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bubblegumspacebxtch · 1 year

Text

Melting the Dragon's Heart

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Female Reader

Word Count: 6.3K

Summary: They say opposites attract but can profound differences really find it in them to love?

Warnings || angst but then fluff at the end

A/N: I haven't written in so long, but this man has forced me out of hiatus because he's just so dreamy. The murdering, white-haired menace that is Aemond Targaryen does things to me so naturally I had to write this long ass fic. I know it's long but I couldn't help it really. Also I was in the mood for some angst so that's that lol

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As the saying goes, hearts unalike are those most drawn to one another. Aemond thought it a ridiculous belief. He could not fathom it were possible for gentle and kind to love cold and cruel.

He was aloof and indifferent. Prince Aemond curated an image that made even the most proud of lords hesitate to interact with him. Complementary to his nature was his looks. The man stood tall and firm with his chin often upturned as if to reiterate his high status. His scowl seemingly permanent like the scar that ran across his face. Many fear what lay underneath his eyepatch that even having it covered leave people wary of the Targaryen prince.

Though he was not always this ironhearted, the young prince knew that love was an illusion and marriage a duty. Aemond believed only his mother could love him and even she could not do so fully. To some extent he understood why love for the likes of him would always sound ridiculous. Because it was far better to be feared than loved. And no one could love a monster like him.

You had.

You who is pure and spirit bright. You who is social and could sympathize with anyone regardless of status.

You were Aemond Targaryen’s antithesis. Your humility and generosity knew no bounds. Unlike the prince’s seriousness, you were lighthearted. You believed in love and never hesitated to love who you could.

Not only in nature were you and the prince contrary to one another, but also in looks. You were small and would often need to look up in order to maintain eye contact when conversing. Your head of curls the color of ink as opposed to the renowned white of the Targaryen bloodline.

You grew up with Aemond and his siblings seeing as you were the lady-in-waiting to his sister Helaena. You often left the young prince wondering how such goodness could be possessed by an individual, especially given your circumstance.

Being an orphaned bastard of House Westerling, you’ve learned to bury the pain brought by the judgment of others. You have swallowed many vile insults and hate, but never had you let it harden your heart. Your mother died in childbirth and your father you never knew. Fortunate enough, your uncle took you as his own which allowed you to be in the good graces of the king.

You arrived in King’s Landing when you were eleven and the prince thirteen. Aemond committed to memory the very moment your light filled him with awe.

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His eye was already lost and though it had already healed, the pain and anger he felt still a roaring flame.

“I want you all to treat her well.”

While his brother rolled his eyes at their mother’s reminder, Aemond simply dismissed her. In his mind, he need not be reminded because he was more or less civil and distant with everyone, especially new people.

The hinges sang lowly as the massive doors to the throne room opened to announce your entrance. A contagious smile adorned your face as you walked alongside the Hand.

Aemond could not deny that even as a child you were captivating. The grace and pureness your persona exude was what kept the room’s attention on you.

“Your Grace.”

Their mother watched with a smile as you curtsied. As you resumed standing upright, you turned your attention to each of the Targaryen children as they were introduced.

“And this is Prince Aemond.”

He seemed to snap back to attention at the mention of his name, having been admiring the dewy skin of your supple pink cheeks.

“Pleased to be in your presence, Prince Aemond.”

Your smile gave way to dimples and the prince felt his heartbeat stutter. Though you made him feel an oddly pleasant sensation between his ribs, his response was anything but. He gave only a curt nod, but your smile never wavered despite his indifference.

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With the passing of time you only became even kinder. Aemond once thought you may have been blessed to have your outsides reflect your insides. Your positivity was accompanied by beauty he has yet to see on anyone else in the entire Seven Kingdoms. He would marvel at your soft eyes and full lips before growing bitter at the thought that if you had been blessed then he must have been cursed. The misery and abhorrence he kept inside must be why he had a monster for a reflection.

Before you, it was easy for Aemond to get caught up in self-loathing and insecurity. That was until you showed him genuine affection.

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He was training with Sir Criston while you were with the princess looking to find a chrysalis she wished to take care of before it transformed into a butterfly.

Aemond was so focused on trying to dodge the knight’s advances that he failed to notice his cover had fallen to reveal his other eye. The gasps were audible but Aemond was quick to drop his sword to cover himself. You watched him storm off to the castle to his chambers. The unwanted attention had him almost in a frenzy with adrenaline allowing him so make his swift escape.

You watched the scene with a heavy heart, growing upset as the people around who had witnessed the affair started to whisper about the one-eyed prince. You noticed his eyepatch still on the ground and you took it with the intent of returning it and checking up on him.

“Princess, I believe we must be heading back. We would not want your mother to have to wait for you for tea time.”

After being dismissed, you made your way to the younger prince’s chambers.

Aemond had a tight grip on his chalice as he mulled over what had happened. By now his head felt lighter given the amount of wine he had. Drinking was his brother’s way of coping and Aemond wanted no part of him to resemble Aegon, but given the circumstance he allowed himself this bit of irresponsibility.

The sound of your knuckles against his door was so faint that he almost ignored it, but your sweet voice soon followed.

“My prince, I come returning what is yours.”

Even through his sour mood you managed to find your way past as your voice brought him a bit of peace, granting him a break from his harsh thoughts.

“May I come in?”

His mind, the sober part at least, wanted to deny your request knowing you saw his face bare. He feared the heartbreak. What if you regard him with caution or even worse, disgust?

His heart however longed for you. And so before he could decide otherwise, he said, “Come in.”

The creak of the door made him nervous. He refused to face you directly, settling on watching you from his peripheral.

You stood close to the door once it was closed, awaiting further instruction. For a few seconds you studied him. His other eye was again covered by a different eyepatch. His hair was no longer tied, leaving it to frame his face.

“You may sit, Lady Y/N.”

The prince had gestured to the seat next to him. You inhaled deeply before your small feet carried you across the room. The prince watched your every move and he noted how your silver dress made you glow, providing a contrast to your dark hair and eyes.

As you sat, you brought your hands together on your lap and only then did Aemond notice what you were holding. The sight of his eyepatch made him tense and soon an awkward tension filled the space as you sat in silence.

“You must think me a monster now.”

“Your Grace, you are no monster in my eyes. I wish you shared my opinion because it is the truth.”

Your response had him turning to face you and he felt his heartbeat pick up. Your eyes have always been so expressive and where he expected pity to lie he saw adoration and genuine concern instead.

Upon meeting his eye, your smile widened. You so desperately wanted to be there for him and alleviate whatever troubles him.

“Your eye should not be cause for judgement. It is one’s character that ought to be looked at.”

“And what is my character?”

“You are thoughtful. I appreciate how you would leave me books you believe I would enjoy or bring me pastries you’d want me to try. You are bright and respectful. The conversations you hold are of an educated man. You are immensely loyal to not only those you love but to your house as well.”

By the time you had finished speaking, the space between you two was barely there. You stared at each other for what felt like centuries before a small smile broke out on the prince’s face. You admired the way his lips curved, fascinated by the depth of his prominent cupid’s bow.

An unknown force compelled you to touch the left side of his face and your bravery raised your hand to do so. Before you could move further, the prince caught your wrist in a gentle hold.

He stared at you, beginning to feel nervous, but your will remained steadfast. Your hand landed on his cheek, caressing his scar and before the prince could react, you moved to rid him of his cover.

“Y/N-”

His protests died on his tongue as the bright sapphire was revealed to you and he watched your pupils dilate in wonder. He had never before felt so vulnerable, but your touch put him at ease.

The pair of you remained in silence like that for gods know how long. Then you whispered in earnest.

“Beautiful…”

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The sound of your laughter traveled down the hall. Aemond could feel his insides twist in delight as he drew closer towards his sister’s chambers.

“Brother? What a lovely surprise.”

Your back was facing the door when he entered. You watched the princess smile at her brother before turning to address him yourself. The sight of you knocked the wind out of Aemond.

A butterfly lay on your cheek and the other at the exposed skin of your clavicle. You looked ethereal and Aemond swore he felt giddy seeing you so lovely.

“My chrysalises have finally turned into butterflies! We opened the jar to free them but they flew to Lady Y/N instead.”

Princess Helaena was amused at how smitten the prince was with you. She had to refrain from giggling as she carefully removed the insects on you before catching her brother's attention.

“What is it you came for, brother?”

It was a physical effort for Aemond to take his eye off you and you felt your cheeks warm at the attention.

“Oh… uh mother requests to see you in her chambers.”

“Now? But I promised Lady Y/N I’d walk with her through the gardens.”

"Your Grace, we do not have to if-"

"I can walk with her! If... of course, Lady Y/N allows it..."

Prince Aemond was rarely embarrassed, but in that moment he could not avoid being bashful at how eager he sounded to spend time with you.

"I am sure you have better use of your time, Prince Aemond."

"Nonsense, Lady Y/N. I insist."

As Princess Helaena left, you and the prince made your way to the castle gardens. You prayed to the gods he could not hear the erratic beat of your heart at his close proximity.

"Let me take this time to say my thanks to you, Lady Y/N."

"What ever for, your Grace?"

"You have never failed to be kind and patient with my sister. Many see her odd, but you regard her in no such way."

Your heart swelled at his appreciation and Aemond felt his own do the same as you faced him with your wide grin and doe eyes.

"I suppose I am grateful that your kindness extends to me as well. It is rare that I am regarded with as much compassion as you have shown me."

You are taken aback by the prince's admission and he gave you a tender smile in return.

"There is no need to thank me, my prince. I only wish more people could witness how beautiful and gentle you truly are..."

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The young prince could not contain his bliss as he walked back to his chambers after his time with you. There was a skip in his step with his scowl now absent from his face. That was until he opened his door to reveal his brother waiting for him in his chambers.

Aemond slightly faltered at his brother looking at him with a sly smirk. The younger Targaryen was quick to school his features, returning to the cold expression he always wore.

"What are you doing here, Aegon?"

"I saw you with Lady Y/N and my my I could not believe what I was witnessing."

Aemond raised his eyebrow at his brother and Aegon chuckled lightly before continuing.

"I never thought a simple bastard would catch the eye of a man as proud as you, my brother."

"What are you talking about?" Aemond hissed, glaring at an amused Aegon.

"You mean to say you harbor no fondness for the girl?" his brother teased back.

"Do not dare insult me, brother. I have no intention of ever associating myself with a lowborn orphan such as her. I am a prince after all so I would be careful with implying something so ridiculous."

Unbeknownst to Aemond, you were right outside his door. You had the intent of returning a book he had lent you, but stopped short upon hearing the two princes.

You tried to hold in your tears at the offensive remarks made to your name. Your heart shattered and you felt the shards stab at your insides.

It was not easy to admit, but you had developed feelings for the younger prince. His rare smile that you thought was more common when you were around. The difference in the attention he would give you compared to any other. All these things made you believe that maybe he saw you in the same light. That maybe he too felt he could not breathe whenever you were around. At the very least, you thought he regarded you as a dear friend, just like you had him.

Only after hearing what he had to say about you did you think otherwise. You were mistaken. Blinded by your want to have your affections reciprocated, you failed to notice how different your ambitions were from the truth.

He did not love you. He may not even see you as anything more than a servant he has had to live with these past years. You had set yourself up for heartbreak by creating a delusion of loving the prince and being loved back.

The hold you had on the book loosened and before you could stop it, a small thud echoed from it falling. That snapped you out of your thoughts. As fast as your feet allowed, you made your way out of the hall and on your way back to your chambers.

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Aegon soon left his brother's chambers and the younger prince heaved a heavy exhale. Aemond did not wish to ridicule you to his brother, but he wouldn't dare acknowledge his adoration for you either. Not because he was ashamed of having feelings for you, but because he knew making it known would remind him of the rejection that is guaranteed. You could not love him, that much he knew, so he denied what he felt.

A knock on his door brought him out of his thoughts. After giving his permission, a servant had revealed herself holding the book you had dropped moments ago.

"Why is this in your possession?"

"I found it outside your door, Prince Aemond. I only wish to return what I believe is yours."

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You made it a point to avoid the prince at all costs. Your fragile heart would simply crumble to even finer pieces if you were to be in his presence again. You stopped going to the library and would now convince the princess to avoid wandering to places you knew Aemond would be. You stayed in your chambers more, only leaving when the princess was in need of you.

Almost a week had passed and Aemond thought you had vanished into thin air with how little he's seen you. He now only caught glimpses of you not often which left his heart aching. At some point he resorted to seeking you out by going to your chambers all the way across the Keep.

With the book in his other hand, the silver-haired prince raised the other to knock on your door. He waited with bated breath and his heart leapt at finally seeing you again after what felt like decades.

It was obvious you weren't expecting him and the prince's stomach dropped upon seeing how your smile faltered.

"Prince Aemond... How may I be of service to you?"

Now the confusion was noticeable on Aemond's face. Never had you addressed him with such formality.

"I thought to return this to you so you may finish reading it. You must have left it somewhere because a servant returned it to me."

"Your Grace, I am a person of no importance to have a prince make an effort to hand me books. I believe it best you no longer do so."

You made no eye contact with him as you twiddled with your thumbs and the prince could not stop his smile from turning into a frown.

"Lady Y/N, trust that I do this wholeheartedly. You are no bother to me as I am gladdened by the love of reading we share."

"Pardon me, your Grace, but there is no need for you to pretend any longer. I know what you think of me and am aware you do not want the likes of me near you."

It was a heavy task to not cry despite feeling the heaviness of your spirit become unbearable. Aemond so desperately wanted you to lift your head to face him, but as soon as you did, his heart felt like it took a punch.

Your eyes were glassy and your features forlorn. The sight of you sent the prince scrambling for a response that would comfort you.

"That could not be further from the truth. Y-You are my dearest friend, Y/N... I-"

"I believed you were a friend to me as well, but I heard you with Prince Aegon. Though I know you spoke the truth. The truth being that I am a lowborn bastard. I-I cannot deny how it pains me so to hear you regard me with such contempt."

By now the tears have flown freely down your face. The prince's chest tightened seeing you shake as you succumbed to your heartache.

"Forgive me f-for wasting even m-more of your time, Prince Aemond."

You cringed at your pathetic apology given you could not stop the hiccups from your cries. You made an attempt to close the door, but Aemond beat you to it, placing a hand on the wood and pushing to let himself in your space.

"Y-Your Grace, please... Y-You mustn't-"

His hands on your face catches you off guard, lifting it so that you may look up at him. With gentle fingers, he wiped your tears, and you couldn't help closing your eyes at the gesture.

"It is I who should be begging for your forgiveness, Y/N... I-I did not mean those words. It was not my intention to hurt you. I would never dream of hurting you, my dear Y/N. I-I simply wanted Aegon to leave me alone. I didn't want him to know..."

You raised your eyebrows as the prince trailed off. Aemond felt his heart was to burst out of his clothes soon and drop to the floor. He had to tell you now. Rejection or not, he must make it known that he would never willingly hurt you, the one person whose presence reminds him that he still has a heart and that he is worth more than his title.

"I did not want him to know that... that I care for you deeply. You have enraptured my heart and soul with the unwavering kindness you have bestowed to someone as unworthy as me."

Your eyes widen at the prince but he continues his speech as he moves to decrease the distance between you two even more.

"It is your laughter that calms me and when I close my eyes, it is the image of your smile painted on the back of their lids. When we are together and you tell me of what you've read, I find myself daydreaming of a life with you. How I would offer everything I have in exchange for your hand."

"Prince Aemond, w-what are you saying..."

"I am saying I love you, Y/N. Most ardently."

You gasped upon hearing his words and the prince moved his hands to hold yours.

"What I said to my brother was in fear of rejection for I have denied my feelings knowing they are one-sided. It was childish of me to turn to insults to reject what I feel so strongly for you and I regret having upset you. I-I understand if you wish to never speak to me again..."

With his head bowed and gaze to the floor, the prince did not see the smile that was back on your face.

"Oh Aemond, you fool!"

