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imagines--galore · 5 months

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||The Thread of Fate|| Part Sixteen

Summary: Soulmate AU. They say the Thread of Fate connects you to your one true love. It may tangle. It may stretch. But it will never break. Wrapped around your little finger it tightens when it feels your soulmate is close and loosens when they are far. And becomes visible with the colors of your soulmate’s Nation when you finally fall in love with them.

Pairing: Zuko x OroraOC (ATLA)

Rating || Genres || Warnings: T+ Romance. Adventure. Allusion to death, but nothing graphic.

Previous Chapters - Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen,

A/N: Thank you for much for all those people who left their remarks for the last chapter. You have no idea how much it means to me!

The bird sat on the window ledge, twittering as it discovered the flowers that were sitting prettily in a vase. It hovered over the biggest one, dipping in it's long beak and drinking from the nectar it found there.

A slight disturbance from beyond the window ledge had the bird flitting about, annoyed at having it's lunch disturbed, before he flew off.

Inside the apartment Zuko groaned as his eyelids flickered. His entire body felt like he'd been kicked around by a Komodo Rhino. And his head, Spirits he felt like his head would split open any moment. His eyes felt too hot for him to open, the act hurting him almost physically.

"You're burning up." He heard his Uncle's voice echo through the darkness. The sound of water dripping reached his ears before something cool was pressed to his forehead. "You have an intense fever. This will help cool you down."

Zuko's only response was a low moan. His throat felt like it was on fire. Despite his entire body protesting, he tried his best to sit up, his arms trembled with effort. "So thirsty." He croaked, his voice weak even to his own ears.

A set of hands pressed against his shoulders, gently pushing him to lie back down. "Orora will be returning with the water soon." He hadn't even finished his sentence when the door slid open and the young waterbender girl walked in, lugging a bucket of water beside her.

"Is he awake?" At the sound of her soft voice, Zuko forced his eyes to open slightly. Despite his blurry sight, he could see as she approached him and was at his side. Placing the bucket of water next to him she tipped some water into a cup using a ladle. He felt her gently hold the back of his head as she brought the cup to his lips. "Here, drink."

As soon as he felt the cool liquid touch his lips, he drank greedily. But it wasn't enough. Pushing aside the now empty cup, he grasped the bucket of water and all but threw the water down his throat. A lot of it trickled down the side and on the mat he was lying on.

"No! Zuko don't!" He wasn't even halfway done when the bucket was snatched from his hands and thrown to the side. Loosing whatever strength he had, he fell back onto the mat.

"You can't drink that fast. Your body is too hot to take in all that cold water." He heard her. Even through the haze of his fever, he could imagine the disapproving look in her eyes. He wanted to answer back, to argue with her, but all that came from his lips was a cough which soon intensified, prompting him to curl into himself and turn to the side.

On either side of him, his Uncle and Soulmate glanced at one another, worry and anxiousness clear in their eyes.

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Stuffing the last of her purchase in her bag, Orora quickly paid the vendor before she began her sprint down the dirt path. The mid-spring sun shone down hot and unrelenting. Sweat lined her forehead as she weaved her way through the slightly crowded streets. With how fast she was running it was no surprise that by the time she reached the apartment there was a stitch at her side and she was panting heavily.

But that didn't stop her from bounding up the stairs and bursting into the apartment. "I got everything Master." She managed to say as she tried to catch her breath. Iroh looked up from where he had been wringing a wet cloth sitting in the middle of the living area. Her frantic blue eyes landed on the figure lying next to him.

"Is he any better?" She asked, her voice soft as she closed the door behind her and placed her bag on the table before coming to sit on Zuko's other side.

Iroh shook his head, even as she reached out to place a gentle hand over his forehead. Orora pursed her lips. "Is the water still cool enough?" She gestured to the small bucket that Iroh was using. Her Master nodded. "It is, though we might need to change it in a little while."

She removed her hand, so that Iroh could replace it with the wet cloth he had been wringing.

Her worried gaze assessed Zuko with the eyes of a Healer.

He was shivering, despite his body being hot to the touch. Sweat lined his forehead and neck, and she was sure it covered his chest as well. Iroh had taken off his shirt a long time ago so he would be more comfortable, and covered hims with a blanket. His breathing was deep and hoarse, as if the very air hurt his throat.

A lump formed in her throat but she quickly pushed it down. This was no time to be distressed. She was a Healer, and she would do her job properly.

"I'll start making some broth and tea." She said, standing up and moving to the table where she began to take out all manners of ingredients. "They had a merchant come in with new stock, so I was able to get fresh ingredients."

Taking out a small white paper packet, she unfolded it to reveal some leaves. "The next time he wakes up, try to get him to take this tea." She said, already bending water into the small teapot and placing it atop the stove. A small clicking sound followed as she used to spark rocks to make a fire. "Its a remedy that is tried and true. We used it up North whenever someone had a high fever." She continued, as she pulled out a jar of honey. "Add some honey to it, and he'll feel much better."

"Orora."

Iroh's voice had her straightening up where she stood in front of the stove. Gulping back her nerves, she turned her head to look at her Master. He smiled at her in a gentle and reassuring manner, though his eyes shone with worry as he glanced at his nephew. "I know you are worried, but he will be fine my dear." He reassured her, seeing the film of unshed tears in her eyes.

"He was in a far worse condition after the Agni Kai with his father." She tried not to flinch at the old man's words, but couldn't help herself. "He pulled through it, and he will pull through this ailment as well."

Heaving a shuddering breath, the young girl closed her eyes briefly to compose herself. She nodded. "I'm sure he will Uncle. After all," Her gaze turned soft as she trained an affectionate smile towards the feverish Prince. "He's much too stubborn to be brought down by a simple fever."

Iroh smiled in approval. It would not do to have Orora feel dismal about Zuko's current state. It was important that she remained optimistic, and not let her worries effect her abilities as a Healer. Iroh knew she would never forgive herself if she did not do her job properly. His young pupil already had a hard life, and a harder one still up ahead, and Iroh did not want her to make it even more difficult by putting herself down.

Fate was a funny thing, he mused. He lost his son, and yet he gained two children of his own. Both of them with a desperation to be loved and accepted.

As he ran the wet cloth over his nephew's forehead once more, Iroh's resolve to be there for his two charges resolved only harder.

He would never abandon either of them if he could help it.

They'd both been disappointed by enough adults in their lives.

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He was dreaming.

It was a dream.

