clothes I'd brought with me as well as extras. Turning to him I smiled. "Did you make me more clothes?"
"Perhaps," he admitted.
"How thoughtful of you, Dream." I kissed him. "Which one is your favorite?"
He said nothing, but his eyes betrayed him with a quick glance to a beautiful gown in the middle. I turned, running my hands along the fabrics before plucking it out of the wardrobe. It was ethereal looking and felt like touching a cloud. I shooed him away and changed into it, feeling his eyes on me as I admired the look of it in the mirror.
The top was sleeveless with two thin straps twining around my neck and leading down into a diamond shaped bodice of silver and lavender with tiny gems detailing it. The bottom was tight against my hips before flaring out with strips of misty blue puffing out like waves. I ran my hands over it. "It's beautiful, Morpheus."
"Far more now that you are in it," he replied standing next to me, dressed in his usual attire, but the stars and midnight of the inside of his coat seemed brighter. I twisted, examining my scars for a moment feeling a quick pang of nervousness… Vulnerability. He turned me into his arms, kissing my scarred wrist. "You are beautiful, my love. Every inch of you."
I sighed against his lips. Kissing him was something I'd never get enough of. My hands wound in his coat, tugging him even closer. "Damn you and your irresistible lips!"
"I can say the same of you." He chuckled, pulling away and offering me his arm. "Lucienne is expecting us in the library. She's found quite a selection on Weavers for you."
We walked at a leisurely pace, Dream was calm more so than I'd seen him in a while. Lucienne had just finished setting the books on the table when we walked in. She smiled, bowing her head a little. "My Lord, My Lady."
"That's a lot of books," I said, moving from Dreams' side to look at the piles. "Are all of these about Weavers?"
She nodded. "Yes, I'm afraid so. There were more, but I picked out the ones I thought would be most beneficial."
"This is going to take forever," I whined.
"My Lord," Lucienne said. "There are a few matters that require your attention. Merv was looking for you."
He nodded, eyes fixing on me with a worry in them that I recognized instantly. "Go, Lucienne will keep her eyes on me."
He sighed. "If you disappear again…"
"I won't." I said. "And even if I did, I have my ring back, and I won't be losing it again. I'll call for you the second something feels off."
"Very well," he said, bowing his head a little. "I'll return soon."
Lucienne and I jumped into reading, all of it both very helpful and not helpful at all. I learned the basic history of Weavers. Learned of all their names and greatest feats before they died, which was fascinating. The world benefited so much from them and no one ever knew. But, all explanation of the threads and their meaning was vague to say the least, and there was nothing on how to access them. Halfway way through Matthew had joined us and had not been helpful but offered up some support.
I groaned, setting aside another book and slumping against the table. "More of the same?" Lucienne asked.
"Yep." I replied. "None of these are going to tell me how to do this."
"Perhaps it is as Destiny told you?" She suggested. "Personal to the individual rather than a science."
"So you think I should ditch the books and try to feel my way through it?"
"Why not?" Matthew asked. "What's the worst that could happen?"
"I could teleport to Hell," I offered up.
He sighed. "Right. That would be bad."
"Perhaps you can practice simply summoning the threads for now?" Lucienne said. "You said it is rather simple, a bit uncomfortable but easy enough to manage."
Nodding, I stood up, moving to give myself enough room to work with. "Okay, here goes nothing I guess."
I closed my eyes, taking deep breaths I willed the darker world up from whatever depths it was buried in, opening my eyes to the threads and the headache that came with them. "Okay, now what?"
"What do you see?" Matthew inquired.
"A shit ton of glowing threads."
"Okay well, touch a few?" He said.
I moved to the flowing gold, watching it move, sparks of it flying off towards Lucienne and Matthews chests. Reaching out my finger barely grazed it before a burning hot sensation shot through me. I yelped, jumping back and rubbing my finger. "Okay… Gold thread is hot as fuck. Do not touch the gold thread! Holy shit."
"Are you alright, my lady?" Lucienne asked softly.
"I'm okay." I said. "Wasn't expecting it to be that hot."
I moved to the solid silver thread, the cold rolling off of it as I reached out. Unlike the gold it was cold and I could touch it. I held my finger to it, the cold slowly sinking into my bones, spreading up my arm. Voices echoed around me, ones I'd not heard in years, and misty visions spilled from inside it threatening to overtake my sight completely. Hands grabbed my shoulders and pulled me back, severing the connection to the thread.
The world returned to normal and Lucienne held my cold hand in hers. "My lady! Are you hurt!"
"I'm fine. Why…" I looked down at my hand, deathly pale and covered in frost. "Oh."
Lucienne sighed in relief as the color began returning to my skin. "Let's stop touching the threads for now?”
Matthew cawed. “Yeah I second that.”
“Just, examine them? If you can describe them to me, I may be able to check the books for specific details.”
I nodded, once again pulling the threads back up and looking at them. All the objects around me looked like they’d been woven of blue and silver and lavender threads. Dreams thread. “The Dreaming,” I said, marveling at the realization. “It’s all made of his thread, all woven together by him.”
“Lord Morpheus is The Dreaming,” Lucienne observed. “It would make sense that his realm is built of him, perhaps even connected to him.”
I turned my head to Matthew, who had perched on the edge of a chair. His thread was thick and white, but the white was covered with winding threads of blue and black that pulsed around it with each breath he took. He himself had a blue and white mist rolling off of him. “Well? How do I look?”
I smiled. “Like a smoking bird.”
I ran my hand through it, hot and cold sensations pin pricking my hand. “Is smoking good?”
“Good, I think.” I assured him. “Your thread is lovely. White wrapped up in blue and black ones that glow everytime you breathe.”
The smoke plumed higher as he puffed out his chest. “That sounds impressive.”
Turning to Lucienne as she jotted down notes I smiled at her bright purple thread, deep and rich with veins of brown that resembled the leather of her books and tan that reflected her eyes. Unlike Matthew hers were woven together, every color touched and mingled into the purple. “Yours is different from his. Dark purple, with brown and tan, but they’re woven, intermingling with one another. Matthew’s threads don’t touch, each one is its own thing almost.”
Lucienne hummed, scribbling away furiously. “This is fascinating.”
As she smiled her thread glowed. “It’s beautiful, Lucienne.”
She blushed, something I only noticed because of the purple glittering that lit up her cheeks, hiding it beneath her glasses. “Thank you, my lady.”
The library door opened and I turned, my eyes widening at the beautiful glowing of Dream. Unlike everyone else he appeared as he always did, no mists or blocked out features. I could see every inch of him. More astonishingly was the beautiful thread that was wrapped around his head, a crown of sorts. I smiled. “Maybe you don’t need a crown after all.”
His eyebrows furrowed. “What?”
I pointed. “Your thread, it winds around your head. A crown.”
He nodded with a tiny smile just for me. “You’re looking at the threads then?”
“Yep!” I looked down at the mess of threads that wrapped around him, connecting him to everything in the room. “You’re covered in them. The threads of The Dreaming, I’d assume.”
Lucienne’s pen scribbled in my ear and Dream looked over at her. “Is she writing this down?”
“She thinks if I describe it to her she might be able to find something in a book to help us get a better idea at what we’re looking at, or, well I’m looking at.” I said quickly. “And since touching is a no no-”
“Why is touching them bad?” He interrupted.
Shit. I shrugged. “Some of them are more… potent than others.”
“She burned her finger on one and then almost lost a hand to frost bite on another,” Matthew tattled.
I turned and pointed at him. “Keep that beak zipped Smokey!”
Dream lifted my hand, examining it. “It’s fine, really. It was like less than a minute.”
“Any other interesting developments?” He asked with a pointed look and a hum of warning down the bond. “Are you being reckless?”
“Nope.” I said. “Me? Reckless? I’m offended, Dream.”
“Please, be careful.” His thoughts caressed my mind, soothing the headache as he pressed a kiss to my fingers. “Have you tried making anything yet?”
“Making things?” I inquired.
He gestured to a book. “Weavers are not just able to see the threads, but to manipulate them and in turn create things with them.”
“Right,” I whispered. “I don’t even know how I would try that.”
Dream motioned me over with a hand. “Come here, hold out your hands.”
"Dream..." I muttered.
"Humor me," he said softly. "Please." Damn his silk voice.
I let him pull me in front of the library table. "Hold out your hands." I did and he readjusted them instantly before he settled behind me. My breath caught in my throat at the feeling of him pressing against me, firm hands gently helping to hold my arms out in front of me, palms facing one another. His breath fanned across the back of my neck as he leaned down and whispered, "Clear your mind."
God, I whined to myself and his pride flared. "That's not always so easy for some people."
"I'm sure you are perfectly capable." He purred, the sarcasm light in his soft rich voice. I tensed my jaw. "Relax, Penelope."
I closed my eyes and did my best to follow his instructions, no matter how seductive they sounded rolling off his silken tongue. After a minute or two passed he hummed behind me. "Good. Now, imagine one of the dreams you wanted as a child."
I imagined the meadow.
"Focus on something, focus hard, examine every detail you can see, every sound it makes. Everything."
I focused on a group of butterflies flitting from flower to flower. Their glistening wings beat softly, the color of them catching in the sunlight. Orange. Blue. White. Green. Yellow. All of them were so beautiful, so graceful as they moved in a rhythm all their own. My fingers felt heavy with the feeling of the threads wrapped around them.
"Now, move your fingers."
"Move my fingers?" I asked with a testing flex of my fingers in the tight strings. "How?"
"However feels natural," he replied.
I resisted the urge to scoff at him as I moved my fingers, testing at first but slowly the uncomfortable tightness eased and the threads moved without resistance.
"Extraordinary," Dream said from behind me. I opened my eyes, a sarcastic question already waiting on my tongue. But there in between the palms of my hands hung five butterflies made of the glowing threads.
"Holy shit. Okay, what do I do now?" I asked, a mixture of awe and nervous tension building in my gut.
"Whatever feels natural," he said again, his hands moving to my shoulders, squeezing them gently. “Relax, my love.”
I laughed nervously. "Natural. Okay."
For a while all I could do was stand there and stare at them. My fingers twitched, tugging the threads a little, and with the pull the wings of the butterflies twitched too. Pull, a thought gently suggested something that hadn’t felt entirely like my own thought, easing my fingers apart and pulling the threads taut. They began to glow brighter until the strings snapped. Five butterflies, real butterflies, fluttered their wings, taking flight right in front of me.
Lucienne gasped at the sight, smiling brightly. "Amazing."
I slowly let my hands drop, eyes following the butterflies as they swirled overhead. Dreams hands rubbed my back as my arms dropped. I turned to him. "Did you?"
He gave me a small smile. "I did nothing."
"I made them?" I asked, returning my eyes to the butterflies.
"Yes. It would explain why the others cling to you," he stated. "You are their maker, they are bound to you."
My eyebrows furrowed. “When would I have made those?”
Dream stiffened a bit, eyes casting to Lucienne who cleared her throat and approached me with her notes. I looked at him curiously, that pinch of raw and painful hurt flaring inside me. No. I told myself, pushing it down. He wouldn’t. I looked over Luciennes notes and made whatever corrections I needed to before we settled into the chairs at the table. I’d been able to make a ball, a pen, a feather, and a small square of fabric. Lucienne suggested I practice more, to help exercise the power and hopefully lessen the pain it caused me to use them.
After a while I began to feel worn out, tired and quite irritated at how difficult it was sometimes. Dream summoned me food and after Matthew and I ate he suggested we take a walk. We walked through a beautiful garden on the grounds of his palace and we finally got a chance to talk about all the things that had happened over the past few days. “Did you send me a dream, after you left my apartment?”
“What?” He asked curiously. “What dream?”
“Everything was frozen and three ladies were in my room, talking in riddles.”
He sighed, annoyed. “The Fates. What did they say?”
“Fates as in Greek mythology fates?” I was a little surprised.
He nodded. “They have many names, The Fates. The Kindly Ones. No matter what name they go by, their troublesome nature is always the same, and they never give prophecy out freely.”
“Well I didn't give them anything,” I assured him. “Maybe they didn’t give me any prophecy. Maybe it was just gibberish.”
Dream shrugged. “Perhaps. As long as they didn’t harm you.”
I smiled, bumping him. “I’m fine, Dream.”