Before he could make eye contact to decipher what you meant, you had let his hands go in favor of wrapping them around him in an embrace as you lunged forward. The prince was quick to secure your waist in his arms. He heard you giggle in his ear before pulling back to be face to face with him.

"Your feelings are my own, my prince. I too love you a great deal."

Several emotions washed over Aemond all at once, but it was relief that was undeniable. He mirrored the bright smile on your face as your arms remained on his shoulders and his on your hips.

"I did not think it were possible for someone as beautiful and gentle as you to feel for someone like me." Aemond admitted, but you only leaned in to kiss him in response.

There was no greater pleasure than having your lips on his. Having the privilege of your love was comparable to being high up in the sky. He was in so much elation as your chest pressed to his when he tightened his hold on you.

"I love you, my beautiful prince. I am yours."

"Y/N... If you will have me... I desire nothing more than to be your husband."

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen angst #aemond x you #aemond targaryen fluff #hotd imagine

3K notes · View notes

mybelovedwoo · 5 months

Note

Yeosang as boyfriend plsss

hey, thank you so much for your request <3 i hope you'll like it!!

kang yeosang as your boyfriend - headcanon

headcanon, romance, fluff, smut

gn!reader x bf!atz

wc. ~0.7k

an: i'm just so soft for this man TTTT

you can request headcanons if you want to!! if you want to be tagged in any of my fics you can apply here <3

masterlist

-literally the sweetest, most gentle boyfriend ever, takes your relationship really seriously but is also just such a goofball, your best friend

-would laugh with him 24/7, so many jokes and fun with him, makes you laugh so hard that your stomach would hurt

-we all know he can't ask for kisses or hugs, so you have to initiate them all the time, but it's his favorite thing

-he likes back hugs, but he's more on the receiving side, just loves it when you cling to him, he just wants to stay like that forever if he could

-he loves it when you compliment his muscles, he feels so proud and would always shows them off for you, it motivates him to work out even more

-would immediately notice when something changes on you, like your hair or you bought some new clothes, "wow, y/n, you look really great"

-you are the type of couple that relies on each other all the time, when you go somewhere together there's not a second you leave the other alone

-he would do the most random things, like propose to you (as a joke) with a gummy ring or "take you out on the fanciest a date" where you all dress up, but it's actually on your balcony with takeouts and wine

-he always says what's in his mind, so you never have to wonder what's in his head, communication is really key in your relationship, but sometimes you wish he wouldn't say everything out loud

-although it can be difficult to express his emotions through words, so instead he would show them through actions, his love language is definitely acts of service

-he gives you everything you desire, more than you need actually, treats you like a princess really, gives little gifts, tries to cook for you (but fails every time), gives you massage

-literally no jealousy or possessiveness in your relationship (at least what you know about), he trusts you with all his heart and he expects the same from you

-he wants to spend every spare time with you, he can't be far away from you for too long

-he'll literally do anything just to get your affection (but ask for it TT), he likes to entertain you, that's why he often brings you with him to the gym, he doesn't want you to get bored of him

-calls you cute nicknames, like sweetie, cutie or bub, also your contact name is bub, it's the most used one of all of them

-kisses with him are just so soft, he caresses your hair or cheeks and you would melt into his touch

-would run to you, asking for rescue when his members are teasing him, you are his safe place and knows you would help him out

-once he accidentally used your shampoo instead of his, now it has become a habit of his and only uses your products

-dating yeosang would mean arguing with woosan 24/7 about whose yeosang really is

nsfw +18!!!

-he is a switch, depending on the mood and the day he has, but literally always the sweetest when it comes to such a vulnerable state

-he doesn't really care about the pleasure part, but the emotions that comes with it, he likes to be close to you and the excitement that comes within

-it is kinda part of your routine now, maybe not every day but really often ends the day naked, in each other's arms

-that's why the morning often starts with an intimate shower together

-yess, he is the vanilla type of guy, with traditional positions, where you can just hug each other real close

-something that would be a no no is anything really wild and out of his comfort zone, he is more like the traditional type of guy as i said, and seeing you in pain or hurt is also a big turn off

-lots of kisses and little "i love you" during sex

-not very vocal other than that, just lots of breath and groan

-could be very shy about it, so probably wouldn't do it when his members are around, or at least would be very careful and very quiet

-cockwarming is a must for him once in a while, he likes to be connected with you and being warmed by the love of his life

-he collapses after, he would be very worn out, but still makes sure to hold you close to him, he falls asleep almost immediately

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faeriichaii · 2 months

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hey I've read several of your fics and I really love your writing and I was wondering of you'd be in a mood for one thorin x reader request where thorin comes to visit bilbo in the shire some time after botfa and goes to the green dragon with him where he gets absolutely mesmerised with the reader who is a singer there?? it's heavily inspired by the song "killing me softly with her song" by Perry Como. could be any genre really. I've had this idea for so long but am absolutely terrible at writing

Symphony of Your Life ~ Thorin x Human!Reader

A/N: Thank you so much!! I am happy to hear that you have enjoyed my stories so far :) I am so sorry that it took me so long to write it rip but now it is here and I hope you like it!! <33

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Warnings: fluff (I think??) not proof read!!! ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Words: 1.4k ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Request: Yes (thank you <33) ࿐ྂ

Summary: Thorin went to visit his old friend Bilbo in the Shire once more, without expecting to be enchanted by a melodic voice that fills not just his ears but also his heart.

“I am grateful for your visit old friend.” Bilbo said, giving Thorins shoulder a pat before entering the Green Dragon Inn. “Well, it has been quite a while since we parted ways and you went back home to the shire.” The dwarven king followed after the hobbit into the filled place. People were drinking away, while telling the ones closest by about stories of their past. Others were eating away the food that was served on their plates. The inn was filled with a lively atmosphere, making Thorin relax slightly, the stress of the past months leaving his body.

Bilbo pulled out one of the wooden chairs and made himself comfortable, before looking around in search of the waitress. “So Thorin, tell me, what has been happening in Erebor after I left?” “Well, we began to slowly regain back the power Erebor once had.” Thorin sat opposite of the hobbit, before continuing with his story. “We are also making sure to not keep too much gold in the mine. Also, the trading between Mirkwood and Erebor is livelier than ever.” “Excuse me for the lil wait, but what can I get ya two fellows for the night?” A woman asked them, her eyes moving between the two men.

“I would just like to get a pint of meat for now.” The dwarven king said, his eyes moving from the waitress to the performer behind her. Soft tunes filled his ears, followed by a gentle voice telling an old tale from the past. Your mind was focused on the song you were playing and he could feel the emotions that you put into every syllable that passed your lips. Fingers gently tugging on the strings of your Lyre, making him wish to walk closer to hear even more of this beautiful melody.

“Thorin, are you alright?” Bilbo asked him, taking a sip of his drink. The king didn’t even notice that the waitress already served them their order. “Yes of course. I just am enjoying the song.” And with that he turned his attention back to you. You were walking off of the makeshift stage and danced through the small passage of people. A bright smile graced your lips as you heard a group of men hollering along with you, almost drowning your own voice with theirs. Continuing your way to every single corner and crevice of the inn, you made sure that everyone was enjoying themselves.

You loved performing. It was what made you happy, even when you were younger. Your older brother even taught you how to play the Lyre and you remember constantly joining him for his small performances in various different inns around your hometown. He was the sole reason for you now standing in the middle of a packed room, surrounded by various different people who were dancing and singing together with you. Strumming the last tune on your lyre you finished the song with a bow. Applause as well as praise was washing over you, as you looked around the crowd.

The bright faces of the people around you filling you with warmth. That was until you caught onto a pair of stale blue ones. His gentle smile was almost unnoticeable in the dark room, as you studied him a little more. You recognize him from one of the many tales that bards have sung in inns you have visited with your brother. Thorin Oakenshield. So, you rushed back onto the makeshift stage and strummed your Lyre.

“My dear guests, I really hope you enjoyed today’s performance as much as I did. This right now might sound like a farewell already, but I have one last performance before I will leave you for the night. It is a special song, most of you know.” People around you began to mumble, trying to guess which song you will play next. “As most of you already know, many songs played are retellings of famous stories of middle earth. And as you might know, me and my brother began to rewrite some of them as well. And as some of you might know, I am especially proud of the one song we wrote about the one and only Thorin Oakenshield.”

The crowd began to cheer, as you looked at the man in question. His eyes darkened at the mention of him and his life story being turned into a song. He would have expected anything, even the song of how the company and him got Erebor out of the clutches of the dragon. But his life story? How could a mere mortal even know half of his story?

You strung the first few melodies of the song. Your melancholy voice once more entrancing the people occupying the inn. Their eyes intently focused on you. But your own mind was only focused on the dwarven king right in front of him. You wanted to touch his soul with the words and retelling you once wrote together with your brother. You needed him to see that you knew his pain, even if you weren’t around him. You wanted him to know that his pain was shared and that he was not the only one who had to pass through tough times. You wanted him to know that you understood him.

Thorins heart warmed at the words that were dedicated to him. He didn’t expect you to completely put him under your spell and enchant him by the way you were telling his story. He expected things to be painful, but you made sure to put warmth and love, as well as care into every word. From the moment you mentioned the tragic death of his father, followed by the definition of his name, you thought about every little detail in his story. And it warmed his heart. You even mentioned how he conquered Erebor back for the dwarves and how he got rid of the dragon Smaug. Even the battle of the five armies was mentioned in your song. It almost felt like you have been around him since day one, watching every step he took on his journey. Almost as if you were a part of the company yourself.

After the last note passed from the Lyre and you sung the last melody of the song, you heard the applause of the people around you. Smiling brightly, you bowed once more, however your mind was still stuck onto the king who you just sung about. Letting your eyes travel across the people, you notice that the seat he had occupied during his stay in the inn was now empty. Slight pain squeezed your heart. You hated when people just left during your performances. Especially the ones the story is all about.

Descending from the small makeshift stage, you began to put away your Lyre into its case. Getting ready, to leave for the night you were stopped by a person in front of you. He was slightly shorter than you and you immediately recognized his blue eyes. “I hope I am not interrupting.” “Not at all my king.” You quickly said, straightening your posture. “I hope you liked the song. I wrote it together with my brother, as a small tribute to all the heroic things you have accomplished over the time.”

A smile graced the kings’ lips, which made you feel a little bit more at ease. “I was a little surprised, I didn’t expect to hear any song about me. Especially one that was so detailed.” You intently listened to every word that passed his lips, fingers tightly holding onto the case of your Lyre. “I did enjoy it though. It was very touching and it did make me think about some… things.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “Would you perhaps consider writing more songs? I mean about the dwarven kings and maybe Erebor?”

Your eyes widened at this proposition, never expecting these words to pass Thorins lips. “My king I-“ “Just call me Thorin.” “Thorin I… don’t know what to say. This is a big honour for me and I would love to accept this offer, but why would you ask me of all the wonderful and talented people of middle earth to work on such an important project?” You asked him, still flabbergasted at the words of the king.

“Well, I do enjoy the sound of your voice and your song about my story touched my heart like none before. I also think that Erebor deserves a song of it’s own, so it would only be fitting, to ask you for this important job.” A bright smile graced your lips. “In that case, I would happily take up your offer and write the most beautiful symphony for Erebor.” Erebor, the city that once belonged to the beast called Smaug. Erebor, the city of hope and chances.

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kaeyapilled · 5 months

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I’m pretty new to kaeya ships and I want to know how Kaebedo appeals to you!! /This isn't a sarcastic question I promise 😭

So far, the only ship I get is Rosakae because haha bi couple/girl that says bruhh x guy that says hiii

Do you have any recommended kaebedo fanfics? Thank you <33

i think the biggest appeal of kaebedo to me is the parallels between them. both are from khaenri'ah and were abandoned by a parent figure with an unclear mission on their shoulders and ended up finding a home in a place they fear they will have to betray one day. even without a romantic lens there is SO much potential here!!! they must know of each other's secret to some degree, there's no way they don't. they could form such a deep connection based on these shared origins. let them bond hoyoverse!!!!

its insane to me that kaeya and albedo have never exchanged more than five words in game when theres so much material to work with here.. especially because they DO know each other! the game tells us that! kaeya has an "about albedo" voiceline (Albedo, eh? Calm, collected, and incredibly talented. He's the type everybody likes, some even more so than others. What, you into him as well?), albedo doesnt have an "about kaeya" voiceline but he does mention him in one of his "more about albedo" ones (The time required to sketch portraits closely correlates with one's mood. I could spend half a day sketching Huffman, while I might only need three strokes of the pencil to sketch Kaeya — one for the face, one for the eyepatch string... and one for the eyepatch.) and, actually, pairing that with this

from a past event i think we can say it's implied that albedo draws kaeya fairly often. kaeya seems to babysit klee frequently, which is all the more chance for them to get to know each other more..... they live in the same region and have so many themes in common LET THEM TALK! LET THEM TALK!! kaebedo as a ship is kind of built from the ground up with just minimal canon content and our wild imaginations but hey. the potential is right there. also i think they look cute together. anyway, fanfic recs, you say? i have some<3

Calcium, Carbonate, and Other Things That Run Bone-Deep by Princeliest

Albedo comes knocking at Kaeya's office door, and asks Kaeya to kill him. All in all, it's the worst falling-in-love experience that Kaeya has ever had. (Albedo fears a lot of things. He's never reached out for help with any of them, but he's also never had anyone see him and reach out first.)

this is genuinely one of the best fics ive ever read in my life it's SO good. i kept rotating it inside my mind for days afterwards. and the kaebedo dynamic here is one of my favorite renditions of it too!!!!! like they cannot live through a normal love story it has to be weird when they are both involved. and this fic executes the brand of weirdness i expect from kaebedo perfectly. the characterization for both of them was really good. warning for some body horror but if you're okay with that it's part of the charm in this fic i really enjoyed reading those parts

this wordless dance, in the night by untunedviola

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Kaeya mutters into Albedo’s chest. Albedo pulls him closer. Gentle fingers thread through his hair. “You don’t have to.” He sighs. “I know.” Kaeya’s relationship with his mother tongue, his family, and Albedo develops in fits in starts.

i just reread this while searching through recs on my bookmarks and!!!!!!!!! this is THE kaebedo relationship study EVER. it's so good. its more focused on kaeya since it's from his point of view but albedo is a central crucial part of it. it explores their connection to khaenri'ah and the connection they could have with each other because of it SO well it's really amazing! the angst is delightful i love this one.

and you should check out this author's other works!! seriously the way they write kaebedo is like the best ever. i havent read all of them but the ones i have read were immediate favorites. untunedviola if youre out there

The Curious Investigation on the Investigation Captain by evesbeve

“This is not an invitation to spoil me,” Albedo says through a bite, a hand over his mouth. “As you have with Klee.” “I have no idea what you are talking about," Kaeya laughs. “Although… would it really be that bad, if I wanted to take care of you?” (Or: When Sucrose mentions that she's been worried about Albedo and his constant cases of zoning out, Kaeya takes it upon himself to investigate the situation.)

a lighter, fluffier work to make up for the angst of the previous recs. so sweet youll get cavities honestly. works to read while giggling about how much you love these silly little characters. bonus ragbros and other mond characters. really nice read!!!!

i wish i had more recs but i really dont. i need to read more about them honestly.

im deeply sorry for taking like three months to answer!! many such cases im afraid. i hope my kaebedo propaganda has worked on you or anyone else reading this

#WHEW THIS TOOK A WHILE TO TYPE OUT #askpilled #kaebedo #kaeya #kaeya alberich #albedo #albedo kreideprinz #kaeyaposting #also lmao rosakae as girl who says bruh and guy who says hiii is so real #fic recs

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mandoalorian · 1 year

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Borrowed Time [Din Djarin x F!Reader]

ੈ♡˳‧₊*: • Chapter 10: The Daimyo ✩࿐ ˚.✧

Summary: You are the princess of Mandalore, held hostage on your own planet by Moff Gideon and his army of Imperial troopers. Left with no choice, you send out a distress signal; a plea for protection— and who comes? None other than Din Djarin, a foundling of The Death Watch. He, by creed, is your sworn enemy. And where you have asked for his protection, he has been told by his mentor that he must marry you and gain the ability to restore Mandalore to its former glory.