He was the Fire Lord, sitting in the throne room of the Fire Palace, a platoon of soldiers standing at attention in front of him. The fire burning behind him cast an ominous glow about the room, strange shadows flickering and dancing as if to the sound of the flames itself.

There was no scar on his eye.

On each side of him there were pillars, and even as he stared straight ahead, he could see the two dragons circling around them out of the corner of his eyes.

One Red, one Blue.

Even if it was a dream, he could sense their raw power, the heat of the fire they were created from. And yet, he stared straight ahead, not even blinking as the Blue Dragon began to circle around him.

"It's getting late." The Dragon spoke. Zuko recognized his sister's voice. "Are you planning to retire soon, My Lord?"

Zuko stared ahead, undeterred. "I'm not tired."

But the Blue Dragon did not move away. "Relax, Fire Lord Zuko. Just let go. Give in to it. Shut your eyes for a while." The voice continued to whisper, and Zuko could feel his eyes begin to shut as he finally began to give into the exhaustion he felt.

"No, Fire Lord Zuko!" The Red Dragon growled in his Uncle's voice, as it neared him. "Do not listen to the Blue Dragon. You should get out of here right now." The Dragon urged. "Go! Before it's too late!"

But the Blue Dragon was not deterred. "Sleep now, Fire Lord Zuko." It whispered one last time before both Dragons disappeared.

Suddenly, the entire room, along with the soldiers crumble into nothing, leaving Zuko to sit on the Throne where he had been, with nothing surrounding him but utter darkness.

In front of him, twin lights blinked and the Blue Dragon appeared. "Sleep." It growled, slowly nearing him. "Just like Mother!" It opened it's maw, showing row upon row of razor sharp teeth, as it closed in rapidly.

Zuko tried to move out of the way, tried to fight back, but he was frozen in place. All he could do was watch the dragon draw nearer.

But then it disappeared.

And he saw a hooded figure in front of him. "Zuko!"

He recognized his voice. He wanted so badly to call out to her, and say that he was there, but no sound would come out of it.

His mother sounded just as frightened as she looked as she lowered her hood to look at him with helpless eyes.

"Help me!"

He had almost held up his hand to reach out to her, but then the floor opened up beneath him and he fell through, his cries echoing in the unending darkness that surrounded him.

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The tea had steeped enough, so she quickly brought it over to Iroh. Silently, she spooned some honey into a cup, her eyes flitting to Zuko who was starting to stir. Iroh poured the tea.

"You should know that this is not a natural sickness, but that shouldn't stop you from enjoying tea." The Prince sat up, his body still trembling with the effort.

"What's happening?" He asked, his voice sounding just as weak as he looked.

"Your critical decision." Iroh replied. Orora gave him a confused look. "What you did beneath that lake. It was in such conflict with your image of yourself that you are now at war within your own mind and body." He urged Zuko to drink more of the warm liquid Orora had prepared.

"What's that mean?" It seemed even the briefest of conversations was enough to have him coughing. He quickly laid back down, his entire body jolting with every cough.

"You are going through a metamorphosis, my nephew. It will not be a pleasant experience, but when you come out of it, you will be the beautiful prince you were always meant to be."

Wasn't he already beautiful though? Orora wandered, pouring some more tea in case Iroh needed a cup as well. "But Master why now when he helped free Appa? He saved my life at the North Pole, wouldn't that have been against his image as well?" She asked, curiously.

Iroh hummed. "I suspect my dear, that when he saved you he did so unconsciously. He went ahead and did what was instinct for him because you are his soulmate, even though he did not know it at the time."

Adjusting Zuko's blankets the Dragon of the West continued. "When he freed the Bison, it was a conscious effort on his part, which is why his body is warring within itself."

Orora pursed her lips, her blue eyes flitting to look at Zuko's face. He'd drifted back to sleep.

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Another dream.

He was at the North Pole.

He was at the bridge where he had fought Zhao.

The moon was still red where she hung in the sky.

And in front of him, halfway down the bridge stood Zhao.

Holding Orora captive.

With a finger aimed at the side of her head, the tip of it alight with a vicious flame.

"No!" The cry ripped through him from the very depths of his being. He stumbled forward, his arm held out as if to reach Orora. But then he found them being held in place by two armored Fire Nation soldiers. Zhao only smiled cruelly.

"I would do the world a service by getting rid of such watertribe filth." He growled. Zuko's eyes met hers. She stared back at him, blue eyes full utter terror, cheeks stained with the tears that were rapidly falling.

"Zuko." She called out, her entire body seemed to tremble.

His heart stopped.

She sounded scared.

She sounded so scared.

"What would your father say when he finds out your soulmate is nothing but a commoner? A waterbender no less." Zhao sneered, looking at Orora with a disgusted look on his face.

He pressed his finger closer prompting Orora to whimper in fright as the flame burned closer to her skin. "Don't!" Zuko shouted, struggling against his captors. They didn't so much as flinch.

"Better that I take care of her now, then let your father deal with such filth."

So saying, he threw Orora to the side. Zuko saw her hit her head at the edge of the bridge, the skin above her temple splitting open, bright red blood escaping the wound and trickling down her beautiful brown skin. She slumped to the floor, barely conscious.

"Orora!" He struggled again, growling viciously, as she weakly lifted her head to look at him, her blue eyes already lifeless and dull.

"Orora!"

Zhao raised his hand, a bright yellow flame burning wickedly in his palm, ready to strike.

Ready to kill.

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Orora pursed her lips.

"Its been hours. His fever should be coming down now." She hummed, looking at the shivering Prince. Her eyes darted to the small bucket of water that Iroh was still using. She scowled.

"It's not doing enough work." She stated, standing up. Without a backward glance she was out of the apartment, and marching down to the community well. Standing next to it she reached down with her arms, calling to the water that flowed underground and pulled up a huge bubble of water.

Circling her arms in the air in graceful strokes, the determined waterbender slowly made her way back up the stairs. She shifted the shape of the bubble whenever was necessary. Her brow creased in a frown of concentration as she focused on carrying the huge bubble up to the apartment.

Once inside she slowly walked to the washing area behind a decorative screen. Her arms lowered as the bubble of water settled into the large wooden tub. The water lapped gently against the edge before it settled. Without so much as a break in her stride, she quickly walked back to where Iroh was sitting.

Understanding what she was about to do, he had already pulled Zuko up, resting one arm over his shoulder to help his nephew to the tub. Orora took his other arm, trying to be as gentle as possible.

The Prince barely stirred as they half carried, half dragged him to the now full tub. With Orora holding him from under his arms, and with Iroh lifting from his feet, they managed to lower him into the cool water.

