#◟༺✧༻◞ sapphire flames in their wake ┊ic.┊ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thepaintedlady00 · 2 years ago

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The Sandman and the Girl Without Dreams

Chapter 9: A Past As Beautiful and Destructive As Me

TW: the fates, knives, dirty thoughts, smut (Soft Dream is here)

I curled deeper into the warm covers, breathing out a sigh of relief at the heat that rolled off of them. That breath was one I could feel hanging in the frozen air, the heat of it visible in the cold as I blinked my eyes open. Everything was frozen. My pillows, the empty space of bed beside me, the windows and curtains, my chair. All of it. As I sat up, the chill filling the warm space I'd left, three figures stood in front of my bedroom door.

The first, standing closest to me, was a young woman in a beautiful sapphire blue gown, her dark hair curled in ringlets around her soft face. "Greetings, fate kept sister."

In a blink she was standing in the back and one of the others was now standing in front of me. She was older, her face slightly worn by the years. Her hair and eyes remained the same as the younger ones. "It is so good to finally put a face to that lovely name of yours, dear Weaver."

Another blink and the oldest of them stood before me, eyes cold and face wrinkled with age and wisdom. Her silver hair wrapped around her like a shroud. "She doesn't look like much, you'd think with the power in those veins she'd have a bit of spark to her."

I wanted to speak, wanted to demand what the hell was happening, but I couldn't. Like the room around me I was frozen in place, clinging to what little warmth remained. The youngest smiled at me. "I think she looks perfect!"

The oldest sneered. "Fate kept, fate kissed, fate bound. Your titles are as endless as that which you would so easily spread your legs for."

The middle one tutted. "Now, now sister-self, we cannot chastise her for answering the song she was gifted. That even remains higher than us."

"Such a sweet song they make together!" The youngest said. "I hope it does not give way to the dissonant cries that threaten to swallow it."

"A butterfly can do little against the storm to come," the eldest remarked.

"She will have to become a dragon then," the youngest replied. "Fire and armor born to weather any storm."

"The question remains if she will heed her calling or if she will bend and break and burn beneath the threads." The middle said.

"Heed our advice, fate touched, do not hesitate to reach out to the cold. For in the frozen depth much truth lies." The youngest said.

The middle reappeared. "Heed our warning, fate kissed, do not bend to those unworthy. It is their stained hands that seek to tear your wings from your back and watch you crawl and wither."

The oldest glared at me. "Heed our truth, fate bound, forsake that which you fear. For the path through flames of molten gold is that which holds your freedom."

A loud crack of shattering ice echoed in my ears, my hands cupping around them as I tried to block out the sound. When I looked back up they were gone. A faint feeling, like a hand wrapping around my arm pulled me from the frozen world. My hand found the knife beneath my pillow and my body moved of its own accord, the world swinging as I threw myself over the top of whoever had touched me and pressed the blade snuggly against their throat.

Below me Pierres eyes were glowing, his hands resting tightly on my hips. "It is good to be back beneath these powerful thighs, Ma moitié."

Breathing heavily I looked around the room, pulling the blade from his throat. It was just as I left it. My head snapped to the bed, now empty save for a single peony that lay on the pillow beside mine. Dream. I looked back to Pierre who looked me over with his heated gaze and winked. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I was attempting to wake the sleeping beauty, but in our time apart it appears I've forgotten that she has quite the bite when startled." He smiled even wider. "Though I will never complain about our current position."

"How did you get in?" I asked standing up and helping him off the floor.

"The witch," he replied. "Though we both know if I had truly wanted in I'd have found a way." He leaned slightly to check out my ass in the shorts I'd slept in. "The years have treated you kindly."

I slapped his arm. "Eyes up."

He complied with a sly grin. "Oh I've seen it all before, no need to be so prude about it."

"That was a long time ago," I said, forcing his chin upward as he started looking back.

"Ahh so my other half has found herself a new lover!" He teased flopping onto the bed and twirling the peony in his fingers. "A thoughtful one is he?"

I snatched it out of his hand and carefully set it on my nightstand. "As much as I'd love to talk to you about my sex life you have work to do."

He relaxed into my bed. "It is already done."

"You cleaned up three bodies and all that blood already?"

"You say this like it is difficult," he replied, offended. "Have the years made you forget my talents for such things?"

"No."

"Stop worrying, Ma moitié, come lay down with me and relax for a moment."

With a sigh I flopped down onto the bed beside him. He pressed a kiss to my cheek. "It's good to see you Pierre."

"Of course it is, I am spectacular!" He cheered, turning to face me. "Now, tell me of this tall dark stranger the witch claims to have caught fingers deep inside you."

I groaned. "JOHANNA CONSTANTINE!"

***

Dream had watched Penelope sleep until the sun began to rise before he was forced to leave. He hated having to go, hated that she would wake up alone, but his realm needed his attention now. So he'd placed the peony beside her, hoping it would soothe her if she woke up worried about his absence. As he stood in the corner by her door he turned to the raven that had accompanied them. "Stay with her, Matthew. If trouble comes for her again I will not be caught off guard."

And trouble indeed did come, but a kind that Dream had not been prepared for. His jaw was firmly locked in place as he watched the interaction through Matthews eyes. At first he was relieved, proud, to watch her take the man to the ground with ease, a blade to his throat, but then when she retracted it and helped him up his relief twisted into something else. Something green.

When the stranger had not even attempted to hide his blatant lingering gaze on her body Dream felt the green feeling twist inside him. When he leapt onto her bed and grabbed the flower he'd left for her, he nearly lost all his self control and when she joined him in the bed his hands curled into the arms of his throne and the room around him gently quaked.

Penelope was obviously familiar with this man, too familiar for his liking. But as he watched them he felt no flare of arousal or any feelings from her that indicated this was anything more than a friend. Even without the mark he trusted her, but that didn't stop the bitter taste that filled his throat at the sight of them. He let his connection drop, let his eyes refocus on the throne room.

His thoughts were a rampant storm in his mind. She may not have felt anything for her friend, but seeing her so close with another man brought a possessive need within him. He was not unfamiliar with this, he’d had many lovers in the past and had felt the need before, but with Penelope it was different. It was so strong Morpheus had to consciously remind himself he could not just show up in her room and trap this friend of hers in a never ending nightmare. It was more than that though, more than mere possessive jealousy that made him retreat inward.

She was happy. She had been before he showed up in the apartment she shared with Constantine. In all the years he spent locked in that cage he thought of her often, mourned her. He was not prepared to find her alive, healthy and happy in the Waking World. Before Hell, he’d been determined to retrieve his tools, answer her questions and then let her finally be rid of him. Then he saw the torture she’d endured… felt the softness of her lips on his… had her gasping and moaning against him. He did not want to leave her, he did not think he could survive it now, but he worried what him staying would cost her.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He needed air - he needed to think. He needed to see her.

***

Pierre finally climbed out of the bed after he was satisfied he was caught up in my sex life since our departure, and grabbed a long box from the chair. “I know the last time we spoke, you told me you did not want these, but… Given the recent events I brought them with me just in case.”

At the sight of it I clammed up. It had been years since I’d given them to him… and as he opened the lid, holding it out for me to see the gleaming steel blades within it an old pain filled my chest. I took one of them in my hand, the familiar weight of it digging up a wave of bittersweet emotions. As I looked into the reflection in the blade it was his eyes that stared back at me. Olethros. The pain was one of great friendship and a sorrowful betrayal.

"I know it's not ladylike… but you really need to learn how to throw a proper punch Miss…"

"Barlow. Penelope Barlow."

"Well, Miss Barlow, are you alright?"

"Better now that I've stumbled onto a knight."

His laugh was deep and heartfelt. "Never been called a knight before, I could get used to it."

"Well, what name does my knight normally go by?"

"I've got a lot of names, Miss. You can call me Olethros."

"Olethros, I'm glad to have run into you."

"As am I, Penelope."

I quickly set it back in the box and closed the lid. “Thank you, Pierre. Could you just… just hold onto them a while longer for me?”

His eyes held the understanding that made Pierre one of my closest friends. He nodded, holding the box with tender care. “Of course, mon amour. Now, get dressed and join the witch and I for breakfast, yes?”

“Of course,” I answered watching him settle into my chair with a shit eating grin on his face. “Get out you sly bastard.”

“Very well,” he said with an exasperated sigh, moving toward the door. “But, if your new lover disappoints, perhaps we will reconnect in a different way?”

I rolled my eyes. “You and Johanna are the worst with boundaries!”

He laughed as he closed the door with one final shout of, “That was not a no!”

“NO!” I hollered, sitting on the bed and grabbing the flower Dream had left for me with a smile.

Pierre had been the person I trusted most in this world before Johanna and now Dream. He had been by my side in my darkest moments and had seen me through it all with kindness, patience and laughter. He was perhaps the most annoying person I'd ever met, but single handedly the most loyal and loving individual. I knew he wouldn't betray me, no matter how we left things or how long it'd been since we spoke through the years. Pierre would never betray me, would never do anything to cause me harm, would never abandon me.

It was nice to have him around again, nice in a mostly annoying way, but with him he brought a lot of messy history. I had no doubts that Dream had his own unpleasant moments in his past and I truly didn’t think he would care about some of mine, but I still felt nervous, still felt ashamed. What if the things I’d done made him see me differently? What if upon learning of the years I’d spent without him was just too much? Nothing could ever change the way I see you. He’d said those words, not long ago. He’d said them and meant them with everything he was. I set the flower back on my nightstand and smiled. Dream wouldn’t scare so easily.

A soft noise echoed from the top of the curtain rods and startled me. “Would now be a good time to tell you I’m here?”

Matthew perched above me, awkwardly. “Oh my god Matthew! How long have you been here?”

“Since the sun came up,” he said. “Dream had me stick around just in case there was any trouble. You know so he could come help and all that.”

I sighed, letting the tension release from my shoulders. “I should have known he’d leave you behind. I’m sorry you’re stuck on babysitting duty.”

"I don't mind!" He insisted, flying down to rest on the bed. "It'll be fun."

"Will it be?" I asked.

"Yeah! We can get pizza or go to the movies," the raven sounded very excited at the prospect of a normal day.

"Missing life as a human Matthew?"

"Just a little," he said. "Being a bird is great and all and I enjoy The Dreaming and everyone there it's just…"

"A lot of change in a small span of time. I get it." I finished for him. “I’m not sure what the day has planned, but I’ve got to warn you it might not be the typical human outting you're wanting."

His head cocked to the side a bit. "Yeah, I doubt most humans deal with constant threats of being attacked." Clearing his throat he hopped towards me a bit. "Speaking of… You don't have to tell me, but, uh, I am curious about what exactly you've got going on."

I smiled tensely at him. "You remember Hell? Those, uh, memories you saw?"

"Yeah," he admitted softly. "Those are kind of hard to forget."

"The doctor from the asylum is the head of the sixty, hell, it might be seventy now, year long hunt I've been avoiding."

"The doctor?" He questioned. "Shouldn't he be, I don't know, dead?"

I picked at my fingers. "Yeah, he should be. But those… The, uh… The procedures he did on me… They gave him enough biological material to create a prototype of his weird eternal life elixir or drug or whatever. He took it and used the extra time it gave him to link up with the cult assholes that trapped Dream with Roderick Burgess. They mixed their weird magic and his mad science to make a better version of the prototype. He and his closest confidants took it and have been using it to keep them alive."

"So these assholes don't die?"

"They do. Their new elixir only preserves their life… Their minds I guess. Their bodies still age and decay just at a slower rate than normal." I sighed. "He's running low on my material now though, he has been for the past tenish years."

Beside me Matthew cawed. "That's why they're coming at you so hard."

"Yeah," I whispered. "If they can manage to catch me, it'll be the end this time. He'll take every last bit of me and…" I shook my head. "But that's not going to happen."

"Yeah, I mean you've got Dream now." Matthew said. "He'll take care of it."

"No." I couldn't even think of what the worst bad outcome would look like. "He's going to stay out of it. If they think he's a threat they'll just find a way to trap him again, or worse. He needs to keep himself and The Dreaming safe."

Matthew looked up at me. "Does he know that?"

"No," I breathed out, trying to keep myself calm. "No he doesn't. But… He'll understand."

A chuckle and another caw. "I think we both know it's not gonna be that easy. This is Dream we're talking about."

I laughed. "Yeah, he's kind of an ass."

“He’s much better around you,” Matthew stated calmly.

Smiling down at the raven I shrugged. “I don’t think he can really help it. He can’t exactly hide things from me, not for long at least.”

“Well, whatever thing you two have got going on I’m happy for you. The boss needs someone like you around.”

“Someone like me?”

“Someone that will call him out on things,” he clarified. “Someone that’s not afraid to tell him he's wrong.”

Well, that was certainly something I could do. “Okay, shield your bird eyes dear Matthew while I get dressed for our human outting.”

He flew to the corner of the room, pushing his tiny head through the curtains and observing the street down below as I threw on the thinnest turtleneck I could find, adjusting it so the nearly faded bruising wasn’t visible before securing Jessamys’ feathers back around my neck and pulling on a light long skirt. I was covered head to toe, so any cuts or bruises I hadn’t noticed or hadn't healed yet would stay covered and not draw anymore unwanted attention my way. I set a magazine up for Matthew as I washed my face and did my hair. Listening to the bird comment on movie stars was one of the most amusing things I’d heard in a while. “You should start a podcast.”

He laughed. “A raven with a podcast, that would be hilarious!”

Once I’d gotten on a comfortable pair of shoes he flew to my shoulder and perched on me as I left my room to greet Johanna and Pierre who sat on complete opposite sides of the sofa, leaning away from each other. “Wow, don’t look too comfortable you two, someone might think you like each other.”

Johanna flipped me off. “Fuck you.”

“I would never!” Pierre said at the exact time.

“Breakfast,” I said. “Who's buying?”

Pierre’s eyes were glued to Matthew. “Are we not going to address the bird?”

Johanna smiled. “Nope. Don’t you say a word to him.”

“This is Matthew.”

Pierre's face grew even more confused. “The bird has a name?”

From my shoulder Matthew bristled and let out a caw. “Yes, he has a name and you’re not making a very good first impression.”

“When do I ever, mon amour?” He asked with a wide grin.

“Point taken, now let's go, I'm starving.”

Johanna pulled on her jacket. “Yeah, you haven’t had a real meal since Hell.”

I felt somewhat bad for Pierre as he looked between us with absolute confusion. “What has happened in my absence?”

The four of us walked to a nearby cafe and Pierre and I grabbed a table outside while Johanna went in and got our breakfast sorted. He’d pulled his chair right next to mine and leaned into me the whole time, something Pierre never grew tired of was physical attention. Matthew had perched on the opposite side of the table, beady black eyes boring into the French man beside me. Pierre stared at him for a while before turning to me to ask, “It cannot kill me, can it?”

Shrugging my shoulders I smiled at Matthew. “No clue, that's why you need to be nice.”

It was only when Johanna returned either coffee and plates of food that we got back to the situation at hand. They were back in London and if last night was anything they knew I was here too. Pierre spoke first, "So, no running this time eh?"

"No," I said, picking at the food in front of me. "Not this time."

"Why now?"

There were so many answers. I'm tired of losing the ones close to me. I'm tired of letting them push me around. But one that held the most truth. "I'm tired."

This made Pierre wrap his arm around me and squeeze my shoulder. "Finally. I have been waiting for you to turn loose the dogs of war!"

Johanna rolled her eyes. "We need to be smart about this. These cunts have people and resources, we can't take them in an all out fight."

"We have her," Pierre insisted. "No one is better in a fight than our Penelope!"

I looked down at the table, my mind drifting back to the hulking mass of red hair from all those years ago. "Fighting isn't just about numbers or strength, Inky. You have to slow down, think through the moves before you act."

I'd watched him attempt to bend the paper into the shape of my butterfly for almost an hour as we talked, still to no avail. "I've thought out the moves, Olethros. I can't win if I don't know how to actually fight."

"God damn paper," he muttered, tossing the paper into the pile with all the others. He sighed. "Why are you asking me this now?"

"You're the one that said I needed to know how to throw a proper punch!" I replied, reaching over to help guide his fingers. "I'm not asking you this lightly. I know how seriously you take fighting."

"Fighting almost always leads to death and destruction. Are you prepared for that?"

I shook my head. "No, but I don't have a choice. I have to do something, Olethros. I'd never be able to live with myself if I didn't."

I pulled my hands away from his and looked down at the disfigured butterfly. He let it fall onto the desk. "Don't think I'll ever be able to make one like yours."

With a gentle tug I pulled the paper butterfly off of where it hung on my necklace. I stroked over the soft worn paper, smiling at the memories of the friend that had given it to me, before holding it out to him. "You take it. Until you make one of your own."

"Inky…"

I set it in his palm. "Consider it payment for teaching me how to fight?"

His rich eyes bored into mine, fingers curling around my own. "Fine. But just some basic moves. You're no killer, Penelope Barlow. I just want to keep it that way."

Pierre nudged me, hand squeezing my shoulder. "You drifted off, Ma moitié. Are you alright?"

"Yeah," I answered, straightening up in my chair. "Yeah I'm fine. What were we saying?"

Johanna watched me carefully. "Pierre and I were arguing over strategy."

"Once she picks up those blades of hers we won't need your strategy!" Pierre replied.

I shook my head. "I'm not picking up the knives. Johanna is right we need to be smart about this."

He sighed. "But-"

"I don't want to lose anyone else, Pierre." I looked up at him with watery eyes. "I can't."

Cursing in French he pressed a soft, quick kiss to my lips and hugged me. "Alright, mon amour. We'll do it your way."

"Thank you."

Matthews wings flared out as he cawed, eyes focused behind us. I turned, looking over Pierres shoulder at Morpheus as he stood across the street. Smiling at him I looked at Johanna. "Are you guys good or do we have more to talk about?"

She glanced at Dream and smirked. "No, we're good. Come on Frenchie, let's go hit up a few contacts."

Pierre followed our eyes and grinned. "Is that the new lover? He is handsome."

"Very," I agreed, shoving against his chest. "Now get out of here.

He pressed one last kiss to my lips, longer than the first one, trying to get a rise out of Dream. And, if the way the shadows seemed to move over him meant anything he'd succeeded. I shoved again, slapping the back of his head, but he only smiled at me. "I have to make a good impression, no?"

"Fuck off." I laughed as he slid out of his seat, glancing at Dream as he walked away with Johanna.

Dream stayed still for a minute before he moved to join Matthew and I at the table. "Good morning," I said happily.

"Good morning." His tone held no indication of, well, anything.

I tiled my head, watching him take a piece of bread from the table and hold it. "How are repairs in The Dreaming coming along?"

"Well," he said. "I should be regaining most of my lost subjects soon."

"That's good," I said. He was off, but I couldn't quite tell why. A familiar feeling rose up in my chest, along with the sound of the raging ocean waves hitting thick wood. I shoved it down, watching Matthew peck at a plate of food, not able to get it all. I reached over, grabbing the plate and starting to cut up the food into smaller pieces.

His eyes looked down the road, where Pierre and Johanna had gone. "Was he a friend of yours? Or an old lover?"

"Both? Neither?" I chuckled. "He's my friend. We slept together a few times, but it was mostly out of convenience. I trusted him, he trusted me, we didn't have to think about potential dangers or something going wrong. We didn't have to think."

Dream nodded. "Does he know this?"

"He was there for me during a difficult time. And when he was offered an obscene amount of money to trick me he refused." I met Dreams' eyes and sighed. "I know he's a lot, but Pierre is one of the few people that didn't betray me."

"I understand," he said. "If you trust him..."

"I do trust him."

"And I trust you." He said simply. "So long as he keeps his mouth to himself you'll not hear any complaints from me."

"Your mouth is the only one I want, Dream Lord." I insisted with a wide grin.

Nothing. No smile, no teasing, just the same blank expression. After a few minutes of silence he spoke calmly, "I'm assuming there were no other attacks in my absence."

"No," I replied, bracing myself for this part of the conversation.

A nod. "Good, it won't take too long finding the individuals behind this."

"About that," I said nervously. Taking a deep breath I met his cold gaze. "I don't want you to get involved."

A flash of annoyance and anger filled him, curling around me. "What?"

"It's just…" I sighed. "These people are dangerous, Dream-"

"All the more reason for me to deal with it."

"They're well organized and well versed in both magic and science. If they find out you're involved in any way they will trap you," I said, watching his eyes flare with memories of his cage. "I'm not going to risk that happening, not ever again."

His jaw clenched. "I will be discreet."

"No." I could see the understanding fill his eyes as my aching worry reached out to him. "I have lost far too many people to this crazy cult mad scientist bullshit. I am not willing to risk losing you too."

"Penelope-"

"Promise me, Morpheus." I bit back a sob. "Promise me you'll let me handle it. Please."