“Now, I’ve been meaning to ask you where all you traveled to in your three week vacation.” He teased me. “I know you saw the twins. Who else?”
“Destiny,” I answered. “Not surprising though since he’s like my boss.”
“What did he tell you?” His voice was calm, but there was a flash of something in the bond, quick and fleeting and not something I could catch quick enough. The pinch grew.
“He explained a few things, not in great detail, but it was helpful I guess.”
With a nod he breathed out a deep breath. “Anywhere else?”
I almost stopped walking at the memory of the museum, and the butterfly that now lay up in Dreams room in my bag of trinkets. “There was this one place I didn’t recognise. A museum?”
He stopped walking, his head turning to look at me. “You found Destructions realm?”
“Maybe?” I asked. “Who is Destruction?”
“My brother,” he said softly, a pang of guilt and swirls of sorrow and rage filling him. “He… He abandoned his role and his realm.” The words he left out were clear in my mind. He abandoned his family.
My heart pounded faster. “Did he… Did he have another name?”
Dreams' eyes were confused as he answered, “A few.”
“Was one of them Olethros?”
A look of realization passed over his face. “You knew him?”
Swallowing the thick lump in my throat I nodded. “He was my friend. After the river…”
Dreams hands squeezed my shoulders. “Do you know where he is?”
I shook my head. “Until just now I thought he was dead. Thought they’d…” The rest died on my tongue as I quickly pushed the painful memories back down into my gut.
“I’m sorry.” He said, his grip on my arms lessening. “I am surprised you knew him at all.”
“Me too.” I admitted. “But, that’s all the places I went.”
“How did you find your way back?” He asked, as we stood close to one another.
I smiled up at him. “I found your thread, wrapped around my finger. And I just kept thinking about how I wanted to go home.”
“I’m glad you found your way back,” he admitted softly. We stood there for a moment longer before he moved away a little. “We should return. You need to practice more.”
Groaning, I pulled on his coat and slid up against him. “I’d rather not.”
He pressed a kiss to my head and I felt him smile. “Very well, perhaps we could do something else?
I looked up at him with a grin. “Did you have something particular in mind?”
“A game, if you’re willing to play?”
“Is there a prize?” I asked.
His starry eyes glistened. “You may choose anything you wish.”
I smirked. “I can think of a few things. What’s the game?”
“All you have to do is evade me successfully.”
“Hide a seek?” I asked with a giggle.
“More of a hunt than seeking.” He answered deeply.
A thrilling chill ran up my spine. “You think you’re a good enough hunter to catch me?”
The gleam in his eyes had darkened as he answered. “Of course.”
“Fine then, rules.” I said looking up at the sun in the sky. “If you can’t catch me by sundown I win. No teleporting or power usage.”
He bowed his head, lips hovering over mine. “I agree to the terms.”
I pressed my lips to his. “Good luck, Dream Lord.”
Then I was gone, running quickly through the garden giggling. “I’ll give you a ten minute head start, darling, then I’m coming for you!” He shouted, the words vibrating through me.
***
Ten minutes had passed and Dream had begun his hunt. They were only thirty minutes in, but he was impressed. No footprints marked her path, no obvious signs she’d been anywhere in the palace at all. He widened his search spreading out beyond the palace and into the village where his dreams and nightmares lived. Some had already returned in the short time he’d been back, which gave him hope that the others would soon as well.
He checked the shops and asked his subjects if they’d seen any sign of their lady. All had told him the same thing, that she’d run straight through the town and headed off in the direction of the beach. So, he followed. It made sense that she’d choose the beach, it was large and had vast hills and mountains that would provide good hiding places. But as he neared the gate a little blue butterfly caught his eye. The insect flew along the path and then turned abruptly down a familiar road. He smiled. Cain and Abel.
Sure enough he could feel her the closer he got, though she appeared to be inside with the brothers. Dream waited, watching the area fill with the butterflies, hovering around the house she was in. When Cain stormed out and she and Abel followed, the tiny golden gargoyle on her shoulders, he wanted to move, but something in her face stopped him. She looked at Cain with a sadness on her face that made every inch of him curl. If Cain had upset her he would-
She set the gargoyle in Abels hands and walked to Cain’s side, the fountain blocking his view. He moved silently, crossing the bridge and finding her again just as she wrapped her arms around Cain’s stiff body. For a moment he was nervous of what Cain would do at his lady's kind embrace. Of the two brothers he was far more irritable and rash. He took a step closer, prepared to intervene if something were to happen, but he paused as Cain returned her hug, crying into her shoulder.
Did she know how miraculous she was? He wondered as he and Abel watched the sight in awe. When the two pulled away, the butterflies in her hair beating their wings softly, Cain wiped his eyes. "Forgive me, my lady."
Penelope shook her head and grabbed Cain's cheeks, speaking so softly he could hardly hear her. "Don't apologize." She pressed a kiss to his forehead. "If you ever wish to see the memory again, don't hesitate to call upon me."
He nodded, smiling at her in a way Dream had never seen from him. "Yes, my lady.
She turned and her smile grew as their eyes met. "I've found you."
A wicked gleam in her eyes sent his heart soaring. "Found me, yes. But I believe the exact word I used was catch me."
"You intend to make me chase you, my love?"
"Oh absolutely," she said, moving cautiously around the fountain, her hands behind her back. "We both knew you'd find me, but I'm not sure you can catch me that easily."
His brows rose. "No?"
"I'm very quick on my feet, Dream Lord."
He chuckled. "Quick on your feet, yes I've no doubts on that. But you forget this is my realm, it bends to my will."
"Ah, but we're equals, you and I." She was just out of reach now. "Whom will The Dreaming be more inclined to listen to, I wonder?"
"First you steal my heart and now you would strip me of my realm?" He joked blandly. "What a wicked creature you are."
Penelope blushed. "Oh dear Dream Lord, I've yet to show you wickedness."
He moved to step towards her but found himself unable to. Some invisible force had wrapped around his legs, pinning him to the spot he stood. Dream looked up at the proud smile Penelope had as she stepped closer, revealing the threads in her hands. "Are you stuck Dream?"
"This is cheating," he said with a barely concealed chuckle.
"I have no idea what you're talking about!" She insisted. Pressing a light kiss to his lips she walked past him. "Better hurry, Dream, the suns going down."
He watched her walk away with a confident sway in her hips. Damn her and her little threads.
***
I sat on the bridge, watching the sun start to set in the distance. Any minute now I'd be victorious and my lovely pouty lipped Dream Lord would be paying me with the view of his pretty head between my thighs. A wave of power rolled over me, bringing every hair on my arms standing up. There at the end of the bridge Dream stood, hands in his pocket and his dark gaze fixed on me. He tilted his head up. "You and I have business, Weaver."
Fuck. I jumped up and started sprinting. If I could get to the library the endless shelves and Luciennes rules on manners would surely buy me just enough time to-
I slammed into a solid black mass, his pale hands wrapped around my wrists and he bent over me with a dark, hungry gaze. "You are quite quick for a little rabbit, but I am a very experienced hunter and I'm set on catching my prey."
Threads wove between my fingers before he pulled my hands away from each other. "None of that now." His eyes turned to the sun just as it disappeared over the horizon. "I win."
"You cheated!" I insisted, not even flinching at the change in scenery as he took us to the bedroom.
Dreams' eyes glistened. "You cheated first. I was merely adapting to the change in rules."
"Damn you," I growled playfully as I pushed my chest up against his. "Well, you've got me, now what will you do?"
"Now," he brought his lips dangerously close to mine. "You practice."
My mouth fell open. He had to be kidding. "What?"
He pulled away from me, summoning a desk and gesturing toward the chair. "That's right, little Weaver. Time to stop running from your studies."
"But I thought… I wasn't expecting you to pick this!" He didn't budge. "Fine. I'll practice, but you're the one missing out, Dream, my idea was far more fun than this."
"I'm certain it was," he chuckled, pushing in the chair as soon as I sat down. Pressing a kiss to my head he moved toward the bed, lounging back with a book. "Have fun, darling."
"Asshole."
He didn't react, which only made me glare at him harder. After a few minutes when it became clear he had no intention of giving into my angry looks I sighed and turned to the desk. I focused, pulling the threads from around me and began twisting them into the familiar shapes I'd been practicing. Ball. The easiest, obviously. Once I'd finished, pulling it free of the threads I tossed it to Morpheus, who caught it without even looking up from his book. Damn that's hot. I could see his tiny smirk.
Moving onto the next I started purposefully letting my thoughts drift. Perhaps that would catch his attention. The first was simple, just an image of him through my eyes while I sucked him off on his throne. No response. Pen. I tossed it over to him again, watching his nimble fingers catch it with ease. The glint in his eye as he peeked up at me told me my plan was working. I flashed him a sweet smile and went back to work.
Time to go off script. I thought, twisting the thread between my fingers until the image of a small letter opener began to take shape. Now I thought of what I'd have done if I'd won our game, pushing all the pent up desire into it and thus into Dream. From the corner of my eye I saw his hands tighten on the book, his eyes going still. The blade gleamed in the light. I threw it right towards his head, biting my lip as he caught it and turned his head to examine it. "Quite the craftsmanship, it seems you're improving." He stabbed it into the nightstand and smiled. "Do stick to the list my love, we wouldn't want anyone to get hurt."
I squeezed my thighs together and returned to my work. Butterflies. The threads were soft beneath my fingers, reminding me even more of the throne room. One last try, I decided as I imagined Dream pinning me to the desk, hiking up my dress and taking me from behind. As I pulled the threads, watching the butterflies flutter their wings and perch in my hands, I didn't even notice Dream get up from the bed. His cold hands pulled the chair back, forcing me to stand, before he pulled me flush against him. "Lovely work."
"Practicing does help," I said. "Speaking of, I'm not finished with my list."
My eyes shut as the sensation of his lips pressing hot, wet kisses to my neck and shoulder spread goosebumps along my skin. "No, but that imagination of yours has me reconsidering what I'd like as my prize."
"Oh?" I squeaked out as he pushed his erection against my ass. "I think that's against the rules."
"Fuck the rules," he growled into my ear. "This is what you were picturing, was it not?"
I pushed back against him. "Hmm, it's close."
Before I could think of another snarky reply he swept the objects off the desk and bent me down on top of it. He ran his hands up my back, moving my hair out of his way as he kissed and bit at my skin. A shudder ran through my body as he grabbed my arms and directed me to hold the fabric of my gown for him. "Keep this up for me, darling."
My fingers burned with effort as he plunged two fingers inside me without warning. He made quick work of building up my first orgasm, but right as I reached the peak he stilled. I groaned, trying to force my hips back into his fingers, but his hand on my back held fast. When the pleasure had died down he continued, the same as before. By the time he denied my would be fourth orgasm I pressed my forehead to the cool wood and gasped as his skilled fingers began working me toward another denied release. "Dream…" I groaned as my legs began to shake. "Please!"
He hummed, removing his fingers from me, the material of the dress vanishing from beneath me. Dream moved my hands until they were flat against the desk. "You were right, this is far more fun."
I whined as he entered me slowly, one hand holding me steady by the hip and the other running up my sweat coated back. "Morpheus," I whispered.
"Yes, my love?" Smug bastard.
"Faster, please."
Leaning over me and pressing a kiss to my spine he smiled. "Since you asked so nicely."
Each of his thrusts were fast and deep, rocking me forward into the desk and reducing me to a limp moaning mess beneath him. He bent over me, pushing unbearably deeper inside me, whispering praise into my ear and kissing every inch of skin he could reach. I came undone once, twice, three times before all coherent thoughts were gone and only his name remained.
Moroheus. Morpheus. Morpheus. The moaning mantra in my head as I whined beneath him sent him over the edge. His body draped over mine, hot breaths in my ear as he gently eased himself out and held me upright. "You did so wonderfully, my little Weaver."
I smiled tiredly. "See? Wasn't that a better idea than practicing?"
"Absolutely."
***
The days followed similarly, Dream worked on fixing the last damaged parts of The Dreaming while I practiced with the threads and spent time among his returned dreams and nightmares. I enjoyed visiting with them, finding their unique appearances and duties absolutely fascinating, and they in turn began to warm up to me. The nights were spent either roaming The Dreaming with Morpheus or tangled in his silky sheets, sometimes both. It felt like home, a feeling I hadn't known since Olethros and the Stewards… A memory that had plagued me since Despair's realm.
