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alittlepunkrock · 2 years

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where you go (i will go) — ii

Summary: Your first encounter with the Dream Lord leaves an impression on both sides.

Pairing: Dream the Endless x f!reader

Words: 5.6k+

Notes: Holy smokes, thank you all so much for the kind response to part one! Part two is a long one, but it felt best to release it all at once. Buckle up, brochachos. I hope you all enjoy!

series masterlist // mood board // ao3

. . .

“Pleased to meet you, stranger,

Welcome to the ending.”

- Pleased to Meet You, Between You & Me

. . .

Part ii.

For a moment, you think you must still be dreaming. Your eyebrows furrow as you stare up at your love, taking in the coldness in his eyes, the hard line of his mouth. You open your mouth to speak, but no breath comes. Your throat spasms, seeking air. You can feel your heartbeat raging in your throat, pounding against his fingers.

He must feel it, too, because he grips tighter. And the foundation of your world crumbles away as you realize that this is not a dream.

A wave of adrenaline crashes through you. Your skin is fire, nerve endings prickling like live wires. Your hands fly to his wrists, pulling desperately, clawing at the skin there. He grunts, hastily repositioning his body to sit on your chest, pressing down harder. You feel your head sink into your pillow, feel the unforgiving slab of ground beneath your sleeping pallet press against the back of your scalp. With another forceful push from him, you feel a sickening snap just under your jaw.

And all hell breaks loose.

At the bright burst of pain that tears through your throat, your fight or flight response roars. On instinct, your knees coil up to your chest and you kick, hard, with all your might. Your love’s hands are ripped from your throat as he is flung backward, away from the edge of your pallet. Your mouth gapes in eagerness to relieve the crushing ache within your lungs, but no relief comes. Only pain.

You have the sinking feeling that something irreversible has occurred. Something which you will never come back from.

A fire crackles in the hearth at your bedside. Turning toward it, you throw one hand outward, pulling yourself toward the flames, grasping for the fire iron there-

. . .

Tap tap tap.

You sit upright, stiff as a board. A muddled mix of vertigo and residual pain clouds your brain, and you shake your head gently to dispel it. While gods may not dabble in activities as mortal as sleeping or dreaming, even gods need time to recharge. To retreat into their own selves, sink away from the world, and simply be. You have the distinct feeling that your own rest has been prematurely interrupted.

Glancing around the room, you find that you’re right. Night drapes your room in shadows. The clock by your bedside reads just past midnight. You only laid down an hour ago.

Tap tap tap. Your attention turns to your bedroom window. There sits a raven, its profile pressed closely to the glass. It's dark eye blinks owlishly at you.

With a sigh, you comb your fingers through your hair and prepare to lie back down. It had been five long days since you’d carefully penned your note requesting an audience with the Dream King. Each day that passed since your messenger dove had departed with no response in return left a heavy feeling in your stomach. It only soured with each black thread of selfish desire that you encountered in your Realm. Though you’d doubled down on your efforts to combat Desire’s meddlesome attachments in the last few days, you couldn’t rid yourself of the gnawing feeling that you were running out of time. It was exhausting. You needed rest.

As you move to lie down, something makes you pause, though. Call it a feeling, an intuition. Your eyes shift back to the raven at your window. It’s dark eyes lock your gaze, hold it.

“He spends all his time with - well, his librarian. And his raven.”

You approach the window slowly, perching yourself on the sill. With a resolute click, you unlock the window and slide the glass upward. The raven makes no move to flee. No, this is definitely no ordinary bird.

“Hello,” you greet your guest quietly. You extend your arm in invitation, and the bird accepts, wrapping its talons around your forearm. You notice a cloth pouch tied to his right leg. “I don’t suppose you came here looking for breadcrumbs, did you?”