"Let me get a pillow for his head." Iroh said, quickly grabbing the pillow Zuko had been using and placing it under his nephew's head where it rested at the edge of the bath tub.

Beside him, Orora took a deep breath.

She raised her arms, palms facing downwards, her fingers relaxed and at level with the bath tub. The water began to glow as she allowed her Healing Abilities to flow through her body, to the tips of her fingers and into the water.

Her arms moved in a constant push and pull motion. The water followed her movement, back and forth along Zuko's feverish body.

Iroh stood beside her, watching on with utter fascination as his pupil concentrated on the task at hand. Never once did she falter in her movements, or lost concentration. The water continued to glow. Iroh wasn't sure how her abilities would heal Zuko since it wasn't a physical ailment he suffered from, but he was not about to stop Orora from trying.

"I shall go and prepare something to eat for both of you." He said, resting a hand on her shoulder. She gave a slight nod of her head in confirmation, her gaze never wavering from the face of the Prince as he continued to breath hoarsely.

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Darkness.

All around him.

Nothing but darkness.

He was ten years old, his face buried in his arms, trying not to cry but failing. Even his firebending wasn't working. He felt weak and useless.

Exactly how his father made him feel.

He looked up, only to see a vision of his father standing above him, ready to strike and burn him.

Azula was born lucky

His father's voice echoed around him, magnified a hundred times over.

You were lucky to be born.

Over and over, the words continued to repeat in his father's hateful tone. There was no stopping it. No getting out of the nightmare. No one was coming to help him.

No one.

Something flickered.

He opened his tear filled eyes.

Blue.

A blue light flickering.

Flickering where the thread was tied around his finger.

His lips parted in surprise as the flicker became a continuous glow and slowly grew in length, snaking away from him and into the darkness.

The voices around him had begun to muffle as he turned his attention to the glowing string.

"Well, are you going to follow it?"

Zuko blinked and he wasn't surrounded by darkness anymore.

He was on a beach, the setting sun casting a warm red glow, bathing the sky in a gorgeous orange hue. The surf lapped gently at his feet, and he could feel the sand between his toes. There was no denying what this location was.

Ember Island, where his family used to come for vacation when they had been significantly happier.

But all of this wasn't what had his heart lurching in his throat.

It was actually the sight of his cousin standing just a few feet in front of him, smiling and very much alive.

Zuko couldn't help himself. He dashed forward, kicking up sand as he went and enveloping Lu Ten in a fierce embrace. The older prince chuckled, returning the hug.

"I've missed you too, Zuko." He spoke, affection coloring his tone as he smiled at him. "You've grown so much." Lu Ten added, stepping back from the hug to look at him properly. "You'll be as tall as I was."

Zuko pulled back only to star at Lu Ten who chuckled. "Yes, I really am gone Zuko, this is just something your mind has come up with."

Finally gaining back the ability to speak, Zuko voiced his thoughts. "I don't understand, what're you doing here?" He asked to which Lu Ten ruffled his hair playfully. "I'm here to guide you back home."

Stepping aside, he pointed to a building a little ways down the beach. Zuko frowned. "But, isn't home the Fire Palace?" He asked. Lu Ten smiled and shook his head.

"You'll know the meaning of the word home on your own Zuko. But for now, follow your string." He nodded towards Zuko's finger which still glowed blue. Raising his hand, Zuko realized the string was actually leading him towards the house.

He glanced at his cousin.

"Aren't you coming with me?"

A sad smile pulled at his cousin's lips as he shook his head. "I'm afraid not. You have to finish your journey on your own Zuko."

Feeling his heart clench, Zuko nodded reluctantly. "Un-Uncle misses you. A lot." The mention of his father, Lu Ten sighed deeply, his own eyes filling with a sorrow that even Zuko felt. "And I miss him. I wish our time wasn't cut short so soon, but fate had other plans." Placing a hand on Zuko's shoulder, Lu Ten continued.

"I am glad he has you Zuko. You are a great comfort to him." Zuko pursed his lips, looking crestfallen. "Can't you come back with me?" It was a childish question he knew, but he couldn't help himself.

Lu Ten shook his head sadly. "You know I cannot. But you can go back. You have to go back." He smiled. "Father can't loose a son a second time."

Trying hard to hold back his tears, to no avail, Zuko hugged his cousin, trying his best to commit his presence and his scent to memory, even if it was a dream. It was a good long while before he unwound his arms from around his cousin, who had been returning the hug with just as much heart and soul. "Be true to yourself Zuko, and always follow your own path." So saying, the former prince of the Fire Nation stepped away. "Take care of him for me little cousin. Now go! There is someone waiting for you!"

One moment he was there, and the next Zuko blinked and Lu Ten was gone.

He allowed himself a few moments to process what had just happened, before he turned his attention to the string that still glowed on his finger. Looking up at the house in the distance, he began to walk towards it.

And though it looked like it was a lot further down the beach, it didn't take him long to reach. As he drew closer, he saw a figure standing at the top of the stairs that led up to the entrance.

A figure dressed in the calm yet beautiful blue of the Water Tribe, with a red sash tied around their waist.

The person turned, and smiled at him.

And Zuko felt the whole world stop.

Orora.

"What took you so long?" She asked, looking so beautiful as she stood there with her hair so much longer then he had ever seen. Her gorgeous brown skin glowed in the setting sun, and her eyes looked like the very light of the stars was dancing in them. Zuko stood at the bottom of the steps, mesmerized by her. Orora held out a hand, the hand that glowed with her own string.

Her glow was red, of course.

"I've been waiting for you." She said, her voice soft, beckoning him to her. Watching her standing there, looking at him with such trust and adoration, her hair swaying gently in the breeze, Zuko didn't hesitate to take the last few steps towards her, his hand held out in front of him.

The moment their hands clasped together, fingers intertwining, he pulled her in for an embrace.

One that had the last remnant of darkness leaving his soul completely.

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She had no idea how long she continued her Healing Session. All she knew was that by the time she was done, his body had stopped shivering and he didn't look as flushed as before. Her arms ached when she finally stopped. Her feet ached from where she had been standing for so long.

Very nearly slumping to the ground, Orora quickly caught herself on the edge of the bath tub. Her Superiors had warned her that using her Healing Abilities for so long would take a toll on her. Tiredness and hunger, two things that could be taken care of easily, but it didn't stop the body from feeling like it had been drained of it's very essence.

Iroh who had just changed Zuko's mat and blanket, patted her shoulder. "That is quite enough, my dear. You go and eat the food I have prepared. I shall finish getting him out and dressing him in dry clothes."