He nodded, every inch of him rigid and tense. "Very well."

"Thank you."

Dream watched as I held the now smaller bits of food out to Matthew, who took it almost too eagerly. "You shouldn't indulge him."

"Oh leave him be," I said, the tenseness slowly dissolving. "He was human once, it's only fair that he gets some treats."

"If he gets too fat to fly back to The Dreaming it'll be on your head then."

I laughed. "If your magic ravens get fat from a few pieces of biscuit then that's just poor execution on your part."

Matthew ignored us both in favor of the food, but made quiet content noises from beside me. Dream continued looking around with his lips pouted. I could sense the emotions he was feeling, but couldn’t identify them. It was like a glass wall separated them from me, and looking at him I could just tell he was doing it on purpose. To keep me from being forced to feel them perhaps? Or to keep him from having to open up to me about what was wrong. Of the two the second seemed far more Dream.

I nudged his leg with my foot, bringing his emotionless eyes and face back to me. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Dream…” I began. “I can feel something is off with you. Something you’re keeping from me.”

He sighed. “It is not important, Penelope.”

“I don’t care, I still want to-”

“Please.” He said, a flash of tenderness filling his eyes for a moment. “I do not wish to burden you with trivial things.”

With a sigh I handed Matthew the last piece. “Okay, but I want you to know that I’m here. No matter what it is, or how trivial it may seem, I’m here.”

“Thank you,” he said softly, sounding almost pained by the kindness of my words.

I didn’t push it further. Dream was stubborn and if he really didn’t want to talk to me, he wouldn’t. Trying to pry more out of him would only result in a fight, and after eighty years apart I did not want to spend our newfound time together fighting over little things.

After paying for the food we began walking once again. In one hand he held his bread and the other hand was stuffed in his pocket. I missed the feel of his arm wrapped around mine, but respected his space. I knew that it wasn’t something he did to appear cold or to purposefully hurt my feelings. Even in his sour mood I didn't think he'd act cruelly. He was a private person, that was all.

I followed him to a nearby park where he took a seat on a park bench and slowly began picking away at the loaf of bread, tossing the pieces to the pigeons. This was odd. Dream of the Endless was not the type to sit in a park and feed pigeons. I looked at him and just as I was about to ask what he was doing his hand snapped up, catching a rogue ball as it came hurtling towards my face. The young man that came to retrieve it apologized and complemented Dream’s catch before turning and going back to his game. “Are you alright?”

I nodded. “Yeah, thanks for that.”

His eyes gave me a once over and then the silence returned. That feeling began to aw its way back up just as I spotted the black boots approaching us. Everything was washed away with the warmth of her. With a bright smile I leapt up and threw my arms around her. “Death!”

She returned my embrace with an even tighter one. “It’s so good to see you, Penelope.” She pulled away, fixing my hair and looking at me with the warm loving gaze I hadn't seen in years. “You look good, how are you doing?”

The last time I saw her was the night I nearly died. I’d almost begged her to take me then, and she’d been the one to assure me that there was still so much for me to live for. I smiled even wider, ignoring the tears that started to fill my eyes. “Better.”

“Good.” She said looking down at Dream, her face contorting into confusion. “What’s he doing?”

I shrugged. “No clue, he’s in a mood.”

“I’ll talk to him,” she assured. “Why don’t you go do something fun?”

He looked up at us now as the words of his sister registered, but before he could speak I held up my hands. “Don’t worry, I’ll stay within your line of sight.”

Dreams' jaw was tense as he nodded. “Thank you.”

Death gave me a look, but I waved her off, walking over to a nearby tree and plopping down. The two of them had a lot to talk about, and if anyone was going to get Dream out of his mood it was her. Matthew joined me shortly, nodding to the small hot dog cart off to the side. “Hungry?”

I rolled my eyes. “No, but I’ll get one for you.”

“You’re the best Penny!”

***

Death sat down beside him with a sigh, watching him closely. “What are you doin’?”

“I’m feeding the pigeons.” It was a simple answer, one that Dream knew would not keep her from digging up what was truly on his mind. His older sister was wise and had a talent for getting the truth out of people.

“‘You do that too much, you know what you get?’” She asked with a grin. “‘Fat pigeons.’” When he didn’t react she laughed quietly to herself. “That’s from Mary Poppins. Did you ever see it?”

“No.”

She watched a child run through the group of birds that had gathered in front of them, her joy among the humans was something he found odd, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit he envied her. She saw them, truly saw them, for all that they were and she loved them. “Okay, so what’s the matter?”

“What do you mean?”

“I can tell something’s wrong. I mean look at you. Sittin’ here, moping, pigeon-feeding. It’s not like you.”

He sighed. “No. Perhaps it isn’t. I don’t know what’s wrong, but you’re right. Something is the matter.” He paused as she got comfortable on the bench beside him. “When they captured me, I just had one thought. Vengeance. And then…” His eyes found Penelope, mind racing with all the memories of her being chained and beaten in front of him. Death seemed to understand. “Then it wasn’t just about me, and my hunger for that vengeance grew.” With another sigh he shook his head. “It wasn’t as satisfying as I’d expected. Meanwhile, my kingdom had fallen apart. My tools long since stolen and scattered. And so I embarked upon a journey to find them. Which I did, along with the girl I’d spent eighty years mourning. She’s here, healthy and happy and I’m more powerful than I have been in eons. And yet…”

“Here you are feeding the pigeons.” She finished for him, gently clapping her hands together.

“You see, until then, I’d had a true quest. A purpose beyond my function and then suddenly, it was over, and…” He made a face. “I felt disappointed. Let down. Empty. Does that make sense? I was so sure that once I got everything back, I’d feel good… that I’d be able to let her go and move on. But in some ways I feel worse than when I started. I feel like… Nothing.” He tore his eyes away from Penelope. “You asked.”

Death put a comforting hand on top of his knee and smiled at him. “You could have called me, you know.”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

She rolled her eyes and stood quickly. “Oh, I don’t believe it. Let me tell you something, Dream.” Taking the bread out of his hands she pointed it at him accusingly. “And I’m only gonna say this once, so you better pay attention. You are utterly the stupidest, most self-centered, pathetic excuse for an anthropomorphic personification on this or any other plane. Feeling sorry for yourself because your little game is over and you haven’t got the balls to go out and find a new one.” Her bread wielding hand gestured over to Penelope. An obvious message. “You’re as bad as Desire. No worse.” She threw the bread at him with an exasperated sigh. “Did it never occur to you that I would be worried about you?”

“I didn’t think-”

“Exactly! You didn’t think.”

The white ball flew through the air toward the back of Death's head. She whirled around and caught it right before it could connect and with a sigh she handed it back to its owner. “Wow. You’re as good as you… friend there.”

Looking back at him she shrugged. “He’s not my friend. He’s my brother. And he’s an idiot.”

He returned to his curled up position, tossing more crumbs down into the grass. “I’m just feeding the birds.”

“Look, I can’t stay here all day. I’ve got work to do. You can come with me if you want, or you can stay here and sulk.”

His eyes flickered back to Penelope. “What about her?”

“Is she not allowed to be alone all of a sudden?” Death joked.

“There are people after her,” he said, watching his sister's face grow more concerned as she looked over at Penelope. “I do not want to be far, just in case…”

“She can come with, if she’s comfortable with that. She's good for you, by the way," Death said with a smirk.

Penelope sat under the shade of a large tree, tossing bits of hot dog up to Matthew who swooped down making attempts to catch them before they hit the ground. She'd made a sarcastic comment about his eyesight, resulting in Matthew dropping the hot dog into her hair. He made playful attempts to get it, pecking her head and tugging on her hair lightly. They chased each other around the tree, her laugh lighting up the whole park.

"What makes you say that?" he asked, though he didn’t really need an answer. It was obvious.

She pointed to him. "You get that look when you see her, even when you’re sulking."

"I don't have a look."

"You do. It's cute!"

"Dream!" Penelope shrieked, running over to him and ducked behind him so he was in between her and the raven. "Control your pigeon!"

"Pigeon?!" Matthew hollered. "Low blow!"

She peeked out from behind his shoulder and flipped the bird off. The two bickered with him between them, yet all he could do was smile. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his sister's knowing grin and immediately forced his lips down. "Settle down you two."

Finally the two relaxed and Penelope turned to his sister and asked her about work, as if it was nothing to her, speaking to Death. After a minute he realized she still hung onto his shoulders, using him as a perch, not unlike the raven she bickered with. "Is there a reason you're hanging off of me?"

"Not particularly, why am I weighing you down, mighty Dream Lord?” She teased in his ear.

"Not physically. Mentally you are quite the weight to carry." Though his tone hadn’t changed, Penelope caught onto his playful meaning instantly.

She gasped and groaned, slumping forward, now fully hanging off him, acting as if she’d been struck. "You wound me, my lord! Oh! I fear I’ll never recover!”

“I wish to accompany my sister for a while.” He said, looking at her from over his shoulder. “Will you join us?”

“I don’t want to impose,” she said, nervousness flaring in him.

Death smiled. “You won’t be. I’ll tell you when to stay put and we’ll be fine.”

“Alright then,” she replied, squeezing his shoulder and moving to stand beside him as he rose to follow his sister. She moved further in front of them and he immediately reached out to her. She gave him a comforting smile.

“You can stand with us,” he said.

“You two have a lot to talk about,” she insisted sweetly. “I don’t want to intrude.”

He let his hand return to his side. “Stay within my sight.”

“I know, I know.”

Dream watched her walk forward, Matthew perched on her shoulder, and he felt a piercing pang of guilt fill his gut. He’d told himself he would say goodbye to her and let her live the life she’d built without him. She was happy, the feel of it warmed him. His presence would only bring her trouble, but she was already in trouble. The white coats and the doctor were a thorn in his side, but the even bigger thorn was her. He recalled her words to him, her gentle plea that barred him from involving himself in the matter. If it’d been up to him he would have already hunted them all down and put an end to this. He could do it still. But what would that cost? Her?

“Look!” Death said sweetly, drawing his eyes from Penelope to the stand of fruits and vegetables. “Yum! Okay two please.”

“None for me, thank you.”

She looked back at him with that loving sisterly gaze he’d missed so much. “They’re good for you.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You can just have it later,” she insisted with a shrug. When he didn’t budge she turned back to the vendor. “Just one, thanks.”

He watched the man clean the apple off and hand it to his sister with a warm smile. “There you go. It’s a gift.”

“Aw. Thank you! That’s so nice.” She turned, taking a large bite of the apple and then nodded to the vendor. “Mmm! That is delicious.”

“You are good with them,” he noted.

“Apples?”

“Humans.” His heart dropped when Penelope wasn’t where she had been. He took a long stride forward, Death's hand on his arm stopped him. She nodded to a small covered stall just a few steps ahead of them where Penelope knelt letting a child observe Matthew, who perched on her arm with his wings spread wide, clearly showing off. His heart slowed and he took a deep breath. She stood, urging Matthew to hop back onto her shoulder as the vendor, the child's father he assumed, handed her a bouquet of flowers. He listened to her whisper a soft thank you to them before glancing up to find him and Death before continuing onward, smelling the flowers as she walked.

Death watched him with her knowing eyes, practically beaming beside him at how obviously and pathetically enthralled he was with the human girl. She held the apple out to him, a smug smile on her face. “Bite?”

“No, thank you.” He replied.

“Hmm. Have you seen any of the others since you’ve been back?”

He shook his head, looking over at her. “Have you?”

“We did have one family dinner when you were away. The twins were in high spirits. Mmm, Desire was anyway.”

“With me gone, I have no doubt.”

“I don’t know. I think Desire missed having their usual sparring partner across the dinner table.”

“Any word of the prodigal?”

Death shook her head sadly. “No. Still missing. You were both missed.”

Dreams' eyes stayed locked onto Penelope as the crowd began to thin. She spoke to the raven beside her, not caring if anyone looked at her oddly, the joy he’d felt in her since this morning hadn’t dwindled at all, not even when she'd asked him to stay out of things. It was always there, buried in whatever else she was feeling. How does she do it? He questioned. She was being hunted like an animal at this very moment. Anyone else would have been terrified, paranoid at every noise or stranger, and yet she was here walking in front of him acting as if nothing was wrong. Death nudged his shoulder. “How are you sis? How have you been keeping? Aww. I’m well, Dream. Thanks for asking.”

He didn’t fight the smile this time, leaning into her and asking, “How are you, my sister? How have you been keeping?”

“I’m worried about my brother,” she answered honestly before perking up and holding out her nearly gone fruit. “And I’m enjoying this apple.”

Penelope’s sigh drew his eyes back to her. She swayed to the sound of the violin playing in the distance, twisting and twirling to the soft melody. He couldn’t help but stare at her, wondering how anyone could be so beautiful. Death pulled him to a stop, looking up at the building. “Can you hear it?”

“I know this piece,” he realized. “I haven’t heard it in two hundred years.”

“Come on,” she whispered, urging him to follow.

He looked back at Penelope. “Wait here. We won’t be long.”

She jumped up onto the stone wall and smiled. “We’ll be right here, Dream.”

***

I watched him follow Death into the yellow house where the violin had stopped playing and sighed, turning my face up to the sun. Matthew had hopped off my shoulder and settled beside me. “So, this isn’t exactly the human outting I was expecting. But it’s nice. Kind of relaxing, which is weird considering we’re walking with Death literally behind us.”

“She’s sweet,” I assured him, pulling a flower out of my bouquet and setting it on the stone beneath us. “Far more friendly than any of the others I’ve met so far.”

“Was Destiny a dick?” He asked with a chuckle. “Seems like he would be.”

“No,” I answered with a smile. “He was polite, but very cryptic.”

Matthew fluffed his feathers a little and watched the people walk past for a moment before asking, “Are you scared?”

“Scared?”

“Yeah, scared they’re gonna try and grab you at any minute?”

I looked around at the crowd of people and shook my head. “They’re not here.”

“How can you tell?”

Shrugging I watched the faces of smiling people pass and listened to the roar of their conversations. “They’ve been hunting me for eighty years. I’ve gotten pretty good at picking them out of crowds.”

He sighed. “I can’t even imagine what that's like.”

“It’s not all bad,” I said gently. “I just moved around a lot.”

“Yeah, and literally had people try to kidnap you more than once!”

“You get used to it after a while,” I answered. “It sounds sad, I know, but I did okay after a while. Lived as much as I could moving from town to town. I got to see the world, got to live in places I’d never even heard of.”

Matthew looked up at me. “You’re probably one of the most positive people I’ve ever met. It’s kind of annoying.”

***

As Death and Dream exited the house he felt relieved to find Penelope in the same place he’d left her, for once. Beside him Death smiled. “She’s lovely.”

“I do not deserve her.” It was honest, but he hadn’t meant for it to sound so hopeless.

“Maybe not. But she’s here all the same.” She said, “And from what little time I got with her it’s quite clear she’s not going to just let you disappear.”

He looked over at her, silently surprised that she’d read him that well. “I-”

“You're my brother, Dream. I know you. And I know you’re an idiot, big enough of one to think that abandoning that girl over there was a good idea.”

“She’s lost so much of her life already because of me.” He shook his head. “She doesn’t deserve to lose anything else.”

“What do you think you’ll be doing if you leave her now?” Death asked. “Because the way I see it, you’ll be robbing her not only of any future with you but also her choice in deciding if that’s what she wants.”

Death said nothing else to him, she simply made her way to Penelope and helped her off the wall with a smile. They waited for him to join them, and then they continued on. His sister's words echoed in his mind as they walked across the bridge, leaving Matthew and Penelope behind them. He hadn’t thought of what he would be taking away from her by just removing himself from her life without say or warning.

From his side she said, “I thought he was sweet, didn’t you?”

He thought of the old man they’d just left. “Sweet? I don’t know. Perhaps. My sister," He’d meant to tell her earlier, but had forgotten in his haste to move. “When I was captured, it wasn’t me they were looking for. It was you.”

Death nodded, a sorrowful smile on her lips. “Yeah, I know.”

He felt the ball of pain in him as the unanswered question exploded. So they had known, had known and did not come to his aid. She used his shoulder to kneel down and take off her boots. “What are you doing?”

“I’m taking my shoes off. You should take yours off too. It’s good to touch the Earth with your bare feet. It’s grounding.” She was so odd, in a way that made him wonder how they were related. Grounding? Why would he need grounding? “Come on, I don’t want to miss the next one.”

Looking back at Penelope as she looked out at the water, a look of something in her eyes as she turned to look at him. Before he could even think the thought she’d smiled and waved him off. “I know, Dream.”

She was insufferable.

***

The water moved and rippled beneath the bridge as I bent over the side to look down at it. Matthew watched me curiously. “So, rumor has it you threw a car off a bridge.”

“I did,” I admitted, resisting the curl of adrenaline that surged through me at the memory of the car falling and the water surrounding me.

“Why?”

“It seemed like my only option at the time,” I said, chuckling. “Though that might’ve been all the sedation drugs I was coming off of.”

Matthew cawed and said, “He’s different than he was when I first met him.”

“Dream?” I asked, looking down at him.

He gave me a tiny nod. “Yeah, he was all doom and gloom the first few times I interacted with him, I mean he’s still all doom and gloom the majority of the time, but, when he saw you it was different. It actually looked like he gave a shit about something, which was new considering his resting face looks like it does.”

I laughed, my heart fluttering at the thought, before the undeniable weight I felt in my gut returned. “He’s gonna try leaving.”

“What?” The raven demanded. “Why would he do that when he’s so obviously, I don’t know, in love with you?”

“I don’t know if he’s in love with me,” I argued. “Maybe it’s just this, just tension. Once we take that leap it’ll be gone and he’ll want to move on.”

Matthew laughed. “That’s not at all what this is and you know it.”

I focused back on the water. “I just don’t want to be blindsided again.”

“You’re not gonna get blindsided, Penny.” He assured me, tapping my arm with his beak in an attempt at a pat. “He’s not going anywhere.”

***

Dream watched the woman, the new wife of the man his sister had come for, cradle her husband's body in her arms and wail. He’d known that pain, he’d lived with that pain for eighty years. The only difference was that his grief and mourning had been put to an abrupt end by the woman he thought he lost. As he and Death returned to the bridge he felt an uneasy weight in his chest, a realization, as he looked at her. She had mourned him too. When they first reunited she’d told him that she tried to come back to the Burgess house to free him. It had been left unsaid, but obvious that this attempt was what led to her current troubles. Because of him. No. For him.

Penelope was a lot of things, but a victim of circumstance was not one of them. Everything she’d been forced to endure she did so with blood and fire. She could have bent under Rodericks thumb or under the doctor's blade, but instead she burned brighter and fought and raged until the chains that held her broke. She had not chosen to be stuck in the basement with him, to receive the mark that bound them, but she’d chosen every action that followed. And each time her choice was the same. Him. She chose him every day for years, most likely far longer than even he knew. He looked at her and felt her steady heartbeat in his chest, felt the swarm of joy and love that filled her as her eyes found him across the bridge. If he gave her a choice he knew what her answer would be and that scared him.

Death looked up at him and nudged him forward, and they reunited with the duo just as she’d finished pulling a flower from her bouquet and placing it on the bridge. He nodded towards it. “What are you doing?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, I just felt like leaving a little piece behind.”

Death smiled and rubbed Penelope's shoulder. “That’s sweet.”

“Where to next?” She asked as Matthew settled back on her shoulder.

Death watched him with a curious gaze as he watched Penelope continue down the new street, not even batting an eye at what they were here for, not questioning any of it. “What?”

“How do you do it?” He questioned.

“Do what?”

“This. Be there, for her, for all of them.”

She shrugged modestly, as if what she did wasn’t that important. “I have a job to do. And I do it. When the first living thing existed, I was there. When the last living thing dies, I’ll put the chairs on the table, turn out the lights and lock the universe behind me when I leave. And I’m not there for all of them, there are exceptions. Mad Hettie. Penelope. And then there's your ongoing project. How’s he faring up after all this time?”

“Who? Hob Gadling?” Dream sighed. He hadn’t thought of the man in a long while. “I don’t know. I was forced to miss our last appointment.”

“Well I’m sure he’d love to see you.” She said, “They’re never too keen to see me though.”

He looked at her softly. “Does it not bother you?”

“I actually used to think I had the hardest job in all our family.”

“Oh did you?”

“They fear the Sunless Lands, yet they enter your realm every night without fear.”

He smirked. “And yet I am far more terrible than you.”

She laughed for a moment before a nervous guilt passed over her features. “It was fine in the beginning. Dying and living were new things and people did them with the enthusiasm they always bring to new things. And then after a bit, it just got harder.”

“But you continued.”

“I thought about giving up. Walking out.” She walked into the house as he looked up the road at Penelope.

“Don’t wander,” He reminded her, noticing she’d gone further than he’d thought.