At first, there’s silence. The raven peers at you curiously. And then- “No, but really though, do you have any food? ‘Cause I would kill for something to eat right now. Traversing the Waking World is hard wor– uh, I’m sorry. That was embarrassing.” You laugh, pulling your arm and the raven past the windowsill and into your bedroom. Although you’d expected some type of outburst, you can’t help but be slightly taken aback. It’s not every day you see a talking raven, after all.

“Please, don’t be. To whom do I owe the pleasure of this midnight visit?” you ask kindly.

The raven pushes his chest out proudly and dips his head with dramatic respect. “My name is Matthew, and I am the messenger raven of Dream of the Endless. I mean, if you really want to know, I’m basically his best friend, but he wasn’t much for making that an official title, so.” You chuckle at him. “And you are Agape, Deity of Love, I hope? Because it would be really unfortunate if I came and blew my cover to the wrong girl. Not that it’d necessarily be the first time that happened. Or the second.”

You smile kindly at Matthew. What a funny little guy. “You can just call me Love. You’ve come to the right place. I assume the Dream King got my message?”

“He did. Sorry it took a few days for us to get back to you. Dream- Ah, Lord Morpheus just wanted to reach out to his sister and vet what you said. Make sure you really were who you said you were. He’s protective when it comes to the Dreaming.”

Now, that gets your attention. You can’t help but wonder what Death might have told the Dream Lord about you. Wonder what he might have even known in the first place. “That’s understandable. We want to protect the things we love. I’m kind of the deity of that. So, what says your Dream Lord?”

Matthew straightens to his full height and ruffles his feathers, a messenger preparing to deliver his news. “Your audience with Lord Morpheus has been granted, ma’am,” he declares. He dips his beak to the cloth pouch at his ankle and snips the string. You move your hand swiftly, catching the lumpy pouch in your palm. “When you’re ready, all you gotta do is use the sands in that pouch to travel to the Dreaming. Don’t worry - they know where to go.”

“Thank you, Matthew. I appreciate you and your lordship’s hospitality. Please pass on my sincere gratitude to him. It means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

“Hey, any pal of Death’s is welcome in Dre- er, Lord Morpheus’ world,” Matthew says, fluttering his wings. You guide him back to the window, passing your arm through for him to hop out on the other side. “Will we be seeing you soon?”

You smile fondly. “I’ll let your Dream Lord do his work tonight. I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

Matthew caws and nods his head. “We’ll see you soon, Lady Love!” he calls as he takes flight, a speck of black in the twilight.

You gaze out into the soft darkness until he disappears. Your hand closes around the pouch of sand of its own accord. “See you soon.”

. . .

“What do you think, Theo? Too much?” You spin away from your mirror to face him. Your soft white peplos swishes around your bare ankles, skimming your brown sandals. A crown of small red rosebuds is woven into your hair. It’s been ages since you’ve doned your official attire. As soft and roomy as the peplos is, you’re starting to think you should wear it more often.

Theo seems to have a different opinion. Looking at your ancient garb, he cocks his head, ears drooping. You groan. “I know. Too much, isn’t it? I haven’t seen a deity in traditional attire in a century, at least. Not that I see deities much, or that there’s many of us left. It is comfortable, though.” With a wave of your hand, the peplos disappears. Instead, you lace up your canvas sneakers, shimmy into a set of fitted pants and a blouse, and throw on a blazer for formality’s sake. Theo lifts his head in recognition and satisfaction. You ruffle him between the ears. “I’m keeping the crown, though. Got it?”

You turn to your bedside table, eyes settling on the small pouch of sand there. Ever since Matthew left, you’ve been unable to stop thinking about it. You cup the pouch in the palm of your hand, feeling the sands shift and settle through the cloth. Funny how it can weigh so much more in your mind than it does in your hand.

You turn to Theo, giving him a small, hopeful smile. “Wish me luck, buddy.” Deja vu washes over you. For the second time today, you get the feeling that something is occurring which you can’t turn back from.

You open the pouch carefully, dipping your fingers into the sands within. They’re surprisingly soft as they brush against your fingertips. Taking a handful, you raise your palm and allow them to sift through your fingers. They spill over your hand, down to the floor, whispering against the floorboards.