Word Count: 2400

Warnings: angst (sorry!)

AN: really did not like Season 3 of The Mandalorian so consider this fic my attempt at retconning.

Series Masterlist

Tatooine was white hot, strikingly hot, and from the second the Razor Crest emerged through the atmosphere, you felt beads of sweat begin to lace your hairline. The temperature was unlike anything you had ever experienced before. As Din flew over the plains of smooth sands, you held Grogu in your lap, your arms wrapped tight around his little body as Din prepared for landing. The little green bean had just woken up from a nap and was cooing happily, his big dark eyes gazing out at the vast landscape beneath him. He was enamoured by it all, captured by the beauty surrounding him.

“Grogu and I have spent a lot of time on Tatooine,” Din informed you plainly, bringing his gloved fingers down to the ship's control panel. You watched him as he tapped away at a few brightly coloured and flashing buttons. You admired how he could fly, and you hoped it would be something he could teach you once this war was over, if he still wanted to be with you by that point. “We’re preparing to land now. The Dune Sea isn’t too far off.”

“I’ve never been to Tatooine before,” you admitted sheepishly. You were feeling a little tired, and you wished you’d had the chance to nap alongside Grogu earlier in the day. Nonetheless, it meant you’d at least sleep well tonight.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Din muttered before pausing and adjusting the propulsions. The Razor Crest made its usual loud screeching noise as it neared the ground. “Tatooine is no place for a princess.” The word tasted like venom on his tongue, like he held some kind of resentment. He’d been distant from you the entire journey, but now as the siege neared, his mood had shifted entirely. This was indicated by his tone of voice and body language.

You hesitated before replying to your husband. Yes, you were a ‘princess’, but more than that you were a Mandalorian. Hadn’t you proved yourself to Din yet? You chose to ignore the way he’d reduced you to that stereotype and tried not to overthink it too much. No matter how hard you tried to escape from your past, he was still right. You were a princess.

You furrowed your brows together and shook your head as if to shake away those intruding feelings. If not for the temperature, you found it difficult to believe that Tatooine was populated. “People… live here?”

Din pulled on a lever and the ship started to lower.

“There are a few nearby towns. Mos Eisley, Mos Espa, Mos Pelgo… but it’s mostly just slaves and scoundrels amongst these sands. It’s a dangerous place,” The ship landed with a gentle waver and Din stood up. Before you, was a palace of some kind. It was grand and mighty, but completely different to the palace you were brought up in. “I’d like you to wait with Grogu on the ship while I speak with Fett and Shand.”

You swallowed the nervous knot in your throat and nodded in agreement. “Okay.”

You weren’t happy about letting Din go on without you, but you knew you had to trust him. After all, he trusted you.

Why did he trust you?

You were married—and yet you barely knew him—and he barely knew you. When it had only been a few weeks, could you really say that you were in love with him? You had never felt this feeling before, but even still, you did find yourself wondering. Was it all down to mere circumstances that were clouding your judgement? The past few weeks had felt like a myth… a fairy tale, but it wasn’t exactly down to fate. Your rescue was planned meticulously by the Armorer.

This is the way.

This is the way your song is written. Saved by a nobody bounty hunter and forced into an arranged marriage before you prepared for the siege to reclaim your home planet.

This is the way.

Your stomach was twisted into knots as your mind wandered, trying to fathom and make sense of everything that had happened so far. You fiddled with the ring on your finger, the ring the Armorer had forged for both you and Din, made out of steel beskar alloy. The ring that symbolised your commitment to one another.

“Din?” you wanted to ask him if he believed you were crazy—if he was having second thoughts—were you having second thoughts? The Mandalorian bared you little acknowledgement.

“Stay safe.” Your eyes followed your husband as he grabbed his blaster from the armory. He placed a hand atop Grogu’s head before bidding his child farewell, and within seconds, he was gone.

Grogu’s curious cooing interrupted your thoughts and brought you back down to reality. “You okay, little one?” you asked the child. “I think we best go find you something to eat.”

Din hadn’t visited his old friend Boba Fett in quite some time, and he’d hoped that this whole ordeal wouldn’t be too much trouble for the new Diamyo of Mos Espa. He did owe Din a favour, and though Din wasn’t exactly pleased he had to ask Fett for help, he knew he didn’t have much of a choice. When Din left the ship, he didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t offer you a kiss or even the smallest ounce of acknowledgement; he just left. You sat there in the co-pilot seat, baby in hand, wondering if you had done something wrong. Something to upset him.

But Din was overthinking too. This wasn’t him. He had never been the type of man to settle down and bear commitment. Now he had a child and a wife, and he was on his way to make Mandalorian history. He was currently sharing a bed with one of the most influential Mandalorians who ever lived. You were royalty… and he was nothing.

An independent contractor – outlaw – scoundrel… there were many words for it, and neither was nicer than the other. Din believed that you deserved better than the life he could give, and as he looked back towards the Razor Crest in the distance of the Dune Sea, he decided that once he’d helped you repossess the throne, he’d be gone. He’d take the child and leave you to lead Mandalore alone. You were strong, brave, fierce… you didn’t need him.

And if you really did like Din, he was certain that you’d get over him. He pictured you falling in love with someone else, perhaps remarrying someone regal and more important than he could ever be. It made Din want to throw up, the burning heat from the twin suns not helping with his sudden onset nausea.

Din had enjoyed every second he had spent with you, and during the times when he wasn’t with you, he had found himself wishing to get back to you. There was just something about you… energy, a force that made you so compelling. You were so easy to love. Din knew it wouldn’t be easy to leave, but it would be a sacrifice for the greater good.

He’d only hold you back.

Din swallowed his feelings for the time being and tapped on the bulkhead to Fett’s Palace that once belonged to the infamous Jabba The Hutt. A gatekeeper droid popped out of a hidden compartment above Din’s head.

“State your name and business.” The metallic voice barked.

“Din Djarin… I am a friend of Daimyo Fett. I wish to speak with him.”

The gatekeeper droid disappeared back into the bulkhead without saying a further word and left Din standing outside for a few minutes. Just as Din was about to turn his heel and head back to the ship, the bulkhead began to open with a loud screech.

Boba Fett, dressed in a dashing green Mandalorian-inspired armour, emerged from the darkness, alongside the notorious assassin Fennec Shand.

“Daimyo Fett,” greeted with respect, Din bowed in front of the new leader.

“To what do I owe this pleasure, Mando?” Boba asked, before taking off his helmet as a symbol of recognition and offering his friend a beaming smile. Din couldn’t help but smile himself. It had been too long, and he was glad to reunite with his old friend.

“I come here with a request,” Din proposed.

“Always been quick to cut to the chase,” Fennec commented, but from the smile on her lips, Din knew she was already on board.

“I’ve… found myself in a situation. On board my ship I have the Princess of Mandalore… and we’re on a mission. I’m aiding her in reclaiming the Mandalorian throne from Moff Gideon and his Imperial army.”

“Moff Gideon is alive?” Fennec’s lips parted in shock as she digested the news. She, like most others in the outer-rim, had heard rumours of his arrest and even death. But none of it was true.

“I’m afraid so, and more powerful than ever. He has the darksaber… an ancient Mandalorian weapon. We need to take him down.”

��Let me get this straight, you’re asking us to leave our safe haven here to go to war…?”

Puzzled, Din hesitated. That wasn’t the response he’d anticipated. He was so sure Boba would welcome his proposition with open arms. “Well…” Din started. He was doing this for his wife, really. The love of his life. But how was he to explain that to someone like Boba Fett?

Thankfully, he didn’t have to.

Boba placed a hand on Din’s shoulder pauldron. “You have my word, Mando. All of this… this palace… I couldn’t have done this without you. Fennec and I will help you in any way that you require.”

“I appreciate it.” Din took hold of Boba’s hand and shook it firmly, signifying a culmination of their agreement.

“So, when do we leave?” Fennec asked, already bubbling with anticipation. She loved a good fight, especially if it meant taking down Imperials.

“The princess and I leave in the morning, but Bo-Katan and The Nite Owls are en-route to Mandalore now to set up reinforcements.”

“So, what’s the princess like?” Boba nudged teasingly. “She a handful?”

You could be, at times. You were certainly high-maintenance but that was okay because Din liked maintaining you.

Din exhaled. “She’s… not bad.”

You and Grogu had been playing catch with a small rubber ball that you’d purchased from a market stall back on Nevarro. It was fun, and something to keep you and the child preoccupied while you waited for Din to return. You almost anticipated scavengers boarding the ship while you waited for your husband; an effect of his scare-mongering about the bad people amongst the sands of Tatooine. But nobody showed up. In a strange sense, you almost craved a confrontation. You weren’t afraid to get blood on your hands and you wanted to prove to Din just how strong you were. You were a fighter, and while you were thankful for his protection… you didn’t need it.

Din returned to the Crest about an hour later. He’d joined his friends for a feast while explaining to them what the plan was. Of course, he’d returned with a leg of Bantha meat for you and the child to share.

“Are they willing to help us?” you asked, your eyes wide and desperate as you awaited his response.

“They are,” Din confirmed, and his heart warmed when he watched you breathe a sigh of relief, your lips twisting into a grateful smile. “Although, Boba hasn’t had the most pleasant of encounters with Bo-Katan and her Nite Owls. That is… something to be mindful of. He will be leaving in the morning; not much earlier than us. He and Shand should will get to Mandalore before we do.”

You were so pleased and overcome with emotion. You didn’t know how Din was able to pull this off, or how he had so many allies around the galaxy who seemingly owed him favours. Your first interpretation of him was that he was cold and cruel and distant. You never expected someone like him to have friends, and yet you had been so wrong. Din was the kindest person you’d ever met. He may have disguised himself to have a heart of beskar steel, but truly, it was nothing less than pristine gold.

“Oh Din,” you ran into his arms and wrapped yourself around him. “I love you so much.”

Din didn’t move. He didn’t speak, and he stood so still that for a second, you weren’t even sure if he was breathing. You waited for him to reply, to acknowledge you and say those words back.

But he didn’t.

“You best get some sleep before we leave tomorrow.”

You blinked, and after a prolonged moment of silence, you drew yourself away from him. You couldn’t help but look up at him with wide, bewildered eyes, but decided to shake off the feeling rather than confront it. Now wasn’t the time to fight over something as menial as not saying a couple of words. It didn’t matter. Din loved you. You knew that.

He’d sworn an oath when he married you.

“O—okay.” You let your arms fall down to your sides and walked on over to Din’s quarters.

Grogu cooed in confusion as he watched you silently saunter off.

Din sighed and picked up his son before carrying him to the cockpit and sinking down into the pilot seat. He really did love you, but he knew that sharing any more sentiments would just make the ‘giving you up’ part more painful. And he’d already made his mind up.

You waited for Din to come to bed with you, but he never did. You tossed and turned and spent hours trying to fight sleep, just wanting to feel his warm body next to yours… his arms around you.

But he never came.

_________________________________________

Borrowed Time taglist in the replies!

Permanent taglist: @paintballkid711 @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell@xoxo-callie @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic@nerdypinupcrystal @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal l @castiel-barnes@honeymandos @rocketqueen @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth@moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet@pinkninja200 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog@artsymaddie @harrys-stan @kennedywxlsh @cripplingmoon@cheekygeek05 @mrschiltoncat @rye-flower @theamuz @persie33@sleepylunarwolf @martellthemandalor @pedro-pastel @steeevienicks@rrtxcmt @saphic-susperia @beskarprincessjenny @readsalot73@softmedics @jade10077 @dodgerandevans @planetariumx @pascals-cat @ajeff855 @spideysimpossiblegirl @smoldjarin @januarycolor @anapnovo-blog @pardebellesnuits@mi0o@supervengerslock@alitaarr@bigpepperpickerr@pedrostoriess@pedroprinces

#din djarin #din grogu #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #Pedro pascal #Pedro pascal x reader #series

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teagballs · 7 months

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"how can i make it up to you?" | michael bluth x reader fluff

authors note: HEYYYY it's me again. another request whoop whoop: "a michael fic where the reader is sulky bc michael has been neglecting her and he makes it up?"

love this idea tysm for the request i hope i did it justice 👍

cw: a little angst the reader is lonely :( michael makes it up to them tho, gender neutral, pet names, short n sweet!!

-------------------------------------------------------

Michael was a busy man. You knew this, of course you did. From the day you started dating he had been sending flowers as an apology for missing date night. Usually his absence was the result of having to stay late in the office, but he had always been quick to reschedule plans. He always wanted to spend as much time with you as his cramped schedule would allow. But lately he had fallen under his massive workload. You had hardly seen him, only when he left for work in the morning and finally returned late in the evening. This and really put a damper on your mood. It was the same day in day out, never seeing your boyfriend.

You groaned at the sight of your empty apartment. It was days like this - when your boss had been a nightmare, when customers were particularly demanding, when you wanted to relax - when you wished your boyfriend was home. You plopped yourself down on the sofa, shedding your shoes and jacket and curling up in a blanket. Exhausted from the day, you decided a nap was the best thing to do. You dozed off.

You eventually stirred once you heard the door open. 'Was that.. Michael?' You questioned to yourself in your dozed state. Michael set his briefcase and jacket on the counter, conscious not to make too much noise, assuming you were still asleep. You made a light groaning noise as you sat up. "Shit, sorry baby did I wake you?" He apologised. "Yeah but it's fine, suppose I'll just go to bed now." You replied, tone upset. You knew it wasn't Michael's fault that he had to work so late. You were sure he was trying his best to come home as soon as possible. But that thought alone didn't make the loneliness of being so separated from your boyfriend disappear. Michael noticed your dejection. He made his way over to you on the sofa, sitting down next to you. "Are you alright?" He questioned. "Yeah I'm OK." You quickly replied. "You don't have to lie Y/N, you're sulking, why?" Michael asked, but he knew the answer. He knew he had been far too focused on work, prioritises his job over his partner.

"It's just," you began, "you're never home. I get lonely," You admitted. Now you avoided looking at him, turning your head away, "I miss you." Michael felt the guilt well in his chest at the sound of your voice, small and sad. "I know darlin', I'm sorry it's just-," Michael stopped himself from giving the same explanation again. He knew you understood why he was away so often. "Hey look at me." Michael spoke softly. You turned your head to meet his gaze. He held you face with his strong hand, looking deep into your eyes. You could melt just from the way he looked at you. "I'm sorry I'm away so often. I hate it too. I wish I could be home with you instead," He spoke. "What can I do to make it up?" He gave you a goofy smile, an earnest smile that made your heart swell.

He had put you on the spot. What could he do? All you wanted right now was to spend some time wrapped in his arms. "Can you stay up a little tonight? Watch a movie, eat some takeout? "Is that all?" Michael teased. "..Cuddle..?" I mumbled. Michael chuckled, "Of course I can." He took your face in his hands and kissed you delicately, full of love.

Michael grabbed the blanket you had previously been wrapped up in and draped it over the pair of you. You shuffled close to him and he wrapped his arm around you. You leaned into his body. It felt like forever since you had been so intimate. Michael placed another gentle kiss on your head as you turned the TV on to watch whatever was on, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that you were spending quality time with the adoring man you loved so much.

#michael x reader #michael bluth x reader #arrested development x reader #arrested development #jason bateman

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andiwriteordie · 11 months

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HIIII i have a prompt for u,

have mike get a vecna vision where will dies in his arms. 🤭🤭🤭

this is not a want its a NEED.

im in the mood for angst rn and i love ur art style so...... 😊😊

oh this was a cruel cruel prompt 😈

here's a ficlet that turned into a fic because i combined it with another prompt lol 🫡

—

holding hands, while the walls come tumbling down

It starts like this.

The steady yet nervous thump, thump, thump of a heartbeat that Mike can hear as loud as his own. A body nestled right beside him; an artist’s hands, smooth and soft and ever gentle, intertwined with Mike’s; a boy he has known for nearly his entire life and loved in some way for just as long who is here, here, here lying next to him—all Mike’s for the taking, just like Mike is all his.