She turned back around and came walking towards him with a sarcastic salute. “Apologies, Dream Lord Sir!”

He rolled his eyes and followed his sister inside.

***

I sat on the steps of the house Death and Dream walked into a few minutes ago, pulling another flower from the bunch and setting it on the step beside me. “No more questions dear Matthew?”

“You’re kind of an open book to be honest,” he replied from his perch beside me. “Though I am curious as to what your theory is on your whole situation.”

“That’s a very loaded question.”

“Aren’t those the best kind?”

“I guess it depends on who you ask.” I retorted, avoiding the answer.

He looked at me expectantly. “Come on, you have to have some theories.”

Shrugging I sighed. “I mean I did a long time ago, or at least I thought I did, but eventually it all just molded into one very dark theory.”

“Let's hear it.”

“I’m cursed.” I finally said, looking away from him, anywhere else. “It’s kind of the only thing that explains everything. Anything I touch, anything that I get close to gets ripped from the world because of me. It’s why I never… Why no one…”

Matthew was quiet for a while before he said, softly, “I don’t think you’re cursed, Penny.”

“Thank you.”

***

Dream had watched his sister take the child with a heavy heart and thoughts filled with the memories of his own son's loss. He exited the house, Death close behind when they walked into Penelope and Matthews conversation.

“I’m cursed.” She said after what appeared to be a long moment of silence, looking out at the sky. “It’s kind of the only thing that explains everything. Anything I touch, anything that I get close to gets ripped from the world because of me. It’s why I never… Why no one…”

Dream felt her sorrow mingle with his own as Matthew softly replied, “I don’t think you’re cursed, Penny.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was strained, on the verge of tears as Death closed the door loudly.

She stood quickly, not even turning to look at them before she continued forward, moving out of their way. When they all stood together for a moment, to travel to Death’s next appointment she didn’t look at him, just kept her eyes on the ground in front of them, twisting her necklace between her fingers. How long had she thought this? He wondered. How long had she been waiting for him to abandon her as well because of some curse?

In the next location he watched Penelope more closely, watched her leave a flower in the room of the patient across from his sister. She made small talk, laughed alongside the stranger and bid them a gentle farewell when it was time to leave. Her sorrow had lessened when she rejoined them, walking closer and closer to them each time they moved now, but still out of reach.

"You were there that night. The night she should have..." He couldn't even bring himself to say it.

Beside him Death nodded. "Yeah, I was."

"What happened? Why didn't you take her?"

"Because she pulled herself out of that river and breathed." She said simply. "She was alive again."

"How..." He wanted, no needed, to know. "How did she feel about that?"

His sister met his gaze and smiled sadly. "She wanted to come with me. She was one of the first that ever has."

“Could she have?” he asked.

“No. It doesn’t work like that.”

“Will you take her eventually?”

Death shook her head as they walked down the alleyway. “I don’t think so. Something tells me she’s not meant for my lands, not for a long, long while at least.”

Dream looked at Penelope where she stood on the sidewalk by the street as his sister worked beside him. She left a flower on a small ledge of a nearby building with a smile. And when some loud drilling or construction work echoed from a few streets away she covered her ears with her hands, a wave of fear hitting her, and him, like a truck. But, just as he moved to go to her he felt her take deep breaths and heard the soft words that left her lips as she pressed her hand to her chest. “I’m here. I’m alive.” When they rejoined one another she’d calmed down, so much so he wouldn’t have even noticed what had happened if he hadn’t been looking.

In the field she waited on the path for them, leaving a flower on a nearby bench as she knelt down and played with a group of dogs as they and their owners passed through. She was so bright and full of life, even though only moments ago she was nearly curled in on herself with a residual fear. As they resumed their movements he could only focus on one thing. How resilient she was, had always been from the beginning. No one else would have survived, and they certainly wouldn’t be as she was, not as courageous, not as happy, not as alive.

“It’s funny, looking back now,” Death continued beside him. “I used to think I had to do this all by myself.”

“But you do.”

“No. At the end, I’m there with them. I’m holding their hand and they’re holding mine. I’m not alone when I’m doing my job. And neither are you. Think about it. The only reason we even exist, you and I, and Desire and Despair, the whole family. We’re here to serve them. It isn’t about quests or finding purpose outside our function. Our purpose is our function. We’re here for them. Since I figured that out, I realized I need them as much as they need me. I’ve seen so many cool things and people and worlds. I’ve learned so much. Lots of people don’t have a job they love doing, do they. So, I think I’m really lucky.”

She said it all with a passion he’d long since forgotten. Dream didn’t even truly remember the last time he enjoyed making his creations. “Listen, I’ve got to head back soon, but before I go I need to say this. That girl is in love with you, Dream. She has been from the start, she was the night I found her by that river. And if you leave her after everything you’ve both been through she will never forgive you. You’ll never forgive yourself and I certainly won’t forgive you. So, just this once, don’t be such an idiot.”

He stepped in front of her and held her hands. “You’ve taught me something I had forgotten. I thank you, my sister.”

She smiled. “Aw. That’s what family’s about, little brother.”

Penelope had stopped off to the side but quickly joined them when Death turned and opened her arms. She embraced her tightly and Dream watched her sink into the hug, soaking in the warmth of his sister's embrace. “Will I see you again?”

Death chuckled. “I don’t know when it comes to you.”

“Then I guess we’ll see,” Penelope replied fondly.

“Goodbye, Penelope. I might be seeing you.”

“Goodbye, Death. I might be seeing you too.”

***

As we walked through a small crowded alley Dream set his hand against my back and led me through the crowd of people. Once we reached a larger area he stood close beside me, his hand occasionally brushing against mine. "I'd like to introduce you to someone. A friend I need to reconnect with."

I opened my mouth in amused surprise. "Friend? That's a big word for you, Dream."

He rolled his eyes, lips twitching to fight the smile. "Will you come with me?"

"Of course," I said, falling into step beside him.

Looking up at him through my lashes I watched his eyes fill with that signature gloss of fondness. "I've not seen him in a long time, he may not be too happy with me."

“Oh?” I nudged him. "What'd you do?"

“What makes you think it was my doing?"

"Because I know you," I said laughing.

"I may have insisted I had no need for his friendship."

I hummed. "You know, you're kind of an ass, but I'm sure your friend will let it slide."

That soft smile finally graced his lips. "How very optimistic of you."

"Well one of us has to be."

Dream and I walked a ways before a familiar old tavern came into view. Beside me Dream looked sad, his eyes staring at the old building as if it had meant something more to him than I understood. I stayed quietly beside him, letting him work through the emotions I could feel bubbling against whatever barrier he'd kept between us, something I hated more and more with each passing minute. It felt wrong, not feeling what he did, even more so being able to feel something, but not all of it. Finally I said, "I came here once before it closed."

"You did?" He asked softly.

I nodded, leaning against him a bit. "Yeah, the place was an absolute shit hole, in the most endearing way of course."

"You should have seen it when Death first dragged me here." He chuckled a little. "They had livestock inside with the food and drinks. Absolutely abhorrent."

Looking up at him I smiled. "Don't lie, you loved it."

"I did not," he insisted. "But I suppose I did grow fond of it over the years. More so the friend I made here."

"Were you supposed to meet him here?"

"I was, a long time ago."

I pointed to the red graffiti. "Maybe he went to the new one?"

Dream sighed, turning and following the red that lined the fence. I didn’t need the bond to feel the nervousness rolling off of him. Did he and his friend leave things so horribly between them that he felt afraid they weren’t waiting for him? I leaned into him a little more, offering up a reassuring smile. Just around the corner, across a small section of tall grass was a beautiful brick building with white trim labeled The New Inn. Small tables with green umbrellas shielding them lined the patio as Dream and I entered.

Inside was decorated with old pale blue wallpaper and dark trim, blue curtains lined the large windows and antique looking tables lined the wall across from the bar. It was busy, but not so much that we couldn’t move through the space. I pulled away from Dreams' side. “Go look for your friend, I’ll hang out at the bar for a minute so you two can catch up.”

“You do not need to-”

“Go, Dream,” I prompted with a smile. “Unless you want me there for your grand apology.”

He nodded, moving through the space and around the corner, out of view. When he disappeared from my line of sight the ache slowly began to build again and I found myself worrying that if I followed he would be gone. God I was pathetic. If he was going to leave, why would he invite me to meet his friend with him? If he was going to leave, why would he still be around at all? I sighed, leaning against the bar counter, my eyes finding his black clad figure as he stood beside one of the tables, with his friend I assumed.

“Can I get you anything?” The bartender asked with a comforting smile.

I smiled back, recalling the man I’d met at the old tavern. “What’s the oldest whisky you have?”

***

Dream looked down at Hob Gadling with a smile, one Hob returned with a chuckle. “You’re late.”

“It seems I owe you an apology. I’ve always heard it impolite to keep one's friends waiting.” The man's smile widened and he nodded to the seat across from him, which Dream took with a lightened heart. He was so sure that Hob would be angry at him, yet the man simply seemed happy to see him.

The two spoke for a while about what Hob had been doing in Dream's absence, but then something at the bar caught his friend's eye and he smiled even wider. “How many more immortals do you have running around?”

“They’re not my immortals,” Dream said simply. He supposed now was as good a time as any to explain a few details to the man.

Hob nodded to the bar. “See that knockout of a woman over there?”

Dream turned, his eyes immediately finding Penelope sitting at the bar, making polite conversation with the man behind the counter as she swirled a glass of whatever drink she’d ordered. He turned back to Hob with wide eyes. “Do you know her?”

“I met her at the old tavern, waiting for you actually.” Hob said with a chuckle. “She has not aged a day! So, I assume she's one of yours then?”

He was surprised to say the least. First Penelope had met his sister, then his brother, potentially his mother and now she'd apparently met Hob Gadling. He looked back at her, just as she rose from her seat to come find him. The warmth of her smile almost made him miss the fear that was twisted in her gut. He wanted to inquire about it, but as her eyes slid to the man he sat with and her smile grew he had to push the thought away. She pointed to him, squinting a little. "Hob?"

He laughed, standing and embracing her. "Strange Penelope. I should've known you were one of his immortals."

"I should have known you were! You're so obvious about it with all those age jokes!"

Dream watched Hob take his seat, trying his best to ignore the way his eyes lingered on Penelope as she pulled a chair up beside him and sat down. She looked at him and nodded to Hob. "So, this degenerate is your friend?"

"Yes, yours as well it appears."

She shrugged. "I wouldn't say friends. We met once, drank a little and then I never saw him again."

Hob scoffed. "That's about the same thing he and I do every hundred years. I don't even know his name!"

Penelope turned to him with wide shocked eyes. "You haven't told him your name? How long have you been meeting?"

"A very long time."

"Are you serious?!"

Dream sighed. These two were going to be absolutely unbearable together.

***

My stranger, Hob, was my Dream Lords best friend. God it was funny. So funny I had to physically restrain myself from laughing multiple times as the two interacted. Dream told Hob his name and explained a few little details and I watched poor immortal Hob Gadling eat the words up with glee.

Once he'd had his fill of Dreams answers he turned to me and smiled. "So, how long have you been around?"

"A hundred years. Well a hundred and twelve years."

He smiled and shook his head. "You're just a newbie then, aren't you?"

"A hundred and twelve is hardly new!" I argued.

Hob shrugged. "Have you ever killed anyone?"

I tensed. "Why?"

"Well, as an immortal myself it's kind of a staple of the experience."

Trying not to think about just how many that actually was I nodded, my fingers curling into my glass. "Yes."

"How many?" He asked, leaning forward with a smile. Hob was curious, rightful so, I was the first immortal he'd met.

"A lot."

He hummed. "What was the first one? How'd you do it?"

"My father." I answered stiffly. "I tore his throat open with my teeth."

Hob made a face. "Well, I've never done that before."

"I don't recommend it," I took a drink of my whisky. "Takes weeks to get the taste out."

"Oh I can imagine!" He said. "Now, what's the worst way you should've died? Mines a tie between starvation, thrilling I know, and hanging! Interesting story that-"

My eyes were glued to the amber liquid in my glass as I thought about all the ways I should have died. There were so many… All under the pale eyes of that damn fucking doctor. Dreams hand wrapped around my thigh, his thumb drawing tiny circles into the skin. "You're here, with me."

I smiled at him, putting my hand on top of his, the memories fading away the more I looked into his eyes. Hob continued on describing his most noteworthy deaths, but he didn't ask me about it again. As the sun began to set Dream and Hob began reminiscing on the old days.

"Do you remember what the place looked like at the beginning?" Hob asked, laughing. "It was god awful!"

"Yes," Dream agreed. "I believe the livestock was partly to blame for that."

"Livestock," Hob shook his head looking around. "It's crazy how far humanity has come since then."

"How did the old tavern end up closing?" Dream wondered.

His friend shrugged. "Some people wanted to turn it into an apartment or something. Project fell through a little while after I found this place. I do miss it though."

"Why don't you two go back and look at the place?" I asked. "It's just around the corner."

Hob gave me an odd look. "It's locked up though."

"Hob Gadling, are you telling me you've never broken into a building before?" I laughed.

"I've never really needed to before," he mumbled.

Turning to Dream I said with a smirk. "I know for a fact you've broken into plenty of places. Fancy a walk down memory lane?"

He smiled a little. "I'm not opposed to the idea."

"Good! Because I want to hear all about you two idiots over the years!" I stood, nodding at the men to follow.

The gate was easy, so easy Dream hadn’t even gotten to offer his assistance before it slid open. The two looked around, pointing out things that had changed before we even stepped inside the musty space. Dust coated all the leftover furniture and the remaining sunlight that peaked in through the busted windows made the space feel even more like some far off memory. I stood at the bar, in the same spot I had been sitting the night Hob wandered over and smiled. What were the chances of us meeting? What were the odds of it being on the day he was waiting for the same Sandman that I, in one way or another, also waited on?

Hob settled in beside me, smirking at the fond memory. “Still the prettiest girl in the place.”

“It’s good to see your moves haven’t gotten any better,” I replied as Dream looked around the space.

“And what about your moves?” Hob asked with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Strange Penelope, what ever happened to the bloke you were getting hot and heavy with that night?"

I nearly choked and sent him a look, heat rising to my cheeks as Dream's gaze fell on me."You noticed that?"

"Oh I think everyone noticed that."

"Well, I wouldn't know what happened to him. I never saw him again."

"A one night stand, how scandalous!" Hob sang.

I groaned and shook my head. "No, we kissed a little and I left."

"Was he that bad?"

I shrugged, eyes gluing to the floor. "It wasn't him. I just... Couldn't get someone else out of my head."

When I looked up and met Dreams gaze it was dark and hot as pride and tingle of something else twisted between us. I took in his posture, the way his jaw had tensed, the way his hands had curled into themselves. Was he jealous? Before I could ask, Hob turned to him. “So, you’ve got some kind of… Magic, right?”

“I do,” he answered coolly. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I was just thinking the best way to give Penelope a taste of what things were like in the old days would be, well, through some kind of magic.” He answered. “Can you turn back time or something?”

Dream scoffed. “I am not a magician Hob Gadling.”

“Well what can you do?” He inquired.

He looked at me for a long moment before nodding. “I can cast a simple illusion. It should suffice for your purposes.”

Hob nodded with a wide grin. “Alright then, let's give the girl a proper tour!”

Dream waved his hand and the room around us filled with smoke and livestock and people from long ago. I looked around at them, listened to the near incoherent conversations they had before turning and looking at Hob, who was now dressed head to toe in rags. Suppressing a laugh I nodded. “This was the best idea you’ve ever had.”

“Oh shut it,” he scolded. “This was what everyone wore back then. I get better!”

“When was this?””

“1389,” Dream replied from behind us.

When I turned to look at him I was taken aback at the sight. His hair was longer, brushing against his shoulders. The black tunic he wore had long intricate sleeves that flared away from his wrists in a dramatic fashion and his ruby hung around his neck. I nodded at him. “Not bad, Dream.”

“Oh come on he looks as ridiculous as I do!” Hob argued before he scoffed. “You know what just take us to the next year!”

Dream merely smirked as he waved his hand again, the illusion around us shifting. The smoke cleared and things had gotten a little cleaner. The people's clothes changed as they shifted through the space. Hob was still dressed poorly, but less so than he had been. His hair was cut shorter and combed through and his brown attire looked at least somewhat cleaner and finer made. I pointed to his hair. “At least you improved a little.”

He rolled his eyes. “Ha ha, let's all make fun of the dirty little peasant!”

My eyes slid over to Dream. His hair was also shorter, framing his face similar to the first one. His black attire was slimmer, better fit to his body, the long cloak flared behind him in a very Dream way as he moved through the space, inspecting the fireplace by the table in the corner. “It’s a bit simple for you.”

He chuckled. “Simple?”

“Yeah, your usual style has a bit more flare to it. Fancy boots, your little midnight coat, you know Dream things.”

Hob looked at the fireplace with Dream and laughed. “I can’t believe I was going on about chimneys and card games.”

Dreams eyes slid away from me, a dangerous glint in them leaving me wondering what trick he had up his sleeve. “Indeed, it was quite riveting to listen to.”

“1589 then?”

With a nod Dream did his magic and the space lit up with the warmth of the fires. Everyone was dressed finely, making conversation and Hob had changed the most. He was dressed head to toe in an elaborate silk tunic adorned with blue designs and frilled cuffs. His hair was pulled back and his face framed with a goatee. He held his arms out nodding enthusiastically. “It’s good right?”

I nodded back, running a hand over the fine fabric of his shoulder. “An improvement for sure, Hob.”

“Ah, no then I was known as Sir Robert Gadling!” He proclaimed proudly.

I leaned back against the table and laughed at him. “Sir, what did a degenerate like you do to get such a fine title?”

He leaned in and whispered, “I don’t actually remember.”

Just as I was about to ask where Dream had gone he walked around the corner and my heart stopped, mouth falling open slightly with a breathless, “Oh shit.”

He was dressed head to toe in glossy black leather. His hair was slicked back, revealing the glint of an earring. God this is not fair. I bit my lip, eyes focusing on the ruby that reflected in the candlelight as he walked leisurely towards me, each step echoing through the space. I was blushing, I just knew I was. Hob had moved to look at something across the room and I had never been more thankful for his absence as Dream stood, dark eyes looking down at me.

“Well, what is your verdict, my lady?” He inquired, tilting his head a little, flashing his neck.

“It’s…” My voice was hoarse. “It’s a good look.”

His brow arched and he smirked down at me. “Good?”

A shiver ran down my spine and straight to my core. God damn you and that fucking voice. His smirk grew and he closed the little space that was between us. I tried to keep my thoughts from straying, but as soon as my hands touched the soft leather of his chest, in an attempt to steady myself, the filthy image filled my mind and if the unbearably hungry look in his eyes meant anything his too. It was a simple little fantasy. Dream, dressed in this newfound leather attire, throwing me on top of the table and fucking me relentlessly in the tavern full of people.

His lust smoldered between us as he took in the new information. “Is that how you think it would go?”

“Am I wrong?” I asked, straining to keep my eyes on his and not on his lips.

“Perhaps we’ll have to test that active imagination of yours,” he whispered, lips moving closer to mine. “Later.”

Then he pulled away from me entirely and it was like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on me. Hob rejoined us, asking to continue through the fun, while I glared at Dream. You’re an asshole.

The next hundred years Hob had lost everything, dressed back down to rags and disheveled hair. Dream however was dressed elegantly in black, long hair cascading down his shoulders. I glared at him as Hob looked down at himself and complained. I should pull your dumb long hair. He merely chuckled at me and we moved forward.

A hundred years later and both of them were dressed in high collars and well adorned outfits. They looked good, but I couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of their hair curled and prim and proper. Hob rolled his eyes. “You have no idea what fashion was back then!”

“I don’t,” I said between laughs. “But my god your hair!”

A flash of gold entered the illusion and I turned with wide eyes staring at Johanna. Dream hummed. “Ah, I’d almost forgotten about this.”

“Is Johanna immortal too?” I asked looking at the image of the woman in front of me.

“No,” Dream assured me. “This is her ancestor. Though the resemblance is uncanny.”

“She would absolutely hate this,” I said with a smile at the thought of her disgusted face looking at the poofy dress.

I saw Dream’s 1889 look first this time. A simple black overcoat, short hair slicked back underneath a long top hat. He quickly took them both off, revealing a form fitting black shirt with his ruby around his neck. He looked good, and he knew it, but I refused to give him the satisfaction after his rude teasing. So I turned to Hob, who was dressed in simple gray and white with nicely styled hair. “Looking good Hob!”

He beamed at me. “I told you I got better.”

I ran my hands down his shoulders and smiled back at Dream. “Don’t you think this is a good look for him?”

Dream glared at Hob, then at me and sighed. “It looks fine.”

