belova

They were on the balcony of their city home, the one they shared when Aang wasn’t following his ghosts in the Air Temple or when Katara wasn’t trying to change the world teaching one waterbending girl at a time. It was an easy routine, really. One in, the other out— over and over again. 

In all honesty, this time Aang did not feel as easy coming back in: he’s been gone for weeks— and something in the way Katara was treating his injuries told him she was kind of enjoying this.

“Admit it”

“Don’t talk. Breath” dry and unaccommodating. Oh, how he loved his girl.

She kept going, and Aang tried to ignore how much he needed to squirm under her absent touch— because she wasn’t touching him. How wasn’t she touching him? Doesn’t she feel the same desperation as he does right now? Weeks of separation— really, only fifteen days— and still, not even a caress?

“Katara” he calls softly, grateful he’s not facing her right now.

“Breath in” and Aang’s dumb enough to not take it as a warning.

Such a pressure, he squirms and yelps— arching his back away from her touch “Katara” he growls, not a real bite. Never a real bite. Aang knew she could try to bloodbend him off of this balcony and he would still climb into her bed like a lost bear-dog.

“Told you to breath through it” she begins again, this time softer— like some evil spirits were lifted from her at the small amount of pain she caused him “It’s hard, I know— to follow clear instructions”

Aang bites his tongue, again. Breaths in and out. Obeying her orders. He slumps back against the railing— arms dangling over it, and chin resting on it to the point his lips contort into a pout. The overlook to the city is breathtaking— sometimes it felt like they lived on the top of the world. Republic city had that effect. But his girl behind him seems too angry to even appreciate the beautiful sunset right in front of their eyes. He knows he’ll have to work for it, and it pains him because of all the ways he would have Katara contorted in right now if it wasn’t because he—

He needs to yelp again.

“Now you’re just enjoying this” Aang complains, and hugs the railing as he allows himself to feel sorry for how she’s treating him.

She keeps silent, and Aang does too. For only a moment.

“I thought you would be happy to see me” he talks over his pout— covering face even when he knows he’s in the wrong.

“A week and a half ago I would’ve been happy to see you, but you weren’t here a week and a half ago.” She lets out, dry still. And something inside Aang excited itself around the fact that at least, she didn’t sound hurt “Were you? When you promised you would be?”

“I didn’t promise—”

“You can go ahead and sleep with Appa tonight” 

The water bubble breaks and falls straight to his back, and Aang is fast to turn around and grab her wrists before she can leave “Pretty—” he breathes in, filling himself up with patience.

“Let go”

“No”

“Let go” 

He immediately corrects himself “I mean, if you want to— but—” he pouts up at her, hand slipping up to her forearm— looking up at her with the biggest lemur-eyed look he could master.

“I’m really mad at you right now” she takes a step between his open thighs, looking down at him.

“I know, pretty,” he whispers.

“You don’t desert me for two weeks and come back to me injured”

“I know, pretty— and I’m sorry” he nods, honest and serious. Because he wasn’t going to fool around with this “In all honesty, I knew full on I was doing you wrong— and I am sorry. You can stay mad at me, you treating my injuries does not mean I’m forgiven. I’m not assuming it is” 

Katara keeps silent for a moment, then “Be good and turn back around”

“Right on, pretty” he sighs as he turns around, going back to his position.

He feels Katara filling herself with patience, and then let it all out in a sigh— her breath caressing his exposed back. She begins her work again, and Aang can already tell she’s going soft at her edges.

They stay silent for a long moment, her healing him more carefully this time— and him taking it like a champion. Aang keeps looking over at the sunset, pouty and feeling sorry for himself under her care. 

“By the time I had to come back, I couldn’t get up from the bed,” he confesses softly.

Katara knows better than to stutter under his grief, he thinks— she’s good like that, she listens. And she’s learnt how different his grief was to anyone else’s… except, in some aspects, to hers.

“I assumed so. I worried”

“I know, you are right to worry” he whispers, wiping a tear before it falls.

They stay quiet for a while more, and Aang looks for the words— how hard it is sometimes. He doesn’t want his losses to define him, no. But here, with Katara, sometimes it’s all he can feel. It’s the comfort, he thinks— no, he knows. He can break down here, and no judgement will come his way. It overwhelms him, sometimes. Now. It overwhelms him right now.

He wipes more tears.

“You should’ve been home” Katara tries.

How he loves her for it.

“You don’t have to be there every time I fall,” he lets out.

Katara does not take a moment, “How do you expect me to live on knowing I wasn’t there when I should’ve” 

Aang stays silent, because for once— he would allow it. 

He tries hard to not put too much on her, to not let her think she needs to be his support all day everyday— he tries so hard to not need her, not as desperately as he did as a child. But sometimes, he noticed, she needs to be that for him. Badly.

“I know, pretty” he breathes out, shoulders slumping— “I should’ve been home” he nods, hugging the railing still “I promise, I know.”

“But this time you couldn’t?” She asks softly, “It was too much, Aang?” 

She’s not careful around it, either.

“Yes,” he sighs. “It was too much.”

After a few moments, Katara’s healing waters let go of their hold on him— and it’s her who’s holding him. Her arms hold him from behind, and he shakes in a relieved sigh.

“You should’ve been here, taken care of” she whispers her lament to his ear, chin on his shoulder.

Aang stays quiet for a while more, pondering over the fact she was so willing and able to love him— to care for him. Almost as much as he was with her, which is saying a lot. He didn’t overcomplicate himself with questioning it— it was just a nice thought. 

One that pulled him up from the ashes that the Air Temple was.

“I want to hold on to them too desperately, sometimes” he whispers, like he could not keep it in anymore “Especially lately.”

“Why lately?” She asks.