Lucienne sat across from me in the library, diligently taking inventory of their books as I practiced. She sighed, setting a book off to the side of her pile, a book bound in glistening multicolored threads. A book with my name on it. "What's that?"
"My lady!" She gasped, her hand smacking down onto the book. "Forgive me! I forgot you were here."
"That's alright," I answered pointing to the book. "What's that?"
"N… It's nothing, my lady."
"It has my name on it." I observed, watching her grab it and hold it to her chest. "Lucienne what's going on?"
She bowed her head to me. "Let me just… Let me go get Lord Morpheus and then we can discuss this matter fully, my lady."
The stomach turning pinch I'd had since my return twisted into a knot settling deeper inside me as I let my hands and the threads I had in them fall watching her hurry out of the library. Something was wrong. Something Dream had been keeping from me. But what? Why?
"Heed our advice, fate touched, do not hesitate to reach out to the cold. For in the frozen depth much truth lies." The Fates words echoed in my ears as my eyes met the thin frozen thread. Could it be that easy? I wondered. Dream said their words most likely meant something, but that they never gave anything freely. And yet the longer I stared at it the more certain I was they'd been telling me to use it.
With one last glance at the door I reached over, curling my hand around the burning cold of the thread and letting my mind fall away into the images within the blizzard. Snow hung frozen in the air, the frozen lake beneath me crackling with every step I took. I couldn't see any other threads, nothing but the ridgid silver guiding me forward.
The further I walked the colder it got until a huge sculpture of ice appeared before me. Destiny, I recognized looking at the book and his cloaked face. He sat across from a child, a child with butterflies in her hair. Me. He'd said we met before, the first time I found his garden, or, I guess not the first time. I reached out and laid my hand against the frozen stone, voices and visions taking shape inside my mind.
A small version of myself walked the hedge paths with Destiny's hand in mine. I was talking, telling him every detail about my day and then some. He listened with a fond smile as he led me down the path. When we came to the familiar opening he set the table while I looked at the statues.
"Who are they?" My small voice asked curiously.
"My siblings," he said simply.
"Will I get to meet them?"
He chuckled. "Perhaps one day."
My tiny hands pet the stone raven at Dreams feet as I looked up at him with a smile. "Does this one have pets?"
Destiny looked up and shrugged. "If that is how you choose to see it, then yes."
"He looks grumpy."
"He often is." Destiny said. "Come Penelope, I have your favorites."
I jumped into the chair across from him and ate everything I could reach. Destiny sat across the table, looking like he always did. After a while I brought my hands together, summoning the threads with ease and weaving the butterflies even quicker than I could now. "Look!"
Destiny studied them as they fluttered around him. "You are improving quickly."
"It's pretty easy. You just have to pull."
"Why butterflies, Weaver?" He asked.
I shrugged. "Butterflies often represent metamorphosis, change and rebirth. They make me feel safe… Like anything is possible."
Destiny merely nodded and returned to his tea, sometimes looking up and watching me weave the threads.
My hand fell from the statue and I turned to continue down the path. What he said that day were my own words. I knew him. I'd spoken to him. I'd been weaving the butterflies since I was a child, and yet now it was difficult… I had no memory of any of it. The next statue I was perched on Destiny's shoulders, and I pressed my hand to it quickly.
"Higher Des!" I bossed, reaching up toward a large orange leaf.
He lifted me higher. "I do not understand why you need this particular leaf, little one."
I plucked it off the tree and held it right in his face. "Because this one has glowing threads! See?!"
He lowered me to the ground. "I do not."
I lifted my tiny hand to the leaf, revealing the pulsing gold threads within it and showing Destiny. "See? It's still alive. All the ones down here are dead, so I couldn't show you how pretty they are."
Destiny patted my head. "It is beautiful, little one. Now, tea?"
My hand was aching now as I continued forward with frozen tears in my eyes. "Destiny..." I said moving to the next statue of him embracing me.
I sat beneath a large tree, one that felt familiar… My parents yard? Destiny approached slowly. "Weaver."
The young me turned, letting the butterflies take flight as I released them from my threads. "Des!" The young me leapt into his arms, hugging him tightly. "I've missed you!"
"I am sorry, little one." He whispered.
Destiny's hand pressed to my small head, and something swirled around it before I went limp in his arms. He laid me on the blanket, the butterflies I'd made swirling around him angrily. "Until our next meeting, Penelope."
I squeezed the silver thread, snapping it under my hand. The ice gave way beneath my feet and the freezing water cocooned me. As I slowly began to come to the blurred face of Lucienne and Mervs pumpkin head hovered beside me. Dream held me, his embrace warm against my frost-covered skin, but the hands that should have felt comforting felt like knives. As soon as I moved he sighed with relief. "Penelope! Are you alright?"
I groaned, forcing my stiff body to move away from him, the fear and pain that lingered in me burning hotter every second. "Did… Did you know?"
I felt the pit in his stomach tighten and saw the guilt in his eyes. "Penelope…"
Now on my feet I braced myself on the library table and turned to him with tears. "Did you know?!"
Dream nodded. "Yes."
My heart dropped and a wave of nausea filled my stomach. I’d been lied to, betrayed so many times before but none of it felt like this. "How long?"
"Not long after you disappeared."
A strangled noise escaped my tight throat as I turned away from him, pressing both my shaking hands onto the table. Everything was too bright, too warm. Lucienne and Merv stood on either side, exchanging glances at one another. Matthew hopped to my side. "Penny, maybe you should sit down and we can talk about this."
"No." I bit out, turning my head back toward Dream. "You've known for weeks… You kept it from me."
"I was trying to protect you."
"From what?" I demanded. "From knowing what he did?!"
With a sigh he moved to touch me. The hurt in his eyes almost made me feel guilty about taking a step back. "Please. Let me explain."
I shook my head, my fingers curling around the book, my book. "No. If anyone's going to explain this to me I want it to be him."
"Penelope, you can't just-"
"Yes I can,” I cut him off with a cold look. “I'm a Weaver, crashing the party is what I do." Without another word I walked away, book in my hand and anger filling my lungs.
I ignored Dreams' voice, Lucienne and Merv as they called out to me. The last thing I heard before I disappeared through the door was Matthew, "Fuck this is bad isn't it?"
The hedges greeted me, butterflies swarming instantly. "DESTINY!"
There was no answer as I stormed down the path toward the center of the maze. He stood next to the table, everything set as though he'd been expecting me. "Hello, Penelope."
I said nothing, just moved forward and threw the book at him. He caught it easily. "You asshole!"
"You have found your lost memories then."
"Yeah no thanks to you!" I yelled, raising my fist at him.
He caught my hand and held me, keeping me from moving back or forward. His head tilted slightly. "You have every right to be angry. I expected this much."
I scoffed at him. "You were my friend and you stole my dreams, my memories! Why?!"
"To protect you."
"From what?!"
"Yourself."
"I don't understand," I sobbed, the anger finally beginning to subside, revealing the raw hurt it covered up.
Destiny let my hand go and wiped my tears. "You were growing more powerful every day, far more than any Weaver before you. The book revealed to me that should you continue on that path you would be consumed by the power of the threads. The only way to stop this was to sever you from The Dreaming, from my brother's power."
"But why? How did my dreams harm anything?"
"You and my brother are equal. You are as much a part of The Dreaming as he is. So, in your sleep you drew power from it, that power fed the growth of your own. It festered an inevitable corruption and so I had to erase you from that world, and it from you." He sighed. "I left echoes of it... Your favorite places within his realm, an attempt to ease the loss. A poor one, I now realize."
"Why didn't you tell me when I came to you last time?" I asked through my sobs.
"You and Dream needed to face your pasts, mistakes and fears. He needs to come to terms with you choosing him and what that means for himself. You need to come to terms with the knowledge that he will not abandon you because of your past and free yourself from the torment you hold to."
"So this whole thing was just one big trust exercise?" I asked with a hoarse laugh.
Destiny smiled. "If that is how you wish to see it."
"I'm so sick of you saying that," I replied, nearly falling over.
He caught me, setting me gently into the chair. "You have exhausted yourself by coming here. Rest. Dream shall come to retrieve you shortly."
I laid my head down on the table, catching his hand and squeezing it as he turned to leave. "I'm still pissed at you… But thanks, for keeping me safe… I guess."
Destiny's hand squeezed mine back. "You are the Weaver, it is one of my duties to ensure your safety."
"Are we friends, Destiny?" I asked softly.
"If that is how you wish to see it."
"Asshole." I grumbled with a grin.
"Rest, Weaver."
I’d only closed my eyes for a minute, or at least that's how it felt before the sun had set and Dreams familiar presence filled the maze. His cold hands brushed my hair behind my ear and he smiled down at me as I peeked up at him. “Dream.”
“Come, love.” He whispered, pulling me into his arms. “Let's go home.”
The hurt I’d caused him still held in his chest, heavy. As soon as his bedroom materialized around us I wiggled until he set my feet on the ground and leaned into him, looking up with watery eyes. “I need to show you something.”
"You need to rest," he said softly.
"I need to do this first," I replied. "I need to show… I need you to understand."
Lifting the silver bound hand I squeezed it tightly, letting the cold fill my palm before opening it and blowing gently. Frozen snowflakes with the memories of them filled the air, their voices surrounding us in a light haze. Dream looked at them like they were beautiful, in a way I suppose they were, before he turned and looked at my sorrow filled gaze. "What are they?"
"These are all the people that died because of me." I answered. "Because I put my trust in people that didn't deserve it."
I caught one in my palm, willing the memory of the family that had taken me in play out in a small storm in my hand. "These were the Stewards. They took me in, gave me a home." Tears spilled down my cheeks. "One of the doctors most trusted associates learned I was staying with them from someone thought was a friend. When he came I wasn't there." Pain filled my chest but I kept going. "He tortured the parents in front of their children. And then he lit the house on fire with them still inside."
I gently lifted the snowflake back into the air, moving to grab the other. Olethros. "Your brother. He was my friend. The first one from after the river. The night the Stewards house burned he took me to a boat and disappeared. Later one of the white coats told me he led them away from the docks to buy me time." I grit my teeth. "They said they'd killed him and hung his body from a tree and let the birds pick at him until there was nothing left. Until recently, I thought it was true, thought that he'd died because of me."
The next I smiled a little at. "This was David. He was one of the few people I was able to be with, without thinking of you the whole time. He was kind and funny and accepting." I sobbed a little. "They found him and left him to die on the floor of our apartment. With his dying breath he asked me if I loved him… And I couldn't tell him yes." I exhaled a hot heavy breath. "He died knowing I didn't feel the same as he did."
Dream was deathly still, his eyes watery as he watched me grab another snowflake. "Isabel. Before Pierre and Johanna she was my best friend. She wanted me to live my life, even with the white coats and the bullshit. I was always resisting. One night she had somehow talked me into going dancing with her." I sighed. "It was one of the best nights of my life. When we were walking home they came. I told her to run but she didn't, she refused to leave me. One of the white coats, the same one from the Stewards, broke my spine…" I paused, forcing myself to keep breathing. "She tried to help me and he slammed her against the pavement until her head was split open. I only got away because someone had called the cops."
I met his eyes and shook my head. "I've been lied to, betrayed and used for so long… I've lost so many people because of it. I know you were just trying to protect me. I know you weren't hiding it to use against me or anything like that but…" I closed my eyes tightly. "But in the moment all I could feel was this. The echoes of these faces…"
Dream had moved, enveloping me into his cold embrace so quickly I hadn't noticed. I clung onto him and sobbed. "I'm sorry, Morpheus."
"No," he said. "I'm sorry. I should have told you from the start. I never should have forced you to turn to the thread, never should have made you feel this way."
He lifted his hands to my cheeks, wiping away my tears gently. "Just, promise me? Promise me you wont keep things from me."
"On my honor as an Endless, as King of this realm, as your soul bound, I swear to you that I shall never withhold anything from you again." He said, pressing his head to mine. "Forgive me, Penelope."
"I do," I whispered. "I forgive you." Curling into his chest as the ice around us melted into soft drizzles of raindrops. Dream chuckled. "Sorry, I didn't expect them to melt."
He shook his head, pressing a long gentle kiss to my lips. "I don't mind the rain. Now, rest my little Weaver."