Too tired to even speak let alone argue, Orora shuffled her way out to the living area. There on the table was a bowl of hot soup. Spooning the warm broth into her mouth, one bite after another, she felt the exhaustion she was experiencing begin to settle into her bones. She had over-exerted herself. It would take time for her to recover properly.

It didn't take long for her to finish her meal and chase it down with a cool cup of water. By the time she was done, Iroh had already helped Zuko back on the mat. How he'd been able to lift his nephew was a mystery to Orora, but she couldn't think properly right then.

Instead she stumbled to Zuko's side laying down as she did, her head feeling just as heavy as her body. While Iroh moved to get a blanket and pillow for her as well, Zuko stirred slightly.

"Orora." He called out softly, his voice still hoarse from coughing.

She reached out to gently take his hand in her own. He opened his eyes halfway as he turned his head to look at her laying beside him. With whatever strength he had, he squeezed her hand.

"You're alright." He whispered in that same voice, though relief colored his tone. "You're here."

Orora was too tired to contemplate on what he was saying. Instead, she smiled at him and returned the squeeze with her own.

"I'm here, Zuko." She whispered, and her words seemed to reassure him that she was, indeed, fine. His eyes closed, and he went back to sleep, his breathing easy and no longer labored.

The young waterbender had been too tired to notice just how cool his hand felt as she too drifted off to sleep.

It was how Iroh found them a moment later. Asleep next to each other, holding hands.

The thread between them flickering with color for a good long while.

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lilpunkrock · 2 years

Text

where you go (i will go) — part ix

Summary: Secrets are revealed, journeys begin, and revelations are made.

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x f!reader

AN: Been looking forward to this one for a long time. Enjoy! x

masterlist

. . .

“Moon, walk me home,

I’m dying here, dying here;

Don’t leave me alone,

I’m trying here, trying here;

Save me from the night.”

Walk Me Home, Said The Sky, ILLENIUM & Chelsea Cutler

. . .

part ix

At first, you think your eyes must be playing tricks on you. A play of the light, or a rogue shadow. But light in the Realm of Attachment is perpetual, never-changing, and the well that the young man and woman are gathering water from is in the center of the village square with no source of shadows to be found. As you draw closer to them, Fates’ assignments in hand, your eyes rest briefly on the pale white thread that links the two mortals together. Your gaze then darts to the black thread emerging from the chest of the man at the well. No, this is no trick of the eye. It’s real. You follow the path of the black thread, watching as it snakes across the village square to terminate in the chest of a young woman bartering with a produce vendor across the street.

Extraordinary, you think, eyes wide with awe. You may still be relatively new to your role as Agape, Deity of Love, but you’re certain you’ve never seen a black attachment before. You’re even more sure you’ve never seen a thread that you did not place yourself. You’re familiar with the call that resonates from your attachments, the magnetic pull that draws you toward each one. The black thread speaks no such words to you; there is no stirring in your chest as you look at it. Eyes furrowed with equal parts confusion and curiosity, you reach out, closing your fingers around the thread tentatively–

Fire. Raging, searing, blistering. Pain splits your palm like a knife, and you cry out, ripping your hand from the black thread instantly. Though the pain lessens with the loss of contact, it does not disappear. A sharp ache permeates your palm as if you’ve been burned. A stinging sensation prickles at the back of your eyes as you hesitantly turn your hand over. You expect to see a slash of inflamed skin, angry and red. Instead, you find nothing.

“I wouldn’t touch those if I were you, darling.”

The voice, slow and luxurious, startles you. You spin around, away from the mortals and the mysterious black thread. Several paces away, you find a fair-haired guest watching you with brilliant gold eyes. Their features are both powerful and delicate, simultaneously sharp and supple. A black chiton trimmed in gold adorns their lithe form. Their bright eyes watch you expectantly, red lips drawn into a wide smile.

The shock at seeing them here is dizzying. You try to shake it off, offering the newcomer a small smile. “Oh, hello,” you say quietly. You draw in a deep breath, seeking to calm your racing heart. “I’m sorry, you startled me. My name is Love. Do you mind me asking who you are?”

“Oh, I know who you are, darling. You don’t recognize me?” Their golden eyes are wide, expectant. Your brow furrows as you rack your brain for some memory of them, but you find nothing.

“I’m sorry, I don’t. I’ve never seen you here before. How did you get here?”

You might expect your guest’s face to fall at your lack of remembrance, especially when they clearly know you. Instead, their smile only stretches wider. Something in the recesses of your mind rears back at the sight. The abrupt sensation instills a tenseness in your jaw. Was the instinct something human? Something inhuman? How could you have such a reaction to someone you had never met?

When your guest speaks again, you strive to push the feeling away, to be respectful toward the stranger. “I am Desire of the Endless,” they say, voice dripping like honey. “Is desire not a form of attachment? I have always been capable of coming here. Perhaps you simply haven’t spotted me.”

An Endless. And not just any Endless, but the Endless with whom you shared your scales. Your nightly forays into the last memories of your mortal life had told you as much. Your lips part in awe, eyes wide as saucers.

“Desire of the Endless. I am so pleased to finally meet you.” Drowning out the incessant prickle at the back of your mind, you offer them a kind voice and a tentative smile as you take a step forward. While Desire’s reputation of vanity preceded them, you knew they were Death’s sibling. The thought lowers your guard, comforting you. “I intended to seek you out one day. I am sorry that I have not done so sooner. Adjusting to this new role has been…quite the undertaking.”

Desire’s eyebrows raise as they take a slow step toward you. As they do so, your eyes are drawn again to their smile. There is something about it that unsettles you. A lack of emotion, a lack of depth. Unease creeps into your bones, heavy as lead, and you shake your head slightly, trying to dissuade the feeling. After all, this is Death’s sibling. Surely they would do no harm to you.

“Oh, yes, I would imagine so, little goddess. Tell me, what did you wish to discuss?”

“I thought it’d be nice to talk about our functions and see how we can work together to keep everything balanced. Since we are two halves of a whole.”

Desire’s grin grows impossibly wider. This time, when the unease settles in, it persists. “Oh, darling, that won’t be happening. You really don’t remember me, do you?” A pause. When your expression gives nothing away, they continue, their tone nonchalant. “Truthfully, that’s unsurprising. The last time we were face-to-face, you were a little busy dying.”

Silence.

A shudder, like spiders creeping up your spine. You blink, stunned, confused. “What?”

Blood red lips and bone white teeth. A voice like velvet. “Did I stutter, darling?”