“Everything’s been quiet lately” he admits, looking over the city tableau before him "Everything just— settled. Everyone except my own” he whispers “I have more time to feel it now. Their absence.”

She hums, burying her face to his skin— breathing him in.

He continues, “It’s all gone”

She swallows, and he knows she’s already fighting tears— that’s his girl.

“Katara— pretty…” he sighs her name, already wiping his own tears.

“I’m sorry” she whispers “I just wish I could— have your twelve year old self and hold him through it all”

He snorts through tears, “You did do that, my love” he tries to turn around, but she won’t let him “Who held me steady all these years, Katara?”

“Sokka”

This time, he laughs. “My little love” he coos “Him, too” he nods. 

Katara stays quiet for a while, just holding him. 

Aang sighs, holding her arms around his waist— making her squeeze him “My whole foundation was gone— I took one look at you, and I knew I was safe” he whispers “We were the same.”

“We are the same”

He doesn’t argue, as much as he could. Because back then, they were far more similar than now. Aang and Katara were two motherless children, running away from the same enemy— the one that tried and annihilated their cultures. He remembers how he felt when she had poured her tribe’s story to him— how much he related to her. 

Now, he was not so sure about that— and maybe that was the problem.

If he couldn’t relate to her, then who could he relate to?

“I’m a waterbender,” he sighs, taking her hand— inspecting it “I’m a firebender” kisses her knuckles “and an earthbender, too”

She had a nation she could rebuild, a nation he will rebuild for her.

Even if his was gone.

She sniffles against his neck.

“You’re your people, Aang” she whispers, “Hold on to them, as much as you need to” she kisses his neck “World owes you as much”

And how relieving it is when she sees him. Not the Avatar, not a master in all elements— but the forever haunted survivor, the one who is his people. The one who soars over the world she’s carrying. 

He knows that when all it’s said and done, he will crawl back home to her— somehow, someway. With a different body, his soul will build itself around her element at her home downsouth.

Certainly like a mirror held up to her face. 

He refuses to allow her to leave first.

He refuses that grief.

He sighs, pressing firmly against her chest— “It feels better, pretty” he whispers, talking about his back. 

He found another place to be from.

Right here.

“I’m sorry” he whispers again.

“I know” she whispers, “I don’t care anymore, you are here. That’s all I care about.”

He sighs, feeling her lips play with his skin— her body mold against his back “Yeah? Feels good to be missed” He nods, feeling her hands caress his naked abdomen— teeth nibbling at his skin. He smiles despite himself— allowing himself to feel her attention. 

After a moment of bliss, “Does my pain excite you?” He asks, cheeky— if a bit breathless.

“You have no idea”

“You like opening me up until you can fit yourself inside me, always have” he whispers, tilting his head to allow her more room to love him “Love my tears, love my sorrows”

She chuckles at his over exaggeration, “They’re a part of you, aren’t they?” She points out.

And it makes him bite hard at his lip, because of course she would love his grief— it was simply his.

“I missed you, as well” he whispers, softer “So— so much”

“Yeah? I’ve been here, waiting on you” she whispers, hands teasing around his front— squeezing his inner thigh “Imagine me, your poor girl— waiting like an idiotic love-sick puppy”

“I thought you weren’t angry anymore”

“Not angry, no— just resentful. Frustrated, incredibly frustrated”

And he feels himself twitch in his trousers.

“Let me know how I can help,” he teases still.

“Oh, screw you” she bites hard at his neck— he squeaks and laughs.

“You’re clearly trying!” He chuckles, turning around to look at her— not allowing her arms to fall from around him “Up, up” he pats his thigh “Let me heave my girl”

“Heave?” She scoffs, but moves nonetheless— straddling his hips and sitting on his lap, legs dangling off his sides. Her hands are on his abdomen as he leans back against the railing. 

“There, look how pretty you are” his hands go to her face— cradling it for a moment before they go to his braid “Even when exhausted”

She hits his arm, “I work my butt off”

“I know” he nods, undoing her braids— wanting to massage her scalp.

She sighs, closing her eyes as his fingers work— a full body chill leaving her body from pure relief. He likes the sight, how he can undo her little by little. Her braids, her clothes— her control. He likes her bare and willing for him. Eager, and confident around his desire for her. 

He bounces her in his legs when he notices she’s nodding off “Pretty” he warns. 

She clicks her tongue, annoyed as she squints at him “Don’t be annoying” 

“You’re falling asleep sitting up!” He scoffs, cupping her face— bringing her closer “Not even a smooch”

“You don’t deserve smooches” she lets out, but she’s already kissing him.

“Oh, I don’t deserve smooches” he scoffs into her mouth “Get over here” he brings her closer, sitting her where she’s pressed against her chest and over the bulge of his trousers. He swallows one of her sighs, hands squeezing harshly at her jaw— holding her close. 

Katara is eager till the point she can not be anymore— she taps Aang’s jawline with a soft slap, and the only reason why he lets go is because he laughs “Asshole” she protests, breathing in deeply before Aang assaults her lips again. 

He’s more playful this time, hands going down her body till they slip under her robes “What does my girl need?” He asks, letting her escape his kiss.

“To breathe” she lets out, swallowing.

Aang loves how her chest heaves, filling up with sharp breaths— loves how much she tries to take his love, even when it leaves her breathless. He slaps softly at the naked skin of her thigh, “You can take it” he goes in again, kissing her until she absolutely needs to part to breath— his hands slipping even further under her water tribe garments, squeezing at the soft skin of her ass “Look how well you can take it” he says as he lets her go, pecking at her lips.

This time she’s the one who looks for his lips again, not caring how much her lungs burned— moving her hips on top of his, the painful hardness of him exciting her to the point of grinding.

Aang hums into her mouth, grabbing her tighter, “Don’t spoil me before I get you out of this dress”

“Let us go inside and—” but Aang groans at her words “You won’t fuck me on this balcony” she parts from his lips.