For one concerning second, nothing happens. Then, as if a breeze or a whisper has stirred them, the sands begin to scatter, swirling at your feet. The remaining sand in the pouch leaps out to join in, swirling around your ankles, knees, thighs, rising higher and higher. Small grains whip up to brush your cheeks, gaining speed. You close your eyes, shielding them against the vortex of sand twisting around you.

You feel the exact moment that the crescendo of the winds seem to change, the moment that something shifts. Your senses alight at a crisp, fresh scent piggybacking along the winds. Salt water. You feel the soles of your shoes sink into something soft. The vortex around you dissipates. The sands return to the earth with a soft sigh.

Nothing could prepare you for the magnificence lying in wait beyond your closed eyes. A cloud-freckled sky is draped above you, bathing Dream Country in golden sun and baby blue. The swaying sea behind you seems to touch the end of the world, interrupted only by the occasional rock formation peeking out of the waters. Beachrock crumbles into black sand, one of the most extraordinary sights you’ve ever seen. The black beach is rolled out like a tapestry, reaching as far east and west as you can see. And then there’s the sight in front of you - a towering stone wall that must stretch for miles between two mountain ranges. Two massive, ornately carved gates are set within the wall. The gate to your left features tall, curved spires that frame and surround the circular gate. Curved and pale as they are, they almost remind you of ox horns. The gate to your right appears smooth, its ivory surface gleaming in the sunlight.

You look around, soaking in the view. And the fact that you are completely, utterly alone.

You weren’t exactly sure what you were expecting upon your arrival in Dream Country, but a polite welcome and some directions probably would have made the list, if you’d had one. As you eye the circular gates before you, you suppose they’re as good a place to start as any. But which gate? you think. Staring at the two options before you, the ivory gate certainly looks less intimidating, what with the lack of colossal horns and all.

Lost in thought, you almost don’t notice the shift in the air. It’s subtle, so subtle that you can’t pinpoint the moment that it emerges, only the recognition that it is suddenly there. A lingering breeze in your hair, a whisper against your skin, a stirring in your chest. You reach out your hand, feel the sensation against your fingers. Though you can’t see anything, it’s unmistakably there. Follow, it seems to say.

And you do, feet shifting through the dark sands, trailing after the call that leads you toward the horned gate. As you draw nearer, the intricate carvings become more clear to you: Fantastical creatures, flora and fauna, detailed renditions of people and faces. The largest carvings portray a man with wild hair and a mask with a long nose, not so different from the gas masks you’ve seen on the battlefields of mortals. However, this is decidedly more ancient. You get the distinct feeling that this place has always been here, from the dawn of time. And if it belongs to an Endless, you suppose it has.

Your hand reaches out on instinct, fingertips pressing softly against the horned gate. At your touch, the mountainous door begins to groan open.

If you thought the beach was spectacular, you were definitely not prepared for this. Beyond the gate lies mountains and forests, a rolling blanket of green that only ends when it reaches snow-capped mountain ranges in the far distance. Pockets of villages dot the landscape, their clay tile roofs glowing a warm orange under the sun. In the center of the scene is a circular lake reflecting the sky above like a mirror. Glimmering waterfalls feed into it from all sides. At its center stands a towering silver and bronze palace. Its grooved towers shine in the sunlight, its spires reaching for the heavens like the hands of prophets.

The seasalt breeze steals your breath away, carrying it toward the palace like an offering. It’s magnificent, indescribable - truly a place of dreams.

As you take a hesitant step through the towering gate, you find a dark-skinned woman waiting on the other side. Dressed in a purple suit with long coattails and tennis shoes, she is the pinnacle of regality and functionality. Her bespectacled eyes meet yours, and she smiles. “Welcome, Agape, Deity of Love,” she says kindly. “You’ve reached the Dreaming.”

. . .