It’s quiet in the room, save for the soft sound of their breathing. That, too, moves in time with each other—the gentle rise and fall of their chests as they breathe in and out, in and out, in and out.

Mike would stay here forever if he could. And he thinks—no, no, no; he knows, without a shadow of a doubt in his mind and in his heart—that Will feels the same.

Mike has always prided himself on being the type of person to give everything to what he does. Sometimes (oftentimes), everything isn’t enough, but that doesn’t stop him from giving it his all anyways. He’s never been the type of person to do something halfway; no, for Mike, it’s always been a deep dive into whatever it is he’s set his mind out to. An all or nothing kind of deal.

Will’s different from him. That’s something Mike’s known since their very first conversation, when his excitable, overeager “Hi! Do you want to be my friend?” was met with a quieter, shyer, but no less enthusiastic, “Yes; I – I do!” from Will. He’s not the type of first to run headfirst into something, which is probably good for Mike. It probably keeps them both out of trouble. But when Will does commit to something, when he chooses what he wants, when he decides that Yes, yes, yes, this is something I’m willing to fight for, then he’s every bit as passionate as Mike is.

All or nothing.

There’s no turning back for the two of them, and Mike couldn’t care less. This path they’ve stumbled down on is one they’ve been walking down for quite some time now—together, even though they were both a little too blind and far too stubborn to see it. Now that they can finally see each other, now that everything is out in the light, now that Will knows Mike loves him and Mike knows that Will loves him too, there’s no going back from here. They’ve passed the point of no return, and Mike will be damned if they ever go back to what they used to be.

It’s been a longtime coming for the two of them, and as Will nestles closer to Mike’s side, resting his head on Mike’s chest and letting out another soft, content sigh, Mike can’t help but smile.

The world around them might literally be on the brink of ending—constantly shrouded in darkness, plagued by monsters from the Upside Down, cold and always on the brink of another terrifying, disastrous storm that will threaten to rip Hawkins apart—but Mike has never been happier than he is in this moment, here with Will.

“What’re you thinking about?” comes Will’s quiet, sleepy voice, and Mike glances down at his boyfriend (Boyfriend? Right? Is that what we are now?) and meets Will’s gaze. There’s a softness in his eyes, mixed in with the sleepiness that’s not surprising for how late it must be now, as well as a familiar curiosity.

What’s wrong? Will’s expression also seems to say. Are you okay? Was… was this okay?

Mike just smiles, leaning forward and kissing Will, soft and slow. Immediately, the butterflies in his stomach come back to life, more excited and awake than they’ve ever been before today. “Just about how happy I am,” Mike admits, once he’s pulled away. “I… I never really thought this would happen to me… To us.”

The curiosity melts away from Will’s face, morphing into something softer and something a bit hesitant and shy. He pulls away, ever so slightly, and lies on his side, and Mike does the same, so the two of them are looking directly at one another now. The dim glow of the old lamp that’d made it with Mike all these years—somehow surviving the move from his childhood home to Hawkins Lab and making it through the literal apocalypse—shines down on them, illuminating Will’s face just enough for Mike to see him clearly.

Beautiful is the only word that comes to Mike’s mind.

“I never thought this would happen either,” Will whispers back. There’s a smile tugging at his lips, small and a bit shy, and he reaches forward, tucking some of Mike’s hair back behind his ears. “Part of me thinks I’m just… gonna wake up, and this is all going to have been a dream. Or worse. A trance.”

“Pretty sure it’s not a dream,” Mike says with a laugh, and just for good measure, he kisses Will again, relishing in the way Will’s face immediately brightens. “Or a trance. Unless we’re… both dreaming. Or stuck in a trance.”

“Stranger things have happened to us,” Will points out, just to be difficult.

Mike rolls his eyes, before pulling Will close to him and kissing him again, slower this time and with more intention. Will moves easily in his embrace, following where Mike leads the two of them until their bodies are flush against each other again, filling Mike with that familiar sense of warmth and giddiness. And because it’s Will and because he wants this as much as Mike does, and because they’re both the type of people to go all in—all or nothing—Will kisses him back without any hesitation, his tongue exploring Mike’s mouth like this is the first and last time they’ll ever get to do this and his hands carding through Mike’s hair to pull him close, close, close but not close enough.

“I love you,” Mike breathes. The words come naturally, and though they’ve gone unspoken all night, Mike knows they haven’t gone unsaid. Every single kiss and every single glance and every single touch shared between the two of them has been a whisper of those three words over and over and over again: I love you, I love you, I love you.

And there’s not a single doubt in Mike’s mind that he means it.

A smile forms on Will’s face as he leans away, resting his forehead against Mike’s own. He looks absolutely radiant like this, face illuminated by the soft glow of that old lamp, smile stretching from ear to ear, eyes sparkling with a warmth that screams back to Mike, I love you, I love you, I love you, with just as much enthusiasm and excitement that Mike feels in his own heart.

“I love you too,” Will whispers back, and he reaches forward, cupping Mike’s face gently. “I love you so much.”

Then, without another word, Will closes the space between the two of them once more.

Mike wakes the next morning to the sound of screaming.

The sound startles him right out of whatever dream he’d been having, and Mike flinches sharply, sitting up and looking around the room. His heart pounds inside his chest, and an unsettled, terrified feeling grows inside his stomach as everything inside him switches from a sleepy, even idyllic state to DANGER, DANGER, DANGER mode in a matter of seconds.

Save for the dim light of his desk lamp, the room is relatively dark, and there’s no one else in the room except for Mike and—

And Will.

There’s a terrified look on Will’s face, and much like Mike, he’s looking around the room, eyes darting back and forth nervously like he has no idea where he is or what’s real or whether or not they’re safe. He’s trembling too, hands clenched tightly around Mike’s old blanket, and he seems like he’s just another few moments away from a complete breakdown.

And instantly, Mike’s mind switches from the DANGER, DANGER, DANGER mode to his Will needs me mode.

“Hey,” Mike whispers, scooting close to Will and wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Will immediately flinches, startled by the touch, and Mike winces, running his hand up and down Will’s army gently. “Hey, it’s just me, Will. You’re okay. You’re okay. It was just a dream. Whatever you saw… it’s not real.”

That promise – it’s not a new one. After all, the last two-and-a-half years have been full of sleepless nights brought on by otherworldly nightmares. Nobody has been spared from them, but of everyone in the Party, Will has probably suffered the most, thanks to his deeper connection to One. These nightmares are nothing new, and yet, every single time Will suffers from one of them, it feels like a knife in Mike’s heart.

He can’t make the nightmares go away, but he can be there for Will. He can sit with Will until the darkness fades away, back into a vague memory, and he can hold Will and make promises that It’ll be okay; you’ll be okay; I’m not going anywhere; we’ll get through this. That’s really all Mike can do, and so God damn it, that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

Usually, it helps. It takes time, but usually, Will is receptive to the comfort, always leaning in close and allowing Mike to hold him until the terror subsides.

But for some reason, this time, Will isn’t so receptive.

It takes a moment, but out of nowhere, Will pushes Mike away, that terrified look still remaining on his face. He’s even paler than he was just a second ago, causing confusion to grow in Mike’s heart and mind. Before Mike can say anything though, Will whispers, “Mike… we have to go. Now.”

There’s an urgency in his voice unlike anything Mike has ever heard before, and that, coupled with the look of pure fear in Will’s eyes, is enough for Mike to understand exactly what’s going on, even before Will says anything about it. After all, there’s only one thing that would scare Will this much, and really, it’s just their shared, awful luck that this would happen today of all days.

They just got together—finally, after years and years of dancing around each other and hiding from themselves and one another and never fully knowing if their feelings would be reciprocated. They just crossed that line from just friends into something more, and now…

Now, the world is actually, quite literally about to end. Now, the two of them stand on the precipice of something that could change everything and could ultimately decide the fate of the rest of the world. Now, the past five years of having their lives uprooted by the Upside Down will come to an end, one way or another.

Mike swallows the lump in the back of his throat, and he turns, meeting Will’s eyes. “It’s him, isn’t it?” he asks quietly, though he already knows the answer.

A grim expression forms on Will’s face, and he takes another slow, shuddered breath, before nodding. “Yeah,” Will whispers back. “It’s him. One’s back, and we… we have to go. Now.”

The words before it’s too late hang on the end of Will’s sentence—unspoken, but not unsaid. He doesn’t have to say anything else or give any other details. Not yet at least. Those will come in time, as soon as they wake up the others and fill them in on what’s happening. But for right now, just between the two of them, all that Will has said is enough.

And Mike gets the awful feeling that… that one way or another, today is going to be the end.

“Okay,” Mike whispers. He takes a deep breath. In and out. In and out. In and out. Then, a bit more confident, “We’ll go wake the others up, and we’ll put an end to this. It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

Those words aren’t ones that he has any business promising, and both of them know it. Still, Will’s shoulders do relax just a little bit, and he scoots close to Mike once more, taking Mike’s hand in his own. “It’s going to be okay,” Will echoes faintly. “We’ll make it through this.”

There’s a slight tremble in his voice, like he doesn’t know if he believes those words, and truthfully, Mike doesn’t know if he does either. But he forces himself to smile anyways and leans forward, kissing Will’s forehead. “Whatever happens today,” Mike says, his voice quiet, “I want you to know I love you.”

For a moment, it’s quiet in the room—the only sound the faint inhale and exhale from Will and from Mike himself. Then, in a voice that’s impossibly soft but still full of so much certainty, Will replies, “I know… and I love you too. Always.”

He glances back up at Mike with a bittersweet look in his eyes. The words are true, and Mike has no doubt about that in his mind… But both of them know that the words are a bit of a goodbye too—the last chance they might get to say things like this to one another, in case today doesn’t go the way any of them plan for it to.

Best case scenario?

El manages to defeat One. None of their friends or family die. Hawkins and the rest of the world are saved. Somehow, some way, they figure out how to go back to being normal, stupid teenagers, and they put all of this behind them.

Worst case scenario?

Well… Mike doesn’t really want to think about that. Best not to deal in what ifs and best not to let himself become too terrified of the outcome. What matters most is right now and finding the others, so they can actually stand a fighting chance.

What comes later will come later.

“Always,” Mike echoes, just as soft as Will, and because he can—he can now—he leans forward and steals a quick kiss. “Come on. We should go wake the others.”

Downtown Hawkins is a complete wreck.

There’s no other way to describe it. This place has been a ghost town for over two years now, run down and battered and destroyed by the monsters that come up out of the rifts from the Upside Down. That’s no surprise at all, but what is a surprise is just how quickly a ghost town can become a battlefield.

There are monsters everywhere, and large, black vines sprout up from the middle of the town—what used to be the library but has been a massive gate leading to the Upside Down since March 1986. The monsters just keep on coming, hundreds of them crawling, flying, stumbling out of the gate with roars and snarls so loud it’s a miracle Mike’s eardrums don’t burst.

The Party—which now unfortunately includes more than just the close friends Mike’s known since his childhood—has been training for this the entire time. Over three years of preparation have led them to this moment, but even all that time spent training and learning how to fight and how not to immediately die in battle can only get them so far. There’s only a small handful of them, and there are hundreds of monsters.

If El can’t beat One, then there’s no way this doesn’t end with every single last one of them dead at the hands of some twisted, demo-creature.

Still, Mike keeps fighting, operating on nothing but pure adrenaline now. There’s definitely a nasty cut and a bump on his head from a tussle with some mutated demodog of sorts, but Mike barely pays any attention to that. All he can do is keep fighting, shooting down demo-creature after creature and praying to whatever fucking deity may or may not be listening that he doesn’t run out of bullets before this is all said and done.

He’s long since lost track of nearly all the other Party members. El’s off somewhere fighting One. Lucas and Dustin are nowhere to be found but hopefully still alive and hopefully with someone else in their little group. The only person Mike’s managed to keep an eye on this whole time has been Will—and only because he and Will refuse to leave one another’s side. They’ve spent the better part of this battle fighting back-to-back with one another, barrages of well-aimed bullets flying out from their rifles and into the bodies of the monsters threatening to rip them into shreds.

If this is how it ends, then all Mike knows is that he wants to be close to Will.

The battle feels like it goes on forever—or at least long enough that the adrenaline begins to wear off, and the rifle in Mike’s hands begins to feel too heavy, and his limbs start to feel like they’re made out of jello. The exhaustion settles in, but there’s no time for that. Not when monster after monster keeps coming through the massive gate by the old library. So, despite the fact that everything begins to become a blur around him and it feels a bit like Mike is swimming underwater, trying his damnedest just to stay afloat, Mike keeps going and going and going in this hazy state until—

Until a scream pulls him right out of the haze.

That scream is the gravity that takes Mike’s hand and pulls, pulls, pulls until Mike is crashing back down to earth in a crumpled heap. Suddenly, Mike feels more awake and more attuned to his surroundings and filled with a newfound strength that wasn’t there before.

It comes too little, too late though.

Because as Mike turns around, looking in the direction that the scream had just come from, he feels his heart drop all the way to the bottom of his stomach. Pure panic and terror settle into his heart and mind, replacing the exhaustion from before, and in an instant, it’s like everything within Mike has been reoriented, only able to focus on one thing.

On one person.

“Will!”

The scream tears itself from Mike’s throat, and before he can even process it, Mike is sprinting to where his boyfriend now lies on the ground, bright red blood pooling around him. The two of them must’ve gotten separated only moments ago, because Will’s a few feet away from him, and there’s a whimpering, half-dead demo-creature lying halfway between the two of them. The blood from the creature flows down the street, joining the pool of Will’s blood, and Mike fights the urge to gag as he throws himself down onto the pavement beside him.

The battle rages on all around the two of them, monstrous roars still echoing in the streets of their hometown—the horrific soundtrack to what is easily the worst moment of Mike’s life.

Because up close, it becomes even more clear just how bad Will’s injuries are. What’s left of his shirt is soaked in blood, and the tattered remains of the shirt barely cover the open wounds in Will’s chest and stomach. Every single breath he takes is labored and trembling, and already, his eyes have become glassy and distant.

He’s dying.

Will is dying, and if Mike doesn’t do anything about it, he’s going to lose him, he’s going to lose Will, oh God, he’s going to lose Will, oh God, oh God, oh God—

“M-Mike?”

It’s Will’s wheezy, strained voice that snaps Mike out of the panic, and Mike flinches sharply, looking down at his boyfriend. Will’s eyes flutter open and closed, open and closed, and he struggles to keep them open as he looks up at Mike. He’s even paler than he was just mere moments again.

He’s fading. Quickly. Faster than Mike can even keep up with, let alone do something about.

Will is dying.

And Mike is going to lose him.

“J-just hold on, Will,” Mike manages to say, except that it comes out as more of a hoarse croak. His own chest feels tight, like someone is squeezing all the air right out from his lungs, and Mike chokes back a sob, weakly reaching for Will and pulling him into his arms. “Just hold on, okay? Okay, just hold on; you’re going to be okay; just hold on—HELP! Someone please! HELP! HELP US!”

Somehow, there’s no one around. Nobody can hear the strangled, desperate screams that are coming out of Mike’s mouth; nobody is around to see him sobbing and hugging Will tighter, as if somehow holding on to him will keep him here and keep him alive. Not even the demo-creatures, who were just surrounding them and threatening their lives, are around.

It’s just Mike and Will here.

Nobody is coming to help them.

Will is dying.

And Mike is going to lose him.

“I’m sorry,” Mike gasps, looking back down at Will through the blurry tears in his eyes. “Will, I… I don’t think… I don’t know if—”

“Shh,” Will whispers, and he reaches up weakly, placing a trembling hand on Mike’s cheek. Somehow, he manages a smile, though his lips and teeth are stained red with blood. “Shh… Mike… ‘s okay… ‘s okay.”