Your thoughts scatter, your mind struggling to process the words that Desire has spoken. Surely you misheard them. You had to have misheard them. You look around, suddenly realizing that the village square is now empty. Where did everyone go? The colors of the rainbow sky overhead seem more muted than usual. “I…don’t understand,” you say quietly, brows knitting together tightly.

Desire takes a step forward. When your mind tells you to take a step back, you listen. “Are you sure, Love? Perhaps it’s simply that you don’t want to understand.” A pause. Another step forward, another step back. “What is it that you require? Proof? Let’s see, what were the words he used? ‘I don’t want you anymore.’”

Your mind recoils violently against the words, your body rejecting them like a venom, a parasite. White hot adrenaline stokes through you, and you stumble several steps backwards. Desire grins with glee at the sight, at your fear. “Why don’t you think he wanted you anymore, darling? Because I made him want her.”

Your eyes clench shut tightly, a futile defense against the words, the painful truth. A sharp sting takes up behind your eyelids as the memory of his hands on her waist blazes in your mind, as painful as the day you’d fulfilled their attachment. You shake your head rapidly in an attempt to cast off the image, but the memory remains. “Why?” you croak, voice barely more than a whisper.

The sound of a low chuckle drawing nearer prompts your eyes to open. Desire stalks toward you in a steady prowl. When you take another step backward, you feel the cool, unyielding weight of stone against your back. The well. “Must there always be some grand, meaningful reason, Love? An elaborate, heart-felt motive? I did it because I wanted to. I am Desire of the Endless. Such exploits are in my nature. You just happened to get in the way.”

The utter disregard in the Endless’s voice forms a pit in your stomach, the weight dragging you down, down, down. Their cruelty hits you like a stone as nausea floods your gut, sudden and jarring. You think you could be sick.

Desire points a single accusatory finger at you, pressing forward. “It could have been easy. You could have died without a fight and gone to my dear sister’s realm in peace. But you didn’t.” Desire’s face, once split with wicked glee, turns cold and hard as a stone. “And for that, I am not pleased.”

You blink quickly, fighting back against the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. “Why? What am I to you?”

“You are nothing to me but an insolent mistake.” The hiss is sudden and cruel. You jerk away instinctively, catching yourself on the edge of the well. Desire presses forward until they are mere feet away, their breath hot on your face. “You were meant to die by my influence. You really thought that you could escape me? A groveling human turned goddess? Your divinity means nothing to me. When I gaze upon your face, I still see a lowly human…suffocating on her own foolish delusion of love.”

Your heart hammers in your chest relentlessly. Blood courses through you in a rush, making you dizzy. You shake your head once, voice breaking as you whisper, “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

Desire’s golden eyes widen, filling your vision, drawing you in. “You see, darling, that’s the best part. I don’t care. I am not known for my clemency, little goddess. My siblings would tell you I am known for my grudges….I say they’re no fun. But they are not untruthful.” One hand reaches out, toward your throat. You swallow thickly, petrified. “You have slighted me, something which you will come to regret dearly. Nothing will stand in the way of me getting what I want. I always get what I desire.”

When your legs begin to move, it’s without thought, without a plan. All you know is that you must get away from here, away from them. Fear, hot and fresh, scrambles your thoughts as you dart away from the well, around the village buildings, trapped in a tunnel vision.

You have to find someone. Have to find a mortal to get you out of this place.

Desire’s velvet laughter echoes through the town square as you run, ringing in your bones like a gong. When you round a corner to find a woman washing clothes in an outdoor basin, you dash toward her with abandon, nearly stumbling in your haste.

“You can run, but not forever, Love.” Faster. Just a little farther, Love. “One day, you’ll grow weary and tired, and when you do, I will be right there waiting. And I will relish in the satisfaction of having you under my thumb again, right where you belong.”

Your hand lands on the woman’s chest with forceful impact. You close your eyes instantaneously, reaching out to the other side, pushing through, tearing through—

. . .

Air tears painfully through your lungs as you bolt upward, hyperventilating. Disoriented, all you can see is the well, the villagers, those golden eyes, those blood red lips. You clench your eyes shut tightly, fingers fisting in the fabric beneath your palms like a lifeline. The fabric is cool and soft to the touch. Bed sheets.

Several shuddering breaths are drawn into your lungs before you dare open your eyes, blinking away the vestiges of your memories. As the images fade from your mind, the sight of your bedroom replaces them. A night sky twinkling with stars peeks through the crack between your curtains, soft moonlight casting a glow over the room. You’re home. You’re in your room. You are safe.

The pressure behind your eyes comes slowly at first, building like water against a dam. But once the first tear falls, the others come in relentless succession. A soft sob escapes you as you fold in on yourself, pressing your palms to your wet eyes, trying to stem the flow. A futile task, and you know it.

At first, you had thought that enough centuries spent reliving those memories in your resting hours, of hearing those words again and again, would dull the pain. You were mistaken. Each time you slipped into unconsciousness was like the first time, just as terrifying, just as real. It all felt so real. As if you weren’t just reliving the memories, but traveling back in time to experience them for the first time, again and again.

As you press your palms against your eyelids, a shuddering sigh escapes you. The weariness that settles into your bones is cold and heavy, cutting straight through to your soul. You were tired. So, so tired. Tired of being exhausted, tired of being afraid, tired of being haunted, tired of running.

Was Desire right, after all? They had warned that you could only run for so long. One day, you would grow weary of the race. You certainly felt weary now.

A soft whine cuts through the sound of your quiet sobs. You linger for a moment longer before slowly lifting your head from your hands. Theo’s wide, empathetic eyes gleam at you from within the darkness, barely visible over the edge of your bed. With a quivering hand, you pat the space beside you a single time. Theo jumps up instantly at your offer, curling into your side without hesitation. “Hello, little love,” you say softly, unable to muster more than a whisper. Your fingers trail through the soft hair on his back slowly, idly. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

The two of you remain that way for several minutes with only your quiet sniffles breaking through the silence. The longer you sit, the more restless you feel. The silence of your bedroom feels stuffy and suffocating. You had spent so many nights living through a similar series of events. Snapping into the Waking World in a blind panic, skin flushed and slick with sweat, only to stay conscious till morning, chasing off demons. If reliving the memories was exhausting, trying to forget them was equally so.

You wanted to get away, to break the cycle. You needed an escape.

Your gaze shifts to your nightstand unbidden, to the small pouch of sand there. As soon as you see it, you know what you must do.