“Why not?” he pouts.

“You won’t fuck me on this balcony again, Aang”

A shameless smirk contorts around his pout, hand squeezing her ass a bit harsher— “You’re still complaining about that?” He licks her kiss off of his lips, hands already bunching the fabric of her robes up past her hips.

“Aang” she warns, and he swallows it as he kisses her again.

“Stop being difficult” he scolds her into her mouth.

“Someone could see us” 

“I wish” he scoffs, still trying to get her naked—

Katara bites her smile as she pulls away, “Get me inside” she chuckles, entertained by his neediness.

“Why?” he insists.

“Because I want to fuck here too, but I know better that to let the neighbors see my breasts bouncing for you” 

“Spirits” he pats her ass, shaking his head and looking around her face “And I’m the one who’s accused of depravation”

“Wanting and doing are two different things” 

“Fine” he thrust his hips, making her fall against his chest again “Then we don’t undress you”

“Aang” she starts giggling, going to kiss his cheek and jawline.

He’s so far gone, it’s crazy.

Katara doesn’t even attempt to move, as much as she likes to complain— her hips keep on grinding down on his lap, soft sighs leaving her lips as she kisses up his jawline.

Aang’s hands slip even higher up, and she allows it willingly “We can go inside, pretty, let me—”

She bites his neck again, “Just blow out the torches” she whispers, and he does it instantly— movements so eager she needs to take a second to laugh.

“Who are you laughing at, Katara?” He asks sternly.

Shooting him a look, she puts her arms up— and Aang complies.

Her skin’s golden under her robes, the summer sun makes miracles on her skin that only he gets to see— it’s almost a reward for everything he’s been through, or absolution for the times he ran instead of staying. His hands are pale and almost grotesque against her glory, pulling the clothes up and off of her. She’s bare under it except for some soft bottoms underwear, and Aang’s eyes are devouring her fullness. Makes him a bit uncertain where to touch first. 

“Pretty girl,” he breathes out, hands kneading at the warm skin on her waist— she was always soft and round all over, which only made him want to have her naked all the time. He almost passes out when she keeps moving her hips on top of his— full breasts jiggling and soft tummy contorting to the pleasure she was taking from him. 

When he looks up, she’s watching him with almost the same far gone look as he was. 

Aang moans under her, and needs to keep away from the overwhelming thought of how desired he was by her. 

It felt like a miracle all around.

“Aang,” 

And he groans, “Literally shut up” he lunges for her lips as she giggles under his kiss, his overwhelming outbursts always endeared her.

Katara fumbles with his trousers, and suddenly he’s in her fist.

“Katara” he warns.

“Let me get you ready”

“I’ve been ready, you know I love your scolding a bit too much— oh, well” he moaned at the end, hips thrusting up into her warm hand “Pretty, I’m telling you—”

She has to use both hands, she just has to “Told you to be good.”

“Told you I missed you”

“Aang” she warns, but chuckles at the end.

Aang shakes his head, but let’s her have her way— trusting she would know when to push and when to pull.

There was a time, a few years back, when he used to be ashamed of his lust over her. It almost felt greedy, a one sided need to have his hands on her at all times— physical  intimacy was always a second thought to their relationship, at least at the beginning.

Now, he did not feel as ashamed.

“You look so pretty, baby” he whispers, thrusting into her hands as he lays his back against the railing— watching her through hooded eyes. She hummed, standing up so he could take down the last of her underwear before sitting up on top of him again.

“Should’ve been home sooner”

“Should’ve never left home,” he sigh, thrusting pathetically into her fists “Should’ve been here all day, everyday, waiting for my pretty girl—”

Katara sighs, shaking her head as she slides herself closer so her willing cunt warms Aang’s cock— wet and ready.

“Be nice” she whispers into his mouth, when she goes straight for refuge against him “Yeah? I need it to be nice tonight”

Nice for them meant slow and caring— a contrast to the usual playful neediness they battled against each other with bites, grabs and squeezes. Nice meant Katara needed to feel him close, and allow herself to be taken care of. 

“Feeling lazy, pretty?” He asks against her ear as she hides into his neck.

“Yeah” she breathes out in a soft moan as Aang begins to rock her up and down on the length of his cock— hands on her ass, kneading at the fullness of it. 

“You get to be lazy, baby— you get to ask for whatever you want here, you know that” he whispers still “I can feel how much you’ve worked— you just want to feel full, that’s it?”

She nods, still hidden “Yes, baby” she whispers.

“Here,” he whispers, shifting so she slides down on his length— a broken moan falls from his as she stiffens for a second “Can tell just how much you need to have me here right now—”

“Aang” she protests when he starts making her grind against him with him inside of her— a circling motion that makes her gasp in delight and desperation.

“I can tell how much your bones ache for carrying the weight of me” he whispers “Why you keep doing it?”

She doesn’t hesitate, “You taught me to fly”

Aang is a bit breathless around it— he's squeezing at her skin, nibbling at the same spot of her shoulder over and over “Katara” he whispers against her skin “I’ve missed you.”

“You keep saying that.”

“You smell so good”

“You keep saying that” she chuckles, and his heart sings.

“How long till I marry you?” He asks, and she giggles— their movements never stopping.

“You’re asking?”

Aang chuckles now, shaking his head “Come on— up, up— want to see you” he pats her ass, too soft to be the playful spanks he always lays down on her “Let me see my pretty girl— there she is”

Katara sits back on his thighs, lifting from his chest— hands on his knees as she now takes control of their movements. Slow and consuming. Aang’s hands go to her thighs, opening them wider open to watch where her cunt is swallowing his cock “That’s it, use your hips— look how good you take me”

She’s looking down, too— and he can tell how much bothered she’s getting.