Every single word out of his mouth sounds strained, as if it hurts to say anything, and Mike bites back a sob, holding Will closer. “It’s not okay,” he whispers back, shaking his head. “I – I don’t… I don’t want to lose you, Will. You can’t go; please, you can’t—”

Again, Will offers him a smile, and he runs his thumb carefully, gently across Mike’s cheek. “You… you’ll be okay,” he murmurs and takes another quiet, labored breath. Then: “I… I’m glad you’re… here with me.”

The words feel like a knife in Mike’s already wounded heart, twisting deeper and deeper and delivering the final blow. That familiar feeling of desperation crawls back up to the surface as Mike tries to think of something—anything—he can do to save Will. There has to be something that can be done, some way to save Will, some solution that will keep them from the ending they’re quickly approaching.

But without anyone nearby, there’s nothing that can be done. There’s no solution, no way to save Will at this point, nothing that Mike can do.

Nothing except for sit here and stay with Will until the very end.

So, that’s exactly what Mike does.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Mike promises softly, and he tilts his head, pressing a kiss against Will’s palm. The tears won’t stop now; they just keep coming and coming, dripping down Mike’s cheeks and onto the bloody ground. “I’ll stay here with you, Will… until… until…”

His voice trails off, dissolving into another sob, but Will gets exactly what Mike is trying to say. He always does, and though he looks exhausted and barely able to hold on any longer, Will smiles up at Mike and takes his other hand, interlacing their fingers.

Time, the strange thing that it is, seems to slow down around them. It’s as if Mike is having an out-of-body experience, watching all this happen in slow motion around them—a mere observer to the worst moment of his life and the end of Will’s.

“I love you,” Will murmurs, breathless and barely audible now.

“I love you too,” Mike whispers back, and he squeezes Will’s hand tightly, afraid to let go. The world shrinks and shrinks and shrinks until it’s just the two of them, frozen in this slow motion reality, and he watches as Will’s eyes flutter open and closed, open and closed, open… and closed.

He doesn’t open his eyes again.

And Mike’s world comes crashing down.

All at once, it’s as if the dam has burst, and another desperate, broken sob rips itself from Mike’s throat: “Will!”

Whatever sense of peace or at least acceptance that he might have found lulled into during Will’s last moments has all but disappeared now—replaced by a gut-wrenching, all-consuming, grief that washes over him like a flood. The rest of the world still feels far away, as if nothing else in the world matters but Will, Will, Will.

Will is gone.

He’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone, he’s lying here and is dead in Mike’s arms, he isn’t breathing anymore, and his blood is all over the ground and all over Mike, and he’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone—

“I’m sorry,” Mike whispers brokenly, and he holds onto Will’s lifeless body, rocking back and forth in some desperate attempt to wake him up or to do something, anything, to fix this. “P-please come back, Will; please, please, please don’t go, please come back, don’t leave me, please don’t go, please, Will, please come back, please, Will—”

Time passes in its ever strange, inconsistent movement. It’s hard something that Mike can’t keep track of—not when his focus is solely on Will.

But then, out of nowhere, something pulls Mike’s focus away from Will.

The air grows colder around the two of them; a pervasive, terrifying feeling of evil and darkness settles over downtown Hawkins. It’s familiar but jarring all at once, and Mike can’t help but shudder, holding Will’s body closer to his own. Slowly but surely, reality begins to settle back in, trickling in little by little through the cracks of Mike’s broken heart and mind.

The world around him is eerily quiet and terrifyingly still. Unlike the battlefield from before, downtown Hawkins has once again been reduced to nothing but a near silent ghost town. Gone are the vicious snarls and growls of monsters. Gone is the sound of bullets ricocheting through the air. Gone are the screams and furious cries of his friends and family.

In place of all of that is the simple sound of footsteps approaching him.

The footsteps are quickly approaching. Each step taken is one made with intention, and the movement brings that pervasive feeling of darkness closer and closer to Mike until the air around him feels near suffocating. All the while, Mike’s heart pounds in a nervous thumpthumpthump as the realization settles back in.

The battle is over.

There is no one left—no one but Mike.

All of his family, his friends, Will… they’re all gone.

And One has done it. He’s finally succeeded.

This is it.

This is the end.

As the footsteps approach, Mike takes a deep breath, and he leans down, pressing one last kiss to Will’s forehead. If this is it, if this is the end, if somehow Mike is the last person left of the Party, then he won’t go down without a fight. It doesn’t matter how futile it is. Mike has to at least try.

So, he gathers up all the courage left inside of him, and Mike lifts his head, daring to look One in the eye.

Icy blue eyes meet Mike’s own for the first time as something akin to a smile forms on One’s face. He looks pleased—amused even—and stops, just a few feet away from Mike and Will. “Michael Wheeler,” One says, voice low and gravelly, “we meet at last.”

Mike swallows the lump in his throat, doing the best to ignore the way his stomach is twisted into knots. It feels impossible—that he would be the last person standing here after all this fighting and bloodshed. Mike’s never been much of a hero, and God knows that he barely stands a fighting chance against One.

Still, his friends died trying to fight One and the monsters of the Upside Down. Will died trying to fight One and the monsters of the Upside Down. And if Mike is going to die too, then… so be it.

“Rot in hell,” Mike spits, his own voice full of venom. His rifle’s long since gone, tossed aside somewhere in the desperation to save Will, so all he’s got left to fight with now are his words. Those will just have to do.

One just chuckles and takes another step towards Mike, gesturing to the ruins of downtown Hawkins. “Look around you, Michael,” he says coldly, and against his own better judgment, Mike does so, his breath hitching as he takes in the carnage from the battle. “Do you see what I have done? Do you see what I am capable of? Do you see how futile fighting back is?”

Suddenly, it feels as though some invisible force is wrapped around Mike, and it pulls him all the way to his feet with a terrified yelp. The force squeezes him so tightly Mike feels like he can barely breathe, and it brings him forward until Mike finds himself barely inches away from One.

Another twisted smile forms on One’s face. He reaches forward, running his large, clawed hand down Mike’s cheek, and whispers, “You’re going to send a message for me, Michael Wheeler.”

Barely a moment after the words have left his mouth, the visions begin.

The visions are familiar—some moments that Mike has lived through and seen with his own two eyes and others that he’s only heard about from his friends and family. They flash across his eyes at dizzying, overwhelming speeds, one right after another after another.

At first, the visions are moments from today. Glimpses of the battle they all have just fought and lost, the screams of his friends and family, the snarls and growls of hundreds of demo-creatures coming out from the gates. But then, the visions work their way backwards, moving through moments in time from patrols over these past two years, Upside Down storms that began to cover Hawkins, and sporadic monster attacks that they almost didn’t survive.

The day at the meadow flashes through Mike’s line of sight too, before it quickly melts away into memories not belonging to himself. A jarring CRACK resonates through his mind as he watches Max’s bones snap and sees the gates ripping across all of Hawkins during that spring. Then, even before that, he sees Eddie’s death, sees his friends fighting for their lives against demobats and against vines, sees El and Max struggling against One’s power over them.

Suddenly, it’s the summer before, with the Mind Flayer and the Flayed and Billy. Starcourt Mall, going up in flames as the Mind Flayer’s fleshy form towered over and chased all of them. Black tendrils tracing up and down Billy’s face as an otherworldly horror controlled his actions. Will’s haunted whisper that the Mind Flayer was back, that this wasn’t over, that they still hadn’t escaped this.

Then, it’s the fall before that. The tunnels and the massive gate to the Upside Down. The night at the lab, with demodogs tearing through flesh and bone and with people screaming and crying for help. The Mind Flayer’s shadowy form, descending on Will, choking him, filling him up, and taking over his mind and body.

Finally, the visions end with that very first fall. The demogorgon, feasting on Brenner’s men at Hawkins Middle School. Hopper and Joyce finding Will in Upside Down. Will hiding and running for his life in the Upside Down, all alone with no one to help him. Barb screaming for help as the demogorgon rips her to shreds, and then—

Will.

Riding his bike through Hawkins, that very first night when this all began.

“Tell Will,” One’s voice whispers into the silence of Will’s bike ride through Hawkins, “that I am coming. The end is near, Michael. And there is nothing any of you can do to stop what I have been planning all along.”

One last vision flickers across Mike’s line of sight.

A memory that he still remembers, clear as day.

“It was a seven,” Will’s twelve year-old self says to Mike’s own younger self.

“Huh?”

“The roll,” Will explains. “It was a seven. The demogorgon – it got me. Well, see you tomorrow!”

And just like that, Will’s younger self rides away, leaving Mike’s younger self standing just outside his garage.

Mike watches as the garage light flickers above his younger self.

Then, in the next instant, he finds himself falling into the darkness.

The darkness seems to last for an eternity.

There’s an inky black void surrounding him as Mike falls, and he can’t help but scream, reaching out for something, anything to pull himself back up. But there’s absolutely nothing there to hold onto, so Mike just continues to fall and fall and fall, further and further into the darkness.

Then, suddenly, the darkness dissipates. The fog clears just a little bit, enough for Mike to hear someone call out his name: “MIKE!”

Will?

“MIKE!” the person—that’s Will, it has to be Will—calls again, more desperate this time, and Mike reaches back up, trying to grasp onto anything that will pull him out of the darkness. The way out seems just a little bit closer now, getting easier to reach out to as Will calls his name again, “MIKE! MIKE! MI—”

And with a gasp, Mike opens his eyes.

Light floods his line of sight, replacing the never-ending darkness at an overwhelmingly fast pace. Mike’s mind feels like it’s racing at a million miles an hour, and his heart is pounding inside his chest, so hard that it almost hurts to breathe. All the while, the room spins around and around and around and around and—

Suddenly, Mike’s knees buckle, nearly sending him crashing to the ground. Fortunately, someone—Will—is there to catch him, and though the two of them both stumble, Will manages to break his fall. “Mike?” he asks, voice full of concern. “Mike, hey, are you okay?”

There are tears in Will’s eyes, and his face looks blotchy, like he’s been crying. Still, even with the worry written all over his expression, there’s relief there too, and Mike takes a shuddered breath, choosing to focus on Will.

Will’s here. Will’s here, and he – he’s alive. He’s alive. Mike didn’t lose him. He’s not dead. Will isn’t dead.

Which means…

That entire battle must have been a vision from One. An opportunity for One to pass along a message that he’d been waiting to send. And… a warning for what’s still to come.

“Shit,” Mike whispers. “Shit. Will, we have to – he… One… I—”

“Hey, just take a deep breath,” Will says worriedly, and he hesitates, before reaching for Mike’s hand. “Just breathe, okay? Mike, you – you were in that trance for a while. We couldn’t snap you out of it, and I… I thought I was going to lose you.”

Will’s voice breaks on those last few words, breaking Mike’s heart with it. “I’m still here,” Mike reassures, reaching up and cupping Will’s cheek as gently as he can. “I’m still here, Will.”

A bright rosy blush spreads across Will’s face as his eyes widen and glance at Mike’s hand. “I know you are,” he replies quietly, “but I… I still could’ve lost you. I – I mean… we all could have.”

The memories of seeing Will’s mangled body on the ground, surrounded by a pool of blood, come back to the forefront of Mike’s mind, and he can’t help but shudder. Without giving it another thought, he wraps his arms around Will, hugging him as tight as he possibly can.

Mike… he still has no idea how much of the past two days have actually been part of his vision from One versus how much was real. There’s no doubt in his mind that the battle itself and his encounter with One were all a result of being held in a trance, but as for… as for everything that came before that—confessing his love for Will and learning about Will’s feelings in return—Mike isn’t honestly sure.

There’s a part of him that thinks… maybe that stuff was just too good to be true. Maybe Mike did make that all up in his mind, or maybe it was just a trick from One, designed to taunt him before delivering the final blow. Maybe what happened with Will the night before that battle was nothing more than just a dream.

Mike swallows the lump in his throat, and he tries not to think about that as Will hugs him tighter and buries his head in Mike’s shoulder. “I’m still here,” Mike repeats, softer now than before. “We’re both still here… We’re not going to lose each other, Will.”

“The end is near, Michael,” One’s voice echoes through his mind—the cruel threat solidified in his mind now as a promise. This isn’t over. What Mike saw in his vision… it may very well come to pass.

And just like Will once said to him, One isn’t going to stop until he takes everything and everyone.

“And there is nothing any of you can do to stop what I have been planning all along,” One had told him, as the visions of Will leaving Mike’s house on that fateful night had played out for him like a twisted home video.

More importantly, One isn’t going to stop until takes Will.

Mike can’t let that happen. He can’t lose Will.

Will takes a shaky breath of his own, and he pulls away, just enough for the two of them to look at each other, and offers Mike a tiny smile. “We won’t,” he agrees softly. He hesitates, then carefully lifts his hand, resting it against Mike’s cheek. “Are you… are you okay?”

Will’s hand is warm against Mike’s face, and his touch feels like electricity. There’s something so genuine and so tender about the way that he’s looking at Mike and the way he gently runs his thumb across Mike’s cheek, over and over again. He’s here—warm and firm and solid, close enough that Mike is able to take his hand and hold on and never let go.

Will’s here. He’s okay. He’s safe.

And for now, that’s all that matters.

So, even in spite of One’s haunting message and the visions from their past and the warnings of the future, Mike finds the ability to smile. He reaches up, putting his hand over Will’s, and he nods. “I’m okay. You’re here, so… I’m okay.”

Those words cause Will’s face to turn an even brighter shade of red, but he smiles regardless, leaning forward and pressing his forehead against Mike’s own. He takes Mike’s other free hand in his own and doesn’t say anything else—not that Mike needs him to. They’ve always been able to communicate without words, and this time is no different.

Sure, the future might be bleak, and there’s no telling whether One’s visions will come to pass, even in spite of their best efforts to fight back. But right here, right now, he and Will are together. They’re both safe, and they’re both here.

All they can do is take this moment for what it's worth and hold onto each other while they still can.

And for now, it ends in very much the same way that Mike thinks it began.

The steady yet nervous thump, thump, thump of a heartbeat that Mike can hear as loud as his own. A body nestled close beside him; an artist’s hands, smooth and soft and ever gentle, intertwined with Mike’s; a boy he has known for nearly his entire life and loved in some way for just as long who is here, here, here right in front—all Mike’s for the taking, just like Mike is all his.

#byler #byler fanfic #andi writes not dies #byler ficlet

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five-and-dimes · 1 year

Text

Now I Lay Me

Turned my 728 word Sleeping Beauty-esque post into a 10,324 word fic. On AO3 HERE

Italics are flashbacks

TW: Suicide attempt (in a magical fantasy way, but the intent is there)

~~~

It’s getting late.

While Hob’s appointments with Dream have become far more frequent than once a century, he still finds himself stretching each meeting as long as he can, reluctant to let his friend leave.

They have been talking for hours now, mostly mundane happenings in Hob’s week, and Hob has caught Dream staring a few times now, something soft and peaceful in his gaze. It makes something flutter in his chest, and finally he bursts out questioningly, “What? Do I have something on my face?”

Dream laughs softly, little more than a smiling breath, and shakes his head. “No, nothing like that. I simply…”

Tilting his head, it looks as if Dream is committing the moment to memory.

“I am glad for your friendship.”

Hob doesn’t think he will ever tire of hearing Dream acknowledge their friendship. It makes him feel a little less like a fool for wanting more.

Grinning, he raises his glass in cheers, “I am glad for yours as well.”

Dream doesn’t have a drink to raise, but he smiles.

When he leaves half an hour later, Dream bows his head and says “Goodbye, Hob Gadling,” with that same soft smile. Hob thinks it’s strangely formal.

But he doesn’t dwell on it.

~~~

The weather in the Dreaming has been fluctuating all day.

All week really, if Lucienne is honest. She frowns as she gazes out of the library windows, watching large, fluffy snowflakes drift across the gardens. Normally, when the King of Dreams was in a particularly emotional mood, there would be storms; raging winds and floods that tore apart the landscape the way he tore apart himself. But, for all the strange weather, none of it could be categorized as a storm.

Misting rains and far-away rolls of thunder, springtime warmth, thick, swirling fog, and now this gentle snow.