You rise with a start, dressing quickly. When you slip the pouch of sand into the palm of your hand, the weight of it is comforting, grounding you in place. You press a quick kiss to Theo’s furry head, lingering for just a moment to breathe in his familiar scent. “I’ll be back soon, okay? I promise.”

Standing at the end of your bed, you open the pouch with steady fingers. The sand within it looks no different than any other, but a familiar feeling seems to emanate from the grains. A hum, a pull. A piece of the Dream Lord in the palm of your hand.

The pale grains slip through your fingers like tears. When they sweep up to twirl around your figure, it feels like an embrace. Within a matter of moments, the darkness of your bedroom has transformed into the darkness of the Dreaming’s throne room. Your quiet sniffles echo through the empty room as you watch the sands around you filter back into the pouch, ready to be used again.

A flutter of wings quickly tells you that you are, in fact, not alone as you’d thought. You hastily wipe the wetness from your cheeks as Matthew descends from one of the stone busts on the pillars above to land at your feet. “Love? What are you doing here?” His feathered head tilts as he searches your face. His dark eyes take in your red eyes, your swollen features. “Hey…are you okay?”

The genuine concern in his tentative voice steals your breath away. You open your mouth to answer, but find no reply.

Your silence is answer enough for him. With a resolute nod, Matthew flaps his wings, taking flight. “You wait right here, I’ll go find Dream,” he says assuredly.

Your heart skips a heavy, panicked beat. “Wait, no, don’t–”

But he’s already gone, soaring through the throne room doors in the blink of an eye.

The sigh that leaves you is worn and weary. Resigned to waiting, you walk toward the staircase at the front of the room, sinking down to the first step like a stone. The polished floors of the throne room gleam so clearly that you can spot your reflection in them. Your eyes linger on your flushed cheeks, your puffy eyes. Maker, you looked terrible. You didn’t want him to see you this way. You didn’t want anyone to see you this way, at the lowest of lows.

You feel him before you see him. As soon as he appears in the throne room, that familiar hum takes up against your skin, that familiar pull in your chest. You swallow thickly, gathering courage for what is to come. “Hey, Dream,” you say quietly, voice barely a whisper.

The padding of his boots echoes through the throne room as he approaches, his pace slow and measured. You refuse to look up as he walks toward you, keeping your swollen face directed at the space between your feet. When he draws in a breath to speak, you can feel it in your bones. You interject quickly. “I came to the wrong place. I didn’t know how the sand would work. I wanted to go to the sea, so I wouldn’t bother you.”

A pause. Silence. And then that familiar voice, rumbling like coming thunder, “The Dreaming is a part of me. I would have found you, even there.”

Of course you would. The smirk that lifts the corner of your lips is small, half-hearted. With a shuddering sigh, you lift your head to meet his gaze. Dream of the Endless stands but a few feet away, his posture stiff and still. His blue eyes study you intently, lingering on your furrowed brow, your tear-stained cheeks, your red-rimmed eyes.

You expect him to say something, ever full of questions. But his pink lips remain closed, pursed into a small, hard line. Your eyes flutter up from them to meet his pensive gaze with a question of your own. “Will you take me there?” you ask quietly.

For a moment, he moves not a muscle. When he does, his steps are slow, almost cautious. You’re unsure if he is uncertain of his decision, or if he hopes not to startle you. When he draws close enough to extend an expectant hand to you, you suspect it is the latter.

When you slip your fingers into the palm of his waiting hand, you’re surprised at the smoothness you find there. Soft as silk. You rise to your feet with knees slightly stronger than before. And in a flourish, Dream sweeps his cloak over you, transporting the two of you into a sky full of stars.

The shift from the cosmos within Dream’s cloak to the shore of the sea is subtle. The constellations above your head remain in place, twinkling down at you from above. Only the gentle whisper of the waves against the sand and the smell of saltwater tells you you’ve arrived. When you turn to the sea, you find the heavens overhead reflected in the dark waters, a mirror image. The full moon overhead smiles upon you, illuminating the beach in a gentle glow.

You draw the cool, salt-seasoned air into your lungs, savoring it. When you exhale, you feel a weight lift from your chest. “You know, you were right, back when you first brought me here. The vastness of the sea really does give you the space to think.”

The Dream Lord gazes at the ocean from his place at your side, the sparkling array of cosmos now barely visible within the folds of his cloak. The pale light of the moon seems to make his alabaster skin glow from within, accentuating the mop of dark hair that sweeps down toward his lashes. For the first time, your eyes catch the vaguest shadow of stubble along his sharp jaw. The sight startles you–you’re surprised you’ve never noticed it before now.

“What troubles you?” he finally asks, pale blue eyes turning to you.

You smile softly at him, the gesture unbidden. With a long sigh, you sink to the sand, patting the spot next to you. “Sit with me, Dream Lord?”

At first, Morpheus only watches you, his star-lit gaze searching your face for answers. And then, much to your surprise, he sweeps his cloak to the side and slowly lowers himself to the shore. The black sands are a shockingly comfortable seat beneath you. You curl your fingers into them idly, surprised at how soft the grains feel between your fingers. The Dream Lord breathes a soft sigh as he turns from you to watch the tide again.

“I just feel like I’m running, Dream. I’ve been running since the day I died.” Desire’s words echo in your mind, carving a hollow in your heart. You heave a sigh of your own. “I’ve been running for so long, and I’m so tired.”

“Running from what?” The Dream Lord’s voice is as soft as the sand beneath your hands.

You pause. What should you tell him? The whole truth? A half truth? Now that you’ve begun to open up, to be vulnerable, keeping your guard up is becoming so much harder. You could tell him everything in this moment: The what, when, why, and who of what happened to you. You could tell him about Desire’s visit to you the night before. You could tell him all of it.

And yet, as much as you want to, something holds you back. Dream’s words from the first day you met echo loudly in your mind. ‘I do not wish to sour the blood between myself and my siblings.’ He had already done so much for you. Taking a chance on you, allowing you to step into his world, to step into his work. You didn’t want to place an extra burden on him when he’d already done so much.

No, this was your battle to fight, and yours alone. A half-truth, then. “My past. Memories,” you answer finally. “I remember precious little from my mortal life, but what I do recall, I relive each time I slip into that place between waking and sleep where deities find rest. And none of it is something I want to relive. Makes me miss dreaming, really. Facing nightmares would be so much easier.”

The Dream Lord is silent for several moments. “Is that what upset you? What prompted you to come here?” he finally asks.

You swallow, throat tight under the weight of his question. “Yes.”

“I am sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Dream Lord. They’re not dreams. They’re memories. It’s not as if there’s much you can do about that.”