Eventually, the sun set and Hob retired for the evening, but not without making Dream promise to return soon… before the next hundred years, to make up for missing their last meeting. Then it was just he and I, walking along the mostly empty streets. “So, it looks like I know your friend.”

“Yes,” he said. “I was not expecting that.”

“I’m full of surprises.”

With a quiet sigh he looked at me and smiled. “Would you come with me back to The Dreaming?”

Warmth filled my chest and I turned into him. “Of course. But I need to grab a few things from my apartment first, and tell Johanna.”

He nodded in agreement, using his sand to take us to my room. I packed a small bag of clothes, knowing full well I intended on staying as long as he’d let me, before I left in search of Johanna. Dream waited in the doorway as I searched the living room. “Jo?”

“In there,” she said from the office. She was knee deep in a box of crosses, grumbling to herself as she tried to fish out a particular one. When she saw me she smiled. “Have a good time with your man?”

I rolled my eyes, moving through the mess to grab the bag of trinkets from my desk drawer. I’d wanted to show Dream some of the things Jessamy had found, but with the insanity of his arrival and everything that followed there hadn’t been time. “Shut it. I’m going with him for a few days, I hope. Will you and Pierre be alright here?”

She nodded. “Absolutely. He’s annoying as fuck, but the french man is very good at handeling himself. And I’m, well, I’m me so no worries there.”

“Be safe, and please don’t kill him while I’m gone,” I said, giving her a one armed hug over her mess. “I want to be there for the show.”

She laughed, but looked in my eyes with a seriousness unlike her. “You seem off. Everything okay?”

I sighed. “I’m about to find out.”

“If we need to kill him, let me know, I’ve got some people that might know a trick or two.”

“Goodnight, Johanna.”

As I made my way out the door she hollared back, “And if you fuck him I’m going to want the details!”

I laughed all the way back to my room and smiled at Dream when he gave me a curious look. “All set to travel, Dream.”

He set a hand on my back and I curled into his stiff body. Something was still on his mind, but I couldn’t tell what, so I elected to ignore it… I’d wait for him to bring it up, or at least until I couldn’t wait any longer.

The sand took us somewhere different this time, the boards of the pier creaked and groaned with the soft gentle movements of the water. As far as the eye could see there was nothing but the deep sapphire and the reflection of the misty star filled skies. The air smelled like rain as a light breeze surrounded us, making me curl deeper into Dreams embrace. For a moment we stood in the silence, content to just exist, but then Dream cleared his throat and stepped away. He pulled the bag of Jessamys ashes out of his coat and smiled down at me. "She would have wanted us to do this together."

I nodded, holding my hands out and letting him pour half of the ashes in my palms before he poured the rest in his. Together we slowly let the ashes spread in the light breeze and the glistening waters below us. "Goodbye, old friend."

"May you finally be at peace," I whispered.

The silence that had once been comforting was now filled with uncertainty as I felt my gut twist the longer we stood. "Morpheus."

"Yes?"

"Are you going to leave?" I watched the water, afraid to look away.

He sighed, hands clasped behind him. "I thought about it."

There it was. The answer I didn't want to hear. Stinging pain, echoes of the countless abandonments and betrayals over the years filled me. Tears threatened to spill over as I said, "I would understand if you did." He hadn't been expecting this, his eyes looking down at me. "I can't imagine what it must be like, being thrown into the mess of my life."

"That's not at all why I'd been considering it, Penelope." He turned to me, his hand settling on my arm. "Look at me, please."

I did so with my jaw clenched. "Then why?"

His eyes looked even brighter here as he looked down at me. "I don't deserve you."

I laughed a little, tears rolling down my cheeks. "If you don't then no one does. You're not perfect, Dream, I’m not expecting that of you. I’m not perfect either."

"You are far better than I am."

"Maybe, or maybe both of us are imperfect." I pulled him down by his cheeks, pressing my head to his. "Have we not given enough? Do we not deserve even the chance at happiness?"

He closed his eyes, sinking into my hands. "You do deserve that."

"So do you. You are my chance at happiness you idiot," I breathed. "You always have been... You always will be."

His hands cupped my face as he pulled away enough to look down at me. "I am far from what you deserve, but so long as you want me I will always be yours, Penelope Barlow."

“I meant what I said the other night. I want all of you, Morpheus."

“I’m beginning to see that.” His eyes softened as he pressed a gentle kiss to my lips. My hands slid into his hair as the kiss deepened, quickly filling with the heat and pent up need we’d both been keeping reigned in since Hell, maybe since long before. I felt one of his hands leave my hair and then a slight tingle rushed over my skin and when I pulled away we were in his bedroom.

His eyes watched me take in the change of scenery, the depth of their want barely contained as I smiled. “That’s a very impressive trick, my lord. Do you have any others?”

"I have plenty of tricks," he said, pulling me back to him.

"Will I get to see them?" I asked breathlessly.

"Maybe a few." Heat ripped through me. "Now," he whispered, breath fanning across my face. "Where were we last night?"

"I'm pretty sure I was on top of something." I mused, pretending it was difficult to remember. I felt the hard wood behind me as Dream lifted me up onto the top of the replica of my desk. "I was wearing a dress and you'd just torn one of my favorite pairs of panties." The slight wave of his fingers sent a chill up my spine as my clothes shifted to a silk dress, not unlike the one I was in last night, soft and cool against my bare skin, already bunched up above my thighs.

"Anything else?" His voice was low and rough.

Fisting his coat in my hands I pulled him closer. "Just you."

He gripped my legs tightly as our lips connected. Soft hands dragged up my thighs, moving beneath each of them to drag me further down the desk and into him. I groaned at the feeling of his hard cock straining against his pants. My hands slid under his coat, pushing it off his shoulders greedily as Morpheus' hands moved again, under my dress to pull my thighs apart as wide as he could.

I gasped at the sudden chill of my exposed ass on the bare wood as he shoved the dress up higher, holding it in a tight grip in one hand while the other gathered the slick from my soaking folds and lifted them to his lips. I watched his tongue curl around his fingers with a needy whine. "Are you going to show me what your mouth can do when you're not pouting?"

He chuckled, returning his fingers to my core, circling around my clit torturously slowly and drawing out a strangled moan from my chest as I held onto his arms for dear life. "Next time."

"God, Morpheus," I gasped as his fingers pushed into me.

"You're so beautiful like this," he mumbled against my skin as he buried his face in my neck. He pressed soft kisses to the faded bruise left by the white coats, soothing over the skin with his tongue before biting and sucking new marks along my collarbones. "Falling apart already and we've only just started."

His pace quickened and my hips moved against his fingers. I gasped, the coil that had formed in my gut tightening every second. "You…" Another gasp as his fingers found the deliciously sensitive spot. "Ah, you… Make falling apart easy."

"Show me, my lady," he whispered as my fingers gripped his hair, tugging roughly at the roots.

His voice alone was enough to send me over the edge with a loud breathless moan. His fingers coaxed me through the orgasm, and slowly began building me up to a second before they stopped. I gripped him tighter, whimpering as he pulled away from my aching cunt. "Morpheus, please!"

With a chuckle he grabbed me by my thighs, and lifted me off the desk. "As much fun as that position is, I'd prefer take you on the bed this time."

The chilled silk sheets caressed every inch of me, now completely exposed before the Dream Lord. I scoffed up at him. "That's hardly fair."

"Maybe not," he admitted, eyes running over every inch of me, drinking in the sight with lust.

"Are you going to relieve yourself of your clothes as well, my lord?" I asked.

"I want your hands on me," he rasped. "If you'd like to do the honors."

I moved to sit up, running my hands up the sides of his things, under the black shirt he wore. Our eyes stayed locked as I relieved him of his shirt, pressing light kisses along his abdomen and working on his pants. When he was at last standing in front of me just as bare as I was I bit my bottom lip to keep in the groan. My eyes ran over the defined lines of his muscles, the memories I had of his naked body did not do him justice. Wrapping my hand around his hard dick I looked up at him, watching his eyes roll back and his mouth fall open slightly. "God you're pretty."

"Enough teasing," he gasped, wrapping a hand around my wrist to stop me. "Tonight, I will worship you."

"Worship can go both ways," I reminded.

Dream smiled, stroking my jaw. "You may worship me all you wish, later."

"Later," I whined as he gently pushed me back onto the bed. "I'm starting to think you like that word too much."

"I like you a great deal more," he whispered, kissing the scar along my thigh. He moved to the next scar, my knee and then the next, my hip. Every scar I had received his attention and every inch of skin between them was worshiped with kisses, bites and hickeys until he finally reached my collarbone.

"Morpheus," I heaved, every inch of my skin burning with the adoration he poured down the bond. "You said no teasing."

He sighed against my skin, his head moving toward my breasts. "My apologies, my love. Let me make it up to you."

When his tongue darted out and swirled around my hardened nipple I nearly choked on the moan. He continued the same attention to the other, seemingly attempting to draw out as many noises from me as he could and I was in no position to deny him. Every touch felt like fire, fueling the coil in my core until I couldn't take it anymore. "Morpheus, please!"

Smiling against my skin, his teeth grazed my nipple one last time, tugging on it lightly before he moved to press a searing kiss to my lips. "What do you want, my lady?"

"You!" I whined breathlessly. "Please."

Without another word his eyes locked onto mine as he lined his leaking tip with my entrance. My nails dug into his arms as he slowly pushed into me. Head thrown back against the silk I gasped beneath him and his hand beside my head fisted in the sheets. "Oh my god!"

A strained chuckle vibrated through him. "Not quite a god-"

"Endless," I said, a moan interrupting me as his hips finally came flush with mine. "I know, I know just shut up and fuck me."

Dream took my words to heart, his free hand gripping my hip tightly as he pulled back, almost pulling out of me entirely before thrusting forward. Oh god! My hands found purchase in his hair, tugging tightly and earning a moan from him as he continued setting a brutal pace. "I've thought of little else since our reunion," his voice in my head was too much as I writhed beneath him, the sounds spilling from my lips were absolutely unhinged. "Yet, in all my fantasies I could never have imagined just how wrong I would be. You are far more exquisite than I could ever imagine."

"Morpheus!" He looked down at me, his breath fanning across my face as he began thrusting harder, lifting my leg over his arm to push even deeper inside me.

"Keep making those sounds for me," he ordered.

I moved my hips against his, panting and scratching at him, blinding pleasure building even faster in me as his dick hit just the right spot. "There…" I breathed, pressing my lips to his in a sloppy, desperate, needy kiss. "Don't you dare stop."

He bit my bottom lip, tugging it between his teeth as he moved even faster, both hands on my hips, lifting me slightly up off the bed and pushing me down against him to match his pace. "Come for me, Penelope," he urged.

The coil wound tighter and tighter and then he moved his fingers to my clit, circling it quickly to match his thrusts. I came beneath him, my toes curling and head thrown back with a cry so loud I was certain at least half The Dreaming heard. He didn't slow, his thrusts growing faster and more erratic as he chased his own pleasure. With a few final movements he came, hands gripping me tightly as we both heaved against one another, sweaty and satisfied. Between us a steady hum of love and adoration flowed.

Morpheus gazed down at me for a moment before he pressed his forehead to mine. "I love you."

I smiled and breathed out a content sigh. "I love you too, Morpheus."

"We should have done this from the start," he said, rolling to the side, still holding me in his arms.

"Absolutely," I agreed. "But, the wait was worth it."

His smile was more beautiful than the stars. His fingers caressed over my back, lovingly tracing the scar up my shoulder. "You are so beautiful."

"As are you," I whispered back, my body melting into him. "So, do Endless dream kings sleep?"

"I can sleep," he said, waving his hand, encasing both of us in the silky blankets.

"Will you sleep with me then?"

"There is nothing I want more, my love."

***

When I woke the next morning the feel of his cold smooth skin beneath my palm sent a wave of happiness through me. He'd stayed. I moved, my cheek rubbing against his bare chest and his arm wound around me a little tighter. "Good morning." God his voice was even sexier now.

Looking up at him, bathed in the gorgeous light of the rising sun I smiled. "Good morning."

His fingers ran through my hair, scratching lightly at my scalp as I lifted myself a little to press a kiss to his jaw. "I trust you slept well."

"Better than I ever have," I said, burying my face into the crook of his neck. "Though I should have expected as much with the king of dreams in bed with me."

His lips pressed into my hair. “I’ve been meaning to ask, what was that bag you brought?”

Oh! I sat up quickly, reaching over to where my bag lay beside his bed. Magic is the best. I could feel his eyes roaming down my naked body as I fished the smaller bag out and set it on the bed. “Ta da!”

“It would certainly be more impressive if I could see what's in it.”

He sat up and then it was my turn to admire his naked body. I hummed, looking at him before leaning to press a kiss to his shoulder as he settled in beside me, pulling the bag open to reveal the shiny treasures within. “It’s mostly junk. But I wanted to bring it so you could see some of the things Jessamy found.”

Goosebumps rose on my skin at the coldness of the air, so Dream stroked a hand down my back and pulled me in for a kiss as a pair of the clothes I’d brought magically appeared on my body. When I pulled away I grumbled in disappointment at the sight of him also redressed, he only smiled. “There will be time for that again later.”

“Later again,” I groaned. “Fine, but it better be good, great king.”

“Was last night not?”

“That was perfect,” I assured him. “I’m just saying you owe me some mind blowing sex for robbing me of your naked beauty.”

“I could use the same argument for you.”

“Please do,” I encouraged with a wicked grin. “I have plenty of mind blowing ideas.”

He began sifting through the bag, looking at each small trinket with bright eyes and a smile. I told him the story behind all of them, moving so I was between his legs and leaning back against his chest.

When he pulled the old wired ring out I sighed. “This was one of the last things she brought me.”

“I know,” he said. “I sent her to get it.”

“What?” I turned, looking back at him with furrowed brows.

“You were crying,” he said softly, running his fingers along the stone. “She told me it was because you were worried for me. So, I sent her to find it.”

I looked down at the beautiful opalescent moonstone. “Is it from The Dreaming?”

“No,” he replied. “I told her to find a moonstone that she liked. Where she found this particular one I’m not sure.”

“Why a moonstone?”

With a small shrug he smiled at me. “Sometimes when you’d look up at me from that basement floor your eyes would catch the light and shine like these stones do. I figured it was as good a gesture as I could offer at the time.”

My heart filled with joy as I curled back into him, kissing his neck and jaw before pressing a longer one to his lips. “It’s perfect.”

“Well, not yet, it's not.” He curled his fingers around the ring and when he reopened it the beautiful stone was set in a dark, intricate band that shimmered and shined with starlight everytime the light hit it. “There, now it is perfect.”

“Morpheus,” I gasped. “It’s beautiful.”

He slid the ring onto my finger and kissed my knuckles. “I’ve enchanted the stone as well. If you ever need me, just invoke my name and I shall find you, wherever you are.”

“Probably a useful trick to have, all things considered,” I said, stroking his cheek.

“That reminds me, Lucienne requested my presence in the library. She wishes to go over a few things she’s found that might explain your disappearing act.”

I kissed him, intending for it to be short, but he cupped the back of my head and pulled me into him. The easy, soft kiss made every inch of me tingle with a gleeful happiness that was alien to me. It felt like I was finally where I belonged. He sighed against my lips when he pulled away, his thoughts swimming with my own. I lightly pushed against his chest. “Go, before we get lost in all those filthy thoughts of yours.”

“As if yours are much cleaner,” he teased.

Blushing, I shrugged. “Can you blame me? You’re far too good looking for clean thoughts.”

“Go back to sleep, it’s still early for human standards. I’ll be back as quickly as I’m able and we can continue this discussion.” He kissed my head and made his way out the door, sparing me one last glance before he closed it after him.

I smiled as I lay back on the bed, running my finger over the new shimmering ring on my finger. My eyes closed and I breathed in the absolute perfection of the atmosphere. When I opened my eyes next, everything was too bright. Lines of colors flared in my vision no matter where I looked and my head swarmed with a blinding pain. I grabbed my head, my hands digging into it tightly as everything began to twist and pull around me.

I stood, falling to my knees immediately and gasping for air as the pain began to lessen and my hands slammed down onto the glossy red floor.

Tap.

"Come now, Petal, we don't have all day." A familiar voice purred as my vision started to return to normal. With a groan I looked up at the figure clad in black standing before me. Gold eyes and red lips twisted into that wide grin. "There she is, our baby Weaver."

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#dream of the endless x reader #the sandman series #dream of the endless #dream of the endless imagine #dream the endless #morpheus imagine #sandman netflix #sandman morpheus #the sandman fanfic #dream imagine #dream sandman #dream smut #king of dreams #lord of dreams #sandman dream #morpheus smut #morpheus x oc #morpheus imagines

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confused-as-all-hell · 4 years ago

Text

"i know we broke up, i know we don't talk anymore, but I still miss you"

@wesper-week i'm sincerely sorry for this chaos

Jesper Fahey's trade was humor.

His clothes were the colour of too much attention, his laugh limned in shimmering gold. He drew gazes and wistful stares like a lighthouse beacon called for drifting ships. The lines of his body were sharp, elegant, sprawling. When the corners of his mouth lifted in a grin, stars gleamed in his eyes.

He was so achingly beautiful, all tousled dark hair and broad shoulders and warm hands.

Girls and boys fell over themselves for one kiss, one little smile, one whispered word in their ear. How could they not?

Jesper was young and handsome and heady as a cup of evening wine, clever with his graceful fingers, wicked with his soft lips. His GPA was polished, his manners immaculate.

They hung on to his words, the cadence of them, the amused lilt that drenched every sentence.

Jesper had fallen in love with so many, men with rough laughs and kind smiles, women with curling hair and bright eyes. He had taken them over the world, to parks and monuments and cafes, kissed them in the shadow of history.

For every one of his lovers, he bought a ring.

Amethyst for the young lady who carried the scent of lavender.

Gold for the pretty girl whose lips tasted of joy.

Sapphire for the boy who kissed like a fucking god.

Ruby for the trickster woman who loved to laugh.

Copper for the handsome man who had a smile like late summer.

Jesper had cared for each of them in turn. He gifted flowers and jewelry and handwritten letters in his untidy scrawl. He had told them stupid jokes and held their hands and read to them in his unmade bed.

But one by one, they left him, and soon all that was left of their love were those glinting rings.

"Is there something wrong with me?" he whispered once, face shining with tears, head thrown back against the wall.

Nina rested her head against his chest, wrapping her arms around him awkwardly. "Of course not, darling."

He patted her cheek clumsily. "Then why does everyone keep leaving, Nina? Why does nobody stay?"

"Wylan—" she began, but shut her mouth instantly.

"Wylan is different."

And he was.

Beautiful, quiet, sweet Wylan Van Eck with his slender hands and paint-splattered face. He was everywhere, everywhere, everywhere, sketching the stars as they lay intertwined in bed, smiling over his cup of morning tea, dressed in his oversized shirts and plaid trousers.

His kisses were soft and tentative and tasted of tea leaves. His grins were slow and mischievous and bright as the damned sun. When he sprinted along the rim of a fountain, laughing and arms aloft, Jesper thought love might kill him.

He still dreamt about that day, Wylan leaping across the broad rim, his face upturned, sunlight brightening his hair to flame and gold. Wylan, paint smudged across his lower lip, hands stained with red acrylic. Wylan, pretty blue eyes bright with mirth, his panicked yelp as he nearly toppled sideways.

Wylan, Wylan, Wylan.

Sometimes, when Jesper was laying on the floor of someone else's bathroom, watching the ceiling spin and spin, he could still hear Wylan whispering, "And if I said I am yours, and there is no greater honor, what then Jesper?"

They had been so fucking happy, happier than Jesper deserved, all sticky orange juice kisses and skinny dipping in the ocean and opulent restaurants of ivory and gold.

And then Wylan had mentioned the gambling.

They had argued for days and weeks and then months, furious and bitter. Jesper used to live for the clink of coins and soft rush of the wheel and the elation that flooded into his eyes, ears, mouth, fingers. He loved the hum and chaos of the nightclubs, the frenzy of congratulations and drunken kisses and the retreat into those shadowed alcoves.

The scent of alcohol, the sounds of triumph, the press of hands on his body, the pleasure and ecstasy and joy.

But on their hundredth argument, tears were running down Wylan's face, distorting his freckles and widening those fucking blue eyes. He'd whispered he wouldn't stand for it, and Jesper had woken alone the next morning.

His bed was too empty, his kitchen was too quiet, the room where Wylan painted was too fucking much. All that remained was the hole in Jesper's heart and a sketch of the water fountain Wylan had drawn so lovingly, each detail of the scene preserved forever within charcoal. The ice cream parlor. The sunlight. Wylan, laughing and trying to keep his balance, eyes bright bright bright. Jesper, staring at Wylan as if he had never seen another quite so magical.

The memory of those eyes haunted him, every damn day.