It doesn’t take her long to find Morpheus. He is sitting just outside on the palace steps, eyes closed and face tilted towards the sky. Snowflakes land on his hair and skin, and he is cold enough that they do not melt against him. He looks so peaceful, Lucienne hates to disturb him. But she cannot help but question.

“Sir?”

When he opens his eyes, the light in them is brighter than Lucienne has seen in quite some time. She had forgotten that stars are also suns.

“Yes, Lucienne?”

“...Is everything alright?” She asks hesitantly. Dream seems… content. It feels silly to worry so when he seems to actually be in a fairly good mood. The feeling only increases when he smiles slowly, still looking up at the sky, hands folded elegantly in his lap.

“Yes,” Dream sighs. Above them, the snow ceases as the clouds part slowly. Sunbeams shimmer unnaturally, as though they are filtering through planes of glass somewhere above the clouds.

“I am The Dreaming. And The Dreaming is me.” His voice is soft. Gentle, almost. And when he turns, there is a smile on his face, small and delicate and sincere. “Isn’t that lovely?”

She can’t explain it, but this interaction leaves Lucienne off-kilter. But if her king is happy, who is she to question it? Still, it is all she can do to smile and say, “It is, my lord,” before returning to the safety of the library where things make sense.

~~~

Desire can feel the moment someone takes their sigil in their hands.

It’s a little tingle on the back of their neck, like the feeling of knowing someone is watching you even if you can’t see them. Sighing, they rolled over and stretched languidly on their couch, waiting for a call from one of their siblings.

But no call comes.

Frowning, Desire sits up, tilting their head curiously. They can still feel it, someone is definitely holding Desire’s sigil, have been for a few minutes now, and yet have not spoken. No request to enter their realm, or a summoning to another’s. Just a heart held in their hands silently.

Finally, after far too long, Desire feels their sigil released. They huffed at the strange annoyance, curious as to which of their siblings was messing around in their gallery. For a brief moment, they considered harassing each sibling in turn, pester and prod to sate their curiosity. But ultimately, they shrugged it off.

Whatever. If someone wanted to speak with Desire, they knew where to find them.

~~~

It is a soft day in the Dreaming when Dream steps outside. Clear skies, the sun shining bright but not harsh, a gentle breeze keeping the realm from being either too hot or too cold. It is a gentle day. Peaceful.

Dream’s steps are slow and sure as he walks through the gardens. He passes through Fiddler’s Green, running his fingers through low hanging leaves in a tender caress. The grass is soft beneath his bare feet, and the wind skims against his arms soothingly, skin exposed by a simple t-shirt.

Eventually, he comes to a spot he finds suitable. The ground is soft and giving, close enough to a grove of trees to allow a comforting shade to cover him. He lays down, curling loosely on his side, the trees to his back and the view of the gardens in front of him. He can see the walls of the palace looming in the distance, majestic stone spires and arches towering above the green of the landscape.

With reverence, he runs his fingers through the grass, petting it like the softest fur. There is no glass here. No iron.

He is the Dreaming and the Dreaming is him.

Dream closes his eyes.

~~~

Listen. Matthew hasn’t been Dream’s raven for very long, but he’s good at it. He is a damn good raven, probably a better raven than a person (sometimes he wonders if being a bad person is what makes him a good raven).

So it is immensely frustrating when his newfound dream-powers just stop working out of the blue.

He can feel his feathers puffing up in agitation. Being able to find Dream of the Endless is Raven 101 as far as he is concerned. Dream is like gravity in the Dreaming; a force that is always pulling you towards him. Normally, Matthew can just spread his wings and follow the pull, the landscape warping and folding to get him to Dream’s side in no time flat. But today, it feels like the gravity is fucking broken. His internal compass is spinning wildly.

Landing on one of the pillars of the bridge outside the palace, Matthew huffs angrily. His instincts are telling him that Dream is here. Like, right here. And also over there. And also everywhere else.

What the fuck.

Matthew is determined not to call on Lucienne for help until absolutely necessary. He’s not a newbie anymore, he can totally figure this out. The Dreaming is a weird place, and Dream is a weird person, so for all he knows this is a totally normal happenstance.

Closing his eyes, he focuses on the pull he’s become so used to. If he really, really, focuses, he thinks there might be a direction, where Dream is… more. It’s still disorienting, because when he opens his eyes Matthew half expects his boss to be sitting next to him, but at least he has a direction now.

Taking off again, he drifts through air that feels strangely heavier than usual. Following his Dream-sense, it feels a little like swimming upstream, fighting the current to get to the source. Eventually, he finds himself landing in one of the gardens outside of the palace, and he grumbles in frustration that Dream was apparently so close.

It is quiet in the garden, just a soft rustling of wind through the leaves to break up the silence. Twisting his head side to side, the space looks empty to Matthew. He hops a few times across the grass.

“Uh, boss? Olly olly oxen free?” Would Dream even understand that phrase? Oh well, maybe he’ll reveal himself just to ask Matthew about its meaning.

But there is no response.

For a moment, Matthew is actually, truly worried. But after a few minutes of fluttering across the garden, he lets out a deep sigh of relief when he notices the dark figure laying at the edge of the garden, where the grass transitions into a grove of trees and flowering bushes.

“There you are! Jeez, way to give a man a heart attack.”

Flying over to him, he is surprised to finds Dream fast asleep. He is laying on his side on the ground, his hands curled loosely by his face. It feels less refined than he thought Dream was capable off, but privately he thinks it’s kind of cute how peaceful he looks. Matthew has always felt that Dream looks his age- the weight on his shoulders and the tension in his face making him look as ancient as he is. But now, his face lax in sleep and his body curled comfortably in the grass, Matthew thinks he looks young.

He regrets having to wake him, but if Matthew was this worried, he can only imagine how much Lucienne must be internally freaking out. It had been almost a full day since either of them had seen the Dream Lord, which understandably put some folks on edge. So, dutiful raven that he is, Matthew hops over to lightly peck at his shoulder.

“Boss? Up and attem’! Lucienne would be tearing her hair out if she had any.”

Standing in front of him, Matthew waits for Dream to sigh heavily and stand, to brush off their concern but still return to the palace to relieve his librarian’s worries.

But Dream doesn’t wake.

Hesitantly, Matthew moves to peck at the bare skin of Dream’s hands, raising his voice, “Boss! Time to wake up now! You’ve got a whole castle full of soft things, why are you even sleeping on the ground?” From what he’s heard, Dream resting at all is a pretty rare occurrence, so maybe he just doesn’t have the instincts to lay down somewhere more comfortable. Matthew wouldn’t find that surprising.

What he does find surprising is the fact that Dream still hasn’t responded, even when Matthew pecks his hand hard enough that a human would probably bleed. Almost without thinking, he glances at Dream’s chest, relieved to find it rising and falling gently. He’s aware that Dream doesn’t need to breathe, but it’s reassuring nonetheless.

Or at least, it’s reassuring until his eye catches movement around Dream’s limbs.

Leaning in to get a closer look, Matthew finds blades of grass growing from beneath Dream’s body, expanding and curling to slowly wrap around wrists and ankles. More are starting to inch up his chest.

“Hey, hey, HEY!” Matthew caws frantically, flapping his wings and hovering to tear at the grass with his talons, “Back off, grass! This is the King of Dreams you’re messing with!” He’s probably going to get in trouble for this, but it has been a weird day and he’s feeling more than a little anxious about the situation, so Matthew lands on Dream’s shoulder and grabs a beakful of hair and starts tugging.

“Boss! Seriously, I’d appreciate it if you could wake up and start yelling at me right about now! I have had a very long day and I- ACK!”

Flying back, he stumbles a few steps, hopping on one foot as the other bleeds slightly. In front of him, he sees that the grass creeping around Dream’s body has changed into barbed briars, thick vines and sharp thorns, reaching around Dream’s body and digging into his clothes the way they had Matthew's foot.

Mathew, appropriately, freaks the fuck out.

“Stop! Stop it!” He yells at the plants, flying forward and trying again to tear them away. When that doesn’t work, he wraps his talons around one of Dream’s skinny wrists and begins flapping his wings desperately, trying to pull him away from the overgrowth. Dream isn’t a heavy guy, but Matthew is a bird, and he’s pretty sure the vines are actively trying to pull Dream away from him. He feels another sharp pain in his foot, and yelps as his grip is released, sending him tumbling across the garden.

Straightening up, Matthew is officially panicking. He doesn’t want to leave Dream here, but he also doesn’t know what to do.

“Don’t worry, boss! I’ll get help!” As he flies away, he calls out behind him, “Everything is gonna be just fine!”

Dream slumbers on. But Matthew was mostly saying it for himself anyways.

~~~

It takes a few tries for Lucienne to understand what Matthew is trying to say to her. He had burst into the library already shouting frantically, and even after landing his wings flapped in panic. Even once she manages to make out the words, Lucienne still doesn’t understand, but she can feel in her bones that it’s bad and so she drops the book in her hands and sprints. Matthew guides her, still rambling anxiously, but Lucienne can’t blame him, especially after she lays eyes on her king.

For a long moment she is frozen, standing a few feet away from where Dream is laying in the grass, a look of peaceful slumber on his face as moss and other plant life creeps along his limbs. She takes a few hesitant steps, looking over his body, looking for a wound, something she can bandage, something she can fix.

Half an hour later, screaming and shaking her king’s shoulders, she does not think this is something she can fix.

Not alone.

~~~

Lucienne and Matthew have barely cobbled together an explanation when Death is running past them. She will apologize later for the way she shoves past the librarian, but right now it feels like tunnel vision the way she needs to see her brother right now.

She finds him exactly where Matthew had described, laying on his side with greenery growing over him like a blanket. Death doesn’t need to breathe, but right now she can’t, falling to her knees in front of the motionless body in the depths of the garden.

“Hey little brother,” she forces her voice steady. Dream has always been dramatic, this is just… a fit. Soon she’ll have him awake and grumbling at her, and she’ll smack him for making her worry, and then make him drink something warm while she strokes his hair and bullies him into telling her what’s wrong.

She tries not to think about how she’s never seen him this peaceful before.

“Come on now, you’re the King of Dreams, we both know you don’t sleep,” she teases.

Reaching out, she gently pushes back the vines draped over his chest, frowning when they slowly return to their original position, a little tighter this time.

“Hey, come on now,” she brushes his hair away from his face, ignores the slight tremble in her fingers, “You’re worrying your staff. You gotta… you gotta wake up now, okay? I’m all for you getting some rest, but…”

Still nothing.

Swallowing thickly, she leans forward, one hand on Dream’s arm, and reaches out with her senses, trying to feel where Dream is.

“Lady Death?”

Lucienne’s voice is soft and hesitant, and when Death turns to look, her hands are curled into shaking fists. “Is he…?”

Death can’t help the wet laugh that escapes her.

“He is not with me,” she answers.

She wishes that was good news.

Looking back down, Death notices that the ground beneath Dream seems just slightly sunken, like a mattress indented from the weight of his body. A bed of earth cradling a fragile body.

“He’s here.”

~~~

Dream has told Hob about Matthew before, but that doesn’t make it any less jarring to have a raven peck at his window and yell at him at six in the evening.

It’s more jarring to have his first meeting with the raven be to receive truly disturbing news.

“What do you mean he won’t wake up??”

“I mean exactly what I fucking said! He wont wake up!” Matthew is pacing back and forth in Hob’s living room, something that Hob distantly recognizes as comical but is outweighed by the sheer panic radiating off of both of them, “And all these stupid plants keep growing over him, even when we try to pull them up!”

“Okay but- but what does that mean?” Hob repeated, “Like, was he cursed or something?”

Matthew suddenly freezes, shifting uncomfortably and refusing to even glance in Hob’s direction.

It’s a bad sign if Hob’s ever seen one.

“Matthew.”

“Well,” he starts, sounding nervous and sad, “Lady Death said-”

“I’m sorry, Death?” Hob screeches in a panic.

“He’s not dead!” Matthew interrupts immediately, already knowing Hob’s fear, “Death is the boss’ sister. She came to help us figure out what was going on.”

And. Well. That’s some information that hasn’t come up in their conversations the past few months. Dream had mentioned that he had siblings, which was shocking in itself, but he had never mentioned names.

He shakes his head, trying to focus on one thing at a time, “Okay… okay and what did she say?”

Matthew sighed, “She said he’s, like, merging with the Dreaming.”

Hob opens his mouth and Matthew snaps, “And if you ask me what that means, I will peck your eyes out! I don’t know! I don’t know either!”

The apartment is tense for a long moment. Matthew feels a little bad for his outburst, but then Hob kneels in front of him.

“I’m sorry, I know you’re freaking out as much as I am. Probably more.”

Sighing, Matthew shakes his head to clear his thoughts, “Look, just… Lucienne told me to come get you. She’s calling all the Endless to see if they can help, but honestly he’s been hanging out with you more than any of them, so she thought maybe you could help somehow.”

Hob has no idea how on earth he could possibly help in this situation. But that won’t stop him from trying. “Okay,” he nods, “What do I do?”

~~~

Lucienne is able to explain the situation a little more articulately than Matthew had, but it didn’t make it any better.

“This is Dream’s doing,” she had explained wearily, “as such there is nothing we can do to reverse the process. Our best bet is, for lack of a better phrase… to try to talk him out of it.”

Hob had hesitated by the palace doors, “He’ll be able to hear me?”

“Most likely he can hear you now.”

Cool, Hob thought, so Dream probably saw Hob absolutely losing his shit while Lucienne calmly explained the logistics of what the King of Dreams was doing to himself.

Taking a deep breath, he makes his way outside, following the directions given to him by Matthew. Internally, he tries to view the situation more rationally. He thinks of 1889, of Dream storming off into the rain because Hob had the audacity to call him lonely. Dream is an unfathomably ancient being who holds humanity’s collective unconscious within himself. He’s also overly dramatic and petty. For all Hob knows, this is the eldritch being version of collapsing into a fainting couch.

(He pushes away the image of Lucienne wringing her hands, of Matthew silent and solemn on her shoulder. They’re probably overreacting.)

When he sees Dream, the first thing he thinks is that he’s never seen him so… casual. Curled in peaceful sleep, bare arms and feet, face relaxed. There is none of the rigid tension he’s come to associate with Dream.

It’s uncomfortable.

“You’ve got everyone in a right tizzy, my friend,” he says without preamble. “This seems pretty in character to me though. I mean, you stormed off and ghosted me for 133 years just for saying you needed a friend. What happened this time? Someone tell you to take a break so you decided to make them regret it?”

He keeps his voice light, and deep down he expects Dream to huff, to crack an eye open and glare at him, tell him not to speak on matters he knows nothing of or something equally pretentious.

But none of that happens.

Sitting in front of him, he swallows thickly, “I will say, this is a good look on you. First time I’ve seen you that you don’t look like you’ve bitten into a lemon like an apple.”

At this point he’d be thankful if Dream stood up just to storm off. Hob would give anything for him to yell at him.

He starts pulling at the grass wrapping around parts of Dream’s body, “You know, obviously vampire or devil were my first theories for what you are, but faerie prince was up there too. All covered in plants like this you certainly look the part.”

Hob stays for hours, rambling the most outlandish, borderline insulting things he can think of about the King of Dreams. He calls him pretty boy, calls him a Hot Topic manager, calls him a goth twink, a basic bitch, a Karen, an HR nightmare. Calls him lonely again, just for good measure.

Dream slumbers on.

Hob wakes up with tears in his eyes.

~~~

Desire strutted through the palace of the Dreaming, taking their time to make their way into the gardens. When they finally made their way to where their older brother lay sleeping, they smirked, placing their hands on their hips.

“Well, looks like I won,” they grinned coldly, looking down their nose at the motionless body, “Can’t say I’m surprised, Sweet Dream. While your efforts have been truly entertaining, we both knew you didn’t stand a chance. What fun we had! Not as fun as victory of course. Enjoy your nap, big brother.”

Turning on a heel, Desire giggled and began to walk away. Head held high with proud, confident steps towards the castle to return to their own realm.

And then they falter.

For a long moment, they stand there, facing away from the garden, holding their breath as they wait.