We curled into each other on the bed, foreheads pressed together, our breaths shared and every inch of us touching. I felt the warm safety fill my chest once again, washing away the ache. He was my home, more than that he was my heart. Dream was my heart, the last, small piece of it that remained untainted by the institution's drugs and cuts. In his chest, safe and secure my heart beat, broken and scarred but not any less beautiful.
***
Dream fixed the collar of his coat for the third time as we neared Hob Gadlings house. “Relax, I doubt Hob’s going to care if your collar is out of place.”
He glared at me for a moment. “I’m perfectly calm. Though I do not understand why all this fuss is required.”
“You’re watching a movie and having drinks with your friend, I’d hardly call that a fuss.” I said with a wide smile.
He rolled his eyes at the mention of friendship. “Our original agreement was perfectly acceptable.”
"Everyone needs a friend, Dream,” I said cheerfully. “One they don’t just see every hundred years is preferable.”
"Do you have friends then?" He questioned with an arched brow.
I shrugged. "I have a Constantine."
"Is she not a friend?"
"She's more of a feral street cat, but I suppose it's close enough." My smile only widened. “I also have Pierre.”
Dream ground his teeth together. “Yes, the Frenchman.”
Laughing, I kissed his cheek. “He didn’t upset you did he?”
We’d stopped by the apartment before heading to Hobs. Pierre had been lounging in my bed, fully nude. When we appeared he stood up and gave me a hug and a big smoke filled kiss before introducing himself to Dream with a lazy handshake and a puff of his cigarette smoke.
“Of course not.” He said, but the tense tone of his voice said otherwise. I couldn’t exactly blame him. When I asked Pierre where Johanna was he told me she was out of town, on business looking for a certain doctor. Then he’d not so subtly implied he and I would get plenty of alone time for the week.
“He’s an asshole,” I admitted. “But I promise he won’t try anything.”
Dream’s eyes had softened as he looked down at me and squeezed my arm. “I trust you.”
A bubble of joy filled my chest. “I know. I just wanted to reassure you, there's nothing to worry about.”
Hob opened the door and greeted both of us with a wide hug. “Come in!
His home was very cluttered in a tidy way, not a Johanna way. Antiques collected over his long life hung proudly on the walls, he made sure to point out all the interesting ones and give long speeches for them. Dream was hardly paying attention, but I found it very interesting, getting this look into Hobs life. His living room was all set up for a movie, a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, assorted snacks set out and drinks readily available and an array of old DVDs set in a neat pile on the small table at the end of the couch.
I grabbed the movies and opened my mouth. “You have a DVD player?”
He nodded, moving out of sight into the kitchen for a moment. “Of course I do! A few years ago before all the fancy technology I was convinced they’d make a comeback so I collected everything I could for them.”
Dream looked so out of place. His black attire clashed against the warm earth tones of Hobs home. He looked around with a mildly displeased look on his face. Human things were still very new to him. “You live close to the New Inn,” he noted looking out the window to the brick building just down the road.
Hob returned with a bowl of chips. “Well I had to get a place close by. Saves the planet a bit and saves me money.”
“Your home is lovely, Hob,” I said, admiring the old tapestries on the wall. “It’s nice to finally meet a fellow antique collector.”
He wiggled his brows and smirked. “Beautiful Penelope, I am an antique.”
My face scrunched up. “That was your worst one.”
“Oh I’ve said much worse,” He argued.
Hob and I took our seats on the couch while Dream awkwardly stood by the window. I patted the seat between us and smiled. “Come on.”
He settled in uneasily. “You just sit here and stare at this screen?”
“Yep,” I answered, catching a popcorn kernel in my mouth.
“After the movie we’ll head down to the Inn and have some drinks.” Hob added, starting whatever movie he’d picked. “A perfect night out.”
The dream king looked far less convinced by the idea but settled into the couch with his hand resting comfortably on my thigh. Hob's choice of movie was fine, something I’d expect from an old man trying to impress his immortal god friend. Halfway through as the sun started to set out the window I laid my head on Dreams shoulder and snuggled into his side, a flare of want echoing between us as he squeezed my thigh.
Hob was completely engrossed in the movie, munching on all the snacks he’d laid out and making commentary about the time period. As he spoke my mind had the, apparently loud, thought that Hob Gadling had a nice voice. Beneath me I felt Dream twist a little to look at me. “So now it’s Hob Gadling whose voice you swoon for?”
I scoffed. “That’s not at all what I thought.”
“What else of Hobs are you drawn to?” He teased.
Leaning over a bit I took in the wide eyed excited gleam of the man beside Dream and smiled to myself. “He is quite handsome.”
“He looks like an ordinary man.” Dream insisted.
“Most men look like ordinary men, Dream. Not all of them have the perks of being you.”
Hob stood and excused himself to the restroom and the instant he was out of sight Dream turned to me with a grin. “You find him handsome then?”
I shrugged. “I wouldn’t be disgusted with the thought of sleeping with him.”
“Oh?” He leaned forward a little, lifting my chin. “Do you wish to sleep with Hob Gadling, my lady?”
"I'm sure he isn't a poor lover," I teased him as he dragged a finger down my arm.
"But he's not me."
"That sounds a bit egotistical, Dream, even for you."
"It isn't ego." He leaned closer, tilting my head back more to expose my throat to him, his cool breath flaring across my neck as he whispered, "It is a fact. As is this," His lips skimmed across my throat, coaxing the quiet moan from it. "You would not be satisfied by Hob Gadling, not when we both know what it is you truly want."
"Oh?" I breathed out as he straightened up and though he'd pulled away there was less distance between us than before. "So tell me, O great dream king, what is it I want?"
The stars in his eyes were impossibly bright as they bore into my own. "To be worshiped."
"And what would a king... An Endless, know of worship?" I pressed tilting my chin up at him. He could kiss me with a simple tilt of his head if he wanted to, but we both knew Dream was far to much of a tease for that.
"I could show you." He said, his voice sending a thrum of power and want through me. "We both know that's something else you want."
I smiled at him. "I'm not admitting to that. You have a big enough ego as it is."
"Is that a challenge little Weaver?" He breathed as darkness swirled in his eyes.
"Perhaps,” I replied, “Later.”
We returned to our normal position as Hob returned. Dreams hand on my thigh squeezed tighter now. After the movie ended, Dream made an effort to assure his friend that he’d enjoyed himself, though Hob and I both knew the movie was not something he found fun. So, we’d all walked over to the Inn and Hob made everyone drinks. We sat at the table we had just a few days ago and talked. I could tell by the way they spoke to one another that Hob was relieved to have his friend back, and Dream felt the same way.
A hand clasped on my shoulder and the familiar scent of Pierres cigarettes wafted around me. He pulled up a chair and sat down with a grin. “There you are, Ma moitié.”
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I demanded as the Hob and Dream sat up straighter in the presence of a stranger.
“There’s been a bit of trouble, I’m afraid.” He answered by taking a long drag of his cigarette and blowing it at Dream.
“Trouble I’m assuming you’ve brought with you.”
He shrugged. “They would have found you either way.”
Tension pulled at the base of my spine. “How many?”
“I counted 5.”
“So more then?” I responded looking over my shoulder at the windows. “Which ones?”
Pierre tapped the ashes off his cigarette, not meeting my eyes. “Giselle and her lot.”
The pain that filled me was one I was far too familiar with. Giselle had been one of the first to betray me in return for the doctor's immortality. Though she wasn’t the one that had set fire to the Stewards home, she was the one that led them there. I clenched my fists. “Great.”
He pulled the box from his bag and slid it to me. “I think it’s time to let the beast out, Ma moitié.”
Hob was the one to speak first. “I can grab one of my pistols.”
“No,” Dream and I said at the exact same time. I looked at him and sighed. “Thank you, Hob, but this is my mess.”
At that Dream nearly scoffed. “You’ll have me sit here then?”
I glared at him. “Do you think I'm weak, Dream?”
“No, you know I don’t.” He answered.
Grasping his hand from over the table I smiled at him. “Then let me handle it. Please.”
With a tense stare he nodded. “Very well. However, should you get hurt I cannot promise to remain off to the side.”
“Fair enough.”
Pierre looked at Dream with a curious look. “Wait… Has he not seen your moves?”
“No, he hasn’t.” I replied looking at the wooden box.
“Oh, then sit back dear lover and enjoy the show!” He cheered as the bell on the front door chimed.
I opened the box, moving the red fabric off of the blades and sighed. So much for no bloodshed.
***
Dream was fuming as Penelope turned to face the group of people that had filed in the door. She should just let him handle this, she should have from the start. Holding her hands behind her, she kept them close to the blades. “Giselle, been a long time.”
The woman at the back lifted herself up onto the bar, something Hob had quietly complained at. “Pen, good to see you. Pierre, not so good to see you.”
The Frenchman laughed. “I’ll take it as a compliment coming from such a frigid bitch.”
Penelope cut through the pleasantries. “We don’t have to do this. You could still walk away.”
The woman laughed. “We’re past that, Pen. Elias isn’t fucking around this time.”
“Things are that bad then?”
The woman jumped down and moved into the light, revealing the face of an old crone. “The best of us are rotting away.”
He could hear the smile in her voice. “He must be pretty upset about that.”
Giselle scoffed. “Enough. Just come with us, make this easy.”
“I don’t think so.”
The woman's eyes slid to Dream and she smiled. “Is that the sandman from old Roderick’s basement?”
Penelope’s hands wrapped around the daggers, steel singing. He watched the blades glisten with what looked like fire, the red gems in the hilts glowing softly. Destruction. Dream felt his brother's power wash over him, but before he could fully allow himself to recognize what it meant Penelope spoke again, her voice darker. “Leave him out of this.”
“Maybe we will go and let Elias know that you’re getting the higher powers involved in our business.” She sounded far too smug. “We’ll trap him right back in that glass cage of his.”
“You sure this is how you want to end this?”
“Don’t sound so confident, Pen. You’ve been out of the game for years.” Giselle shook her head. “You won’t be enough to beat us all.”
Penelope’s anxiety that had slowly been building vanished. As Dream looked at her straight back and relaxed shoulders all he could feel from her was an unnerving calm. She said nothing as the first two men, tall and well built, moved forward towards her. She said nothing when they’d gotten far too close for his comfort. And she’d made no sound as her blades vanished from behind her back, embedding deep into their throats as she tossed them back onto the floor, the fire inside the steel burning brighter as their blood dripped off it.
As he watched her rage through the crowd of enemies, the glint of her blade the only thing that could be seen as she moved with speed and ferocity, he saw his brother for a moment. The way she moved, the way she twirled the knives in her hands and struck quickly, all was reminiscent of him. He'd been wrong to write her off as not a warrior, he saw that now. As Penelope stood, covered in the blood of her enemies staring down Giselle, Dream saw her as she was. His queen. A warrior in every sense of the word, and above all else his equal.
Giselle smiled. “You never fail to impress.”
Still she said nothing as Giselle leapt forward, swinging a golden ax down toward Penelope’s head. She stepped to the side, and slashed Giselle's shoulder with her blade. The woman growled, moving with a quickness that did not suit her appearance. Her ax sliced through Penelope’s thigh and he stood. She moved back a bit, holding her hand out to keep him from moving. “I’ve got this.”
His body ached with the effort it took to keep from intervening. Giselle made a few good moves, but nothing that matched the pure power of Penelope. When the first dagger stuck into her side he knew it was over, so did Giselle. She swung her ax again, a strangled cry leaving her as Penelope’s dagger sliced through the underside of her arm. Giselle collapsed onto the floor with retching breaths. Penelope stood over her, one dagger still in her hand. Giselle smiled up at her and spat at her feet. “Finish it then.”
Kneeling down Penelope finally spoke. “I hope you find some manner of peace in whatever afterlife is waiting for you.”
The blade sliced her skin and Giselle choked on a few blood filled breaths until silence filled the Inn. Even in battle his queen was merciful. She retrieved her blades and turned, walking back to the table. Everyone was silent, even the frenchman as she cleaned them and put them back into the box.
Her hands were shaking, but before he could reach over to console her, the frenchman had done it. “You know what I’m going to say, no?”
“What you always do.”
“You did what you had to.” He spoke, his eyes looking up at her like she was a goddess. “Ma moitié, you did good.”
Movement in the background put his hair on end. The Frenchman spotted it too, turning with a French curse leaving his lips. Hob stood, backing away a little. “What in God's name is that?”