“Love” she calls for something Aang’s already giving her, so he just hums to her— still watching her expert movements, her hips circling and her feet dangling on his sides.

One of his hand goes to lay on her soft tummy, almost holding on as he feels the overwhelming pleasure she’s punishing him with. His other hand goes straight to her breast, squeezing hard at it— enjoying the feeling on the palm of his hand.

“Are you a bit sore, pretty?” He asks softly, noticing a difference in her body— edges softer, breasts fuller.

“A bit— your cock’s helping”

He twitches inside of her, “Katara” he scolds.

“Well, you’re fucking me good”

“Stop that” 

“On our balcony”

“I know”

“For the neighbors to see”

“I sure hope so—”

Katara snorts, and then shakes her head “Work for it, come on” she makes emphasis to her complaint by a sharp movement of her hips above him.

“Hey— hey” he warns, making her still— his own hips stuttering at her movements, too much sensation “You asked for nice”

“Aang, you know just how good you are?”

He nods, a bit reluctant. He doesn’t feel good: he keeps thinking on her tits around his cock— pumping him. Or maybe her mouth on him, and his on her— spirits, maybe her grinding down onto his mouth? That’s definitely not a thought of someone good.

She’s talking again “You’ve always been good to me” she takes a bit of a shift, her hips moving a bit faster on top of him.

“I— I try, pretty” he lets out, sighing in pleasure as he keeps looking there where he’s buried inside of her.

Fucking herself with his cock.

“You’re so so good” she nods, going faster.

“Katara” he pleads, because he knows that it all it takes for him to crumble for her.

“Aang, please— please?” She almost pouts, and he needs to squeeze her harder—

Knowing exactly what she's asking for.

She won't allow him to come anywhere else but where he is right now.

“Please what— baby” he pleads himself, closing his eyes “Kat— Kat, pretty—”

But she doesn’t hear his pleads— just makes it harder for him to keep in control.

“Love, love— Katara” she’s relentless, moving up and down his length— squeezing him, clenching around him. 

“Be good for me, Aang” she sighs, already trembling “Be my good boyfriend—”

Aang’s hips stutter under her, a guttural sound coming from the depths of the pleasure he only allows himself to get from her— never taking more than what she gives him. 

“There, there” Katara trembles too, and her hips shake in delight as her orgasm comes tamed and steady— safe in his lap. 

Aang pulls her from her waist, bringing her to his chest— sighing in relief.

It takes a moment to gather his breath, his eyes closing— the pleasure overwhelming him. He pulses inside her, her cunt taking every last drop he has to offer.

She's always been greedy with it.

“You shouldn’t have let me do that” he whispers, she hums.

“Won’t make much difference” she hides in his neck— and Aang takes a moment to think her words through.

“Katara” he whispers in her ear, pulling her slightly away from her hiding spot— looking around his face.

“I’m not sure” she whispers.

Aang gives her a weary smile, “Alright, pretty” he sighs, forehead falling to his “Alright”

“So if you’re asking for real— do it soon” she chuckles.

Aang pushes at her forehead with his, chuckling too “Silly girl” he whispers, “My forever girl—”

A confirmation that he will ask the question. Soon.

Katara bites her lip, looking around his face “Glad you’re home”

And Aang nods, “Glad I’m not sleeping with Appa”

“Aang—” she starts to giggle, and he follows.

It’s only a month later, Katara confirms her moon won’t be back for the next nine months.

You haven’t seen a friendly face in so long, that despite the pain— you croak out for Lucienne.

She’s kneeling beside you both, a hopeful smile on her face as she sees Morpheus “Sire” she whispers, and then her eyes land on you “You brought him home,” she rasps out, emotional.

And your small tired heart sings.

You remember pain, you remember longing and then — him.

He is found.

“Lucienne” his voice is soft, and happy. His whole chest vibrates under you, and you find comfort in the incredible burst of emotion he’s letting out.

And then, with urgency “Little bird” he croaks out, allowing Lucienne to help him sit on the black sand shore outside the walls of the Dreaming.

He’s got you cradled against his chest, hands stained in your blood that’s sticking your beautiful black feathers together. 

“My Lord” Lucienne calls for him.

“They were bloodthirsty” he breathes mindlessly out to her, eyes still on you.

“My Lord,” she calls again, urgent “could you—”

“I’m not what I used to be” he cradles you closer.

You knew what this meant. 

For there was not fixing the damage they brought upon you, and your small body would never survive the injuries. 

He looks down on you, utterly gutted. The twinkle that shone in his eyes when he first saw you in that wretched home now replaced by tears— his nursing heart now slowly craving vengeance.

And still, love in all this premature grief.

“There’s another way” 

Lucienne, no you will to her.

But your Lord King’s eyes are on her in an instant, “Your magic remains intact within her spell bounding her to this form—” the librarian reminds him.

Lucienne, allow me to go this way you plea again, for she's the only one you would dare to protest against.

But she ignores your voice in her head, for she’s as desperate as Morpheus to not let go.

To claw at you.

And for a moment, you wished he would've left you behind in the Burgess manor.

“— find your strength in her” Lucienne pleads, kneeling beside her Lord.

Morpheus looks down at you.

And you croak out desperate.

I beg you, my Lord— my Dream, please. I would rather die than to never fly again.

“My little bird” he breathes out “Are you quite sure this is how you wish to meet your end?” he inquires softly, his hands vibrating with the need to bring you back to health.

His eyes a desperate, sad thing.

“Is this the way you wish to leave me?”

And you would accuse him of not playing fair, if not for how raw his whisper came out.

To roam the Dreaming as a human girl again, to lose all your magic—

Or for Morpheus to lose you altogether.

Closing your eyes.

Taking a last breath.

Do as you must, my Lord.

So, naturally, he does.