He found himself writing essays on Wylan's long, copper lashes. His eyes, the blue of tranquil oceans, of the clear winter sky, of salvation. The glints of silver shining within, a quiet intelligence that so few had glimpsed. The way he would shyly glance away whenever Jesper grinned at him.

How many times had he stared into those eyes, while the two of them lay bare and exhausted among his own silk sheets?

How many times had he looked up after a kiss to find Wylan smiling back at him?

How many times had he nearly drowned within Wylan's gaze, steady and thoughtful and really fucking hot?

But slowly, agonizingly, bitterly, he grew used to the silence.

He stopped texting Wylan in the middle of the day, face damp with tears, hands shaking with misery.

He stopped accidently brewing a second cup of coffee at breakfast.

He stopped glancing to his left, searching for a glint of red hair in crowded spaces.

He stopped seeing Wylan when another was beneath him.

But sometimes Jesper wondered if anything could make him stop loving the boy with pretty blue eyes and a heart of gold.

And if sometimes he glimpsed Wylan in the halls, or at a nightclub, or sketching with those fucking charcoal pencils, he could wave. Smile. Pretend he wasn't going to take another home just to ease the day's pain.

'Why won't you go back to him?" Kaz asked once, barely glancing up from his phone.

"He doesn't want me," Jesper said quietly.

He raised his eyebrows as if in disbelief. "Jes, I have it on good authority that Wylan Van Eck hasn't dated a single soul after your breakup."

"Who told you that?"

"Nobody," Kaz said airily.

"Nina?"

"Nina."

Jesper attempted a loose smile, but it drifted aside easily as a gauzy veil twitching in the wind.

Wylan Van Eck, kind and brave and good.

Wylan, with his inquisitive eyes and thoughtful conversation.

Wylan, lonely and miserable because one stupid fucking boy had broken his heart.

He could barely stand it.

In some hidden chamber of his mind, he had locked away Wylan’s laughter, the tide of his amusement, inexplicably bright and wondrous. It felt like gazing at one of his softest paintings, a lush blend of ivory and blue and gold, like glimpsing something raw and beautiful and secret.

A burning star.

A miracle, spinning through the galaxy, leaving nothing but light in its wake.

A memory, and no more.

Wylan had once laughed so freely, snickering over an amusing quip, or stifling his smile when Jesper read to him late at night.

That sound of joy and delight. . . it was the brightest damn thing in the world.

And Jesper wanted to know that somewhere, in some other softly lit room with a man looking up at Wy like he was the sun, that laugh was sounding again.

He wanted to know that even if Wylan didn’t shine for him, he shone nevertheless.

The next morning dawned piercing and cold, a bright jewel in the crown of winter. Jesper chose his clothes with unusual care, knotting the laces of his boots twice, cleaning his dozens of rings before slipping them on.

Once he had hoped Wylan would give him the last of the collection—the wedding ring.

Now, as he finished with the last of them, he left his fourth finger bare, a final shrine to the ghosts of their past.

The cafe where he had asked, begged, pleaded for Wylan to meet him was nearly empty, but for a handful of people. His gaze lingered on a young woman with curling brown hair who might have been Nina in a hat, and a man with his leg propped up that was almost certainly Kaz.

Even though he made a mental note to strangle them later, the gesture eased the pressure within his chest ever so slightly.

And there was Wylan, a cup of tea clutched between his slender hands, huddled in a soft brown sweater. He was staring out of the window, those damned blue eyes vague and empty.

Jesper slid soundlessly into the booth, holding his breath as if he could force the longing from his lungs. “Hello, Wylan,” he said softly.

When he glanced up, something in his gaze shifted.

A blossoming flower.

An easing rainfall.

Something wonderful and exquisite and otherworldly.

Hope, hope, hope.

“Jes,” he returned with a little smile.

And Jesper leaned forwards. He couldn’t help it, not when Wylan was there before him and his lips were curved so slightly and his fingers were wrapped around his mug like—

“Wy,” he said, clearing his throat, “I wanted to talk.”

He straightened slightly, that quiet peace dissolving. “Had I not wanted to talk to you, I wouldn’t have answered your text.”

They stared at each other silently, waiting; it felt like sitting in the living room together, huddled over a game of chess, Jesper grinning as he slid the first pawn two squares up.

But he was not nearly so confident about his play now.

“I’ve been talking to Kaz,” he began awkwardly, the words clumsy in his mouth. “He told me you haven’t been seeing anyone.”

“And I’ve been speaking with Inej,” returned Wylan, utterly refined and elegant in his simplicity. “She tells me you’ve been seeing everyone.”

Jesper felt like a child again, clutching a rifle in his inexperienced hands, brows drawn together in concentration as he replayed his mother’s instruction in his mind. His father was playing target again, brown eyes gentle with encouragement. He didn’t know what to do, he was going to shoot his father, he was going to harm harm harm.

The words in his hands, his throat, were constricted and awful and stumbling. He didn’t know how to shoot without hurting anyone he loved.

Wylan was still gazing at him, blue eyes dark, for the first time in memory. “Jes,” he said, “was I so easy to forget?”

“Forget?” Jesper croaked. “Like a stupid song or piece of information on the study guide? Like you didn’t shine brighter than the damned sun? Like there were days when I didn’t wish to capture the stars and give them to you?”

There was a strange, crackling rush in Jesper’s ears, as if the ocean had swelled too high and now he was drowning, drowning, drowned.

If Wylan wanted him back, if Wylan loved him still—

He could wake up every morning with soft limbs tangled in his own. He could kiss Wylan again, taste tea and sugar cookies and mint. He could marry him, live out a life with him, die on the bed beside his own, fingers interlocked tight.

The future was there, tangled and messy and uncertain, but there all the same.

But Wylan was shifting in his seat, almost anxiously. “Jes,” he said softly. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

His eyes, his lovely blue eyes, were beginning to shine. “I know that look,” he said, almost bitterly. “I know that look damn well.”

Jesper’s giddy excitement was beginning to wither, and he clung to it desperately, a final shield against the darkness. “What look?”

Wylan reached out, fingertips stained blue with paint, hands still slim and delicate, a work of art. “If you think I want to… to get back together, I don’t. You and I, it was so much fun, and sometimes I wonder if everything was more than a college romance.”

He retracted his shaking hands, and ran them through his copper hair. “I wonder if another Jesper, who loved himself as much as his friends love him, and another Wylan, who was just a little bit of a better boyfriend, might have had their future together.”

Jesper could only stare

Wylan whispered, “Don’t you see it, Jes? We were stupid fucking collage kids who fell in love, but it was never supposed to carry on. I told you, that night in the club, I just wanted sex.”

He remembered.

Just sex, do you understand? No more, Jes.

But then, I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you just once.

And it kept going, spiraling, until one morning they were laying in bed and Wylan was wearing Jesper’s shirt, and Jesper was stroking Wylan’s hair, and it was much more than just sex.

One date, Wy. Give me a chance.

I love you, I love you, I love you, dumbass.

I want you to move in with me. I want you in my bed, my kitchen, my clothes. I want to see you tired and angry and miserable and I want to tell you you’re still the best fucking thing I’ve ever seen.

Jesper had imagined their wedding, every so often, a blazing pillar of hope lighting the path to the future. He had dreamt tailored suits and blue eyes and the final ring. He had planned every detail of his speech, his vows, his oath to live and die with Wylan Van Eck.

“Just sex,” he said at last. “We fucked it up, didn’t we, Wy?”

Wylan extended his hand once more. “I loved you, Jes, I won’t pretend. But I’m with someone else now, and I care for him, and I promised I would sort out the ghosts of my past.”

Jesper slid his palm over his, reveling in the soft skin, the gentle touch he would never feel again. “You’re happy?” he said softly. “He makes you laugh?”

He smiled, a secret, lovely smile. “Yeah. Yeah, he makes me laugh.”

And the sudden truth of it, the fact Wylan was someone else’s now, and he was laughing in another’s arms, hit Jesper. It sent ice through his veins, his mind, the final shattered shard of his heart, tearing through memories.

Wylan, brave and wonderful, laying on his bed. His hands were aloft, describing a particularly clear night sky, the shapes he traced in the stars. He had named one for Jesper, and he said it was shaped like love.

Jesper, doubled up in laughter as he flipped a pancake, listening to yet another one of Wylan’s rambling stories. He never tired of them. Those recollections, the happy lilt to his voice, the giddy, “There’s more, though!” were treasured beyond gold.

Wylan, working on some assignment or another, sprawled on the grass of a dewy meadow. His head was pillowed on Jesper’s hoodie as he wrote, filling the page with his elegant script. Every so often, he would glance over and point out a butterfly or shaped cloud with a smile.

Jesper, watching as Wylan leapt across the fountain. His copper head was upturned, sunlight streaming down onto the angles of his face, joy etched in his brilliant grin. He looked like a god for that one moment, frozen forever in a snapshot of peace.

“I will love you if the entire fucking world tells me not to,” Jesper had whispered once. “I will love you if the entire fucking world tells me to. I will love you, because I am yours, and there has never been such an honor.”

When the years whiled past, when the bone-deep sorrow lightened at last, did Jesper still love him?

That was the question he asked himself every morning over a cup of bitter coffee.

Twenty-four years old, and Jesper still loved him.

Thirty-one years old, and Jesper still loved him.

Forty-five years old, and Jesper still loved him.

Fifty-seven years old, and Jesper still loved him.

An old man, dying in his bed, and the laugh ringing through his head belonged to a boy with pretty blue eyes and a heart of gold.

A dead man, and Jesper loved him from the grave.

Love bowed to no one, and least of all death.

A collage romance was theirs, but their love was not that of two foolish young men, out for a kiss and in for a good fuck. It was carefree, happy, bright as the sun. It was etched in the stars, and it was doomed from the start.

Love bowed to no one, but perhaps it inclined its head towards Jesper Fahey and Wylan Van Eck.

#jesper fahey #wylan van eck #wesper au #wesper fic #wesper #six of crows #soc #crooked kingdom #ck #rule of wolves #row #my bestfriend loved this but shes biased as fuck #so here goes #im nervous ngl #please done hate this-#im so tired like excuse me

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saphirered · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! I love your pieces for Caleb. They’re all so sweet and heartwarming. Would you be interested in writing about the M9 individually in a relationship with a Druid reader? If that’s too much at once, just Caleb please? Thanks and I hope you’re having a good day :)

I hope you enjoy this one and thanks for the request ☺️!

Caleb Widogast

Your natural magic caught his eye from the very first time you used it. Caleb’s intrigued by what he may not 100% understand and he may have used his own desire to pursuit knowledge to mask his interests in you because to get a better understanding of your abilities requires getting to know you. Countless questions, conversations into the early morning hours to the point where you agreed to show him whenever you had the free time and could afford to use your spells and abilities without repercussion in a possible enemy encounter.

Every time you find yourself in your preferred environment he can’t keep his eyes off you. The peace and calmness radiating from you made even Caleb feel at ease, almost forgetting about the possible dangers lurking in the shadows. He sticks close to your side bathing in the comfort you bring him. He may not be as comfortable with pda but he can’t help holding your hand when he’s sure no one’s looking.

When you’re alone he’s much more comfortable spending time in your arms (or take you in his) to the point where you wake up together with loud knocking at your door signing you may have slept in a little bit too long for some of the Nein’s comfort.

It takes Caleb some getting used but a couple months into your relationship he’ll initiate holding your hand, wrapping an arm around you or even kiss you in public much to the surprise of the rest of the Nein. They wonder what you’d done to their wizard to get him to do such a 180 but you only gave him time and space to find what he’s comfortable with and what he isn’t or isn’t yet in some cases. Like the seasons things can change and once spring comes again the flowers bloom once more. Sometimes it just takes a little longer for winter to fade.

Beauregard Lionett

Beau wasn’t much into your ‘treehugger shit’ (her words) at first and may have had some strong opinions about some of your customs but she’s also a quick study and you’re hot so what was she gonna do? Not ogle you while you work your magic literally and figuratively showing off that muscle build from the harsh life in the wilds you’d lived for so long? You knew she was staring every time but any time you acknowledged it she would deny it or pretend to have a coughing fit.

Beau’s behaviour quickly changed once she had a real talk with you finding out you were anything but a ‘treehugger’. You’re accustomed to the brutality of the wilds and the two of you can definitely relate when it comes to learning things the hard way. Up front nature may seem honest but it is very much deceiving. Your way of reading nature taught you how to read people and you got the pleasure of being so smug about teaching Beau about your ways after she finally settled down. The two of you learned to like each other and the attraction between the two of you became more than just physical.

Despite pretending not to care or be open about her feelings Beau is anything but. Having someone to confide in without judgement or the risk of it being used against her has been a blessing. Whenever you get the chance and find a peaceful spot she always joins you for some meditation.

She’s not afraid taking the lead in your relationship but definitely isn’t opposed to you engaging either. The two of you have a functional dynamic and while you may have your arguments you always work it out in the end because you’re stronger together than you are apart. Besides, she can’t complain when you come in after a fight to heal some of her bruises be they to her body or her ego. Neither of you have any expectations and just take it day by day but you’re together nonetheless and honestly, you could both see this carry on in the future.

Fjord

You’re as comfortable on the ocean as you are on land. This was something very important to Fjord when the two of you became more than just travel companions and friends. While he himself may at this point not necessarily want to return to the oceans soon out of fear of his former patron he would love to return to the port sights and trade routes and he’d love nothing more than bringing you along if you’d let him.

Learning you had quite the arsenal of water based spells was a surprise and may have left him a tiny bit salty at what he had to go through to the point he is now for a fraction of that but he quickly got over it after you eased his mind. For how confident and charismatic he may be he can be quite awkward and shy when it comes to anything to do with romantic affections, especially engaging in them but luckily you aren’t and you are more than happy to push him into the deep with his consent of course.

While he prefers to stay somewhat by your side and may jokingly say so he can protect you like the valiant paladin he is but in all honesty you both know he really just feels safer with you close by and you’ve saved his ass on more than one occasion, a fact you won’t let him forget and if he’s deemed you’ve had your fill he’ll just trow you over his shoulder and walk away with you. You may pretend to be grumpy or upset but your facade drops quickly and doesn’t fool him but a quick kiss ‘remedies’ your ‘mood’ quickly.

At this point he’s grown so accustomed to you being somewhere near he sleeps much easier when you’re there. He may at one semi-drunken night have told you he’s sure you keep the nightmares at bay. Fjord would do almost anything for you even if that means a dreaded shopping trip. As long as he’s with you he actually enjoys it because it means he gets to spend more time with you. Though if he had to pick a favourite it would be any time the two of you had a moment to yourself on the ship just watching the waves and the clouds, his arms wrapped around you and head leaning on your shoulder.

Veth

Ever the kleptomaniac she’d stolen many personal possessions of you over time but only to admire them. Veth always returned them to you in the end but she simply couldn’t help but feel the itch to have a small collection of your things to herself. Though from the moment she had you she no longer really needed the material anymore because you are more than enough; you are her treasure. Though that doesn’t prevent her from stealing from others.

You’re her partner in crime and she loves that about you. You have her back at all times and she has yours. Besides, what’s better than summoning literal lightning to make your grand escape from the chasing guards or a carefully created slab of ice in the middle of a street.

When she came clean about her story you reassured her many times you wouldn’t feel any different because at heart she’s still the same and you love her for who she is.

You love helping her with her ‘little side projects’ and while you may not be an expert tinkerer or alchemist you’re pretty nifty when it comes to the natural base elements and are happy to provide a flame to heat things up, ice to cool things down or a gust of wind or two to get rid of the nasty chemical smells and dusts. You’re the perfect team and she loves calling you her ‘lovely assistant’ whenever you’re working on something together.

Jester Lavorre

Jester fell in love with you the moment you used your druidcraft to grow some vines and trip up some grumpy man who was rather rude to her. You have a knack for mischief yourself and the two of you make quite the team. While you may not be completely onboard when it comes to her deity the two of you had a mutual understanding; Jester’s best interest and you’d work together to make the world just a little more mischievous playing non-harmful pranks to lighten spirits.

You’ve been a rock in the tiefling’s chaotic life and keep her grounded when she needs it. You listen to her worries and she to yours and the two of you have a mutual understanding and trust. Sure Jester may have proven in the past she’s not the best at keeping certain secrets, yours she’ll take to her grave.

Jester loves braiding your hair, simply combing through it whenever she can or twisting a strand around her finger whenever you’re even remotely within close range of her. You listen to her and engage in conversation whenever she’s read a new novel and even let her read them to you. She’s very much a hopeless romantic but it’s cute. Your visage takes up many pages of her sketchbook and no one is allowed to mess with those pages. Not even the Traveler.

When you were introduced to Jester’s mom you were nervous knowing the woman’s reputation and all that Jester had told you about her. You couldn’t help feel nervous and wonder if you were up to standards but Marion welcomed you with open arms only after making you vow to protect her little sapphire with your life. You proved that was exactly your intend but Jester did scold her mom for that saying it’s only fair she does the same for you as you love each other.

Caduceus Clay

To say your relationship (more like lack thereof) is ‘unconventional’ is an understatement by most standards. You’re not lovers as neither of you are interested in the romantic nor physical aspects of a relation. Though you both do love watching from the sidelines as the relations of others evolve. You’d say the two of you have more of a partnership, like the best of friends and never would it become anything beyond that and you’re both happy with that out come.

You had always been connected to nature and Caduceus couldn’t help but see aspects of the Wildmother in you. He finds comfort in your presence and familiarity whenever you’re around. Especially in more rural areas, it’s like you’re the living breathing personification of nature. You give him a sense of home and you can say that feeling is mutual.

The two of you are often found preparing food or tea sharing an affinity and love for the subject. Though you’re a much more versatile when it comes to your actual knowledge on the subject of nature and its diversity opposed to him having been confided to one environment for most of his life.

From the moment you were introduced to his family they had already absorbed you up into their family. You may not be a Clay by blood but you certainly are one in spirit. His parents refer to you as their child and his siblings have taken to calling you their sibling. You’ve been their long lost Clay and with the blessing of the Wildmother you truly were accepted as one.

Yasha Nydoorin

You bonded over your mutual love for flowers. Yasha had a past she’d rather not talk about and you weren’t one to pry. Every time you notice she’s feeling down and conflicted you’re never afraid to conjure up a little bouquet of flowers to gift her, the gesture always putting a smile on her face.

At first Yasha may seem very distant and maybe even cold but she’s very much the opposite once you get to know her. She has a hard time trusting people but over time she opens up to you and you couldn’t be more grateful and honoured she did.

It’s always been undeniable there’s a chemistry between the two of you but neither of you felt it the right time to admit to your feelings until you were quite literally locked in a room together. You had some good talks and came to the conclusion it could be a now or never and both of you would much rather take every second you could get than regret having missed even a single one. You’re very comfortable expressing your feelings as you’re both very in touch with them but only recently have the terms of endearment and physical affection become a public display.

You’re there for each other no matter what and issues or arguments are quickly resolved if you have any as you both know where you stand and in the end your love for each other is much stronger than some petty disagreement.

Mollymauk Tealeaf

Molly’s always been a mystery for many and a mystery he may remain but somehow you saw right through his act and that definitely earned his attention. He’s a very physical person and wears his heart on his sleeve. You were never opposed to him wrapping an arm around you or kissing your temple whenever you did something nice for him. That’s always just been Molly but it’s the little things you notice that gave away there may just be more than friendly feelings.

Something that both excites and frustrates him before and in your relationship is your ability to get him all flustered. Sure he can do the same to you and he enjoys it every time he does but when you use it against him he’s not opposed to pulling out the big guns. Innuendos, sappy pda and terms of endearment often lead to full on make out sessions to the point where you’re told to get a room which you happily do.

You’ve messed with plenty of people but your favourite has to be where he pretended to be a priest of the Raven Queen and you used your druidcraft to decay blooming flowers and bring them back to life and used a little gust cantrip to blow his hair and cloak dramatically in the wind. Sure once the facade was revealed you had to leave town quickly but you giggled for weeks and even now the mere thought sends you into laughing fits.

Traveling the world is one thing. Molly doesn’t know about his past and you’ve left yours far behind. Your home is with each other and you’ll follow each other until the very end.

#critical role x reader #mighty nein x reader #fjord x reader #mollymauk x reader #critrole x reader #caduceus x reader #caleb widogast x reader #jester x reader #yasha x reader #beauregard x reader

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kashimos-hajime · 5 years ago

Text

buried in your bones | b.b.

summary: “Promise you’ll love me always.”

WARNINGS: fluff, angst, blood, violence, swearing, drinking, magic and therefore magic haters pairing: king!bucky x queen!reader word count: 11.1k

a/n: inspired by hurricane by fleurie. i recommend listening to it for proper vibes :) written for @serpienten and @buckysknifecollection. i had the prompt king/queen au and a dialogue prompt that is bolded. sorry this took so long! am still working through some killer writer’s block :( but enjoy!