Penelope turned and every inch of her froze as she looked down at Giselle’s body, twisting and curling in on itself moving until it stood before them again. Pale eyes stared at her as the gnarled hand fumbled for something in Giselle’s pocket. Dream prepared himself to move, but it was a softly ringing phone that was pulled out and answered.
“It’s so good to see you, after all these years Ms. Barlow,” an old faintly familiar voice filled the room. Penelope’s stillness twisted into absolute terror and she moved to step back, trying to flee the voice, running into the table. “It has been far too long, my dear.”
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Persephone's Devotee (Hello, Mr. Monster AU, I)
Master List
Summary: In the age of Spiritualists and magicians, wyrds winds in different ways to link Dream of the Endless and Aisling Hunt. AU of Hello, Mr. Monster beginning in the 1920s. (Alternatively titled 'We All Hate Roderick Burgess')
Warnings: Implied child abuse/neglect, child left to travel solo, manipulating children for profit (non-sexual trafficking)
A/N: Your bird just got diagnosed with a life changing chronic condition (in addition to being put back on depression meds). We'll see how this post does. Have four chapters planned.
The last scene is based on personal experiences with heat exhaustion/borderline heat stroke.
Dream’s tools brought many things to Fawney Rig. Wealth and prestige. Admiration, gifts, and influence. Nearly everything the magus wanted and only a fraction of what he thought he deserved. Roderick’s dreams of power and riches drew another tool to his hand, or perhaps Destiny drew the magus to her. The girl who saw strange things in the dark and found answers to strange riddles in her cards. But her wyrd would always draw her to old house and its shrouded dungeon, in any world or time. All because of what the Burgesses kept there.
In the eight years since the fateful evening he summoned and caught one of the Endless, Roderick had become a man much desired. He found himself with an invitation to Lord and Lady Werthrope’s party, a guest of honor at a soiree at their country estate. They promised a night of occult mysteries and foreign prizes. Bits of people and places from across the empire and beyond. Mummies from Egypt and fragments of Greek antiquities to gasp and shriek over with glasses of champagne and brandy.
Roderick carried himself as Lord Werthrope’s equal, and at least for that night, surrounded by ancient mysteries of all kinds, he was seen as such. He was an expert, a guide, someone to hold in reverence rather than an oddity to gawk over. He told them with his bearing, his dignity, and the ruby he wore on a golden chain around his neck. His wishes became dreams and so became real. He stood like a stronger god beside the broken figure of Apollo and scoffed at the mistranslations of texts he’d only ever read secondhand.
Beside the wonders kept under guard at home, what were these paltry things? He could have any of them he desired, and he’d already claimed better.
His sense of superiority carried him through the party’s early hours, moving from acrobats in elaborate costumes, to fire eaters, to ghost stories and flights of fancy spun by swindlers far below his consideration. He had an answer or alternative for everything. And then he met the girl.
She sat at a bare table with no long cloth to hide rolling ankles, clever fishing lines, or knocking accomplices. Only a candle and a deck of cards separated her from the guests, and she’d drawn quite a queue. Her feet didn’t even reach the floor, swinging idly between the legs of the chair as she read the cards of a distraught-looking dandy.
Taking his arm, Lady Werthrope said, “This one you really must see, Magus. She’s made quite the splash in New York and London.”
The Magus offered a tolerant smile. “And what is the trick? Does she blow out the candle? Bend spoons?”
“Oh, no, nothing like that.” The lady practically vibrated, eager to impress as she led them to the table, scattering the line. “She sees things, and she reads fortunes like no one I’ve ever seen, and I’ve had more than a few pet psychics in my time. This one’s a bit of a sad story.”
The magus clenched his jaw until the muscle in his cheek twitched. He could make whatever sob story the girl shilled much worse. Of all the frauds and liars who feigned knowledge of the occult, Roderick Burgess hated mediums and ghost whisperers the most. The tantalizing promise of connection with Randal – always waved in his face, always ultimately denied – it clawed open the rotting wound in his heart, and he let the poison drip back on any fools who tried his patience.
Let this one try to pull the wool over his eyes, and he’d unmask her in front of this glittering audience. She’d be a penniless sad story when he was through.
“Those people,” the lady said, nodding to a couple flanking the child, “are just the adoptive parents. Saw her family murdered, poor thing. They say that’s what cracked her open to the other world.”
“Do they indeed.” He kept his smile, showing his teeth as his grip flexed over the cane in his free hand. “Then I look forward to her performance.”
The Magus and the lady sat across from the faux family, and the girl looked at them. The people who weren’t her parents did not manage her well, Burgess couldn’t help noting. They’d painted her up with rogue and kohl that made her look even more like a child playing grownup games, and the feather in her headband hung limp and lifeless. She barely managed to grimace through a smile, and she spoke with all the enthusiasm of a student reporting on Ovid to the class.
“What are you asking?” A child’s voice really shouldn’t be so dull. Now that he was nearer, the Magus couldn’t help wondering if she was even younger than he’d first assumed. Not even ten, he thought, and already so exhausted.
It wasn’t what he’d expected. He kept his guard, but curiosity stirred beneath. She was no great performer.
Lady Werthrope leaned forward, eager to take the first reading as the girl shuffled her cards. They were nearly too big for her to manage, but in this at least she clearly had much practice. Her handling of the tarot was the most natural element of her demeanor he’d yet to see.
The lady talked about her dog Moxy, a cocker spaniel much loved and terribly spoiled. It was getting on in years, and, well, ought she prepare for anything dreadful? Only, her friend had just lost her terrier, and she couldn’t chase it from her thoughts…
The cards appeared on the table. One by one. The Six of Cups. The Two of Swords. And, lastly, the Nine of Swords reversed.
“Moxy is well-loved.” The child pointed to the first card. “That’s the foundation. But she’s getting older, and she may go blind eventually. She’s accepted it, though, and you will, too.” She smiled a little, hesitantly, like a pet used to getting kicked when she barked at company. The Magus noted how her gaze flicked to her pseudo-father.
Lady Werthrope clucked and reached over to squeeze the child’s hand. “You’re very honest. And very sweet. Now, won’t you show the Magus what you can do?”
Obediently, she gathered the cards and folded the deck, shuffling them with the fresh energy of her next customer. “What do you want to know?”
Roderick considered. It was a little below him to ask anything specific of a child spiritualist, and he still meant to test her. Hate stirred the old thorn in his heart, and although she didn’t speak with ghosts to earn her bread, he didn’t need to justify himself.
“I’ll leave the question to you.” He squinted in a way that may seem affectionate, but it was only sharp, a predator focusing on little fawn to see how quickly it might run. “What do you see?”
She flinched, lifting her eyes from the cards to meet his in a fleeting, startled glance. Like he’d come near to guessing something she didn’t say out loud. But then she bent over the deck, back to her work as the woman behind her set a hand on her shoulder.
“Be good, Aisling,” the adoptive mother said. “Show the Magus your skills. Don’t embarrass us.”
The child rolled her lip between her teeth, sorting the task quickly. One card. Two cards. Three cards. Tap, tap, tap on the bare table. The Magician’s face glowed in the candle light, and Roderick blinked. A good tarot reader must have good luck in order to draw the appropriate cards – or a marked deck. But he’d watched those little hands like a hawk, and he’d seen nothing. It wasn’t definitive proof by any means, but Roderick Burgess knew himself to be cleverer than a child.
Pointing to the first card, the Magician, the girl said, “You’re the Magus. The Magician is your creation of yourself.” The second card was the Nine of Cups. “Your cups all overflow, and you enjoy the plenty you already have.” And then there was the Ace of Pentacles. Roderick wondered for a moment if she’d laid the cards out of the intended order, but she simply said, “There is new wealth coming. You’ve just found something that will bring you more good fortune. The benefits will grow in the months and years to come.”
“You’re very sure of yourself.” He looked for cracks, and there were many. Fatigue clouded her eyes and weighted the end of every sentence. Not a sign of a lie, though. She couldn’t even pretend to be happy for the audience.
He turned the interaction over in his mind through the rest of the night, wearing away the questions and presumptions like the rough edges of a stone, and by the later hours, he thought he might hold a jewel.
The adoptive parents made themselves easy to find. They hadn’t left the table. Neither had the girl. The lord and lady hired them to entertain, and they stayed at their posts. They’d gathered refreshments, but no cup or plate sat on the table, and he wondered if they had any idea children needed things like water after a long night of speaking with strangers.
Really. The scheme was too transparent. The only lies hid in any manner of affection the parents pretended for the child they claimed.
The Magus marched up to the table, rapping the top with his cane to seize the drowsy girl’s attention. She blinked, started licking her dry lips, caught herself, and pinched her mouth closed with her teeth.
“Aisling, wasn’t it?” He nodded to her, encouraging her to echo the motion. “I would like a word with you. No cards. No reading. Just a conversation. Alone.”
The father stepped forward, ready to defend his meal ticket. “Sir, I’m afraid we can’t just –”
“The girl and I will sit here, at this table,” he tapped it again to make his point, “and you will both stand over there.” The cane swung to point towards the bar, which was well within sight but well out of earshot.
When the man moved to protest again, Roderick pulled out his wallet, and the father’s mouth snapped shut. A few pounds bought the adults’ willing compliance, and they went off in search of drinks with barely a backwards glance. Roderick settled into the seat he claimed earlier, watching the girl squirm. Her hands fluttered restlessly between her lap and the table, clearly used to the cards, uneasy without the form and ritual of a reading to guide the conversation.
That was well enough. Roderick had his own plans.
He signaled one of the roving staff, and as the waiter approached, he ordered, “A lemonade for the young lady.”
With a bow, the server hurried off, and the Magus smiled, lips closed, tilting his head as his legs crossed under the table. He was not a client. He was an adult who noticed, who might be moved to care, and in the few hours of their acquaintance, he was already offering more than anyone else.
“So, you see things?”
Her eyes snapped from him to the people who managed her. Then back again, and down to her lap.
“I’m not supposed to upset people.” She picked at the fringe on the garish frock she wore – entirely unsuited to her age and clearly uncomfortable. “It upsets Mr. and Mrs. Foster when I see things. Or when I talk about them.”
The Magus nodded, unsurprised. He wondered if the people who adopted her even realized her talents were genuine when they snatched her up. They had too many connections and too much showmanship to be anything other than experienced con artists. This little Aisling must be very sensitive, and the truly sensitive didn’t see strictly good, kind, or encouraging things. How she must terrify the fools.
The server returned with a cut crystal glass rattling with ice. The girl thanked the server, then thanked her benefactor, and wrapped her hands around the condensation-slicked sides. She sipped carefully, and Roderick could see the tension ease from her posture as she drank. Desperate as she was, she didn’t gulp, and with clear regret, she set the drink on the table still two-thirds full. But she kept her hands on the glass, lest some waiter assume she was finished and spirit it away.
“I won’t be upset, and I’d like to believe you.” Angling his head down to peer at her meaningfully, employing a look he’d once used when his son misbehaved, he asked, “What have you seen tonight that would upset people?”
The girl looked around, shifting so her chair creaked. This time, it wasn’t her adoptive parents she feared. Any ears may be a threat. When she leaned in, the Magus copied her, silently assuring her the secret would be safe with him.
“There’s a guest who’s not a guest, and he isn’t a man, either.”
The Magus hummed. “Say I believe you. Could you prove it?”
Seduced into the invitation of an adult confidant, and revived by the lemonade, she rushed to answer. She wanted to prove herself. She wanted to be believed and heard. The Magus was listening, and he was beginning to believe as well.
“The man paid the footman with holly leaves,” she hissed in a loud whisper. “The footman folded them like bank notes, and the spines stabbed his palms, but he didn’t notice. Look for the one with blood on his gloves.”
“And the man who isn’t a man?”
Shrinking back, the girl shook her head until the headband went crooked. Her hand pressed over her heart, rubbing hard circles as her face creased.
“He’d know I saw him,” she said. “I don’t let them know I see them anymore.”
Now there was a tale and no mistake. A child with enough power to annoy things beyond the veil – one that survived an encounter – was rare indeed.
“What happened?” He lent his tone a shade of concern. Facts, he found, traveled swiftest to a sympathetic ear, and he needed to know everything. Curiosity was growing into practical fervor as the first dreams of a plan grew into place. “Are you ill?”