The walk to the Dream Lord’s palace was long, but Lucienne made for excellent company. While this was your first diplomatic visit to another realm, you thought that there surely couldn’t be another ambassador in any plane of existence who could top Lucienne. Although she insisted she was only a librarian, she took it upon herself to relate to you the history of the Dreaming, including its recent return to glory. She guided your eyes to the location of the House of Secrets, the House of Mystery, and Fiddler’s Green. No citizen of the Dreaming was a stranger to her, and she introduced you politely to all you passed. Her love and loyalty to the Dreaming was unmatched, even palpable. It brought a smile to your face.

As you finally pass through the palace doors, Lucienne says, “I apologize for our long journey, Agape. I can assure you, should you visit the Dreaming again, you will not have to travel all this way. All who enter the Dreaming must pass through the Gates of Horn and Ivory at least once so that their intentions may be assessed.”

“There’s no need for an apology. And please, just call me Love,” you say in kind. After a pause, curiosity gets the better of you. “If you don’t mind me asking, what do you mean by assessed?”

Lucienne looks over her shoulder as she guides you up a set of winding staircases, climbing higher and higher. Through the palace windows, you swear you can see all of Dream Country. “Lord Morpheus carved those gates eons ago when the Dreaming was first created. Those who walk through the Gates of Ivory harbor lies and deception, but the Gates of Horn will only allow those with intentions of truth to pass through.”

“Ah, I see.” You weren’t sure what it was that seemed to draw you toward the Gates of Horn in the first place, but whatever it was, it had been growing stronger the closer you got to the palace. With each passing step, you felt it hum more potently against your skin, the stirring in your chest strengthening into a gentle pull. Calling you somewhere. But where?

With a gloved hand, Lucienne opens a set of oak doors before you. The enchanting scents of leather and paper flood your senses as you pass through the doorway. You find that she’s led you into some sort of library. The ceiling hovers stories above you; below it are floors and floors of walkways leading to shelves upon shelves of books. On the ground level, tall bookcases line the walls, towering ladders propped up against them to help readers reach the highest of volumes. You can see that there are spaces between some bookcases on either side of the room, giving way to yet more areas with even more books. Several wooden tables are set up down the center of the room, adorned with lamps, ink, quills, magnifying glasses and, yes, even more books.

“This is absolutely amazing. What is this place?” you say in awe. You spin in a slow circle, trying fruitlessly to soak in the full majesty of the scene around you.

Lucienne smiles proudly, clearly pleased with your reaction. “This would be my library, ma’am,” she explains. She walks to the wall on the right, reaching her fingers out to brush the book spines affectionately. “In this library, I keep a record of every dream that has ever been dreamt. Every book that has ever been imagined, or lost, even if it was never published. I can remember the title, author, and location of each one. I am their keeper.”

You pause in following her, trailing your fingertips along the leather cover of a book on the table next to you. Every dream ever dreamt. Could that mean that you-

No, you cut yourself off firmly. Seeking to divert your attention, you turn to Lucienne and smile. “This is absolutely incredible, Lucienne. You know, I’m something of a librarian myself. I have a whole library in the Realm of Attachment with a book detailing the attachments of each mortal spanning past, present, and future. They serve as a record of the work I have done, and the work I have yet to do.”

Lucienne regards you with interest, brown eyes twinkling behind her vintage eyeglasses. “Well, that is something I should quite like to see,” she says. She waves a hand, beckoning you toward a pair of colossal stained glass doors at the opposite end of the library. “Perhaps that will be an excursion for another time. For now, Lord Morpheus awaits.”

Eyes settling on the doors that lead to the throne room, panic begins to rise in your chest. You feel as if your heart could crawl right up your throat and run as far away from here as possible. Finally faced with the situation you’re about to walk into, you feel wholly, entirely unprepared. Perhaps this was a terrible idea.

No, you tell yourself. You force yourself to trudge forward, taking one step, then another. You can do this. You have to fix this. And being here is your best shot.