Weaving his magic, you had an instant doubt whether this was going to hurt which was quickly answered when a searing pain cut through your wings and spread all over your body. His hand took all the gold sand he had poured in you all that millennia ago, to craft you into something he desperately needed— companionship.

Years, decades, centuries. They all flowed out of you and into the palm of his hand. 

And then, you were left naked and shivering in his embrace as a mortal once again. Chest heavy, and head dizzy. The sun burning down on you, and the sand sticking to your skin as you shift uncomfortable against him.

You could hear Lucienne sighing, but still feel your injury pounding.

“There” Morpheus murmurs, a fist around the sand on his hand as he slowly let’s it fall on top of your shoulder.

His magic returns to you without a second thought to spare it.

You felt the sting of the sand on your skin, nursing you back to health in a matter of seconds.

To be human again.

Now you remember what it was like.

To be human was to be in pain.

You sit up straighter, realizing your position between Morpheus’ thighs. Still being cradled against him. 

Shame crawling into you, making it’s home in your heart.

“I’m sorry, My Lord” you whisper softly, voice no different from before as your head falls on his shoulder.

He looks down on you, hand on your bloodstained but healed shoulder— hand cold but comforting “You have done nothing to wrong me, my darling creature” Morpheus breaths out “You’ve found me, you've shown me a way out”

“I won’t be of any use in your quest to nurse the Dreaming back into health, not without my wings” you whisper.

A creeping anxious thought: you were a liability now.

He looks at your eyes for a moment, then to the door to his realm “You’re far from useless,” he says, his silky voice shining through “Your presence alone will be a source of comfort for the people of the Dreaming” he shifts his gaze to Lucienne then.

“Come, my dear” the librarian urges you softly, offering her hands to you.

Standing up was no easy task, your legs were unused and wobbly— and you catched Lucienne smiling a bit too much at your struggle. 

But then, Morpheus’s hands are steadying you as he stands next. Cold but firm. Soft, and yet the palms of a creator. His coat fall on your naked figure, warm and vibrating in stardust. Nebulas surrounding you as you make yourself small under it. 

His eyes bore into your face, and you feel the need to touch it. 

You find only skin.

“I can barely remember what my face looks like” you croak out, looking at your own hands.

“It has been a long time,” he murmurs, his voice low “I had almost forgotten how beautiful you used to be in this form” he nods.

You feel shy under his gaze, a bit intimidated. 

It was easier being a bird, you decide— nobody asked a bird to be beautiful.

You watch as he walks towards the entrance to the Dreaming.

And wish you could prevent what’s to come once those doors open up for him.

It’s heartbreak, and it’s anger— and it’s all the things you wished you could spare your Lord from feeling.

The fall of the Dreaming, the crumbling of it’s tragic and fragile fabric: The palace giving out under an unforgiving sun, drought allowing all the vegetation die of thirst. The air you once soared across now tasted of sulfur, and sandstorms roared strong and true.

Wasteland.

A mirror of The Fulcrum, Destruction's realm.

You watch his steps falter until they stop. 

“What has happened here?” he inquires more to himself than to either of you.

“My Lord,” Lucienne takes a step closer, he doesn’t turn to her call “you’re the Dreaming, the Dreaming is you” she reminds him softly, almost apologetically “With you gone as long as you were— it all began to decay”

“And it’s residents?” he inquires, now turning.

Astonishment and incredulously written all over his face.

You step closer now, too, his stars flowing at your feet— his coat probably the last bit of magic on this plane. Merely an echo.

“We are who remains” he turns his eyes to you, “Most have—”

“Left me” he croaks out, turning once again towards his crumbling palace.

“Some have gone to seek for you—” Lucienne starts, trying to save him the disappointment.

“And yet, only Ophelia has come to my aid” he points out, looking back at your now human form “What of the others?” he asks, anger seeping through his words, looking back at his librarian.

“Some,” she sighs “thought you grew weary of your duties and,—”

“Abandoned them?” he finishes for her, putting words in her mouth she would never say “Have they so very little faith in me?” he wonders, heartbroken “Do my own subjects not know me?” he inquires.

“If I may, my Lord” Lucienne starts, and you need to turn around for which you know will cause him even more anger “It wouldn’t be the first time one of the Endless has—”

The Prodigal, echoes in your mind.

“Enough” he rasps out, a warning.

You sigh, “They prey on the waking world” you let out, only now looking up at him “Nightmares and dreams, all the same” you nod, watching Lucienne start to object.

“We do not know—” 

“I know” you nod “I’ve spent the last hundred years travelling the realms, my Lord. From the Sunless lands through Threshold to Hell, looking for you” you reveal “I’ve seen what they’ve been doing in your absence” back at Lucienne “Understanding their reasoning for leaving does reserve my right to approve of it or not taken the fact that it's me who remains— and I strongly suggest you to not jump into their defense as quick as they’ve left us both in here to hold it all together” 

There’s silence after that, a glint on Morpheus’ eyes as he looks back at both of you “I am here now, and I’ll make this right as I once did back when there was only a white sand shore on this realm” he nods, turning once again to his castle “I will nurse the Dreaming back into health”

Lucienne and you looked at each other.

And then followed right after him.

Ask to be tagged!

Morpheus was there, sitting on the lower steps of the stairs to his High Chair as you walked around the debris, calibrating your new legs and feet. Finding your new balance in your new found but old form.

“Feet are exhausting” you declare plainly, arms wagging as you take one foot off of a fallen column and try to take another step forward.

“And it appears decorum is lacking” Lucienne looks at you pointy.

“I do this all the time” you defend yourself, not even spearing a look to your dearest friend.

“When you had wings,” and when you almost misstep, more urgent “You’ll—”

“Ophelia” Morpheus calls, and you straighten up suddenly. Your name sounds tired and drained of any amusement in his tongue.