James can taste nothing but blood in his mouth as he plunges his sword through chainmail. His ears are ringing from the sound of metal singing with every slice, every clash of his sword against his opponents and his foot catches on a dead knight’s arm as he whirls around.

All around him, dirt is flying and there is the smell of smoke as he twirls out of the way of a horse with no rider. Sweat dripping through his armour, he spots a soldier pinned down and charges, running the attacker through his sword and kicking him off the tip.

The smell of shit fills his mouth as he sucks in a wet gasp, helping the soldier get up. Clapping his shoulder, James can barely hear himself over the clamour of battle raging around him.

“Are we winning?” Steve asks harshly, shrugging off his king’s hand, and James feels cold ice spear up his limb at the bitter glare his knight commander pins him down with. Steve has lost his helmet, his golden hair dark with mud and blood but his eyes burn bright. “Is this worth it for you?”

“Volley!”

The word pierces through the haze and the two men collapse to their knees, ducking their heads as arrows stab into the dirt around them, the inflamed tips snuffing out as soon as they sink into wet mud.

“I want nothing more than to retreat, but they attacked first,” is his reply. He knows it’s pathetic.

He knows he’s at war because his people crave what they think is justice, because his people hate what they don’t understand.

He had been the same once.

Straightening, James jerks back as a sword tries to cleave him in two, and Steve is lost to him in the furious chaos of battle. Parrying another blow, he shoves his shoulder into his opponent’s gut and knocks him off his feet, dark hair flying into his face as he shoves the metal through the man’s stomach. The strangled scream echoes in his ears as he pulls it out with a wet schluck.

Stumbling back, James looks up to see more of his men clad in their refined red and gold armour storming down the hill, and he whips around, watching as more soldiers in gold and white fall. He can barely discern who is on his side, who is on Asgard’s.

“Well, if it isn’t the King of Kings!”

The voice, even to this day, harsh and rich with arrogance that only comes from believing their purpose is righteous, causes a fire in James to ignite.

Turning around slowly, he sees the gleaming dark armour, the stained black leather, the stench of death following his wake. Lord Rumlow scrapes the blood off one short sword with the other and James swears he can see someone’s brains along his knuckles drenched in blood as he raises his own sword.

“Rumlow.”

“How are you, m’lord?” he drawls, that knifepoint smirk digging into his cheeks as he raises one of his swords, the tip pointing for James’ eyes. Scarlet drips from the edge and James swallows the knot in his throat. He has no illusions that if given the chance, the man will stab him through the throat slowly, sinking that blade through his flesh as he watched the light die from James’ eyes and relish in it, but he is a dog.

A dog with a master.

“Where is she?” James asks, the words tearing out of his throat as he sweeps his gaze through the dying battle. The ground is littered with the fallen and he can taste death on his tongue—bitter and cold and vile. “Where is she?”

Lord Rumlow merely laughs, harsh and sharp and poisonous. He circles James like a predator circles cornered prey, slowly making his way within sword range, and James watches those dark eyes narrow in bloody glee. “As if she’d come here for you.”

“I know she is.” He doesn’t recognize his own voice. It’s dark with fury as Lord Rumlow merely cocks his head, intrigued. “I saw her on the rise.” Hair sticks to his skin and his heart is nothing more than threads barely holding together. “Please, we can end this—”

“You still love her.” It is nothing but cold, brutal truth and James flinches as soon as he hears it. It exhausts him to hear those words, to know that someone like Lord Rumlow knows what he had refused to believe, to know that he’d been the fool for years.

Lord Rumlow lunges forward, bringing his short sword down upon James’ shoulder. Blocking the blow, the king falls onto his back. Metal sings in his bones as their swords drag against each other.

James manages to drive the sword into the dirt, his lungs heaving for air as he jerks his head away from the tip. A wild glint falls into the dog’s eyes as his lips curl into a vicious snarl as James tries to throw the man off. His skin is slick with mud and blood and sweat, and James can feel the heat kiss him at all sides. It’s suffocating in his armour, clouds of hot air gathering in his back, under his arms, on his face.

Brock wrenches his bassinet off and James barely has time to prepare himself for the punch before it hits. His head snaps back into the mud, nose blooming in pain as his eyes squeeze shut to prepare for another strike, but hands merely wrap around his throat.

“How dare you claim to love her? How dare you say that after what you’ve done? You’re not even fit to say her name!”

Fingers dig deeper into his throat and James gasps for air, blood slipping down his cheeks from his nostrils. Mouth gaping, he wraps his hands around Lord Rumlow’s sleeves. The cacophony falls away, the sound of everything fading as James forces his eyes open, staring into the pits of his strangler’s eyes, and his feet kick, slip through mud.

“You. It was always you,” Rumlow murmurs. “Even after all these years, she chose you time and time again with nothing to show for it. She should’ve killed you when she had the chance.”

“What did you just say to me?” James chokes out and Rumlow laughs, sharp and his teeth are bared in a sadistic grin.

“You’re in no position to threaten me, m’lord.”

“No, what— what do you mean?” Another fist to the cheek, James’ world spins as his head jerks sideways. He can hear his blood gurgling in his head, in his throat, as he digs his fingers deeper into Rumlow’s gloved hands.

“All these years and you still don’t know.”

Unworthy. Unworthy. Unworthy, Rumlow’s voice chants in James’ head.

It is all he can hear.

Black dots impede his vision as the strength drains from his body.

“She never trusted you. She could never trust you. And how could she? Your family ruined her life!”

What?

“Please, don’t—” That voice from so long ago, scratched and aching with its plea for mercy, echoes in his ears and his eyes flutter shut.

“And why would she? You won’t even fight for her honour,” Rumlow derides, a cruel laugh mutilating his words. “You don’t deserve her love. You deserve nothing!”

There’s a snap.

“Get off of him!” a voice snaps, dark with power, and the weight lifts from his chest, but it is too late.

James doesn’t recall falling into the abyss, but he knows he falls when everything goes silent.

“Prince James, let me introduce my daughter.”

That is how it starts, when he is nothing more than thirteen, reading in the garden’s hedge maze. The sun is golden, the wind smells like sugar and sweet fruits, and the sky is bluer than sapphires as he closes his book and looks up at the approaching man.

When he thinks on it years later, he thinks it is just as how all the fairytales, all fables, start.

He recognizes the man—a diplomat, lord of some powerful house.

The girl behind him, however, he doesn’t.

You’re wearing a dark red dress, your hair pulled elegantly away from your face, and you’ve the warmest eyes he’s ever seen. A fire ignites inside him, smoldering him from the inside out as you curtsy and he stands, his chair grating harshly against marble.

You smile at his flustered expression and he finds it beautiful.

“Your Highness.”

“My lady.”

“Your hedge maze was no challenge for me,” you proclaim and James laughs, tucking his book underneath his arm.

“And you’re good at puzzles?”

“The best.”

His heart no longer beats in his chest as your father explains that you’re simply here to shadow him in his diplomatic duties.

He had never worried about marrying a woman he didn’t know the name of, but now, as you cock your head and your smile grows sly at his shy grin, he knows you’ve stolen his heart the instant he laid eyes on you.

Any betrothal in his future will be for nothing because all he wants is to marry you.

It’s his seventeenth birthday and he’d spent the night before drinking smuggled whiskey and smoking rum with his friends. His head pounds now, with regret, as he tries to keep himself from falling asleep. His feast is going full swing, and he can’t quite recall ever feeling the effects of irresponsible drinking so strongly than tonight.

“Your Highness.”

You’re helping him in that regard.

“You can’t doze off, can you?”

He blinks, head jerking to you, and you smile.

“It wouldn’t be fit for a king to sleep at his own birthday feast.” Extending a hand over the table, you cock your head. “Dance with me. Perhaps then you’ll stay awake long enough to see the night to its end.” Standing, James feels blood rush through his body and he grins, placing his hand and yours and walking around the table. You tug him playfully into the center of the dance floor, the circlet gleaming in your hair.

The melodies of the band sink into his bones as he places a hand on your waist, the other interlacing with yours as he steps with the music.

“I apologize, my lady.”

“Oh, as you should.” You smile although your tone betrays it as he spins you around. Your dress floats, flares gracefully from your waist in dark green flames, matching the emerald on your sternum. A gift of his for your last birthday. “Illicit drinking without me? Honestly, it’s a crime.”

“Steve wanted to keep it a secret,” James protests as he dips you in one hand.

“Funnily enough, Lord Rogers said it was your idea.” Hoisting you back up, you send him a berating glare. “Honestly, you’ve never kept a secret from me. What’s going on, now? You’ve been ignoring me for days.”

“Nothing, bluebird,” he soothes as your hand settles on his shoulder, and a heat blossoms from your palm, through him. He could melt into your heat, the effortless hearth that stems from your very soul. His eyes settle on your confused expression, and he pulls you close, forehead knocking into yours. “I promise you. There is no secret.”

“You’re lying,” you murmur, eyes searching his. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“As are you.”

You scoff, drawing back and their noses brush as you narrow your gaze in a challenge. “You’d be surprised.” You twirl out of his reach with a parting glare, another lady taking your place and he’s surprised to see Lady Natasha smirking up at him. Taking her hand in his, he steps back into a bow while she curtsies. The music stalls for a moment as he kisses the redhead’s knuckles before it picks back up again.

“My lady.”

“She’s not very pleased, is she?” the redhead points out and James groans. “You invited her all this way and then chose to exclude her on the pre-celebration ritual.”

“Don’t tell me you’re the one who told her,” he complains, nearly stepping on Natasha’s toes but the lady quickly steps out from underneath his boot. “I’m trying to keep it all a secret. You know that.”

“I think you’re doing a terrible job of it. If you’re going to propose to her, it might be best not to act like she has the plague.”

“I haven’t!”

“Yes, you have. Don’t play the fool.” Natasha narrows her gaze, squeezing his hand painfully, and James winces. “You’ve never went a single week in the four years you’ve known her without sending her a letter and suddenly, the moment we get here, I have to listen to her complain about how you refuse to even look her in the eye and how you don’t spend any time on her, excusing it with flimsy reasons.” Shaking her head, Natasha pretends to accidentally step on James’ foot as they waltz around each other. “You’re lucky she loves you. She suspects something is wrong with you, and she’ll get it out.”

“And you didn’t tell her, did you?” James adds nervously, causing Natasha to sigh heavily, rolling her eyes. Her whole body seems to cave in with the stupidity James is apparently exuding as she sucks in a breath and tries to formulate a response not too rude for him.

“Of course not. Why would I ruin something like this for her, Your Highness?” With the last, biting word, Natasha is whisked away by a blond man with flushed cheeks and way too many drinks to be anything but a stuttering mess. James follows the redhead as she pulls Steve off the floor and sighs dejectedly, collapsing into the chair beside his best friend.

“Your birthday not all you wanted, my lord?” Steve crows as Natasha brings a goblet of wine to her mouth to hide her smile. James, with a glum smile, leans his cheek against his fist and watches you dance with another lord. He’s a bit older, one of the lords of your house, and handsome in a roguish sort of way.

Lord Rumlow, your sworn shield.

James does his best to bite his tongue when you toss your head back in a laugh and the knight grins, his obsidian eyes soft only for you.

The three friends exchange glances as you cup the knight’s cheek before slipping into the crowd just as the music ends, and James stands abruptly without a farewell to his companions. Pushing himself through the crowd, he mutters his pardons, your dress slipping between noble lords and ladies.

Breaking into the hall outside the ballroom, he doesn’t see a trace of you.

As if you’ve disappeared.

Sighing, he walks to the gardens. These halls are ones he knows well, ones he’s run through since he was nothing but a princeling escaping his nursemaid’s supposedly evil clutches. Then, as a boy after tutoring or a day out riding, and now…

He had walked you through these halls a dozen times and he still thinks you haven’t seen everything.

One place you do know, however, is the palace gardens.

The leaves are silver in the moonlight, a gentle wind rustling through the hedges as he makes his way through the hedge maze. Crickets chirp and some bird croons as he sucks in a warm summer breath. It smells heavenly, of flowers and sweet sugar, of light and clean water. He can hear the faint music from the palace, still, but the smell of hearty meats and smoke have faded to something softer, something warmer.

“James?”

Your voice pierces through the night air as he finds himself in the centre of the maze. You turn around on one of the benches to look at him, and he’s surprised by the morose expression printed onto your face.

“Are you alright?” Stepping to the bench, he sits down beside you with a frown. “Did something happen?”

“Brock was simply saying how I had to rest up tomorrow. We depart at dusk tomorrow to avoid the rebels.” You turn to him, a glumness to your face he’s not used to seeing and he takes your hands gently in his. “I’m sorry I have to leave so early. We were supposed to have the week together.”

“If the rebels are threatening the roads, it’s best you go before you can’t any longer,” he whispers, leaning forward and pressing his lips to your brow. You inhale shakily at his touch, leaning into him. “I’m sorry I can’t fix this.”

“You can’t fix everything, Bucky,” you mumble, your nose brushing against his as you pull back. James wrinkles his nose and you cup his cheek, thumb brushing underneath his eye. “I just don’t think this is a war we need to fight.”

.”These magic users are dangerous—”

“Those magic users are people,” you reply hotly, pulling back and standing. You turn away from him and James’ eyebrows knit together as he stands as well. He doesn’t reach out for you, and you wrap your arms around yourself. “They’re people who’ve been treated like beasts.” Approaching you slowly, he gently sets his hands along your shoulders and you whirl around in his grasp. Your eyes search his, and he feels something in him soften at the bleeding heart he can see in your chest.

“You know I can’t change my mother’s policies. Not after how Father died.” His throat cinches shut at the mention of the father he never knew and he turns away from your palm, looking up at the summer sky. A dark indigo canvas speckled with diamonds, it’s so vast and endless, James can’t help but wonder if his father is watching down on him.

“What happened with your father, with Steve’s father, it was one incident that somehow made everyone see people with magic like freaks. One incident was all it took.” Looking down at you again, James brushes his knuckles down your cheek. “We haven’t exactly prosecuted all of mankind for one man going on a murder spree with a knife he stole from the butcher’s shop,” you say, voice snapping like a whip as you pull away. Again, you turn away from him and James feels at a loss. Every time you turn away, he feels as if he’s splitting in two and he sighs, letting his hand fall back to his side.

“We put murderers, criminals, in jail.”

“And we’ve persecuted a whole people for the same thing.” Your shoulders fall as you let out a tremendous breath, and an emptiness in James widens at the desolate aura emanating from your very being. “I should go.”

You move towards the hedges but James walks after you. “Wait! I don’t want us to depart on these terms. I have no wish for you to leave angry at me.”

You turn slowly, your dress twisting and brushing against the dirt as you shake your head, a gentle smile upon your face.

“I’m not angry at you, James,” you assure quietly, and he believes you by the earnest glint in your eyes.

“Then, may I walk you to your room, my lady?”

You dip your head, and extend a hand for him to take. Your fingers slide easily between his, and he pauses, simply admiring your face bathed in silver light. His other hand reaches to brush against your jaw and your smile grows as you cup his jaw and pull him down.

The kiss is quiet, tender, and his eyes slide shut as your hand runs through his hair, pulling back just enough to breathe.

“Promise you’ll love me,” you whisper, words as soft as silk against his lips as he presses his brow to yours. Your eyes are still closed but his flutter open, soaking in your face as if he’ll never have enough time to memorize it. You cup his face with both hands, open your eyes and stare into his soul. A wounded ache festers in your gaze and he nods. “Promise you’ll love me always.”

Drawing back, he feels your hands tremble and brings them in his own to his lips. Mouth against your fingers, he nods again. “I promise I will always love you.” Kissing your knuckles, he does not break his gaze away as your lips curl into a tender smile. Squeezing his hands, you look younger, as if a burden has been lifted off your shoulders, and in that moment, James swears he has never seen something quite so divine.

He falls to one knee, and reaffirms his grasp on your hands before digging through his trouser pocket for the ring.

“Bucky…” you begin, bemused at his antics, but then you catch sight of the ring and your breath hitches. Eyes widening, your fingers wrap tighter around his as he brings the ring up to the moonlight. In lunar rays, it glows effervescently, winking and stunning in its shallow grooves, smooth gold, and intricately shaped hands linked together. The metal bends, caves where the fingers interlace and you let out a whispering sigh as he looks up at you.

A heat rises in his cheeks and he swallows the nerves biting at his throat. He should’ve had a drink before he came out here, but then again, he hadn’t realized this would be where—

He should’ve. This is, after all, where he first fell in love with you.

“Marry me,” he says although it’s more of a question, a request, an ask for a blessing, and your smile is brilliant as you say nothing. “It is why I have been so distant lately. I’ve been trying to find the perfect execution, but it seems my own heart has betrayed me. I have loved you since I first laid eyes on you, and although I am your prince, to be your king… Do me this honour, Y/N, and be my queen.”

“Well…” Your grin digs into your cheeks as he looks up at you, and a flood of relief fills his body as you tilt your head, just as you did the first day you met him. “No more drinking without me, then I’ll marry you,” you proclaim and he laughs as you tug him onto his feet. “Promise me that.”

Sliding the ring onto your finger, he presses a warm, bruising kiss against your lips before pulling back just far enough to whisper, “You have my word.”

And then he kisses you again.

If, four years ago, James knew marriage would be so exhausting, he would still do it again in a heartbeat.

Your laughter, after all, is the song he wakes up to every morning.

That, or the squirming body of his son trying to get between James and you.

You laugh as his son bounces between your legs, desperate for the horse to go faster than the easy walk he paces at, and James watches as you wrap an arm around his son’s waist.

“Your stallion is ready, my king.” Turning to the stable hand, he nods his thanks and mounts easily atop the white steed, gently nudging his sides into a trot to join his family at the edge of the woods. Alpine nickers his greetings to your mare as you tug on the reins with your one hand.

“A fine afternoon,” he comments, glancing over at you as Stellan wraps his chubby hands around the handle of the saddle specifically crafted for riding with a child.

“Indeed it is, your Grace,” you tease, brushing your hair out of your face. “A fine day for riding.” Your mare bumps noses with his stallion as Stellan notices his father, clapping his hands. “The prince wants his father.” Hoisting his son out from the space between your lap, you hand him over to James with a grin.

“Papa!”

Kissing his son’s cheek, James grins when his son latches onto him, arms wrapped around his father’s neck as they start their ride into the woods. James keeps a hand on Stellan, careful not to let him fall or squirm too much.

His twenty-first year has been blessed with peace, and James can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. The rebels have been squashed into their hiding holes, and the kingdom prospers with long summers and short winters.

And his family…

He looks at you and something inside him melts. Your lips are puckered in a whistle and you repeat the bird songs chirping through the trees while the guard rides behind you, and he glances back to see Steve talking to Lady Natasha.

What joke did she tell him this time? He wonders, amused when Steve blushes at whatever Natasha said. Always flustered by whatever the bold redhead says. I hope nothing too under the skirts.

“Eyes forward, my king,” you call and he turns forward again to see you up ahead, head tilted to look over your shoulder. “We do have a clearing to reach before midday.”

“Mama?” Squirming in his arms, Stellan wriggles his way back between his father’s thighs and grabs the wooden handle of the saddle. Bouncing excitedly, the boy leans forward. “Go!” James nudges Alpine into a trot to catch up to his wife as his guard splits apart in the woods, no doubt interested in a day off simply relaxing without any drills on a sunny day like this. He’s sure some would head off to the lake for a swim while others participated in a hunt.

“Are you coming, Rogers?” a voice crows within the trees, and James grins when he hears Anthony’s squire, Peter, exclaim in pain when he hits his head on a low-hanging tree branch. “Your lady can come, too!”

“She’s not my lady, Tony!” Steve calls back as James catches up to where you’ve stopped and he pulls his reins lightly to stall as well. Glimpsing Steve’s red face, James smirks when the blond turns to Natasha. “I mean, you are my lady, my lady.”

“Aren’t you the charmer?” Natasha says dryly as the two approach the royals. Their steeds’ ears twitch and Natasha scratches her horse’s ear as you grin. “My king. My queen.”

“You do realize you are free to take the day off. We haven’t had the time to do so in ages,” you tell them kindly, your eyes darting from the lady to the lord. “Not since James has been crowned king, I feel.” Steve cocks his head when Stellan tries to reach over to him and he picks up the prince, bouncing him in his arms. “Not since this one was born for certain. You ought to take it, the both of you.”

“Spoken like a true queen,” Natasha teases. “But I agree. Diplomacy is an exhausting sport.”

“Sport? I’m sure Rhodes wouldn’t be so inclined to call it so.”

“Rhodes needs to stop and learn to relax. It’s not that complicated.”

“He knows how to relax,” James quips. “He just doesn’t take his job so lightly unlike you, Lady Natasha.”