Lucienne seems to sense your apprehension, pausing as she places a gloved hand against one of the throne room doors. She eyes you carefully. “Are you ready, ma’am?”

You want to spend all day in her library. You want to run away. You want to throw up. But your mouth says, “Yes.” And with a curt nod, Lucienne sweeps open the doors to the throne room.

While all of the palace rooms have been magnificent, this is the one that steals your breath away. Your footsteps echo on the polished stone floor as you walk into the cathedral-esque room. Tall columns line the room on either side, featuring the stone busts of characters from history’s most infamous stories. Characters born from dreams, you realize. On the far end of the room are a set of stained glass windows, three short ones, three tall ones. The tall windows are stained blue, red, and green, casting twinkling prisms throughout the room. The cathedral trusses above your head hold up a twilight sky of swirling clouds, constellations, and glimmering stars.

And there, standing halfway up the winding staircase leading to a simple throne, is a tall, black silhouette. The Dream Lord. Though his back is to you and no introductions have been made, you know it could not be anyone else. Lucienne confirms this when she stops the two of you several feet away from the base of the stairs. “Lord Morpheus,” she calls, dipping her head in respect, “your honored guest has arrived.”

Though he surely heard you coming, the Dream Lord only turns at Lucienne’s call. As he does, you finally observe the cold-hearted Dream King you’ve heard so many rumors about. He is the darkness of night in human form; long black coat, black shirt, black pants, black boots, dark hair that swoops over his forehead, ruffled like raven’s feathers. Like a run of ink, he bleeds into the scene around him, a stark contrast to the brightness of the throne room. The darkness only makes his other features more striking. His skin is marble, cold and pale, with facial features that could cut. His mouth is small and pink as a rosebud. If the rest of him wasn’t intimidating enough, there’s his eyes - deep as oceans, glimmering like blue crystals. No, like stars. Studying, analyzing.

And they’re on you.

Suddenly, you realize that while you’ve been lost in thought, he’s come to the bottom of the staircase. You get the itching feeling that you have been staring for entirely too long. Hastily, you mirror Lucienne’s stance and dip your head in respect.

The Dream Lord takes the final step off the staircase, standing but a few feet before you. Standing so close to him, you realize that the sensation you’ve felt since you arrived in the Dreaming has been coming from here the whole time. From him. Here in his throne room, you can’t deny it. Your mind mulls over the call that greeted you, the feeling that led you here. You can’t imagine what it would feel like to hold power like that. Don’t discount yourself, you chastise. You have to be confident if this is going to work.

“Greetings, Agape. Welcome to the land of the Dreaming.” Though he may look young, the voice that passes over the Dream Lord’s lips is decidedly ancient. It’s the crashing of a wave against a shore, a rumble of thunder in the night, the etching of a story into stone. It reverberates through the entire throne room, each word slow and deliberate. Some distant part of you recognizes it, and you suppose you should.

Lucienne takes a few polite steps back, giving the two of you space to talk. Up above, you hear the flutter of feathers. Inclining your head, you find a very familiar raven perched on one of the stone busts above. Matthew. Vaguely comforted by a somewhat familiar presence, you turn your eyes back to the Dream King. Will yourself to hold his gaze. Be confident.

“Greetings, Dream of the Endless. I have been known by many names - Ishtar, Inanna, Freya, Aphrodite, Venus, Parvati, Agape. You can simply call me Love. It is much simpler that way.” Feeling your nerves settle slightly with introductions out of the way, you give him a small smile. “Thank you for your hospitality and for granting me an audience on such short notice.”

The Dream Lord dips his head slightly in acknowledgement. His eyes don’t stray from your face; they remain affixed there, studying thoughtfully. “Of course. A companion of my sister’s is welcome here in the Dreaming. Admittedly, I did not know whether to believe you when you stated as such in your letter. However, a visit with my sister remedied that quite effectively.”

There it is again, that gnawing curiosity as to what Death told him about you. It pokes and prods incessantly at the back of your mind. This time, you can’t resist it, saying, “If you don’t mind me asking, what did your sister share about me, Dream Lord?”