You huff out as you jump off the column you were testing your footing on, and turn to him with a tentative smile and a tilt of your head. Cheeky. Walking towards his sitting figure, “I will behave” you try, reaching to sit down on the step his own feet were resting.

Resting from his attempt to use his magic.

Not what I used to be his voice resounds in your head, and you feel the need to sigh as your chin falls on the heels of your new hands and his coat spreads around your own feet. Warm and vibrating, all enclosing you. Engulfing you in his warmth as if he was the one surrounding you.

He’s weak, downhearted and betrayed— his tools stripped from him by the pretender Rodrick Burgess, and later by his descendant.

“They are exhausting” you defend yourself after a while.

You hear him sigh in impatience behind you.

That took less time than you expected.

Another silence lingers, asphyxiating and utterly helpless. Lucienne looks at her Lord with worry as he thinks over and over.

Just minutes ago, Morpheus almost passes out by the enormous effort of trying to use his powers… and almost lashes out at you both when suggested rest. You knew your master, his incredibly hard but cool head. 

Even in desperation, he remained stoic and unbending.

Which was almost terrifying when you remember how you found him back in that basement.

“There’s only one sure way for me to find my tools” his voice comes out hard and firm “I must summon the Three-in-one”

You almost feel a chill run down your spine, and Lucienne protests “Surely it hasn’t come to that”

“The fates see past, present and future” Morpheus reminds her “and they know all”

“Riddlers” you remind him too “And bad ones at that,” you turn to look at him “do you remember the last time we saw them? They tried to buy me off of you” you purse your lips, offended.

There’s a wicked grin in Morpheus’ face at the reminder.

“Perhaps,” Lucienne calls back at both of you “just this once—”

His eyes, still on you, lose any sign of amusement “I won’t call on my siblings” he stands up, taking a few steps up the stairs. 

“Destiny would most certainly know where your tools are—” Lucienne objects.

And you continue, twisting at the waist to look up at him “And Desire most likely will know which direction to point to” you almost scoff, sarcasm in your voice which makes Lucienne give you a warning look.

“My siblings have their own realms to tend to, as I have mine—” if Morpheus was offended by your comment, he didn't show “we do not interfere in each other’s affairs”

You need to stop yourself from scoffing again.

“Watch yourself” Lucienne warns you lightly, walking closer to the stair as she directs her eyes to Morpheus again “Perhaps if they hear what’s come to happen to you, My Lord—”

“I’m quite sure they know what happened to me” he turns to you both again, and you need to look away from the anguish in his eyes “And yet, none of them came to my aid”

It’s raw, and exasperating. And you need a second for it to stop pulling at your heartstrings. The vulnerability in him was simply and utterly uncharacteristic, and it makes you a bit dizzy when you try to focus on it.

Such a pillar. Such a splendid example of self-sufficient anthropomorphous entity reduced to a defiled man behind glass in need of aid. 

It broke your heart all over again. 

Another silence, and then— “The Fates cost a bloody fortune” Lucienne relents. 

“A cost I won’t be able to pay, as if I’m even able to summon them” Morpheus sighs.

“Perhaps they’ll want me still,” you turn to him, a small amused smile as you jest. 

And his eyes land on you. 

And there’s certainty in them.

“I was merely jesting, Lord King” you let out, fast and alarmed at the possibility of him trying to sell you off to the Fates.

He looks at Lucienne now, “Is there anything of mine that remains in The Dreaming?” he asks, your comment sparking a plan within him, as he walks down the steps and you crane your neck back to look at him.

The librarian’s eyes land on you.

“Something that I created” Morpheus clarifies.

“You created all of this,” she points out, you need to stop craning your head back— deciding necks were exhausting too. Not flexible at all.

“No” he shakes his head “Something that remains intact.”

Wings rings in your head, a bit dizzy still from looking back at him.

And it’s almost as if Lucienne heard you when she turns to you once again, hesitancy in her eyes.

-

If you could’ve flown to him, you would’ve done it— you would’ve reached for him faster.

And you would’ve spent more time with him. 

Borrowed time, but more time at last.

Gregory was playing with his ball when you find him after leaving Morpheus and Lucienne talking Cain and Abel through their plan.

Horrendous plan.

Heartbreaking plan.

He looks helplessly distracted, rather entertained when left alone— which makes your hart ache even more.

Morpheus' creation, the king's nightmare and yet it was your wings the ones that inspired his.

“Hello, friend” you croak out, taking another step closer “Does my new face seem friendly enough?” you chuckle softly, eyes watery.

It only takes him a few seconds, looking at you with low ears in alert and weariness.

And then a fuzzy bubble grows into your mind when he lets you know that yes, in fact, he saw his friend in your face.

Chuckling, you step closer to him still, hands on his nose and up to his ear “Oh, Gregory” you lament, cold stone under your touch “They’ve cut my wings”

And yet, he lets you know what he thinks of your new form.

Dazzling.

The gargoyle was your friend in more ways that you could count, always soaring through the sky with you in such a majestic flight— his words of amazement and encouragement ringing in your head. Sweetness poured out of him, and fear not anymore.

Worthy of being Morpheus'. The both of you.

You give him another sad smile, “He’s gonna ask for something, my friend” you almost cry out, whispering “If we go now, if we fly away from this garden gray—”

“Ophelia” you freeze at the calling of Morpheus behind you.

And Gregory grows quiet.

“He’s not nightmare anymore,” you let out, without turning to see him “he’s my friend”

“It is not your decision” 

Your forehead falls against the hard stone that was Gregory’s neck.

And only when the gargoyle nudges your cheek with his peak, you step away.

“My Lord, please” Cain walks up.

“He’s one of us now” Abel steps besides his brother.

“It's not fair” 

“No” Morpheus rasps out “It is not”

You turn away towards the trees when you feel the King relent, Cain stomping away. 