She crumbled just a little bit more, folding into herself to protect the place she rubbed from some invisible threat. “Sometimes I see things that don’t want to be seen. One of them – hurt me. There’s no scar, but it hurt me, and now it aches.”
The Magus donned a solemn expression, though he felt a thrill at the prospect sitting before him. The little girl had unusual skills, and though she wasn’t handled well by the adults governing her, they must still turn a pretty penny showing her in salons and private homes. He’d confirm what she’d said, of course, validate her little proof, but she was either a better liar than he’d ever met or she was childishly honest. He knew where he’d put his money.
Where he might very well invest it, actually.
He didn’t say goodbye, only nodding as he rose and went in search of the servant with bloody gloves.
Of course, he found him. When he demanded to see what the footman had in his pockets, the boy paled, stammering excuses, only to pull out a handful of forest detritus. As the young man fell into a whirl of confusion and disappointment, the Magus truly smiled. The first real smile since Lady Werthrope brought him to the child’s table.
He must have a proper conversation with the girl’s current guardians.
Aisling clung to her bag, drowning in the heat as the train pulled away from the Wych Cross platform. Men and women fanned themselves with hats and newspapers, desperate for a breeze in the dead summer stillness. Ladies shed their gloves. Men loosened their ties. Propriety mattered less when the air was trying to suffocate them, a crushing, inescapable oven scalding the usually damp countryside.
A miserable day to travel.
Sweat dripped down her back, soaking the neck of her dress, gluing her hair to her skin. But she didn’t have a free hand to stir a breeze. Her bag was too heavy, full of everything she would need in her new home, or at least everything the Fosters thought they couldn’t sell for a profit. Mrs. Foster took her to the train station and dropped her at the door.
“Here’s your ticket. You’re heading to Wych Cross, and then to Fawney Rig. Don’t forget, and don’t miss your train,” she’d said. Then she climbed back into the cab beside Mr. Foster and disappeared into the flow of London traffic.
They’d sold her on to someone else, and now they were free of her.
She peered around the station, but it was really just a platform. In London, there were helpful adults in uniforms and suits who pointed out the right train and the right stairs to reach it. Nothing here told her how to find Fawney Rig, though, and the only adult in a uniform seemed to be the man in the ticket booth.
She’d find her way. She wasn’t a baby after all. She was eight. And she could read very well, and no one was coming to help her, so she better figure it out.
She stood in line for the ticket man’s attention. Surely, he could give her directions. The Magus was rich, and a little famous, she thought, so his neighbors must know where he lived. If the man in the booth didn’t know, she’d keep asking until she found someone who did. While she waited her turn, she set down her suitcase and sat on it, taking deep breaths that tasted like salt. It could be worse. What if it rained instead? Well. Actually. Rain sounded very nice.
Soon enough, she took her place in front of the booth, and the man frowned under his mustache like she’d arrived with a bill or a letter from someone nasty. She smiled prettily, the way the Fosters told her to, and tried to make herself look like less of a problem as she clutched her case again.
“Excuse me,” she said, “but do you know the way to Fawney Rig?”
He physically recoiled, and his frown hooked deeper with glowering doubt as he scanned her. “Fawney Rig? That devil worshiper’s house? Why do you want to know?”
“I’ve been sent to live there, sir. I’m expected, but I don’t think they’ve sent anyone for me.” Manners made things easier with adults. Good manners and clear words – the fewer the better.
But the man wasn’t swayed. He looked thunderous. Like she’d broken something valuable and ought to pay for it with a lashing.
“Do you have money for a cab?”
The Fosters didn’t own her anymore, and they’d given her nothing but cards, and costumes, and a hairbrush. All the cash stayed warm and safe in their pockets.
“No, sir.”
“Then walk down the main road. Go east from the village, and keep going until there are no more houses you can see from the street. There’ll be a path on the left with a big iron gate. Follow that and you’ll find your devil worshipers.” He waved her off like he’d slap her if not for the glass. “Next!”
Manners got her what she needed, at least. “Thank you.”
The other adults all moved aside as she trundled through with her case. It made it easier to avoid clipping ankles and shins with her luggage, but she wondered if they hated her the way the ticket man hated her – because of Fawney Rig – or if she simply smelled after the long, stuffy ride in third class. Not that adults needed an excuse to dislike her. The nice ones called her uncanny and gifted. The mean ones called her a witch, and a bastard devil-spawn, and other names a mother should wash out of their mouths with soap.
She wasn’t sure which ones were telling the truth.
She knew the way forward, though. To Fawney Rig. That was good, even if the other adults didn’t think so. The Magus may not be a nice person, she hadn’t known him long enough for the usual adult lies to wear thin enough to see through, but he was smarter than the Fosters, and he’d given her a lemonade, so maybe she wouldn’t be as hungry or thirsty under his guardianship. She’d still have to work. Adults only wanted her if they thought she could give them something. But everything was more bearable with a good dinner and cold drinks.
She hoped he’d give her another cold drink, even water with some ice, when she reached his home. The train ride left her terribly thirsty.
Leaving the shaded platform, she bowed away from the sun’s violent touch and started on her journey. The village only kept a cobbled road in the center of town. It led up to the train station, linking it to a clutch of shops and offices. A parish church sat a little way back from the road, separated from the secular world by a field of tidy tombstones in heat-bleached grass. People noticed her. They looked. They whispered to each other. But no one waved or offered a hand. Gossip didn’t move fast enough to beat her here from the train, and she wondered how people could tell she was odd. Society had so many rules beyond manners, but no one would tell her what they were, and she never guessed right.
By the time the cobblestones ended, she was struggling to hold onto her suitcase. The handle kept trying to slip from her fingers, even when she held it with both hands, and she had to work harder and harder to keep it out of the dirt. If she knew anything about the world, it was that good children didn’t drag their luggage, and bad things happened to those that did. She’d travelled enough to learn, and she wanted to make a good impression on her new keeper and his household.
The road outside of town went a very, very long way. The ticket seller’s instructions made each step sound the same length: go through town, pass the houses, go down the long drive past the gates. Her imagination had lied to her, though. Every time she thought she’d passed the last house, there came another. Each handed her down the chain of cottage gardens and small homes full of families who pretended not to see. They all knew she’d done something, like she had a brand on her forehead, and she wasn’t allowed to stop. She didn’t try to.
Everything looked sickly yellow in the midday glare. Dust hung in the air, stirred by passing cars, lingering without a breath of wind to dispel the choking clouds. Everything looked flat and dead, so much so she almost missed the gate. Another leg of her trek done. Still too far to go, and the private road leading to the Magus’ home was longer than it had any right to be.
She didn’t feel well. The trees gave her a little protection, but her stomach and lungs felt hard, strained, the way her arms ached with carrying her suitcase. Only they were parts that shouldn’t feel that way, and she thought maybe she should sit down.
But she was almost there.
Even if she walked slowly, and her feet didn’t land quite where she told them to.
She just wouldn’t think about those things. Complaining was just making excuses, and she was expected.
The house appeared out of nowhere, or she was too dizzy to see it through the leaves before the last turn in the drive. It loomed, a very final-looking destination, and her suitcase escaped her grasp. The case was slippery, and her fingers didn’t curl the way they should. She bent to pick it up, and when she straightened, the whole world spun.
She stood very still until it stopped, and she found herself shivering as she approached the front door. Very strange. Was she afraid? No. That didn’t sound right. She felt terrible, too terrible to worry, and none of it made sense.
But she’d nearly made it. She had made it. Almost.
Knocking summoned a young man, and the door creaked open as he glanced down with a quizzical expression. “Hello? Can I help you?”
She tried holding her suitcase with just one hand, but it slipped away again, barely missing her foot. Maybe a handshake was a bad idea. The stranger hadn’t held his hand out for a shake, after all. She was just confused. He might not want to touch her. And she must look a picture after her walk.
She should’ve done something differently. If she were smarter, or taller, or…
“I’m Aisling Hunt, sir. The Magus sent for me.”
“Oh.” The young man’s eyes popped wider, and she wondered if he was younger than she thought at first. Stepping back, he pulled open the door to usher her inside. “I’m sorry. I’d heard someone was coming, but I’d thought you’d be… well, older. And I’m just Alex.”
“Nice to meet you, Alex. I’m Aisling.”
He nodded and plucked her bag from where she’d dropped it. “Yes. You said. Are you feeling alright?”
She didn’t know. And grownups didn’t really like it when she was unwell anyway. Before she could come up with a suitable lie that would get her what she needed without stepping on any toes, a familiar face appeared at the end of the hall.
“Ah! You made it.” Out of formal dress, the Magus still brimmed with authority. Aisling had met many adults who wore costumes and pretended to be something they weren’t, but the Magus seemed like he’d somehow stitched his chosen persona into his skin. “Welcome to Fawney Rig.”
She wobbled. “Thank you, sir.”
“Magus,” he corrected.
“Thank you, Magus, sir.”
At last, what he was seeing overshadowed his enthusiasm, and the old man frowned. “Did you walk here? From the station?”
“Yes, Magus.”
“The Fosters didn’t even give you money for a fucking cab?”
“Just the train ticket, sir. Magus.”
She blinked, and the whole room turned blue, like peering at the world through stained glass. It looked so pretty she didn’t realize the Magus was asking her another question until his hand settled on her shoulder.
His voice came from far away. “Can you hear me?”
Yes, she wanted to say. Yes, Magus, I walked, and I found Fawney Rig all on my own, and I’m not useless, please don’t throw me away yet.
But everything looked cool, and blue, and lovely. She was floating in it. Floating and so awfully heavy at the same time. The color slipped in with her breath, eroding her control until it slipped from her grasp like the suitcase had.
The world went dark, and she didn’t see, hear, or say anything more.
And deep below, in the belly of the house, Dream of the Endless waited in his cage, as senseless to the world above as she.
#morpheus x reader#fic: persephone's devotee#dream of the endless x reader#morpheus x oc#dream of the endless x oc#fic: hello mr. monster
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any hcs for dream of the endless?
love your writing sm 🫶🫶
dream of the endless headcanons
the kingdom of dreams | warnings : me professing my undying love for morpheus, dream of the endless is bbg you can’t change my mind, he’s just a sad cat | a/n : contains smut so if you don’t like smut go fuck urself uwu🥺 (IM JOKING) | tags : @knight-of-flowerss , @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom | dream of the endless playlist
despite being perceived as cold and distant, he has a soft spot for people and wishes to be loved in return.
because he's literally billions of years old, he's definitely experienced🫣, but he's never experienced true love (its ok bbg i can love u💗)
he has an insane soft spot for you, and will do anything to protect you
ANYTHING
bbg needs love and affection, bro craves for it
he gets jealous very easily and you have to constantly remind him that you're there and will never leave him
very emotional but never lets it show (he just like me fr but i cant keep it in)
his love language is definitely words of affirmation
he loves to tell you how in love he is with you and loves when you tell him the same
not keen on pda, he prefers to show affection in private
bby is a loner and feels isolated even amongst others
though an ancient being, he too often struggles with insecurity
yk how it mentions he was cruel or whatever? he regrets it so much
stop hes my bbg i love him sm ill protect him with my life.
he fears loosing his sister death, as she is the only sibling of his he is remotely close to.
pookie was locked up for 100 years, he CRAVES physical intimicy
hes open to experimenting
tbh i dont think hes the type to enjoy rough sex, i think he would prefer it to be passionate and loving.
he likes it slow, he wants to take his time and feel every inch of you.
he likes to be dominant and to be dominated
#the sandman fanfic#the sandman x reader#the sandman#the sandman x you#dream of the endless x reader#dream of the endless#morpheus x reader#lord morpheus#morpheus#morpheus x you#morpheus x oc#morpheus x hob#morpheus x corinthian#morpheus x original character#morpheus x y/n#morpheus headcanons#dream of the endless headcanons
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Walks along the Dreaming
Fandom: The Sandom
Paring: Morpheus x Dream of The Endless
Genre: Fluff
A/N: I love my tall white emo boy sm aaaaa Idk if I'm making it a blurb or nah
Summary: Dream and reader are walking through the Dreaming and Morpheus is just being cuteee because he thinks Reader is cute and it's just aaarrrrhhh
Morpheus watched the sun from his corner on the palace balcony. In the dreaming when the sun finally set a cool breeze filled the air. When the sun in the dreaming finally did set
Unlike in the waking world the sun was always out much longer and though he didn't need the night as it was just an time for mortals to rest their weary bodies. He'd come to love it.