Natasha grins, rolling her eyes before tugging the reins of her steed towards a parting in the trees. “Well, unlike Rhodes who is no doubt racing Tony to the lake, I will take a long, leisurely stroll there. Lord Rogers, if you would accompany me?”

“Of course, my lady.” Steve transfers Stellan from his arms back into his father’s, picking up his reins before dipping his head to you. “My queen.” Always with the formalities, James muses as he grabs Steve’s hand in a hearty shake farewell. “I won’t be too far away.”

“I’m counting on it,” James replies before the blond rides after the redhead, and the royals look at each other before bursting out into laughter. “God, I wonder when he’ll ever have the courage to properly ask for her hand in marriage.”

“Knowing them both, she’ll ask first,” you reply with a wrinkle of your nose and the two of you ride off into the woods.

The destination is a clearing upon a small hill, sparkling with morning dew just beginning to dry and flowers blooming in the branches. The trees part perfectly in a path down the hill to the lake and the sun casts golden shafts through the branches, the entire clearing glimmering in its blessing. The smell of fresh wind and sweet nectar fills James’ nose as you dismount beside him, lowering Stellan gently onto the grass. You unpack your saddlebag, revealing blankets and food.

James dismounts as well, patting Alpine firmly along his neck as he grabs the flagon of wine and more food from his own saddlepack while you lay the blanket gently over the grass. Feeding an apple to Alpine, he gently rubs his steed’s nose before joining his wife and son underneath the shade of a tree.

Unbuckling his belt, he rests his sword against the trunk before sinking to his knees beside you. You’re already leaning back on an arm, watching as Stellan chases a butterfly across the huge clearing and James kisses your temple, easing against the tree. You immediately lean against him, your head against his chest, and he tilts his head back to feel the breeze along his neck.

“This is wonderful,” you sigh, your hand on his chest. “Four years of nothing but non-stop madness and now we have a day to simply breathe..”

“Three years of being king, four of being a father. I don’t think I’ve ever been so exhausted,” he agrees. “Father always made it seem so effortless.”

“Well, that’s how fathers are,” you tease, glancing up at him. He looks down with a slight frown and you reach up to tap his nose. “You’ve been nothing but a perfect father to Stellan. You ought to slip before he thinks you’re some god.”

“Would that be too bad?” His nose wrinkles and you chuckle, pecking his lips before sitting upright. Stellan wanders back towards his parents, his chubby fist holding blades of grass and he tosses it at James before crawling into his mother’s lap. “He seems to be his mother’s son, anyway.”

“As he should,” you fire back, lifting Stellan up in your hands and throwing him up a few times. His high-pitched giggles cause James to smile as he leans down, brushes hair away from your forehead and kisses your brow. Tilting your chin up to snag his lips into another brief kiss, you settle your son against your chest and roll over.

“Mama, walk,” Stellan orders, and you look down at your son. “Go walk.”

“Your son’s already giving me orders,” you comment pointedly, sitting up as Stellan gets to his feet and James smirks, beginning to unpack the food.

“I think he’s more like you in that regard,” James fires back mischievously and you lightly smack his shoulder as their son grabs your hand and tugs you away. Pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, you allow yourself to be lead into the forest while James carefully sets up the wine, the food. Taking a bite out of a bit of cheese, he heads to the horses who’ve been roaming the clearing and sighs.

He must cherish this day. Tomorrow, it’ll be nothing but more meetings with diplomats, advisors, and other engagements regarding the bandits along their border.

Magic still spikes fear in the hearts of his people, despite how hard you’ve tried to dissuade the notion that magic is dangerous. It’s been your one goal since you’ve been crowned his queen, a movement that has made you…

Made you controversial, to say the least.

It has definitely put you into disfavour with his mother, but James doesn’t care.

He knows your heart is in the right place, even if he himself is still afraid. There is that bravery with you, that makes him want to be brave, too, but his father...

He will never forget the sight of his dead father.

Stroking Alpine’s snout, he feels the stallion lip at his pockets, searching for treats as your mare nickers, coming over with ears perked up in interest. Turning to the mare, he grins when she snorts against his cheek.

Grinning, he simply lets the horses nudge him every which way, threads his fingers through their manes. With a deep breath, he lets the day wash over him. He closes his eyes and presses his brow against Alpine’s.

In the distance, he can hear Natasha shouting at Anthony, Steve’s loud, bright laughter.

No matter what happens, he wouldn’t change being a king for anything if it meant ruling with these people beside him.

“Wolf! Wolf! It’s the White Wolf!”

Peter’s petrified warning shout echoes through the forest and James jerks towards his voice, eyes widening. The White Wolf?

His blood freezes in his veins. The White Wolf had been lurking through their woods for the past years, a white beast larger than horses and hungrier than ten wolves that only came out at night. With blood red eyes and claws that could eviscerate through steel armour, the White Wolf is nothing short of a monster.

Never has he heard of it roaming during the day.

Until now.

“Peter!”

“Where’s the king?”

Alpine lets out a loud neigh, stomping his foot against the soft dirt as the sound of swords and steel clashing and James grabs his belt from the tree, cinching it tight around his waist as Steve appears in the parting of the trees. His thoughts immediately race towards you and Stellan, alone in the woods, and his heart leaps to his throat as he turns to Steve.

“She went out with Stellan for a walk,” James barks, brushing past Steve roughly. Behind him is the rest of his guard, stumbling up the hills in various states of undress, but they stop as soon as they catch sight of him. Ice seeps into his veins and he ignores the thought of you mauled to pieces, a tiny body beside yours. “Find your queen!”

“Yes, my king!”

Drawing their swords, the knights split off in coordinated groups, disappearing in seconds. Steve and James pair off and sprint into the woods. His blood is racing through his body, his feet flying through the grass as he hears the loud roar of the bear.

Shouting your name, shouting Stellan’s, his lungs feel like they’re about to burst as the crashing river comes into view. The sound of the white rapids, thunderous as waves crash against rock, echoes in James’ skull as he sweeps his eyes for a glimpse of you.

There’s the dark brown of wood everywhere, the same shade as Stellan’s leather vest, and his vocal cords burn as he screams over the sounds of the rapids.

“James?” He can hear his name in the distance and then there is a flash of white smudged with green and he can see Stellan bursting through the bushes on the other side of the river, followed by you. Steve raises his hand as you scoop up your son, and James rushes to the chaotic riverside. Frigid water splashes at his boots and a chill shoots up his spine. “What is it?”

“We need to head back. The Wolf is awake.”

Eyes widening, you disappear back into the woods after a quick nod, and James turns to Steve with a grimace before they start to sprint down the river.

The only place to cross is by the lake where the river is calmer.

All he wants is to hold you in his arms.

The river calms as the trees begin to thin out once they reach the crystalline lake and Steve breaks through first just as something bursts through the bushes. Stellan’s cheeks are streaked with tears and as soon as he catches sight of his father, he runs towards you, and you tear out after him, your clothes stained with dirt and leaves, your hair a mess.

What follows is a massive beast, lunging out of the trees for you. It’s nothing but a flash of white fur and red eyes, claws gleaming in the sunlight. Drawing his sword, Steve runs into its path, bowled over with a painful clash just as James unsheathes his sword. You pick up Stellan and run up the hill, and as soon as James makes sure you’re on your way to safety, he joins Steve in the battle. The Wolf drags its claws through steel, and Steve lets out a scream, struggling to wrench its paw off of him just as James charges at the thing, running his blade through the pelt but it seems to glance off easily.

No mark stains the pelt and it swipes out a ferocious paw, knocking James aside as Steve struggles weakly, blood beginning to seep into the soil beneath. Scarlet rivulets gleam in the sunlight as James blinks his vision clear, digging his sword tip in an attempt to stand again. Terror tries to lock his limbs, but he tries to fight the swelling in his chest as he reaffirms his grip on the sword and runs at the beast once again.

The Wolf’s lips pulled back in a snarl, it leaves Steve motionless just as James tries to stab at its shoulder and it pulls back, tail thrashing. Blood drips from its maw and as James stares into the eyes of death, he wonders what he’ll see on the other side.

Hopefully, nothing.

Realistically, this will not be a painless death.

He raises his sword, and steadies his breath, sweat gathering in the hollow of his back, the seam that has stitched itself into his ribs just beginning to heal. Lungs heaving for air, he feels light-headed, near dizzy with adrenaline.

The Wolf lunges and James tries to jump out of the way too late. It catches him by the waist, drags him through the mud and his sword goes flying as teeth sink into his thigh. Grunting, he smashes his fist into the mutt’s muzzle to no avail, desperate to contain the scream trying to rip through his chest.

Black dots swarm his vision and his whole body is in flames as he raises his other leg, kicking the Wolf in the eye but it is not phased.

At least, not until something blasts it off of him.

Gasping for air, he pushes himself up and away from the Wolf that lies in a crumpled heap by the lake shore and then there is another pulse of energy, a cage of gold forming around the beast before hands hoist him up underneath his arms and drag him away.

“Are you alright?” He can hear your voice, sharp in his ear, and he turns to see you, eyes focused on the Wolf struggling to escape its prison. His whole body is aching buried deep in his bones and blooming like flowers in summer, and blood soaks through his trousers as you pull him behind a rock, dropping into a crouch beside him. “James?”

“What was that?” he whispers harshly, hand wrapping around your wrist, and your gaze jerks towards him jarringly. There is a light he does not recognize, focused, precised, glimmering in your eyes. You pull your wrist out of his grasp, turning to his oozing wound. Grabbing his hands, you push it atop the puncture, and James’ breath hitches at the warm, tingling sensation festering in his leg.

“I need to pull Steve to safety. Put pressure on that and do not move. You’ll only bleed more.” Without another word, you turn and make a lifting gesture with your hands. James cranes his head to watch a warm, golden corona surround Steve’s body and he is dragged towards them, leaving a trail of blood-soaked grass. The Wolf growls, lunges and bites, the sizzling of its energy cage filling the silence along with the clanking of Steve’s armour just as the blond is caught in your hands.

Pulling him around the rock cover, you hoist Steve up against the stone and run a glowing hand across the hemorrhaging body. Your fingers, tense and locked, seem to tremble as the blood stops flowing, and James’ eyes nearly pop out of his skull as he watches the eviscerated remains of his best friend begin to stitch together.

Turning to his own leg, he lifts his blood-red palms to see it already nearly closed, and his heart constricts as he covers it again and lets his head fall back to the stone.

Magic.

There’s the sound of branches breaking and James’ eyes snap open. Sweat pours at your brow just as he turns to look at you, and you barely flash him a smile before something snaps again and your attention is torn away.

Immediately, the stitching effect disappears and James cradles Steve’s head in his, brushes blood away from his cheek as a sharp howl pierces the air. The summer heat is thick against his cheeks as you trade blow for blow with the Wolf.

He wants nothing more than to step in beside you, but with every flash of gold, every bright burst of energy, he feels the fear he felt when he was nothing more than a child locking his legs, paralyzing his body.

Magic.

Pure, powerful magic lights up the air and he can smell it, smoke and starlight, on his tongue.

The Wolf lunges and you toss it into the lake. You send a shockwave rippling towards the hound and it merely jumps over and pins you to the ground. Its claw gouges into your chest and your scream is earth-shattering as you kick it off of you with a powerful blast from your legs. Rolling onto your hands and knees, James can see blood drip slowly down your chest, into the grass as your tattered dress blows in the gentle wind.

You seem to stare into death’s jaws, and then…

You smile.

The Wolf’s claws dig into the dirt, and then it is sprinting at you in full force just as you force yourself onto your feet.

Your name tears through his chest just as the Wolf tackles you into the lake and there is a small flash before a loud crash of water and he turns to Steve to make sure he’s still alive before stumbling to his feet to watch, and in the lake, two beasts thrash in the cold water. Jaws snap, claws drag through flesh, and he watches as a magnificent bird beats its wings, sending a rippling gale of wind through the lake. The water recedes onto the shore as fire flares and the Wolf whines in pain as talons sink into its back.

An awe fills his entire body as the gorgeous phoenix flaps its wings and takes flight, dropping the Wolf onto the shore once again and landing with delicate precision. It warbles, a gentle sound, and shakes out its feathers, droplets of silky water flying everywhere. Each quill is red-orange, near golden, and its talons glimmer with golden scales.

James’ mouth drops open as it croons at the Wolf who merely cowers in its presence. Another whimper escapes the white dog, its red eyes fading to brown and James, entranced, watches as the phoenix, wings extended, begins to sing.

A sense of melancholy seeps into his soul as the Wolf lowers its chin to its paws and the phoenix coos, the crest on its head swaying and catching the true sunlight. They shine like cut amber as its golden eyes narrow.

Then, there is another, softer glow as the phoenix buries its beak in the fur of the Wolf, and James turns away, shielding his eyes from what seems like the sun. Falling beside Steve, he looks at his best friend.

“Steve?” he murmurs, and murky blue eyes meet his just as you appear again. Magic still oozes around you like oil in the sea, and he can smell magic again, but warmer this time—like a hearth burns inside his soul. Around your shoulders is an arm attached to a young woman he doesn’t recognize in a white dress.

“Are you alright?” you ask, slowly lowering the woman to the ground as well. Reaching, you cup Steve’s face that is beginning to regain its colour, and James watches gold light up the blood beneath his skin where you touch.

Don’t touch him, he wants to say, but Steve only wakes up at the contact, eyes widening ever more so slightly.

“Y/N,” Steve rasps and your hand retreats just as you turn to the woman that’s barely stirring. James watches as you lay a hand carefully on her arm, and she raises her head groggily. Her eyes are muddy, dazed, but then they roll back and she slumps forward and Steve jerks away from the hair brushing against his hand, shuffling back against James who wraps an arm around Steve. “I thought death held me for certain.”

“It almost did, old friend,” James replies, eyes wandering to you. “And the Wolf?”

“She needs time to recover,” you reply, delicately brushing hair away from the girl’s face and James’ eyebrows rise in shock.

His whole body is wracked with fatigue, but his mouth drops open when he gets a glimpse of the necklace hanging around the girl’s neck. “I remember her. Seven years ago, House Starr reported their daughter was missing to Mother. They never found her.”

“At least not until now. I need to bring her to healers,” you say, standing and lifting the girl with surprising ease. James struggles to his feet, pulling Steve up, and your eyes soften at him as you try to smile, but the blood, the still-fading glint in your eyes, sends chills through his body.

Magic…

“We’ll need to speak later.” You dip your head in farewell before walking to the lakeshore, and Steve groans, his entire body deadweight against James’ shoulder and the king grunts, doing his best to keep him standing.

“Bluebird, wait—”

You glance at him over his shoulder, and there is a sorrowful sweetness resting in your face, a tenderness in your smile, a grief in your gaze.

Then, a golden sparks carve a line into the air, sizzling against the grass as it carves a portal into this reality. You turn forward and walk through.

It closes before he can follow.

His mind is cluttered, his ears full of beeswax, and he doesn’t know what is real.

Steve had been rushed to the hospital wing to be swarmed by doctors, the other knights anxious yet relieved to see both the king and their knight commander alive and safe.

He doesn’t miss the fact that Rumlow is not among those men.

In fact, he is missing, and not a single soul has heard from him.

Buried in his bones is an ache James cannot ignore. His chest feels like it’s splitting open, his ribs snapped, and as he stares at his reflection in the cheval mirror, he swallows the hard lump in his throat.

The teeth marks are already closed, scarring over yet there’s still a residual pulse of pain when he prods at it.

He doesn’t know whether or not to be enraged, relieved.

All he knows is emptiness.

“Are you alright?” Startled, James drops his pant leg and turns around to see you standing there, eyes wide and a tentative smile upon your lips. His breath catches in your throat and his eyes immediately go to his hands that you clasp before you. “James?”

“What are you doing here?” he asks, feather soft and you walk closer, your footsteps light. “Where is the Wolf?”

“Lady Ava is fine. I’ve brought her to some healers on the border of Asgard and Midgard. It was some curse inflicted upon her as a child. Parental mishap, it seems but she’ll be fine with time,” you inform quietly, your gaze dipping to your hands as you twist the ring, the ring he had given you, around your finger. “Is Steve…”

“He’s alive,” he replies stiffly, brushing past you and you turn around with him, lips twisted into a worried frown. “Thank you,” he adds quietly, genuinely. His mind is a whirlwind, his heart racing in his ears, and he can’t help the sensation that seizes his chest, the awareness of where your hands move. “Without you, he would’ve died.”

“Steve is family.” Walking up behind him, James can feel you come close. His entire body tenses, and he faces the wall, eyes slip shut. Bright blasts of gold ignite in his mind, followed by a ravaged village he had seen on his tour of his kingdom. At the hands of magic.

Hands of your kind.

He forces the next words out between gritted teeth, the words coming out flat, stoic.

“Go, before someone tells the truth about you.”

“James, you can’t possibly—” You touch his shoulder and James flinches away, whirling around to face you. Your eyes widen at the reaction, and you withdraw your hand back, stumbling to the wall. “You’re afraid of me.”

“You’re magic,” he whispers, voice wavering and you swallow audibly. Your hand shakes through the air as you retract it to your chest, and he watches the pulsing wound along your collarbone slowly stitch itself together, the flesh leaving no mark. Magic. “Of course I’m afraid of you.”

“James—”

“And Stellan,” he cuts you off cleanly, trying his best not to shake when your eyes widen, wet with tears. You blink and they fall, crystalline in the low light. You’re shaking, your entire body trembling as the two of you stand on opposite sides of the small room. “Is he…”

“Magic?” you finish for him and your voice is void of life, defeated. Your hands drop to your sides and you seem to stand straighter under his gaze as you stare at him. “After all this time, you’re still afraid of magic. You won’t even let me explain.” Your expression crumbles and you turn your face away, rubbing at the tears tracking down your face. An incredulous, sharp exhale fills the silence and James feels something inside him split open.

“Would you? Explain, that is.”

His heart wilts, his lungs collapse. His ribs seem to ache as you wipe at your face, the soft sounds of your uneven breathing filling the silence. He can feel your gaze, hot and desolate and aching against his cheek as he closes his eyes.

All he can see is his father’s splayed body, the blood soaking through the mud.

“You keep this secret from me, and expect me to trust you with the truth?”

“James…” you whisper softly, and his gaze jerks to yours jarringly. Your glassy eyes seem to stare right through him and he swallows through the bruising in his throat as he tries to hold back his own tears. “Please—”

“How could you not tell me?” he croaks, and you inhale, a shuddering, sharp thing. His chest is cracked open, his limbs are numb yet every bone in his body is solid lead. “How could you keep this from me?”

“Because I know you.”

Your words are empty in the summer air.

There is a moment of silence as everything James knows shatters around him. If he listens close enough, he can hear the shards of it colliding with the stone beneath his feet, breaking into uncountable pieces.

“Go,” he says softly, and he can’t bear to look at the devastation his words cause. “I’ll say you died in the attack, so you have enough time to leave the kingdom. Take Stellan and do not return.”

“James, no. He’s your son. Please, don’t—”

“I said, go!” The loudness of his voice shocks him and he flinches back into the wall at the eerie quiet that follows.

There is the only sound of uneven breathing, the cacophony of hearts breaking, and you step forward, the fabric of your tattered dress brushing against the floor. He can see your shadow in the candlelight, reaching for him, before you jerk back and he closes his eyes, burning tears dripping down his cheeks.

The door groans when you push it open, as if the castle is reluctant to let you leave, but then it opens and you slip out.

The door closes shut with a soft, yet thunderous boom.

“The King is awake!”

James’ head blisters with pain, and it only intensifies at the voice as he blinks his eyes open. The ceiling of his room is not unfamiliar, neither is the mattress he’s beginning to wear uneven beneath his back.

All these years and he never could sleep on your side of the bed.

“James!” Doors open and hands rush to help him sit up, and he groans, eyes squeezing shut when his head sways. His whole world slants and the taste of vomit burns at his throat as he slowly opens his eyes again, and he catches sight of Natasha’s red hair. The bright light streaming into his room makes his head pulse and he turns away, hand rising like it’s dragging through molasses.

“The light,” he rasps, and Natasha, who holds him by the elbows, turns to whomever is with her.

Darkness falls in his room.

“James.” Steve. “Are you alright?”

“What… how am I here?” His tongue is thick in his mouth, dry and raw, and his vocal cords twinge at his voice.

“Rumlow almost killed you,” Steve begins quietly as more people enter the room. “We lost men, but won the battle once they surrendered.”

“Surrendered?” Frowning, James’ brow wrinkles and he feels something split open with a stinging sensation digging into his skull. He hisses out, reaching to touch it but Natasha guides his hand away. “Fuck. Where—”

“In the dungeons. Waiting for you whenever you’re ready.” Natasha’s voice is soothing to the thumping in his skull.

“Help me stand.”