Dream of the Endless inclines his chin, eyeing you with interest. Though his face is impassive, his eyes seem to challenge you. “Inquiring about the affairs of Endless when we’ve only just met? It is bold of you to assume I might share the details of intimate conversations with my sister with a stranger.”

Oh, now that response gets your attention. While intimidation is something you tend to shrink away from, a challenge is something you are more than happy to work with. “On the contrary, Dream Lord, I think I should be privy to information that involves my character,” you challenge, diplomacy slipping a bit. As you step out of your ambassador facade and more into your true self, your confidence grows. “Or does Dream of the Endless keep his gossip to himself?” You quirk an eyebrow at him.

The Dream Lord pauses, watching you for a long moment. Perhaps to see if you’ll squirm. Just when you think you might’ve made a terrible mistake, he blinks, responding, “She refrained from sharing all the details of your history and circumstance. I should like to learn of those directly from you.” With a long glance, he turns toward the stained glass windows, clasping his hands behind his back. “What she did share is that you were once a mortal whom my brother, Destiny, deemed worthy of becoming a goddess. And that now my sibling, Desire, threatens the stability of your realm and your conditional divinity with their meddling. Which has brought you here, to me.”

And there it was - your secret, laid bare in the light of the throne room. Above your head, Matthew ruffles his wings, clearly intrigued by this turn of events. You don’t turn to gauge Lucienne’s reaction. If there is anyone other than the Dream Lord who knows the truth, you figure it would be her. You inhale deeply, calming your unsettled nerves. You’d come this far; it wasn’t time to back down now.

“You are correct, Dream Lord. I was once a mortal, until your brother and sister made me what I am today,” you say quietly. Building courage, your voice grows louder, “While I may not be Endless, my love and loyalty to my Realm knows no bounds. I will do whatever I have to in order to maintain balance between selfish desire and selfless love, for the good of my people. Your sibling, Desire, and I have been at odds for a long time. As they grow bolder, I’m afraid it’s becoming harder to outrun them.” You lick your lips, pondering your next choice of words. With a deep breath, you continue carefully, “I know that they have meddled in your affairs, too, as of late. As long as their ambition for mischief continues to grow, both of our Realms are at stake. That is why I am here, asking for your help.” You swallow thickly. “I have a proposition for you.”

For a long moment, the Dream Lord says nothing. No one in the throne room dares to breathe. Though he does not turn around, Dream of the Endless does incline his head toward you slightly. “Go on,” he murmurs.

You take a few bold steps forward, seeking his face. Seeking to convey just how much this means to you. “I propose that we form a partnership. Your sibling is taking a particular interest in interfering with my eros and philia attachments - romantic and soul ties. I believe that we could work together to combat this. If you supply the dreamscape, I can supply the subject matter. If we place their romantic partners and soul ties in their dreams, perhaps when mortals encounter them in the Waking World, they will be more likely to resist Desire’s temptations and fulfill the attachment.”

No response registers on the Dream Lord’s face. His eyes remain affixed on the stained glass windows above you. They cast his alabaster skin in shades of crimson, crystal, and emerald. After several quiet minutes, his eyes meet yours. “And what do I stand to gain from this proposition of yours?”

“A little work taken off your own plate. With me worrying about the subject matter, you will have fewer dreams to conjure up. And with their dreams seemingly coming true in the Waking World, mortals will be all the more eager to see what happens next in their dreams. The Dreaming will grow in power.”

Another pause. “And if I decline your proposition?”

Your breath hitches. Your mouth tightens into a hard line. You have no response for that one.