All at once, Desire’s face twists in frustration, spinning around in a fury, “Did you hear me? I said I won! I won!” They shouted it to the sky, let the words echo through the clearing, chest heaving and fists clenched.

There is no response.

“So that’s it then? All you’re doing is proving me right!”

The silence stretched, and Desire clenched their jaw, “Fine. I win then. You can do whatever you want, see if I care.”

Turning again, they stomped away in a huff. They weren’t worried. Dream would mull over their words and his pride would outweigh whatever nonsense this was.

They were sure of it.

~~~

“This is rude, you know that?”

Matthew huffs, hopping in agitation in front of where Dream sleeps. He’s given up trying to peck at the briars, so now he simply vents his frustration to the still figure.

“I know I haven’t been here that long, but you- you have to let me do my job! I was so ready, y’know?” Honestly, it’s probably a little weird how immediately he took to his role as Dream’s raven. But then, he supposed that’s why he was chosen.

“I would fight anything for you. I would have pecked out Lucifer’s eyes! Or, tried to, at least.” He doesn’t know if he could win a fight against the devil, but dammit he would try.

“...But I can’t fight this,” and dammit, he had tried. “So… what am I supposed to do?”

On paper, he feels like he shouldn’t like Dream as much as he does. (Shouldn’t love him, shouldn’t feel such a strong sense of protective and protected in equal measure, he calls him boss but that’s just because he has no idea how to describe what he feels about his relationship with the Endless being.)

“What would Jessamy do…”

He wishes he could have met the raven before him, wishes he could ask her for advice. He wants to ask if she loved Dream as quickly as Matthew has. And if Dream loved her as quickly as Dream loved him. (Dream’s love is quiet, and hidden, but oh so obvious if you know how to look.)

The answer doesn’t come to him, so Matthew can’t help but caw in frustration, flapping his wings in a way reminiscent of throwing his hands in the air back when he had them.

“I can’t be your messenger if you don’t talk to me!” He exclaims, “That’s, like, part of the definition! What am I supposed to do now? Just fly around aimlessly? I’m not spending eternity as a raven with no purpose!”

He knows the yelling isn’t helping, but it makes him feel better. A little.

Looking down at the King of Dreams, he wonders what he could have done to make him feel better. Because that was the problem, wasn’t it. Dream felt so bad he’d rather sink into the earth than keep feeling it.

Or… maybe not bad.

Maybe he just felt so much.

Matthew thinks of Dream’s love, of the fear he carried at the thought of another raven being harmed under his care, of the pain and anger and hope and sorrow and pride and every feeling humanity has ever felt carried in his chest and locked behind a stoic facade.

How exhausting, Matthew thinks.

Instincts are important as a Raven of the Dreaming, and so Matthew gives in to the urge to hop forward, wedging himself under Dream’s arm until he can nestle in the grass by his chest, pressing his head against the underside of Dream’s chin.

“I guess I understand how you would want to rest for a bit,” he mumbles, “as long as you come back. But meanwhile, you have to let us protect you. You have to let us take care of you.”

He settles more comfortably against the sleeping king, “We want to.”

~~~

Destiny sat on an intricate stone bench, a few feet from the seemingly slumbering figure at the edge of the garden. He knew his siblings had taken to (or in some cases would take to) placing themselves directly next to Dream- to Dream’s body- but Destiny knew that his brother could hear him, no matter where he sat in the Dreaming.

A quiet voice wonders if Destiny wants to be heard at all.

“I did not see this,” his confession is a whisper, “it was not written this way.”

It is rare for Destiny to step into the Dreaming. It often feels to him as jarring as Delirium’s realm, the unpredictable nature of it secretly frustrating to him. It was, perhaps unsurprisingly, Delirium who came the closest to explaining it to him.

‘It’s a choose-your-own-adventure realm. You’ll always know exactly what will happen as long as you know exactly where you’re going.’

For the first time, he finds that thought comforting.

“Should I be grateful?” he questions, turning his face to frown at his sleeping brother, “That you have found a way to leave us without dying? That you managed to change your fate? Should I tell the others how much worse it was supposed to be?”

Destiny doubts that information would be any comfort to his siblings. Mostly because he doubts it’s honesty. He thinks this might be the worse outcome.

His closed book sits heavy in his lap, a comfortable and familiar weight. He keeps a thumb wedged between the pages, marking the place he last left off.

“Not looking at the next page does not change what it says. And yet… I find myself…”

The book stays closed. The last chapter unread.

Rising slowly, he finally makes his way over to the body, gliding across the garden silently. For a long, long moment all he can do is stand over him, a looming Destiny watching over a Dream. He remembers losing Despair, remembers when Destruction left them, and he feels the same now as he did then. The sharp, painful reminder that he was not simply the personification of destiny.

He is an elder brother. The eldest, the one to whom the others are supposed to look up to.

He does not interfere. But, not for the first time, he wishes he did.

“You are the Prince of Stories,” he states. Kneeling before his little brother, Destiny lets his thumb slip from the book, lets himself lose his place. And then, hesitantly, he takes Dream’s hand into his own and places a gentle kiss against the tips of his fingers.

“Perhaps. You could change your story. One more time.”

~~~

It was a few weeks before Desire returned, and this time they were angry.

“You’re making Death cry, do you know that?”

Dream remained motionless and silent and it infuriated Desire.

“This is your master plan? Become one with the Dreaming so you don’t have to deal with living? Well, now I have a whole realm to torment! Maybe this will be more fun, now you can cause an earthquake when I get you really riled up!”

With long, quick strides, Desire made their way to the nearest fruit tree, heavy with vibrant oranges on its branches. Smirking to themself, they reached out, and with no preamble, they snatched the ripe fruit and ripped it from the branches.

Spinning back around to face their brother’s body, they found themself waiting again. Waiting for Dream to bolt upright in a fury. They even half expected the tree to attack them, or perhaps for thunder or lightning. Some sort of reaction from wherever Dream was.

When they turned to the tree, they found a new fruit growing in the same spot as the one they had snagged, this one larger and brighter and closer to their hand.

Desire screamed in fury.

Long nails curved like claws as they began ripping every orange from the tree, throwing them to the ground and tearing at the branches. When there was nothing left in their reach, they began kicking at it, sharp shoes kicking up grass and leaving long gouges in the bark as they screamed and cursed.

Chest heaving, they took a step back, surveying the damage they had done to the corner of the garden. Their brother is the Dreaming and the Dreaming is him, now more than ever. Surely… surely this had hurt.

When they turn around, there is an orange blossom blooming in the palm of Dream’s hand like an offering.

Desire let out a sob.

“Why don’t you understand?!”

They hate Dream. They hate him so much, in this moment more than ever, because it’s not fair that Desire still loves him this much. Loves him to the point of screaming.

“Just because someone desires something from you doesn’t mean you have to give it to them!”

They’re not sure when they fall to their knees. They’re not sure how long they sob on the ground. They’re not sure it matters.

~~~

It takes a while for Delirium to find Dream’s body, if only because Dream’s realm is so distracting, sometimes. She gets lost, trying to tell which fish are hers and which are Dream’s.

When her wandering finally takes her to the castle garden where her brother sleeps, she manages to bee line to the moss-covered figure (strange phrase, bee line, a handful of bees manifest behind her and not a single one flies straight).

She sits right next to him, leaning back against his body and patting clumsily at wild black hair entwined with grass. As she does, small white flowers begin to bloom beneath her hand. She gasps gleefully, running her fingers across small, delicate petals.

“Oh, how lovely. Are these a dream or a hallucination?”

There is no answer.

Sighing, Delirium flops over dramatically, laying down with her nose barely pressing against Dream’s. She traces over the sharp planes of his face, brushing his eyelids, hoping for more flowers. Or maybe stars.

“I changed too.”

She doesn’t know why she whispers. It’s not a secret.

“What will your name be now?” Who decided her name? She can’t remember.

“Let’s see… Dumb!” She pokes at her dumb brother’s cheek. “Or maybe. Desire always calls you Dreary. Desert!” Things don’t grow in deserts. She waits for the moss and ivy to wither and die. A cactus flower blooms over Dream’s throat.

“Oh,” Delirium pouted, “Right.” She plucks the flower from his throat, and her hand comes back bloody, cactus thorns sprouting across Dream’s neck.

“Darkness. Debt. Defeat.” She rolls onto her back, looking up at the sky and watches far off creatures fly above her. Her hands start braiding fragile stems. “Daisy Chain.”

Suddenly, she jerks to sit upright, “Dream?” She shakes his shoulder roughly, “What is the word for when you feel like you want to go home, even though you’re already there?”

Nothing.

She shakes him again, harder.

Nothing.

Letting her hand fall away from her brother’s shoulder, Delirium wants very much to be angry. But, she supposes, she can’t always get what she wants.

“…You’re supposed to tell me.” Her eyes well with tears, lips quivering. “Dream? What is the word for when you want to go home, but home is a person and the person is gone?”

The fish drift down, catching her tears on their scales before they can hit the ground, before they can water the vines. Her voice cracks, “Dream?” She lays back down, tucking her face under her brother’s chin. The cactus spines turn into soft blades of grass against her cheek. “Dream, what is the word?” She sniffles, drawing her knees to her chest, “Is there a word?”

Maybe there isn’t.

The tears dry against her face, uncomfortable and itchy, but Delirium stays. She tears out blades of grass and sprinkles them over her own body to match her brother, lets little rainbows bloom between them.

“What will your name be now?”

When she sits up, she finds that her brother’s body looks exactly like it did when she had first arrived, no evidence of flowers or spines. She brushes a gentle thumb across still, white eyelids. No stars.

Leaning down, she places a kiss on a cold cheek.

“How about Dearest.”

~~~

“You know, I had the most absurd plans to try to woo you.”

Hob has been sitting by Dream’s side every night for almost two months now. Honestly he’s surprised it took this long for him to talk about this.

“Well, perhaps ‘woo’ is the wrong word,” he muses, laying next to Dream’s still body, looking up at the clouds, “I wasn’t sure you’d be open to blatant courting. Didn’t want to scare you off again. So I tried to think of ways to, like, trick you into wanting to date me.”

He turned his face to look at Dream, “Which sounds crazy, but you are the most prickly, flighty person I know. It’s like interacting with a wild rabbit, one wrong move and you’re bolting into the woods. Gotta move all slow and careful.”

Dream would have his head for saying these things. Hob would give it to him if he would just wake up.

Sighing, he keeps talking when the silence continues, “I was going to make up some bullshit story about how I absolutely had to have a date to a friend’s wedding, and how I needed you to pretend to be my boyfriend. And then we would dance together and you’d realize what a catch I am and it would just go from there.”

Sitting up, he begins his nightly ritual of trying to remove the plants from around Dream’s body, “Or, I also considered taking you to a gay bar. I didn’t really think of any steps past that, I just kind of hoped you would get the hint.”

Every vine he pulls up is replaced almost immediately. He never makes any progress. Still, it makes him feel better to try.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Hob’s voice softens, “I love being your friend. If I got nothing else for all eternity, well, it’s still more than I thought I’d get. But…” He looks down at Dreams face, hesitantly reaches out to stroke the line of his jaw, and smirks, “You know me. Endlessly greedy.”

If Dream was awake he would probably roll his eyes at that.

But Dream is not awake.

~~~

Sometimes Death wanders through the Dreaming before seeing Dream. Or, maybe wanders through the Dreaming to see Dream. It hurts her heart to see his essence spreading, the way the landscape feels more sentient, the way different dreams and nightmares seem drawn by an invisible force to guide their nights. Some of them try to fight it. Try to push it back.

She sits in Fiddler’s Green, runs her fingers through the grass, brushing away dew like tear drops, and she feels in her chest the way the landscape cries.

I’m trying. I’m trying.

“I know,” she whispers, petting the earth below her. “I know.”

~~~

Despair stands in the shadows of the palace for a long time before approaching her brother, shifting from foot to foot and fidgeting with her ring. Finally, she takes a deep breath and goes outside, digging the end of her hook into her finger as she approaches the spot where Dream sleeps.

“If I cry here, will it make the grass grow faster?”

There is no response, but she figures it won’t make a difference. From what she’s heard no one has managed to change the rate at which the garden grows over their brother. As such, she sits immediately next to him, settling in the curve of his body, feeling moss and sharp bones pressing against her back, and letting her right hand shyly play with Dream’s hair.

“I remember dying, a little,” she admits. “It’s a little fuzzy. Like… like how some humans describe a dream,” she looks at Dream out of the corner of her eye, half expecting him to scoff or glare at the comparison.

When there is no response, she continues, “I remember coming into being more clearly though. I remember Desire hugging me, and I hugged back, and we made sure no one could see, but we were both crying. Mourning and celebrating in equal measure.”

She knows that, deep down, Desire still sometimes misses who Despair used to be. Despair sometimes misses who she used to be, too. But they are still together, and they both find relief in that.

Sighing, she looks up at the sky, gray clouds muting the normally vibrant landscape. She wonders if that is her fault.

“For as long as I can remember you’ve had one foot in my realm. Sometimes more.”

Dream was always in the corner of her eye, a shadow that she could no more escape than he could escape her.

“It was suffocating, like I could never get away from you,” she pauses, “But I wanted you closer, too.” He was always circling her, but never with her. “Those hundred years you were imprisoned… it felt like this. You were right there next to me, you were right there. But you never came to me, you never talked to me. I’m Despair, why wouldn’t you talk to me? You should’ve talked to me.”

Would she have led him out of her realm? Would she have led him deeper?

She doesn’t know.

But she would have done something.

Pulling her hands into her lap, she stares down at her fingers, pressing her hook into them once more, deeper this time, “...I should’ve talked to you.”

Glancing back at Dream, she finds the words. Maybe it’s too late, but Despair hopes that he can hear her now. She pulls the hook from her finger, leans down, and kisses Dream’s temple.

“I should have told you that there will always be despair in living. I should have told you that I will always be there for you. I should have told you that you don’t have to hurt alone.”

~~~

When Destruction arrives in the Dreaming, Lucienne has to place a hand over Matthew’s beak to keep him from calling attention to it, giving Destruction a respectful nod before disappearing into another room.

Destruction smirked slightly, always appreciative of Lucienne’s discretion whenever he visits this realm. As he walks, he runs his fingers along the intricate stone of the palace, eventually transitioning to soft touches of leaves and flowers as he enters the gardens.

The smile slips from his face as he finally sees the figure of his brother, thin and fragile and slowly being covered by greenery. He cannot help but approach hesitantly, as though he will awaken the peaceful figure if his footsteps are too heavy. It strikes him that that is what he wants, and he intentionally lets his feet fall heavier.

He sits with a sigh, and as he reaches out to begin tearing at the grass, he speaks to his brother.

“I remember the first time I dreamt after I left,” he begins softly, “I’m sure you do too. I spent the whole time expecting you to show up and scold me, and I remember… trying to hide. Not because I thought it would do anything, obviously, you could find me anywhere here, but because…”

Destruction feels a stab of guilt, but he continues, “I remember I hoped you would take the hint,” he admits, “And you never showed up. Not that time, or the time after that, or any of the times I’ve dreamt since then.”

Sometimes he wonders about how often he dreamt. He wonders how he ever fooled himself into thinking he didn’t want to be found.

“And I… for the longest time I thought, ‘wow, he’s so mad he can’t even speak to me’. But… it was just a lie I told myself.” He swallows thickly, forcing the confession out even though it hurts, “Because it was easier to believe you were furious with me than to acknowledge that you, more than any of the others, just understood. That you wanted to leave too.”

A pile of torn grass and vines sits next to Destruction’s folded legs, but Dream’s form looks exactly the same.

“I get it. You know I do,” he pleads, “Come back so we can talk about it.”