Abel, on the other hand, is far more softer than his brother. 

“You’ve been a very good boy” you hear him whisper. 

And then, it’s Gregory who steps closer to Morpheus.

Lucienne’s hands are on yours, and you need to look away.

For Gregory becomes sand in a matter of seconds.

“Come,” he rasps to both of you, not being able to meet neither of your set of eyes “we’ve got work to do”

-

Below the dock, the waters are dark and unforgiving. Dreams and nightmares all the same navigate them, and so did Morpheus. Power was electrifying, and if you looked too close you were sure you were gonna dive in— for the dreaming waters were too inviting.

And often, uncharted.

He went out to seek what he needed for the fates in them, as you were left behind with Lucienne and your grief.

Your friend, such a dear good friend, at the moment craning the best way to approach the subject.

The best way to hold you safely in the warm palm of her hand.

Dear Lucienne.

“He’ll certainly be missed” the librarian tried, and you look towards the stars.

“We should’ve insisted on calling upon Destiny” you sigh, still downhearted.

“Gregory made his choice,” Lucienne nods “as you did yours” she reminds you.

It gives you a moment of pause, then— “We never spoke a word. Never needed to” you whisper, looking back at her.

And as you’re wallowing in these words, a white hand comes out of the water and grabs your knee. 

Yelping, you recognize Morpheus coming out of the water. 

Lucienne and you help him upwards.

“I’ve got what I was looking for”

He’s sitting beside you, panting and exhausted. Soaking wet, he looks up at you for a second, holding up an egg the size of his hand.

“You didn’t give it to them?” you ask, curious, sliding closer on your knees to his figure as you accept what he's handing you— a bit surprised the fates didn't take it from him.

“It was not meant for them” he rasps out. As you examine the egg, his eyes linger in your face now that's closeness allows him to— face softening before he can catch himself. And when you look up, “I’ve got a job for you, little bird” he nods, standing up.

Looking down at it, you understood.

“This one’ll begin as a dream” he declares, walking away to the end of the dock.

Cain and Abel would have a new friend.

“May I ask where you’re off to, sire?” You hear Lucienne ask, and you look up from the egg towards Morpheus.

“London” he rasps.

“Did you not just spend the last one hundred years there?” And before Lucienne could correct herself, Morpheus turns around with a warning look “Sorry”she puts her hands up in surrender, “Why London?”

“My sand was sold there” Morpheus reveals, eyes landing on you as you stand up hugging the warmth of the egg “Once I’ve got them, I’ll seek my helm—” then, he turns to the waters “in hell”

“Lovely” you let out, walking towards them until you were standing right besides Lucienne.

“Oh, dear” she sighs, then she looks at you for a moment, and you shrug softly as you wander away once again “Would you at least grant me a favor, before you go?” Lucienne asks Morpheus “Take a raven with you”

Oh, lovely you hear in your head, crouching down to leave the egg on the edge of the dock and look into the water.

Trying to ignore the feeling of dread creeping inside of you, giving your back to both of them.

“I do not need a minder” Morpheus declares “I’m Dream of the Endless—”

“And Dream of the Endless always has a raven with him”

“I’ve got a raven” he interrupts, harsh and unbending, making you feel a bit desperate under his defense “She’ll remain here”

You hug your legs and sigh helplessly, caressing the egg with one finger.

Morpheus too, walks to the end of the dock. And you find yourself staring hard at the waters, just to not look at him.

And then, they part right in front of your eyes— a stairway to London bursting through.

Before stepping on it, Morpheus crouches down besides you which makes this all the worse.

“No more ravens” he whispers to you, reassuring a soft and needy part within yourself. As if he knew, as if he meant it. Leaving you feeling shameful and weak “You are the last” and when you turn to him, you notice he's got a piece of your hair between his fingers.

Later, when Morpheus’ gone off to get his sand and you’re walking away from Abel’s graveyard after hiding the egg in the dirt you ask yourself the one question you’ve been trying to ignore.

“What am I made for?”

-

You haven’t seen a friendly face in so long, that despite the pain— you croak out for Lucienne.

She’s kneeling beside you both, a hopeful smile on her face as she sees Morpheus “Sire” she whispers, and then her eyes land on you “You brought him home,” she rasps out, emotional.

And your small tired heart sings.

You remember pain, you remember longing and then — him.

He is found.

“Lucienne” his voice is soft, and happy. His whole chest vibrates under you, and you find comfort in the incredible burst of emotion he’s letting out.

And then, with urgency “Little bird” he croaks out, allowing Lucienne to help him sit on the black sand shore outside the walls of the Dreaming.

He’s got you cradled against his chest, hands stained in your blood that’s sticking your beautiful black feathers together. 

“My Lord” Lucienne calls for him.

“They were bloodthirsty” he breathes mindlessly out to her, eyes still on you.

“My Lord,” she calls again, urgent “could you—”

“I’m not what I used to be” he cradles you closer.

You knew what this meant. 

For there was not fixing the damage they brought upon you, and your small body would never survive the injuries. 

He looks down on you, utterly gutted. The twinkle that shone in his eyes when he first saw you in that wretched home now replaced by tears— his nursing heart now slowly craving vengeance.

And still, love in all this premature grief.

“There’s another way” 

Lucienne, no you will to her.

But your Lord King’s eyes are on her in an instant, “Your magic remains intact within her spell bounding her to this form—” the librarian reminds him.

Lucienne, allow me to go this way you plea again, for she's the only one you would dare to protest against.

But she ignores your voice in her head, for she’s as desperate as Morpheus to not let go.

To claw at you.

And for a moment, you wished he would've left you behind in the Burgess manor.

“— find your strength in her” Lucienne pleads, kneeling beside her Lord.

Morpheus looks down at you.