Silence.

The two of you sit on the beach for a long time, watching as the tide draws in toward the shoreline. When the waves stretch far enough to lap at your shoes, you slip them off and dip your toes into the water. The gentle lull of the waves is consistent, reliable, calming. Dream cocks his head ever so slightly, eyes trained on the water that laps at his own boots now. The starlit sky is mirrored in his eyes, a thousand white flames flickering within them.

“I know what it is to grow weary,” Dream says, his voice low and thoughtful. A breath of sea breeze slips past the two of you, touseling his perpetually wild hair. Your fingers twitch slightly in the sand, some instinctual compulsion to move it back into place. “The millenia are long and, at times, cumbersome. There have been moments when I have struggled to identify what truly lies ahead. One may compare it to…running in place.”

You hum quietly at his admission, deep in thought. “And what did you do about it?” you ask.

Dream’s gaze lingers on his shoes for a long moment before he slowly draws his attention to you. “My sister taught me that you must rediscover your purpose. You must identify what it is that you are running toward.”

The complexity of this answer leaves you at a loss at first. What was your purpose? To fulfill the bonds of love linking all mortals together. To give them that which you had treasured, yet not been able to keep. To protect others from a similar fate by combating Desire, regardless of the cost. But what were you running toward? Were your purpose and your pursuit the same? Could they be different?

Both, you think suddenly. They can be both. For the past three months, you had been running toward your goal of balancing your scales, of keeping up with Desire’s vendetta against you. This race aligned with your purpose perfectly. But something in your heart had shifted. You wanted more than that now. You wanted nights of rest and mornings free of ghosts and demons. You wanted to feel that you were the one in control. You wanted to be happy.

‘So, are you happy?’ Hob’s question from the day before echoes in your mind. You had told him that you were, and it was true. As challenging as it was, opening up made you happy. Challenging yourself to be vulnerable made you happy. Jokes with Matthew and conversations with Lucienne made you happy. Crafting dreams every night on the dock made you happy. And, perhaps the most startling of all, spending time with the Dream Lord made you happy.

These are not just what you’re running toward, they’re what you’re running for.

“You know, it’s the craziest thing. Thinking back on the past few months, I’ve never been so tired. And yet, I’ve never been so encouraged to keep going.” Your voice is quiet, contemplative, barely audible above the waves lapping against the shore. As you watch the tide, a feeling settles into your heart that has been building for quite some time. Something you haven’t felt in so long that you’ve been unable to name it until now. Peace. “You say that the Dreaming is a safe haven, a place of reprieve. I know I must have come here in my mortal life. Maybe that’s why I feel so at peace here, why everything seems so familiar.” You turn to the Dream Lord, offering him a small, grateful smile. “I may not be mortal anymore, but it’s still a safe haven to me. So, thank you, Dream. Thank you for giving me a place to run to.”

. . .

Hours later, when the beach is empty and you’ve returned to the Waking World, Dream of the Endless stalks into the Library of Dreams. The resolute thud of his footsteps echoes off the floors, ricocheting from the bookshelves to resound in the high ceilings above.

This late at night, the aisles of the library are dark and crowded with shadows. His countenance, even more so. He is unsure of what drives him to come here, what compels him to begin this search. He only knows that it is an itch he must scratch.

You have held secrets for far too long. It is time he learns them.

Ahead of him, a familiar figure sits hunched over a stack of parchment at one of the library’s reading tables. When he calls her name, she straightens immediately. “Lucienne.”

The librarian turns in her chair, her dark brows rising in surprise. “My Lord, it is late. I did not expect to see you at this hour.”

He presses onward, ignoring her obvious perplexment. “I require Love’s book. Where can I find it?” His voice is firm, absolute.

Lucienne’s brows rise a half inch higher. Readjusting her spectacles on her nose, she rises from the table. “My Lord, I’m afraid I cannot be of help to you. Because Love does not dream in her divine form, she has no current record here. The only volume we will have is under her human name.”

A pause. “And do you know it?”

Lucienne’s dark lips press into a hard line. She shakes her head once, peering at his stony expression over the rim of her glasses. “I do not, my Lord. She has confided in me that she does not remember it.”

“I see.” The Dream Lord’s voice is low and sober. His chin dips between the collar of his cloak, eyes closing in thought. The memory of your face lingers in his mind, your cheeks flushed pink, eyes swollen and exhausted. And yet, when you’d looked at him, you’d smiled.

Thank you for giving me a place to run to.

The Dream Lord lifts his head slowly, deliberately. When he locks eyes with Lucienne, it is with conviction. “I know who we must ask.”

. . .

You’re not sure what lures you to the library when you arrive home from the Dreaming. A call, perhaps. A feeling. When you’d placed your hand on the door knob of your townhome, hoping to enjoy a bit of quiet before setting off for work, the sensation had gripped you suddenly. An attraction, a pull. Similar to the calling between yourself and your attachments, and yet…different. More potent. More powerful.

You’d found the nearest morning jogger that you could.

Now, stepping into your library, the feeling is downright overwhelming. You draw in a shuddering breath against the incessant pull in your chest, your thoughts scrambled, heart racing. Letting your heart be the guide, you follow the pull as it leads you away from the reading nook and into the labyrinthian aisles of the library beyond.

It’s not long before you realize where it’s leading you. As you pass hundreds upon hundreds of years’ worth of volumes, the answer becomes clear. The feeling is drawing you toward the farthest edge of the library, the first and final aisle. A place you swore you’d never enter for fear of inciting the ire of another deity, another Endless.

Feet heavy as lead, you come to a stop.

The bookshelf before you is full of volumes. Some detail the attachments of deities who have long since faded into nothingness, others chronicling those who still remain. Your eyes settle on a single leather-bound volume in the center of the shelf. In such close proximity, the attraction in your chest pulses powerfully, thrumming like a heartbeat.

You take the volume into your hands with trembling fingers. Somehow, you know the name you will see on the cover before even looking at it.

Dream of the Endless.

Your heartbeat is a freight train in your chest, charging blindly toward an unknown destination, at risk of running off the rails. You smooth your fingertips over the chilled leather, the gold etchings embossed onto the spine and cover. What were you to do? Should you open it?

What would Dream do?

You open the volume quickly, before you can think better of it.

When your eyes settle on the inked page, you see everything and nothing at once. Your eyes flicker over the parchment, seeking to understand, to process. But you don’t. You can’t.

Your heart drops to your gut, heavy as a stone.

You close the book, return it to its place, and leave without a word.