He doesn’t get an answer.

~~~

“Lucienne.”

The librarian turned, looking to where Dream sat by one of the large ornate windows of the palace, his fingers tracing unseen shapes.

“Yes, my lord?”

There is a long pause before he answers, seemingly weighing his words carefully.

“Do you ever wish I had been imprisoned sooner?”

For a too long moment Lucienne feels the breath catch in her chest, like her lungs alone have turned to stone. It takes too long for her to find her own words.

“I wish you hadn’t been imprisoned at all.”

She doesn’t like the way Dream’s brows furrow just slightly at her answer, in surprise or confusion or something else entirely.

But before she can say anything else, he simply hums in response and sweeps out of the room.

Lucienne does not follow.

~~~

There are large alabaster beds on the shore of the dreaming. Dozens of massive half shells, like hands, holding half-formed dreams within them. Lucienne stares, trying to understand what she is seeing. As she watches, the tides of the dreaming drift forward, blankets of water covering the shells, and when they pull back the dreams are all a little more complete. Lucienne thinks of The Birth of Venus, of oysters, of pearls forming, of the things that grow in the waters, and of small particles of near-nothingness being coated in nacre slowly and meticulously until they become something beautiful and whole.

Lucienne begins to cry.

“You have certainly thought of everything, my Lord.”

There is no grace as she kneels in the sand. It is a collapse. A heaviness that she cannot withstand.

“You are so meticulous,” she hiccups, “so careful to make sure that the Dreaming will not suffer for losing its hands. Why, in all that consideration, did you not think to talk to me?”

The waves are near silent, repetitive and soft as they methodically grow dreams and nightmares. It hits Lucienne suddenly that she does not want to be here without Dream. There is an inherent wrongness, a gaping absence, and before she fully thinks about it she is stumbling to her feet and running from the shore.

She is no more composed when she reaches the garden, and she doesn’t want to be here either, but she cannot stop herself from going to her king’s side. Sitting in front of him, she takes a moment to try to pull herself together, to find some of the composure more fitting of her station.

After a few deep breaths, she feels a little less like falling apart, and reaches out to hold the hand of the sleeping figure. The fingers are bonier than they were, which is saying something, and she finds herself placing them between her palms, hoping to warm them if even a little.

“You have always seemed so confused by my loyalty,” her voice is soft, but steady, “I wish you had been able to see that it was care.”

Lucienne grips his hand tighter, and feels a damn break inside her.

“I did not need you to be perfect,” she says imploringly, “There were things that frustrated me, that I wanted to change. Sometimes you drove me absolutely crazy,” she lets out a watery laugh, “but it never made me love you less. If I could dream, it would be of your hands stroking my feathers. The way you always held me like I was something precious. The way you let me become something more.”

She remembers her time as a raven with such fondness, but more than anything she remembers how clearly Dream had cared for her, how his love shone through his cold exterior.

It makes her feel guilty, sometimes.

“We both know that you loved me before I loved you,” she confesses quietly, “That does not mean that I do not love you. I do not care for you because it is my job.”

She raises Dream’s hand to her lips, pressing a soft kiss against sharp knuckles.

“I simply care for you.”

~~~

“I’m always happy to see you,” Hob whispers, “But I hate to see you like this.”

He keeps one hand on Dream’s fragile ribs, feeling the way it rises and falls rhythmically, the body still alive even as it slowly decomposes into the earth below it. Dream is so thin, his clothes in tatters, his skin nearly translucent.

“I don’t mind waiting for you,” he strokes a hand through Dream’s hair, fingers catching on briars tangles in the messy locks, “because you’ve always come back, eventually.”

Swallowing thickly, he closes his eyes, “Do you understand?” he asks in a whisper.

“That means you have to come back.”

~~~

Desire is quiet when they approach Dream. His chest continues to rise and fall methodically, but it doesn’t make him look any less like a corpse. They sit in front of him.

“Do you want me to say that you won?” Their voice is the softest they think it’s ever been, “Because I will. I will, if it would change anything.”

At this point, they’re not surprised when they don’t receive an answer. Sighing, they lean down, resting their head against a moss-covered shoulder.

“You’re insufferable,” they whisper, “I should have known you’d find a way so that we both lose.”

They lay with their brother for what feels like hours, and when they leave, they press a kiss to wild black hair.

~~~

“Sorry it’s been so long, work never ends, y’know?”

Death smiled shakily, kneeling in her usual spot next to Dream. Reaching out, she began gently pulling away the grass weaving around his body, chattering mindlessly about the things she’d seen since last she saw him, eyes watching his face carefully for any sign of…

Any sign of life.

Her fingers catch on a particularly stubborn vine, and she turns, intending to pull harder, but her breath immediately catches. There are holes in Dream’s shirt from the growth, and Death sees now that the vine in her hand has woven through one of Dream’s prominent ribs.

She drops the vine like she’s been burned, jerking backwards and falling onto her backside. Her chest is heaving, and her eyes dart around Dream’s body, and she can’t tell how much is growing around him and how much is growing through him. There’s too much.

“This isn’t fair,” her voice cracks.

Dream looks so different like this. But, she realizes, it is something beyond his withering body. Death has known him his whole life, remembers the day he was brought into being, and she realizes that the face she is looking at now is unfamiliar because it is not in pain.

“This isn’t fair,” tears stream down her face, “If you had just… If you tried to die properly then I’d be able to… to smack you, and tell you how stupid you are, or…” she closes her eyes, hanging her head in grief, “...or hold your hand.”

That is her purpose, her function. And she can’t even fulfill it for her own brother.

“But now I can’t do anything, and that’s, frankly, quite rude of you,” she sniffles, wiping at her face and looking at the slumbering figure again.

“I’m your big sister. You’re supposed to talk to me. You’re supposed to be able to talk to me. Where did we go wrong, that your own story is the one you struggle to tell?” She knows she has not been the perfect sister. All of the Endless have struggled to be a family, so caught up in their incredible responsibilities over humanity. They have all failed each other so many times.

Not for the first time, Death wishes they could be something else.

Swallowing thickly, she reaches out, running her fingers through Dream’s hair with one hand while the other laces between Dream’s spindly fingers.

Leaning over, she places a kiss on Dream’s forehead.

“I will hold your hand through this, too.”

~~~

When Destruction approaches, he notices almost immediately the flowers around Dream’s body. They are scattered and vibrant, and there is not much of Dream’s skin left showing, but Destruction still sees when he gets close enough that the flowers are not growing on top of Dream. They are growing out of him.

Logically, Destruction knows that what he feels in that moment is not rage. But it’s something close enough.

It is grief that makes him draw his sword.

With a broken cry, he falls to his knees, swinging his sword with precision to slice through the flowers, letting their petals fall in tatters around Dream’s body.

"You don't get to do this!” He screams, he cries, “You don't get to destroy yourself and then cover it with flowers like that makes it better! It doesn’t make it better!”

He raises his sword again, ready to cut through every bit of grass and growth that clings to his brother. But before he can, his eyes catch on his brother’s wrists, where moments ago a row of flowers had been blooming. Now, red blooms from the ends of the fragile remnants of clipped stems. The flowers are bleeding.

Dream is bleeding.

Destruction’s fingers go numb, and the sword drops to the earth with a muffled ‘thud’. A broken sob is torn from his throat, and then he cannot stop. He curls over himself, his forehead pressed to the grass as he weeps, his fists clenched so tight he nearly makes himself bleed as well.

He is still crying when he finds the strength to lift his head, and his hands are shaking when he reaches out. It is with infinite gentleness that he cups his brother’s hand between his own. He does not want to hurt him anymore.

Leaning down, he presses his lips softly to his elder brother’s bloody wrist.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Closing his eyes, he presses Dream’s hand to his chest, “I’m so sorry.”

Destruction stays, cradling his brother’s hand, until the bleeding has stopped.

The flowers don’t grow back.

~~~

When Hob arrives in the garden, he cannot see Dream’s body.

He freezes, staring at the spot he has been coming to every night for over three months, the space he knows like the back of his hand, that he could find with his eyes closed, and sees nothing.

No wild black hair, no snow white skin, no peaceful figure resting in a garden bed.

All he sees is grass, and moss, and creeping vines.

Maybe to another it would look simply like an uneven patch of earth, a soft slope of stone or roots, a natural variety to the land.

To Hob, it looks like a grave.

And something inside of him snaps.

“No.”

His steps are furious and desperate as he marches to the buried figure and, with no hesitation, falls to his knees and thrusts both hands into the earth. Briars catch on his coat sleeves and dirt catches under his fingernails as he pushes through the growth. He can feel skeletal limbs and torn fabric, grips tight around a fragile chest, braces his legs and pulls.

Tears stream down Hob’s face as Dream’s body is torn from the ground. It feels like a tearing, grass and vines snapping as Hob stands. He feels a tug as something holds Dream back, and when he looks, he sees roots emerging from Dream’s wrists and fingernails, from the knobs of his spine, a web of tethers reaching into the earth.

It hurts, because Hob never wants to be anything but gentle with Dream, but right now he can’t, because the landscape is trying to pull the body from his hands and he can’t let it. So he sobs, and pulls harder, dragging Dream away from his resting spot, dirt spraying as the long tangle of roots rip from the ground.

Eventually, he stumbles, falling backwards until he is sitting with Dream between his legs, his back pressed against Hob’s chest. Black hair and dirt tickle Hob’s face, his tears turning to mud. The grass is already reaching for him, the roots of Dream’s body gripping the ground and trying to burrow deeper.

Hob twist them around so he can cradle Dream in his arms and look down at his pale, sunken face. His eyes still closed in peaceful slumber. He brings a shaking hand up to cup Dream’s face, his thumb brushing dirt from his sharp cheekbone.

“You are not getting rid of me that easily, do you hear me?” He whispers desperately, “I waited six hundred years to be your friend. I loved you when I was at my worst, I loved you when you were at your worst, and I will love you when you are the roots beneath the Dreaming.”

His voice gets louder, his tears stream faster, he grips Dream’s face harder, “Do you understand? Are you listening? I’m more stubborn than you! This is a fight you won’t win! I have no problem falling in love with a patch of grass!”

Raw honesty paints his words. Hob has loved and lost more times than he can count in his immortal life, but he refuses to lose this one. His oldest friend, his only constant.

“I… I want to live,” he confesses softly, “and I want you to live with me. Beside me. I want us to go through the years together, to share in whatever comes next. I want us to share stories with each other, and hold each other when things are hard. I want to experience eternity with you.”

It’s an old dream. The fantasy of going through his life the same as he has for the past 600 years except with his stranger beside him. The two of them laughing and crying and raging and living together, hand in hand.

“I want you here,” Hob’s voice cracks, but he swallows, and his next words come strong and firm, “But I’ll marry this realm if I have to. I’ll spend eternity caring for the land through every season, through spring and summer, through autumn and winter, I’ll be here tilling the earth and watering the flowers. Give whole new meaning to the word ‘husbandry’.”

A watery laugh escapes him, “I’ll… I’ll drive you absolutely mad. So just… just come back.”

The briars are creeping up Dream’s body, the roots trying to pull him down. Vines try to slip between Hob’s hand and Dream’s skin.

So Hob holds on tighter, closes his eyes, and pulls Dream up to kiss him for all he’s worth.

It’s different from what Hob imagined, mostly because he never imagined kissing Dream in these circumstances. His lips are ice cold and taste of dirt and grass. He feels so fragile in Hob’s arms, he keeps his lips soft, gentle, trying to pour all his love through the contact without forcing it.

He tries not to think of it as a goodbye kiss.

The saltwater of his tears reaches his lips, and he nearly laughs at the thought of salting the earth, a shaky breath escaping him even as he keeps his lips against Dream’s face. For a long moment he just breathes against Dream’s lips, their foreheads pressed together, Hob’s tears dripping to leave tear tracks on Dream’s face.

A rattling breath brushes against Hob’s lips.

Eyes snapping open, Hob becomes suddenly aware of how the grass has stopped pulling on Dream’s body, no longer pushing to separate them. In fact, they seem to be receding, however slowly.

Something in the air has changed as well, though Hob has trouble articulating it. Like when the air pressure drops before a storm, or the way his stomach feels just before going over the first drop of a roller coaster, or the way the ocean draws back before a tidal wave. Except, there is no break to the tension, no storm or drop or wall of water. It feels the way a Shepard Tone sounds.

Dream’s lips part just slightly, and Hob sees his eyes shift behind his eyelids for the first time. He looks up and down Dream’s withered body, watching as the plants seem to retreat reluctantly, the way Dream’s skin shifts slightly as the roots being to slowly, so slowly, pull out of the earth and back into his body, inch by inch, and they are so long, so deep, that Hob wonders if they stretched to the edge of the Dreaming.

And then, Dream opens his eyes.

Hob can’t contain the sobs that escape him as he looks into cloudy eyes. The ocean blue of his irises are just barely visible behind what looks like literal storm clouds. At first he stares at Hob unseeingly. But then tears well up, and as they spill over his cheeks, running side by side with the tracks Hob’s own tears had left on his skin, the clouds begin to gradually clear as he cries out the storm in his eyes.

“Hey, hey, hello, hello my love,” Hob sobs, running his fingers through Dream’s hair, across his cheeks, wiping at his tears, embracing him impossibly closer.

“Hob…”

Dream’s voice is thready and weak. Horse from disuse and the earth that had settled in his lungs. He sucks in a pained breath, his eyes falling closed again as the roots continue to slide into his flesh.

“It’s alright, I’m here, I’m right here,” Hob pressed him to his chest, pressing kisses everywhere he can reach, “Come back to me now, it’s alright.”

If he could, if it did not hurt so much, Dream thinks he would be crying harder. As it is, he has no power to do anything more than allow the tears to slip silently down his face, his body limp and stiff in Hob’s arms.

But Hob’s arms are so warm.

It hurts, to pull himself out of the Dreaming. He had sunk so deep, spread so far, it feels like collecting pieces of broken glass into his hands and trying to press them back together. He almost stops, the thought of glass making him want to retreat back to that peaceful not-quite-existence he had carved for himself.

Then he feels Hob’s lips against his eyelids, his hands holding him steady and safe, and he wants to feel more. Roots drag through the earth like razor blades, but along the way he thinks he feels the echoes of kisses. Different lips, different times, all pressing a calling against his skin, a plea for him to return.

When he had laid down here, he had not expected anyone to truly want him to return.

Neither knows how long it takes, it feels like hours, years, lifetimes, but finally Dream gasps in agony as the ends of the roots break free of the earth. It takes longer for the last few feet to disappear back into Dream, and he thinks he still feels them coiled around his lungs, aching to crawl out his mouth and anchor him again. He worries that his tears will turn to roots.

He grinds his teeth together, clenches his eyes shut, swallows back everything that brought him to this point. His body begins to shake, and he doesn’t know if he will be able to hold himself together again.

Hob cries freely above him, and as the roots disappear, he begins trailing his lips along Dream’s arms, kissing every smoothed over spot and Dream feels something settle inside him. Hob kisses his wrists and Dream feels the roots begin to turn back into veins, and Hob kisses his eyes and his tears are still salt water, and he kisses his mouth and that is all Dream needs to anchor himself.

Dream opens his eyes again, and Hob is crying and smiling and holding him like he will never let go.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

He wants to laugh, but all Dream can do is keep crying. He does not feel like a beauty and he is certain he does not look like one either. He feels like a weed ripped from a garden. Maybe that’s exactly what he is.

The tears turn to sobs, his chest aches with it. He knows why he left, and he knows why he came back, and now he does not know where he is meant to go.

Perhaps, he thinks as Hob cradles him closer, tucking his head under his chin, he is not meant to go anywhere. Perhaps, for now, he can just stay in Hob’s embrace. His arms are too weak to hold Hob back, but he presses his face against Hob’s chest, letting his shirt soak his tears. It hurts less, the longer he lets Hob hold him together, the more he lets all the words from the past however long sink into his bones. He thinks, perhaps, being a person isn’t so bad if he can sooth it with all these little compassions.

Hob kisses him on the mouth again, and as he finally kisses back, Dream thinks to himself:

Perhaps, I could live with this.

Perhaps I could live.

#my writing #the sandman #dreamling #dreamling fic #endless family #holy SHIT I can't believe I actually finished this by New Years #as always I'm meh on the ending #still terrified that the fic wont be as good as the og post #but here we are

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