Why?
Because of a certain someone he'd come across. He hadn't meant to get attached. He had been asked for a tour of the dreaming and he complied, it'd been eons since he'd hosted a mortal in his castle. He watched as she'd been mesmerised by what his realm had to offer.
Even now as he watched her slumped in the sands he wonders what's so special about her, why can't he get her out of his head. Maybe she accidentally spelled him.
That might have explained why he appeared beside her. She jumped slightly at his sudden appearance. Before she arose to her feet, bowing slightly
"Lord Morpheus, I hope I cause no trouble," he shakes his head. You've barely done anything except be kind. Something most humans must learn from you.
"May I join you," He asks his voice merely above a whisper. You shyly nod and sink back into the Sands. Morpheus claims a spot by you a fee inches apart. Together you both watch the sea.
After a beat he watches you, even as you cease and lay on your back as you gaze at the stars.
"If I may My Lord-"
"Morpheus,"
"Pardon?"
"You may call me Morpheus," her eyes widened.
"Morpheus," his name slipped off your tongue like honey from the finest aphrodisiac.
He said something which was too quiet for you to hear.
"What?"
"I like how my name sounds from your lips," you swore his eyes flitted down to your lips. Without really thinking much, his name left your lips again.
"Morpheus,"
"I could listen to you for an eternity," You racked your brain trying to remember what you meant to ask.
"You distracted me," you say softly. "I've forgotten what I wished to say," Morpheus chuckled.
"I apologise. Would you, would you care for a walk along the dreaming? Before you retire, It helps with remembering." He asked. "You are within your rights to de-"
"I would be honored,"
"T'is I who should be honored," you blushed as you rose from the sands. The sands didn't cling to your clothes as mortal sand would.
He held out his arm. You flinched before you took it. A sharp pain slashed his chest. What had been done to you to make you so scared of him?
Was it his doing?
Your gripped his arm and gave him a small smile. It's not your fault
"Your realm truly is beautiful Morpheus, "
"It's merely an extension of me,"
"Then, you are beautiful," It came out before you could even think. "I-"
"Thank you although i think I should be the one to call you beautiful, considering you manage to be the main focus of anyone who gazes at you,"
You blush at his words.
"I wonder which other mortals or better goddesses you whisper such sweet things to," you say jealously singing in your head.
"On the contrary I tend to avoid most of them, especially those who seek for me for things other than...help"
"You did not avoid me,"
"True,"
"Why?"
"Something about you called to me, I am yet to know what,"
"I hope it's been worth you're while," you say jokingly.
"It was."
We reached a greenest gardens you've ever seen. The path through the garden shimmered and shone with glitter like stones.
The shrubs and bushes that greeted you held beautiful roses, some were red and some were white, others held different kinds of flowers in different colours.
The moon lit up the entire scene, it's white rays highlighting a swingset.
"Morpheus, this is beautiful," Your eyes roved over the entire place. Morpheus glanced around before looking at you. Then lush green garden
The lush green gardens were something he made eons ago, he'd seen it a million times but for someone like you to compliment them made him feel...warm.
He looked at you, the gardens may have once been the Dreamings most prized possession, but ever since your very prescence entered here.
It paled in comparison, even now as your eyes sparkled at it's beauty his eyes only ever where on you.
"It is quite a sight indeed," you turned to glimpse his face but froze once you noticed his eyes were on you.
"The garden?" You asked although you already knew the answer.
"You," your thoughts scrambled.
You
You
You...
"Me,"
"Yes," a light blushed coloured his cheeks. "You," your lips formed a smile one which he swore lit up the world.
"May I be so bold as to ask you to to...extend your stay in the Dreaming." He paused. "I'm sure the residents would love to have you,"
By residents he meant him. Sure Lucienne would be happy to have another person around but he would be the most pleased.
"I would love that, I'd be honored to spend more time with the residents." Morpheus' heart leaped for the first time in centuries.
She leaned in and pecked his cheek. Morpheus smiled as he realised that:
1. He was in love something he'd never felt in eons
and
2. He was in love with you
***
Here's a lil something
🎁
#morpheus x reader#morpheus x y/n smut#morpheus x y/n#Morpheus#Dream Of The Endless#Dream#Morpheus King Of The Dreamland#Morpheus Angst#Dream Angst#Morpheus x female reader#dream x female reader#dream of the endless x female reader#morpheus#morpheus sandman#morpheus x you#morpheus x oc#morpheus fanfiction#by the sea#by the lake#fluff#fluff fic#fluff fanfiction#fluff fluff fluff#morpheus smut
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MORPHEUS X READER (ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP) WHERE THEY GO WATCH THE ERAS TOUR FILM PLEASE
I JUST CAME BACK FROM WATCHING IT!! While writing I kept imagining Morpheus at the movie theater waiting on the line for the movie with Y/N and she's SO 1989's era and he's like... reputation with a mix of folklore??? ANYWAAAAAAY, hope you liked it 🩵 thank u so much for the ask 🩵
CRUEL SUMMER
People around them always asked themselves how they could work, Y/N and Morpheus couldn't be more different if they tried to and yet they were a match made in heaven. He was very temperamental and with a lot of trust issues while she was a sunshine that always saw good anywhere she went. So people wondered…
They didn't know them though, there were a lot of concessions between them…especially from Dream's side. What Y/N wanted she would get, no matter what sacrifice he had to do, even if he thought it was crazy…like suddenly asking to break up for a few hours. Morpheus was ready to cry and ask what did he do to make her ask for this (because honestly this time he was so sure everything was fine) but then she explained that RED Taylor's Version would come out and she wanted to really experience it.
He didn't understand it, but fearing she would actually break up with him it felt like it was better letting her have that moment. Not even twenty-four hours later he found her crying on the floor while All Too Well (10 minutes version) Taylor's Version played very loudly. Morpheus loved every form of art but not even him could understand how someone could feel so much from just listing a song.
That day was supposed to be the strangest day…until now.
— I do not understand.
— We are going to The Eras Tour. I mean, not really, it's the film and I bought us tickets, surprise! - of course Y/N knew her boyfriend wasn't a swiftie like her, but this was a very important moment in her life and she really wanted to share it with him. — I didn't had the money to go see the actual show but since I took so many extra hours at work I was able to get a free day today to go see it with you! You're not mad at me, right, kitten?
— I would never be angry with you, my love. - especially when she looked at him like that. — I see no point in it. I am the Lord of the Dreaming, surely I could make your dream of watching this come true.
— But it wouldn't be the real thing. I really want to see the whole experience, even if it was just watching a movie, and…and I want to sing her songs with other fans…and most of all: I really want to share this moment with you. Please, Morpheus, say yes…
And that's how Dream of the Endless ended up in the middle of a movie theater full of unknown people beside his girlfriend. Y/N was dressed with the cheerleader outfit from Shake it off and while he didn't understand the reason behind it all he did was make sure no one would make her feel uncomfortable. There was no denying he was a bit jealous and the way people looked at her didn't help it but Dream knew he couldn't go back to his old ways.
"Alright, Los Angeles, we have arrived at the very first bridge of the evening. Now, I have a question. Does anyone here know the lyrics to this bridge? Prove it!"
— I'M DRUNK IN THE BACK OF THE CAR AND I CRIED LIKE A BABY COMING HOME FROM A BAR OHHH SAID I'M FINE BUT IT WASN'T TRUE I DON'T WANNA KEEP SECRETS JUST TO KEEP YOU AND I SNUCK IN THROUGH THE GARDEN GATE EVERY NIGHT THAT SUMMER JUST TO SEAL MY FATE OHHH AND I SCREAM FOR WHATEVER IS WORTH I LOVE YOU AIN'T THAT THE WORST THING YOU EVER HEARD? - and there he was completely enchanted by Y/N's. She was singing the loudest she could and he doubted tomorrow she would have the voice to say anything, but today…in this moment she was completely happy. And Y/N was sharing it with him. At the moment it was just her there with him, it was like every other person in the movie theater was just gone.
In that moment he knew that he was truthfully completely and irrevocably in love with Y/N.
#morpheus x reader#the sandman#dream of the endless#morpheus x oc#dream of the endless x reader#morpheus x you#dream x reader
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The perks of injuries : Morpheus x reader
Request: Reader is able to enter the dreaming physically, not just while asleep. Time pass, she starts to feel comfortable around lord and acting like they're friends (she thinks they really are, but we know Dream and his "I don't need anyone"). One day something awful happened, maybe reader was being followed in the night on her way home or some natural disaster appeared, so she went to the dreaming out of fear, but Morpheus being his moody self with a lot of work thought she would just get on his nerves or something like this and just sent her back to earth, maybe with saying about her being too loud/clingy for him to normally work. In the real world she got badly hurt and the only person who helped her out was Hob/Matthew/Death. The same day or the next dream found out about it from her saver (if it's hob maybe during their meeting which was due the same day everything happened, matthew when he came back, death when she was just passing by his realm). Ending with guilty, comforting Morpheus.
Oh, hello there. I haven’t seen you lurking in the shadows.
I don’t think we’ve meet before so let me introduce myself. In this story my name is irrelevant and it’s better if you only know me by my function. I am the spirit, that little spark that lives inside every human and stays there even after people die. Of course, I am dressed in human form but you should not be tricked with that outside.
Because of my purpose and abilities, during my lifetime I have already met a lot of different creatures, god, embodiments of human believes. Funny how their faith and imagination brings all of them to life and keep them that way.
The Endless are the ones I have to work with most of the time. I already mentioned Death – surprisingly she is the sweetest girl you have ever met, full of optimism and joy but there are another 6 of them. Destiny, Destruction, Desire, Despair, Delirium and Dream. I purposefully left Dream at the end since I have the strongest relation with him. He rules the sleeping domain, but even when people dream their spirit stay active so it’s my job to ensure nightmares or dreams do not become too vivid. It’s my duty to watch over them all the time, much to Dream’s displeasure.
Despite his attitude during the years we were able to make this relation work without interfering too much with one another and that required my presence in the Dreaming from time to time to check out if everything was going smoothly. Therefore I was granted the ability to project myself in his Kingdom not only while sleeping (since I was still a lot like human) but also in my psychical form. At some point I started considering Dream as my friend, but he was far more reserved with the use of such word.
***
It was heavy day. October mood started to settle in and people were slowly indulging in their autumn sadness, sleepiness and weariness. Focusing only on the most important things, rarely leaving homes and spending days in front of TV, tucked in blankets. Lack of sun and happiness could be felt by everyone and Despair slowly started to pull her claws on those who were prone to seasonal mood swings and depression. I would lie if I said it all had no effect on their spirits and in result – on me. I was losing energy and focus and motivation to do anything and it was not good. Definitely not. Despite my best efforts I felt all the emotions and instead of acting like a spiritual being I was behaving like human. Which also meant I was more vulnerable than usual.
“Heading home?” my friend from work stopped by my desk on her way out, worry all over her face
“Sorry?” I raised my head from the pile of documents, not sure of the day or even the hour
“It’s late” she said “you should finish for today. You have been working too hard lately.”
“Yeah, maybe you are right” how could I even begin to explain that work helped me get my mind busy. And being a scientist required constant focus on the experiment and researches so it really helped “but you know how it is, if you don’t keep up the pace you will be left behind and we don’t want another team to outrun us, do we?”
“Nope. But we also don’t want a member of the team to die on the shift, so try to remember that. Team, right, we are all in this together so no reason to act like a martyr.”
“I don’t….” I started but she cut me off
‘You do. I don’t know what’s been going on with you lately, but something’s different.”
“Must be the weather.” I smiled innocently not revealing the true reason behind it all.
“Right. Lame excuse. Go home. I’ll see you tomorrow” she fastened the belt and I waved her goodbye.
Honestly, deep inside I knew she was right. It was almost 7 p.m., the streets were dark and deserted and I was in need of rest. Even if I hated it. Reluctantly I stood up, turned off the lights, closed the door and started walking home. But as soon as I stepped out of the office I felt something was wrong. Seemingly quiet and dimly lit street, instead of radiating calmness and peacefulness was eerie and terrifying. I felt it in the pit of my stomach and my heart instantly started beating faster. Don’t get me wrong, I am not a coward and I’ve seen a lot of dark, scary things inside humans souls, but this…. This feeling was something different. Something more primal, carnal and definitely not coming from Earth.