And you croak out desperate.

I beg you, my Lord— my Dream, please. I would rather die than to never fly again.

“My little bird” he breathes out “Are you quite sure this is how you wish to meet your end?” he inquires softly, his hands vibrating with the need to bring you back to health.

His eyes a desperate, sad thing.

“Is this the way you wish to leave me?”

And you would accuse him of not playing fair, if not for how raw his whisper came out.

To roam the Dreaming as a human girl again, to lose all your magic—

Or for Morpheus to lose you altogether.

Closing your eyes.

Taking a last breath.

Do as you must, my Lord.

So, naturally, he does.

Weaving his magic, you had an instant doubt whether this was going to hurt which was quickly answered when a searing pain cut through your wings and spread all over your body. His hand took all the gold sand he had poured in you all that millennia ago, to craft you into something he desperately needed— companionship.

Years, decades, centuries. They all flowed out of you and into the palm of his hand. 

And then, you were left naked and shivering in his embrace as a mortal once again. Chest heavy, and head dizzy. The sun burning down on you, and the sand sticking to your skin as you shift uncomfortable against him.

You could hear Lucienne sighing, but still feel your injury pounding.

“There” Morpheus murmurs, a fist around the sand on his hand as he slowly let’s it fall on top of your shoulder.

His magic returns to you without a second thought to spare it.

You felt the sting of the sand on your skin, nursing you back to health in a matter of seconds.

To be human again.

Now you remember what it was like.

To be human was to be in pain.

You sit up straighter, realizing your position between Morpheus’ thighs. Still being cradled against him. 

Shame crawling into you, making it’s home in your heart.

“I’m sorry, My Lord” you whisper softly, voice no different from before as your head falls on his shoulder.

He looks down on you, hand on your bloodstained but healed shoulder— hand cold but comforting “You have done nothing to wrong me, my darling creature” Morpheus breaths out “You’ve found me, you've shown me a way out”

“I won’t be of any use in your quest to nurse the Dreaming back into health, not without my wings” you whisper.

A creeping anxious thought: you were a liability now.

He looks at your eyes for a moment, then to the door to his realm “You’re far from useless,” he says, his silky voice shining through “Your presence alone will be a source of comfort for the people of the Dreaming” he shifts his gaze to Lucienne then.

“Come, my dear” the librarian urges you softly, offering her hands to you.

Standing up was no easy task, your legs were unused and wobbly— and you catched Lucienne smiling a bit too much at your struggle. 

But then, Morpheus’s hands are steadying you as he stands next. Cold but firm. Soft, and yet the palms of a creator. His coat fall on your naked figure, warm and vibrating in stardust. Nebulas surrounding you as you make yourself small under it. 

His eyes bore into your face, and you feel the need to touch it. 

You find only skin.

“I can barely remember what my face looks like” you croak out, looking at your own hands.

“It has been a long time,” he murmurs, his voice low “I had almost forgotten how beautiful you used to be in this form” he nods.

You feel shy under his gaze, a bit intimidated. 

It was easier being a bird, you decide— nobody asked a bird to be beautiful.

You watch as he walks towards the entrance to the Dreaming.

And wish you could prevent what’s to come once those doors open up for him.

It’s heartbreak, and it’s anger— and it’s all the things you wished you could spare your Lord from feeling.

The fall of the Dreaming, the crumbling of it’s tragic and fragile fabric: The palace giving out under an unforgiving sun, drought allowing all the vegetation die of thirst. The air you once soared across now tasted of sulfur, and sandstorms roared strong and true.

Wasteland.

A mirror of The Fulcrum, Destruction's realm.

You watch his steps falter until they stop. 

“What has happened here?” he inquires more to himself than to either of you.

“My Lord,” Lucienne takes a step closer, he doesn’t turn to her call “you’re the Dreaming, the Dreaming is you” she reminds him softly, almost apologetically “With you gone as long as you were— it all began to decay”

“And it’s residents?” he inquires, now turning.

Astonishment and incredulously written all over his face.

You step closer now, too, his stars flowing at your feet— his coat probably the last bit of magic on this plane. Merely an echo.

“We are who remains” he turns his eyes to you, “Most have—”

“Left me” he croaks out, turning once again towards his crumbling palace.

“Some have gone to seek for you—” Lucienne starts, trying to save him the disappointment.

“And yet, only Ophelia has come to my aid” he points out, looking back at your now human form “What of the others?” he asks, anger seeping through his words, looking back at his librarian.

“Some,” she sighs “thought you grew weary of your duties and,—”

“Abandoned them?” he finishes for her, putting words in her mouth she would never say “Have they so very little faith in me?” he wonders, heartbroken “Do my own subjects not know me?” he inquires.

“If I may, my Lord” Lucienne starts, and you need to turn around for which you know will cause him even more anger “It wouldn’t be the first time one of the Endless has—”

The Prodigal, echoes in your mind.

“Enough” he rasps out, a warning.

You sigh, “They prey on the waking world” you let out, only now looking up at him “Nightmares and dreams, all the same” you nod, watching Lucienne start to object.

“We do not know—” 

“I know” you nod “I’ve spent the last hundred years travelling the realms, my Lord. From the Sunlands through Threshold to Hell, looking for you” you reveal “I’ve seen what they’ve been doing in your absence” back at Lucienne “Understanding their reasoning for leaving does reserve my right to approve of it or not taken the fact that it's me who remains— and I strongly suggest you to not jump into their defense as quick as they’ve left us both in here to hold it all together” 

There’s silence after that, a glint on Morpheus’ eyes as he looks back at both of you “I am here now, and I’ll make this right as I once did back when there was only a white sand shore on this realm” he nods, turning once again to his castle “I will nurse the Dreaming back into health”

Lucienne and you looked at each other.

And then followed right after him.

-