Dream of the Endless nods, your lack of response seemingly all the answer he needs. Slowly, he stalks toward the staircase leading to his throne, sitting down on one of the lower steps. His long coat spills around him like a shadow. His crystalline eyes fix on yours, holding your gaze. After several still moments, he finally replies, “While your proposition is intriguing, Agape,” you flinch slightly at the continued use of your formal title, “I am afraid I will have to decline. While Desire has been a thorn in my side as of late, I do not wish to sour the blood between myself and my siblings. In addition, my attention to the Dreaming has been divided for too long. Now that I’ve returned, my own Realm requires my full attention.”

A tingling sensation passes through you as you try to process this news, radiating from your core to the tips of your fingers. Numbness is left in its wake. Your stomach shifts, suddenly nauseous. The throne room and your company within it feel incredibly far away. This can’t be happening. In the distance, you think you hear the Dream Lord ask Lucienne to escort you away. This can’t be happening.

A gentle hand touches your shoulder, and you recoil instinctively. When you turn, you find it’s just Lucienne, eyeing you solemnly. Up above, you hear Matthew let out a startled caw, swooping down to land on the staircase beside the Dream Lord. “Hey, boss, don’t you think-”

“Come, ma’am,” Lucienne says quietly, her kind eyes conveying a silent apology. “Allow me to escort you out of the Dreaming.”

Your hands fist at your sides. No.

All eyes in the throne room turn to you. You blink, startled. You hadn’t realized that you’d said it aloud. But now that you had, there was no turning back. Dream of the Endless rises slowly, methodically. Shadows sweep down from his feet, crawling toward you. “No?” he says, the indignance in his voice thinly veiled. You can feel him in the air, his powerful presence angry and oppressive, pushing in toward you. His bright eyes darken to lone stars within two pools of space. “You presume to tell me what I can and can’t do in my own-”

“No, Lord Morpheus,” you say hastily, lifting your hands in apology. At your change of title and tone, the shadows halt their approach. “I would never. You have been so gracious to welcome me here for an audience. I want to offer you an invitation in return.” You pause, licking your lips. While his shadows have ceased, the fire in his eyes has not snuffed out. You know you must choose your words carefully. “Please, visit me in my Realm. The Realm of Attachment. I can show you my function, what I do, how I do it. I can show you what I have to offer mortals, what I have to offer you. Please. And then decide whether you want to decline my proposition.”

You’re unsure of exactly how much time passes. It could be merely a second, it could be hours. You hold careful eye contact with Lord Morpheus as he absorbs, processes, ponders. You don’t dare breathe as he studies you.

And finally, he nods. The shadows retreat back into his coat. The darkness dissipates from his eyes. The air around you lightens. “Very well, Love. You have intrigued me.” Your heart is hammering so loudly in your ears that you barely notice his change of your title. “I shall accompany you to your Realm of Attachment, after which time I will pass judgment on your proposal.”

You breathe in deeply, relief washing through you. You turn to Lucienne, whose brown eyes regard you with surprise. Too elated to read into her expression, you turn back to the Dream Lord. “Thank you, Lord Morpheus. I cannot begin to tell you how much this means to me.” You grin brilliantly at him. “When should I expect you?”

At that, the Dream Lord gives no response. Instead, he reaches into the pocket of his long coat, revealing a palmful of sand. Though his expression remains stoic, you swear there is a tiny twinkle in his eye as he brings the sand to his lips and blows. Like a tidal wave, the sands sweep over you. You shield your eyes behind the sleeve of your blazer.

When you open them, you are no longer in the throne room. Instead, you’re back in the Waking World, standing in your bedroom with sand in your hair. Theo’s head perks up from his spot on your bed, his dark eyes looking at you expectantly.

You pause, processing what just happened to you. One beat. Two. You groan. “Son of a-”

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lilpunkrock · 2 years

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where you go (i will go) — ii

Summary: Your first encounter with the Dream Lord leaves an impression on both sides.

Pairing: Dream the Endless x f!reader

Words: 5.6k+

AN: Originally posted to my other account, @alittlepunkrock, I'm not uploading to my second blog because my main is having some issues. RIP. We're looking at a good 15-20 parter, so I hope you all will come along on this journey with me. I hope you all enjoy!