“Come out now, show yourself!” I spun around searching for the threat. Yes, I know I’ve learned nothing from the horror movies. I should have run the other direction instead of walking straight into the arms of it. “Are you chickening out now?” I mocked, using all the efforts to make my voice sound firm and confident.
There was no response but the lights flickered slightly and out of nowhere the wind broke off.
“Oh, great” I mumbled “someone needs some demonstration of powers. Why not bring the earthquake or a hurricane.”
“If you wish so, I can make it happen.“
“Desire” I hissed while spotting black-dressed, thin and high figure moving in front of me “are you alone this time?”
“Hello, spirit. Despair sends her regards, but she could not visit this time.”
“Such a shame.” I pouted “but her presence seem to be …. Pervasive, lately. I suppose she is in high spirits?”
“My dear, you can’t even imagine.” Desire purred “and what brings her the most pleasure is you suffering because of your beloved humanity.”
“I bet it is” I groaned as a sharp sting run through my stomach “do you have a business with me, Desire? It’s not often I see you in the Waking.”
“This is an exception from a rule. I know you’ve been suffering lately and I came for the aid.”
“Aid?” I raised an eyebrow “Did you bump your head, Desire?”
“You misunderstood me. My aid is more like ending your suffering”
“I don’t suffer” I folded over in sudden pain and started catching my breath rapidly.
“Liar” Desire put on the widest smile and took a step forward
“What are you doing to me?” I was now kneeling on the ground, feeling worse and worse with its proximity.
“You should know better, spirit. Desire is something that is detrimental to the …. Metaphysical aspects of human existence. Don’t you ever read any religious texts?”
“I know them too well, actually” I gasped
“Good. Then you will know what is coming next for you” Desire popped a squat next to me and grabbed my chin forcefully causing me to look at them. “You are going to suffer, a lot. I will make you beg for …..”
“Why?” I groaned trying to yank myself.
“Because you are a nuisance. You make people better, more noble and gentle. I don’t like that.”
I hissed in pain once again, not able to hold it back.
“Yes.” Desire purred full of vengeful satisfaction “ it hurts, doesn’t it? And there is nowhere to run.”
“That’s where you are wrong, Desire” I looked them straight into the eyes, sudden crazy though popping inside my mind.
“What? What are you talking about?” their smile slightly dropped
“Goodbye, Desire. I would say it was a pleasure to meet you, but as you know I am not the best liar in the world” I said and hissing and pain gathered all my power to transport myself to the only place that could possibly ensure my safety from one of the Endless.
***
The portal I opened was so powerful that it made me lose my balance and fell onto the sandy shore by the Dreaming’s gate. Coughing and panting I used my hand for support before my head got injured due to the impact.
“Shit! Shit, shit!” I really hoped I would be able to get straight into the castle but apparently the stress influenced my focus. Even though I was safe now and Desire could not get me here without invitation to Dream’s realm (which was never happening) I jumped and rushed towards the entry. “Please, open up” I put a hand where normally the doorknob would be and whispered silent pleas. I was lucky enough to made it move, in painfully slow and glitzy way. I was not patient enough to wait and slipped through the gap running towards the palace.
“Dream!” I panted running straight into the throne room catching my breath
“Spirit.” His cold voice made me straighten up immediately to safe the rests of the dignity, but my messy hair and reddened face did nothing to help me. “Why are you here?”
“Oh, you know, I was just nearby and decided to pay you a visit.”
“You were not invited. Your unexpected visitations are becoming a bother to the Kingdom”
“Morpheus ….” that was painful “you surely don’t mean that…..”
“What seems to be the matter this time?” he raised his gaze and looked at my messy figure. “Did something happen?” the last question was barely a show of acknowledgement more
“Yeah, just your sibling came at me trying to destroy my inner peace. No biggie.” I fixed a single strand of hair trying to give shaking hands something to hold on to.
“Desire?”
“Who else?”
“I shall deal with my sibling soon then, if you were not able to do so. Anything else?”
“Yes, actually” I started fiddling with my fingers nervously
“What is it?” the way he was towering over me made me feel weak an completely at his mercy. As much as I hated begging there was no other option.
“Please, don’t make me go back to waking. At least not straight away. Let me stay, Morpheus”
“I’m busy, spirit. I don’t have time for that. And I see no reason to do so. “
“You know well enough I have no power against Desire, Morpheus and if they are after me, Waking is not safe. I’m really scared, please. I thought as my friend you would help me.” Oh, forget the dignity, fear got the worst of me.
“Waking is your realm and you should go back there immediately. Dreaming has its own affairs and it’s not a hideout for you, spirit. Go back to your Realm, protect it and I will take of Desire after I’m done with my duties.”
“Morpheus, please…. I….”
“That’s all, Spirit.”
“Fine. Thanks for your help, Dream. Hope everything works well for you here. I suppose I see you when there’s another vortex or some other threat to your Kingdom. You never had any inhibitions to ask for my help."
I marched out the palace and with still shaking hands returned to the same place in the Waking. Luckily, Desire was out of sight, for now, but knowing them, this was far from over.
***
I had a sleepless night. After my little banter with Morpheus no dream came to me and obviously I did not even enter the Dreaming. He was either acting like a child or was truly busy with some serious and urgent matter, most probably both those reason combined. So when the morning came I was even more tired than before. And there was one more thing, just a little something that normally would not get my attention but since I knew that I was on Desire’s radar I was far more alert. I was becoming paranoid and there was no way I could go to work like that, so the only option was to call in and excuse myself with being sick. The last thing I needed was ending up in the mental hospital or someone discovering my true identity. Muttering some protective spell I walked round the apartment searching for the source of something dark and evil I could clearly feel. It was not Desire, for sure. This was more… infernal, cruel and well, less sly than Dream’s sibling. Suddenly, the though dawned on me. They send a demon after me. The worst kind of the Hell’s servant, known as Hellfire. Talk about a threat to a spirit. This one could crash me with a single snap of his fingers.
“Spirit.” he spoke contently “such a pleasure”
“I did not expect you in my flat.” I trembled “what brings you to me?”
“A debt to Desire. Seems like today I will finally be able to pay it.”
“I’m not going down willingly.” I raised hand creating some sort of shield between us
“Funny, I was not asking” he looked at me and I felt this kind of pain that really make you wanna give up and die. My whole body was on fire, my insides being twisted and turned and I could only see the blackness. My light and soul power was still there, but it was not enough to go against the demon. Darkness slowly started to creep in, every positive though I had gone and suppressed by negativity, sadness, evil. There was no good in the world, people were ungrateful, greedy creatures, life was meaningless.
“Death….” I whispered faintly before losing conscience and giving in to the devilish powers.
***
When I opened my eyes I was lying under cover, the demon gone and my flat looking like nothing happened. Was that a dream? But why would Morpheus allow something like that? Was he really that mad at me for seeking his help? I tried to move but my whole body was aching and even breathing was problematic. I also felt some pressure on my abdomen and after lifting up the shirt I discovered some dressing across my stomach.
“Who’s here?” I screamed at the space once again alerted. I was in no condition to fight but I would if I had to.
“Hey, no! Lay back down” black-skinned woman came running off the kitchen forcing me back onto the cushions. “You got pretty badly hurt, dear. You need rest.”
“Hello, Death” I closed my eyes, enjoying her warm hand on my forehead “What happened?”
“How much do you remember?”
“I remember Hellfire coming after me. “
“That is not something you can forget" she muttered” you called for me and that was good decision.”
“Guess my human instincts kicked in. Thank you. Amongst the Endless you are the only one I can count on.”
“How so?” she raised an eyebrow “Actually, wait. I was a bit surprised when I heard your voice. I mean, usually you are rather more fond of collaborating with my brother, so why me?”
“I did ask Dream for help, but he….”
“Wait.” She raised hand stopping me from talking “He denied you?”
“He was busy.”
“He is always busy. And his affairs are usually about him sulking and going through something. I love my brother, but he is an idiot. This could have ended up so bad….” She shook her head and the curly hair bounced around emphasizing her annoyance. “Did you tell him Desire was after you?”
“How do you know that?” I propped myself on the elbow but the injuries made me fall back hissing. “Shit!”
“It does not take a genius. Only Desire would send a demon after you. unless you also have some affair with Morningstar I should know about?” I shook my head denying that “Good. But Dream…., I think I will need a word with him.”
“The boss is already on his way. Will you let me in?” familiar Raven perched down on the sill looking through the raked window.
“Sure, come on in, Matthew” I sighed reaching for the handle and letting him in.
“Are you all right?”
“Besides dizziness, third-degree burns and scarred pride I think I will pull through. Not thanks to Dream, though. “
“He is ……” Matthew started but quickly stopped
“Do not speak in my name Matthew.”
“Oh, hello brother. Seems like you and I have a lot to talk about” Death smiled at her younger sibling appearing in the room, but tone of her voice was far from happy, rather reprobative.
“Guys” I captured their attention “as much as I appreciate you all coming here, can a girl get some peace and calm to heal? You know, you don’t confront a demon every day. Death, thank you for your help, truly, but can you and your brother get your little fight somewhere else?”
Death eyed her brother carefully while he was hunched, his gaze focused on the floor.
“Sure” she shrugged “you need peace, you are right. But I think Dream might have something to tell you, so I’ll leave you two alone. Matthew, care to join me outside?”
“Sure thing, Lady Death.”
“We will have this conversation, brother, just later. What comes up must go down” she went to hug him and whispered into his ear “tell her!” then the older endless turned back to me, still in bed “see you soon, dear, take care of yourself and if you ever need something don’t hesitate to call me. Bye.”
Without her presence the atmosphere in the room suddenly became more tense. Dream was standing in the same position, his feet rooted to the ground, while I was just biting my lip and trying to look everywhere but on him. Awkward.
“Dream…..” I spoke
“Spirit……” he said at the same time and this made us silent once again.
Finally, after what seemed like eternity he came closer and sat down on the edge of the couch making me move away instantly.
“Please, don’t” he whispered
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t …. Run from me.”
“Run from you?! Are you serious Dream? I run straight into you when I felt the danger coming. And what was your response? I am busy. Isn’t that what you said?” the anger and hurt found the way out at last.
“I did….I…..I….” he stuttered
“What?”
“I apologize, spirit. I should have taken you seriously.”
“You should have.” I agreed looking away, still hurt. “Well, apologies accepted I guess.”
“No.” he grabbed my hand gently
“No? I don’t understand.”
“You should be mad. You should scream and shout and call me an idiot. But you are just too good for me, aren’t you?” he searched for my face and as our gazes met I finally came into realization
“Morpheus?” I coughed out “what are you…..”
“When you came to me…. I panicked. You make me…. Feel things and that is something I haven’t experienced in some time. “
“Is that bad?”
“It’s dangerous. Every woman I loved, every feeling I held for anyone always ended up badly.”
“Loved?” I opened my eyes in surprise “Dream…..”
“Yes. It’s true. I love you, spirit. And now I feel so guilty for letting you get hurt. And ‘m terrified for your safety. We still have joint affairs and business and I don’t know if I can keep it up like that. Maybe it would be better and safer for you with me gone”
“Shut up, Morpheus!” I interrupted his teary confession unable to take it anymore. “Your sister is right, you are an idiot. Why do you think I came to you in the first place? Why do you think I project myself in the Dreaming every time I get the chance? Why do you think I meddled with humans mentality so they would get your attention and you would come to me for change. Did you believe it all to be coincidental?”
“I…” oh, now he was speechless “I never ....”
“Well, now you know.” I looked down, my cheek turning red. “It’s your decision what to do with it. You can leave but you can…. you know, stay.”
“My love” he whispered and before I realized what was happening he was kissing me gently and mindful of all the injuries “I am sorry. I’ll stay with you as long as you’ll have me.”
“Then you are up for a long ride. But I believe you have a word to exchange with your sister first.”
“She can wait” he whispered moving in once again but I stopped him by putting hand on his chest.
“She cannot. Before this gets serious you need some sense knocked into your head. Go talk to her and be quick. You made me wait for you long enough.”
“Anything for you, love. “ he kissed my temple and reluctantly, yet obediently left to be scolded by Death.
@somest1 @pinksirensong
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