“Wait. Give yourself a few moments to regain your bearings,” Steve murmurs but James shakes his head despite how terribly it increases the agony chipping into his head.

“No—”

“James.”

“If she’s there, I need to see her.” Letting go of Natasha’s hand, he swings his legs off the bed and leans forward, hands clutching onto the edge of his bed.

“James.”

“What?” he barks, head snapping to Steve and Natasha who look at each other with an apprehension. “Steve…” Something drags at his gut and his eyes widen in fear. Ice sluices through his chest. The silence becomes suffocating and with every passing second, he feels the world darken in on him.

No. No, no, no, no—

“She’s not there.”

“Where is she?”

“James, sit down.”

The ice melts into magma, and he thrashes off Natasha’s gentle hand.

“Where is she?”

Peter’s cabin is small, but warmly furbished for a squire. He lets them in before excusing himself to the castle, and James feels like he’s chained to a solid steel ball by the ankle. His limbs are wrought with bruises, and his head sways with every step as Natasha and Steve help him in.

He can see you through the open door to Peter’s room, and his breath stops in his chest.

Your body is hunched over a bed, a blanket draped over your shoulders as the sun washes over your body. You don’t stir at the entrance of the trio and James lets out the breath, the string lancing through his body snipped when you don’t immediately move. You’re dressed in oversized clothes, trousers and a linen shirt hanging off your shoulders. Your hair is slick with oil, and he can smell the poultices that must’ve been slathered onto any wounds from where he walks slowly deeper into the room, his fingers deep in Natasha’s and Steve’s arms.

“Steve,” Natasha murmurs, and she brings James’ hand to Steve before approaching the bed slowly. Steve leads James to a couch by the small hearth but James’ eyes don’t stray from Natasha as the redhead approaches your sleeping form. He cranes his head to watch through the doorway, and his blood rushes to his head, dizzying.

“Why is she here?” James whispers, voice fleeting just as Natasha lays a hand on your shoulder and you jerk up, a soft blue corona flaring around your being and Natasha raises her hands, walking around the bed. Narrowing his gaze, James tries to decipher who lays there as you stand on unsteady feet, rub at your face.

“How long have I been asleep?” you ask quietly and the sound of your voice, deeper, mature, strikes James, pulls him apart at the seams. Standing on unsteady feet, his legs knock into a table as he rushes towards the bedroom despite Steve’s attempts to grab him, and he stumbles to the door frame, his head spinning.

His vision blurs, and his head feels like it’s bashed in, but he doesn’t miss the colour of your eyes, the way your head turns to look over your shoulder.

Lightning strikes his core when your gaze fixes on his. There’s so much about you that is the same since the last time he’s seen you. Thirteen years and you’ve only grown more beautiful, more graceful. The little wrinkle in your brow as you look at him, the tightness in your lips as you frown.

“James.”

Even the way you say his name is the same.

What isn’t, though, is the fear.

He knows what fear looks like on your face, the way it floods your eyes, the way it can’t show on the rest of you because you are a queen and untouchable, but for it to be directed at him…

His head is heavier than bricks on his shoulders as you back up until your legs touch the bed, and your arms are spread.

Is this how he looked at you all those years ago? As if he holds a knife to his throat and digs the blade deeper with every second?

“What is he doing here?” you ask, scratchy and you clear your throat, not tearing your gaze away from him for a second. James stays by the door, a cold hand wrapped around his ankle, keeping him there no matter how much he wants to move.

“I don’t want to hurt you—”

“Oh, you’ve done plenty.” Your voice, pure fire, sears through his chest as you narrow your gaze. “Go.”

“Y/N—”

“I said, leave.” Although no magic flares at your fingertips, there is a shift in the way the light plays in your eyes and James’ throat closes up at the way your eyes glisten. “Don’t you think your family has done enough?”

“You’re my family.”

“No, I wasn’t,” you whisper. Natasha’s head is bowed, but her eyes still watch the scene with an uncanny glint. Even if she is your friend, she will no doubt step between you and him. Catching the woman’s gaze, James tilts his head towards the door. Eyes widening, the red lady dips her head and slowly makes her way between them, her gaze slowly dragging across James’ expression but he remains solely focused on you.

Your eyes do not stray from him either.

Walking in slowly, he closes the door behind him and his eyes flicker to the figure in the bed. Their face is cloaked in shadow, but he can see dark hair illuminated by the candle. Eyes narrowing, he tries to discern who it is.

Perhaps it is Rumlow, and he has made a tremendous error.

“Why are you here?” you whisper tightly between clenched teeth, and his eyes snap back to yours. “It’s been thirteen years and you’ve fixed nothing.”

“I didn’t know Asgard was ruled by you,” he begins. “I didn’t know until I saw you on the rise. If I had known—”

“What? Would you have attempted peace? Or would you have tried to conquer us again like your father did?” Your expression is wracked with agony as he steps closer, and you inhale softly, shakily. “Stay away from me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Stay away—”

“Bluebird—”

“Do not think me so soft that I will listen to you because you call me that.” Your words become thin, choked. “I gave you my terms, and you didn’t choose peace, just as your father did.”

“Your people are hostile.”

“And yours murdered mine. King Thor died two moons ago and the only suspect is a Midgardian” Her words hang coldly before him and he pauses in the middle of the room. “As his successor, it was only natural to want justice.”

“Why you? Why not anyone else in his court?”

“Because I was not just Midgard’s queen,” you say, finally pulling your gaze away to sit down on the edge of the mattress and turning to the figure on the bed. You touch their face, but do not tilt them to the light. “Your father tried to conquer Asgard when I was young, four or five. I was playing with my brother in the streets, my mother watching over us. I didn’t know what was happening until we heard the screams.”

James hears the tiny, trembling breath in your throat as you run your hand down the figure’s cheek.

“It was too late before we knew to run. My mother took my brother and ran, and I did my best to follow, but they just kept running after us until we separated.” Your voice goes quieter, glass-like. “I found their bodies, my mother’s hunched over Loki’s as she tried to protect him. I can still see their blood, taste it in my mouth. It felt like the entire city burned before allied Jotunheim forces arrived and chased your people out of our land.”

“Y/N—”

Your gaze finally turns to him, and he does not recognize the pitifully small girl in them, the shivering, broken girl in the rain and smoke staring back at him. “They ran through the streets like rats. I could hear them shouting in fear as they froze to death, and I thought I was going to die, too, until Brock found me. He was… he was the knight commander’s squire, and he told me I had to run.”

“So he knew all this time.”

“Of course he did. He was sworn to protect me,” you murmur, and the way your voice flips makes James’ eyebrows rise.

“He loved you, you know?”

“I know he wanted revenge. I know he wanted me to kill you at every turn. I don’t know if he could have ever picked me over the other,” you whisper, eyes drifting and finding his again. Your eyes have softened with an unspoken agony, and the candlelight plays with your face, making you simultaneously younger and older all at once. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“He’s dead, isn’t he?”

Your silence is his answer and, this time, when he comes closer, his hand against the wall, you don’t protest.

“I’m sorry.” He cranes to catch a glimpse of the face, and sees a younger face, at rest yet ashen with death. Eyebrows knitting together, he looks to you again and it’s breathtaking the way you gaze at him. Effortlessly in anguish, terrible in your grace. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“James—”

“Forgive me.” Pushing off the wall, he falls to his knees before you and bows his head, heat rushing to his face. Head submerged in his own shame, he can feel his shoulders shake before the tears come and his throat clots as he plants his hands into the ground. “Forgive me.” A worm in his gut wriggles its way up his throat and he feels sick to his stomach as he keens over, presses his brow to the wood. “I never meant this. I don’t know—where? How did we get here, bluebird? How?”

“James.” Your voice, strong yet tender, commands you to look up at him, and his face is kissed by cold wind as he wipes at his tears. “Come sit beside me.” Raising to unsteady feet, he collapses beside you and your arm immediately wraps around his shoulders, your other hand brushing hair away from his slick cheeks, his tear-stained eyes. “You know how we got here.” Your thumb brushes over his lip and a sense of warmth fills his hollow being. Thirteen years without your warmth, and now, he drowns in it.

Your hand flattens against his cheek and guides your gaze as you twist to reveal the face on the bed. With your free hand, you tilt the boy’s face towards him.

His entire body freezes as the boy murmurs, eyebrows knitting together and turning away.

“Stellan…” Standing, he rushes around to the other side of the bed to get a better look of him, and reaches with trembling hands toward his son’s face. A large cut is drawn into his stem and disappears beneath his shirt, and a rage fills his soul. He’ll kill the man who tried to kill his son. “My son—”

Who looks just like him in nature, the same jaw and nose.

“—has grown into a man,” you say, and James wrenches his gaze to you. A sweet sorrow resides in your face as you smile. Holding Stellan’s face in his hands, James entire body alights with energy, with a breathless wonder. “And knows his father enough to save his life.” You thumb over Stellan’s cheek, your fingers barely brushing James’, golden magic spiralling beneath your hand like branching ivy, and the boy mumbles under his breath, turns to the warmth. He fights the instinct to flinch, and simply lets your magic caress his knuckles. It tickles, then melts like warm chocolate against him. “And he got a sword stem to stern for it.”

“He killed Rumlow?” James looks to you, his hands drawing away from his son’s face, and the warmth is chased away.

“It was instant. Brock felt no pain. It was all I could do to save Stellan,” you say, struggling to keep your voice even. “I don’t want us to fight, anymore, James. Bucky,” you correct yourself with a small smile, and his heart pangs as you reach for his hand across the bed. No one has called him that in years. “But if this is what happens when our people mingle, perhaps it’s best we stay apart.”

“I don’t want that,” he whispers, taking your hand and you study him with knitted eyebrows. “I don’t want to be apart from you for another moment.”

“Then, promise me you’ll fix this.” Your voice, barely a whisper and shaking, is strung with a strength he knows you have, and he looks to you, a queen all on your own.

You have never needed him, but he needs you. Your hand in his tells him as much as you weave your fingers carefully with his, and he wants to hold you tight, hold his son again.

Thirteen years have left him cold, nothing more than a skeleton in a flesh prison.

“I promise.”

At his words, your expression seems to ease, and then a shyer, girlish smile curls at your lips.

“And promise you’ll love me always.”

“I promise.”

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sasorikigai · 3 years ago

Note

a touch to give permission. ( from himbecile icicle #1, any verse plz )

touching tenderly. || @biiingbao || accepting

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || What is a wound but an effulgently blossomed flower dying on its descent to the earth, bag of scent filled with war, forest, torches, some trouble that befell now over and done. A wound is a fire sinking into Hanzo Hasashi’s entirety. The tinder serves only so long, the log holds on and still it gives up, collapses into its bed of ashes and sand. This proverbial flame now alive under the pyromancer’s skin, the smell not unpleasant, the wound beautiful as a full-blown peony. Without the crawling hoarfrost of Bi-Han’s numbing might, there would be no pain incurred by bravery and hunger, defiant resolve and stubbornness to challenge and match the Ice with his Fire.

The gaping, weeping wound over his chest becomes the scintillating star, the brightest at night, emitting sanguine radiance that would catch his sight among the countless stars at night. If Harumi was the superstar that burned through the coagulated sorrow and grief of his heart and soul, Bi-Han was his moon; his light, his guide in his darkest hours. He would pour his heart out in the midst of cold and lonesome night, and somehow, the cryomancer came along and warmed his heart, instead of numbing it and shattering it into hundreds and thousands of pieces.

They all exist in the world he is in, but how Hanzo Hasashi becomes manifested pain pinned to the muscle - also grasses, breath, tree-dawns, and gears. He is the dark arteries of quiet, the white searing heat smashing through that flickering pause between thoughts. The maelstrom thoughts sweep into unsteady, unstable stillness, and the ground of the campsite drinks rain. How the resonant tones of the settled night plays under distantly moonlit shards of his own phosphoric suffering, so as to begin to glimpse another, the call of the tenebrous shadow, consummation of familiar dizziness curses him over and over again, and inflicts wounds. Wounds that erode the mind as the chaotic shattering of darkness, forevermore, harsh and acrid, forevermore, an oath against his spiritual and mental reformation to reverse darkness and instill light back upon himself....

How in his deepest psyche, Hanzo Hasashi becomes so bleak and so dark, waxing and waning, as dissolution of form begins to disintegrate him into fragments, disordered conglomerating, with coupled annihilation. As his veins threaten to burst with the mere thought of them coalesced together, serving as yin and yang for his proverbial existence and perhaps the reason for existence itself, as once the fountain of decayed corpse resurrected to harbor the inextinguishable flames burning ablaze, as now the sun’s flame would shine through the Man of Fire.

His spine remains curled away a few feet away from his company, and how his perpetual pain grows. Despite the basking moonlight, he misses the sun’s veracity, burning through him with such undying and ongoing resolve and power. He has long learned that he could pull himself out of the state of impasse and renounce if his mind is unwavering and indefatigable; for he selfishly needs both the sun and the moon, and thus, will selflessly give his unconditional, eternal love. Hanzo Hasashi inches his body close to Bi-Han’s, slowly, as not to wake him. His body turns, and instead of completely enveloping his, warm skin of his palm presses against his bicep and he breathes Bi-Han in, as intense, unstaring eyes linger upon the ebb and flow of Bi-Han’s breathing, before meeting those sapphire depths. “The intertwined lines of our bodies will mellow out both our nightmarish torments... But I wonder if your ice will burn still harsher as you will only worsen the depths of your wound, without unfreezing to feel the depths of what I could bestow unto you.” ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

#✗ the ineffable testimony of spawned hellfire (scorpion)#✗ hellfire fibrillating beneath his skin (iv)#✗ the blizzard within (bi-han || biiingbao)#(bihanzo)#(this was way before they got into their relationship)#(so Hanzo here may be a bit more hesitant)#biiingbao

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twilightichor · 4 months ago

Text

Not long ago, Dáinsleif has learned that those who experience abyssal poisoning may have symptoms akin to being immersed in a dream. Dreams should be as natural as breathing to human beings, yet the primary reason why they're considered a symptom is because the people who live in Khaenri'ah had lost that ability for unknown reasons, thus earning the kingdom's location the descriptor as a «dreamless land». That would be a good explanation why the noctilucent knight is in a state he can only describe as dreaming, if it weren't because he hasn't partaken in any actions that would lead him to said poisoning.

In an even closer event than learning about poison-induced dreams, Twilight Sword reminisces one of his brother's ceaseless rambles about Irminsul, about how that tree may be an emanation of an even bigger tree somewhere in the universe just like there are multiple emanations of the Axis Mundi scattered across Teyvat. Given that the conversation strayed into topics that only those who Dáinsleif would consider to be abyss lunatics, he never paid too much attention to that, nor he necessarily believes that statement to be true to his current state of affairs. If anything, because it doesn't matter in the face of the predicament he's facing.

He doesn't know for how long he's treaded this new city, so unlike what he's heard of other nations, so distant from what could anyone imagine civilizations to grow into by the time humanity reaches such level of advancement. His concern, none other than the suggestion he was made just a few days ago: a chance for receiving the power of the abyss within him. And an even more worrisome premise is that Vedrfolnir himself was the one to ask.

If it is true that he bears a connection to Irminsul as his brother had claimed, perhaps this dream could be an answer from the almighty tree to help him come to a decision. Somewhere far away where the weight of his decision-making won't affect his daily life, somewhere inconsequential to what he does. Not that Dáinsleif has any interest in doing anything— actually, he couldn't even said he had walked down the streets long enough to acquaint himself with this city. Only enough until it's reached his ears the location of a confessional. The notion of attending one heavily foreign to a non-believer like him, if his understanding of the workings of one is correct according to what he had heard from others who came to Khaenri'ah after losing their faith in their god.

But perhaps... it is worth it a shot.

Reason why he's currently waiting on line, hesitant and nervous all the same to such extent that he kept offering his turn to another when he was close enough to be the next to confess. Dáinsleif could procrastinate as much his turn until he was the last and final individual of the day to step forward, his mind too far adrift thinking about his brother and all the signs under the crimson moon he could find that indicated a certain obsession with the abyss to notice.

@halothes ✧

#halothes #◟༺✧༻◞ lament of a fallen seraph ┊thread.┊#◟༺✧༻◞ sapphire flames in their wake ┊ic.┊#◟༺✧༻◞ chasing luminous river of stars ┊noctilucent crossroads.┊#I hope this works!#do let me know if I should revise or alter anything

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reginrokkr · 4 days ago

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As a kingdom that converges with other civilizations, it isn't unknown that Khaenri'ah has a plethora of festivities local and imported from the homelands of those whom have come here. Nevertheless, there is one that is most anticipated than the rest by everyone, native to this country or otherwise and connected with two special weeks that graces this dark nation with their purity and light: the inteyvats in bloom. Dáinsleif's gloved hand rises slightly to cup gently one of the motes of light that emerge from the flowers as they open they petals one by one, as if to greet the only ocean that they know, the starry sky. ◜Did you know? Inteyvats are said to be a symbol for a wanderer far from home, signifying the tenderness of the homeland.◞ The corners of his lips lift in a gentle smile as sapphire irises seek cyan ones. ◜It makes even more sense when we come back home after a significant struggle on the frontlines, only to be greeted with this magnificent sight. Wouldn't you agree?◞

✦ @guhamun liked for a soft starter!

#guhamun #◟༺✦༻◞ sapphire flames in their wake ┊ic.┊#◟༺✦༻◞ lament of a fallen seraph ┊thread.┊#◟༺✧༻◞ τόμος β: descensus in regnum tenebram┊kingdom of khaenri’ah.┊#a tiny starter I said #proceeds to write a chunk of a para #I hope this is okay djfhjg #time to relax for once uwu

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vylequinnewriting · 4 years ago

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Making a Killing Character Introduction #2: Canel

General Info:

Age: 19

Gender: Non-Binary

Sexuality: Asexual

Pronouns: They/Them

Ethnicity: Ri’Lyean Thae

Domain: Exchange

Personality:

Naïve

Patient

Compassionate

Loyal

Thoughtful

Backstory:

Originally born in the isolated island of Ri’lyan, Canel grew up listening to their father Wyndol’s tales of adventure. Ever since they were a child, Canel has admired tales of adventurers and the companions they found along the way. Partially interested in the legends of the Sunfall and partially interested in Exchange-based Hieromancy, Canel took up learning magic in order to further their goal of finding themselves in a quest to save the world. Ri’lyan’s natural domain is Creation, so Canel didn’t have many resources or teachers readily available.

In order to assist in their studies, Wyndol takes them to Zastüd, where they start a confectionary using Wyndol’s worldly knowledge of sweets. While still not able to find a teacher, Canel finds tomes on Hieromancy readily available. These tomes are expensive and the confectionary doesn’t pull too many customers, so Canel attempts to find another job in order to pay for their research. This leads them right to Duhl’s clutches. Luckily, Shiloh is there to guard them as part of a deal with Wyndol.

Hieromancy:

Catalyst: Canel is a self-taught catalyst user, meaning they use magic by sacrificing another object’s anima. Their preferred object to draw anima from is a ring from their mother made with anima-rich metals and inset with a sapphire. They will use their earrings/other rings in a pinch. Their specialty is the exchange of heat from one target to another, typically to create ice but sometimes to create flames.

Themes:

Fantasy - Earth, Wind & Fire

Cabo - Ricky Montgomery

Sugar Song and Bitter Step - Unison Square Garden

Aesthetics:

picking mushrooms at dawn, dancing in the rain, waking up to the smell of coffee, tinted glasses, collection of vinyl records, old grimoire smell, calling out animals in the clouds, faith in your friends, walking out of disaster at the last moment, stroke of genius when midnight strikes, diamond dust

Fun Facts:

Canel can actually be credited with popularizing iced coffee in Zastüd. Coffee is one of their most preferred reagents, since it can stand up to their ice and heat. Iced coffee is incredibly popular in Ri’lyan but not many leave the island, so the majority of the world takes their coffee hot. After testing recipes using Shiloh, they put up their secret weapon on the menu. No shop that attempts to copy them knows the secret about a pinch of magic in every cup.

[Making a Killing Intro]

Making a Killing Taglist: Ask or tag to be added to the taglist!

@vivian-is-writing, @kittensartswriting, @maryhdz05

General Taglist: @ecwrenn

You can find the picrew I used here.

#making-a-killing-character-intros #making-a-killing #writing #writeblr #wip #work in progress #writing community #ch: Canel

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thepaintedlady00 · 2 years ago

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Chapter 9 Intro because I have no self control! 😅

I curled deeper into warm covers, breathing out a sigh of relief at the warmth of them. That breath was one I could feel in the frozen air, the heat of its visible in the cold as I blinked my eyes open. Everything was frozen. My pillows, the empty space of bed beside me, the windows and curtains, my chair. All of it. As I sat up, the chill filling the warm space I'd left, three figures stood in front of my bedroom door.