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semischarmed · 3 years

Text

Twice, Part 2

Butterflies.

I had butterflies in my stomach- not unlike the ones I had when first meeting Julien Michel.

It had been two days since that fateful meeting with the once-in-a-generation possessor Nate.

I gulped as I began to relay the events of the past few days in my head. I had not only met my favorite celebrity, but had also come across a new friend with a once-in a lifetime opportunity. I looked upon the pristine white fabric inner-wear he would be wearing for the race. I stared at the piece in envy, imagining what it must have been like to encapsulate Julien in his most intimate moments. The man lived and breathed racing, after all. It had only cemented the wish in my head. For this race, I would have that opportunity. To be with my driver in his element, to be driven by him as he drove his car at the most pivotal moment of his career-

“Phew” Nate laughed, cutting some of the tension. “Man, you’d think they’d make these locker rooms smell better.”

I laughed a bit as well. “You’d think the security was a bit better.”

I pulled out Julien’s racing clothes. Or rather, the underwear he wore beneath the suit.

“Welllll, I’ve never split someone into threes before… this- this is gonna sting”. Nate looked at me, watching for any hesitation. I could tell he still disapproved of the whole thing.

I reassured him. “Yeah, I figured it’d be weird to be three things at once… but thank you. Thank you for doing this.” I placed my hands on his shoulders. “Trust me Nate, I want this.”

Nate bit his lip. “Then let’s begin”. I nodded in response as I stripped buck naked. I blushed immediately. Nate chuckled. “Don’t worry man- just relax a bit and let me do my work.”

Nate began massaging my shoulders. His adept hands followed the contours of my body, like he was regarding my every shape. Being poked and prodded to this extent felt entirely foreign to me. It was like a checkup, except instead of a doctor’s hand searching for diagnosis, it was Nate’s- curving and rubbing across my bare skin. I gulped when I began to feel the first bits of it work.

It started as a pleasant buzz- like his hands were vibrating as they ran over my body. Only after the third go-round did I realize it was actually my body vibrating to match his. I watched my skin shiver and blur with the surrounding air as it continued to vibrate. That’s when it started to hurt a bit. Every cell of my body wanted to fight the process. It was a stinging flooding into my every being. I moaned in pain as Nate started to comfort me. “We’re almost there… just hold out a little longer.” The stinging became a searing as I watched my entire body vibrate incredibly fast- so fast that it began to steam the air around us. The blurring was now evident throughout my body, and I took note of my increasingly translucent and undefined form. Nate’s expert hands then began to move at a similar frequency, matching my own. He was sweating now too- no doubt from the heat of the entire process. Nate’s hands then reached into my chest and I felt a shattering in me. All discomfort melted away as I was awash with a sense of calm.

I could no longer see my form, but no panic ran through me. Instead, I felt myself lay motionless in the air in tranquility.

“Sorry buddy, never had that much resistance from someone before…” Nate stated. His voice felt distant to me, as did my own thoughts. I felt myself and everything around me begin to fade away in that same sea of tranquility. My astral eyes began to grow heavy before Nate’s hands inside me shocked me back to reality. No. I had a job to do.

After I regained lucidity, I watched as he took my incorporeal form, pulling strands out and laying them into the corresponding spot on the fabric. Nate’s hands moved fast, and I felt parts of myself get pulled into every thread of the fabric inner-wear. With every weave of my soul, I felt the white fabric yield.

According to Nate, whatever properties the possessor imbued the object with matched the qualities of that possessor. A bodybuilder, for example, would likely imbue strength.

I pondered for a moment on what qualities I’d even be giving Julien’s inner suit. However, instead of parts of myself being pulled in, I felt a path open. If that shirt had a mind, I imagined it being open like a blank book. In a sense, I felt the compulsion to choose what qualities to imbue myself. I did not take this opportunity lightly. For my driver to truly earn his victory, I had to choose a property that would only unlock his latent abilities, not supplement it. I chose to give him the same thing I gave him that day at the beach- understanding, support. I resolved to ease his only anxiety however I could, but not diminish from his innate racing strength. Though I no longer had a face to do it, I smiled at my handiwork.

Nate nearly collapsed in a heap as he finished weaving the last little bit of me inside. “There, I did exactly as you said- weaved you in three pieces, to that shirt and those pants, and mapped your head to that balaclava. I also worked a little of my magic on the sensation, so you’ll be able to experience all your senses throughout that suit. I know you didn’t ask but let’s be real, we both know why you wanted this”. He winked.

I chuckled internally. Nate put his hands at his hips as he began to say goodbye. “That race is starting soon so they’ll be in here in a moment. I’ll be taking my leave now… Stay safe out there. I’ll come back if I can and try to find you- and if not… well, we’ll figure something out“. It was Nate’s turn to gulp and I could tell that my new friend really would try his hardest to find me. However, it seemed like we both knew the reality neither of us would acknowledge- the chances of finding me after all this would be slim.

= = =

Bells rang as a rush of people flooded into the room. Guys were doing their pre-race warmups and rituals. I stirred a little as I searched for the sight or sound of my driver.

When he did not appear and the last call began to be announced, I worried for a second- had he run away? What was I even doing- would I even be helping? Hope began to dwindle until I heard shouting from the distance.

At last, Julien appeared by the door in a huff. He quickly stripped naked as he began to put me on- he was trembling. I could my astral heart churn. Poor guy must have been beyond nervous.

The first to move through me was his leg. With my senses jumbled, I felt Julien’s damp foot jammed in my mouth first, and then felt it move deeper and deeper down my non-existent throat. I felt myself swallow and conform around each foot, as the slight flavor of his foot sweat flooded my senses. It was just a little sour, but there was a sense of sweetness in his underlying musk. And with the way Nate had mapped out my senses, it felt like Julien was smearing them across my face, like he was unknowingly making me worship at his feet and up his legs as he put me on.

When I first felt his leg hairs graze me, I shivered in ecstasy. Like a muscular worm, it travelled down my insides, following the area where my actual leg would have been. Along the way, the hairs brushed across my core as they traveled down. It felt like an odd, violating tickle. Knowing it was Julien, unknowingly moving his body through me, violating my insides, it instead felt like safety. I would have been absolutely dripping wet and spent, had I not been turned into fabric. Instead, my new form prolonged the feeling. When all was said and done, I felt the bottom half of myself filled and whole, and the entirety of myself brimming with bliss.

As my waistband wrapped around Julien’s lower half with a satisfying smack, I was treated to the divine scent emanating from his nether regions. In truth, it was well sized, probably the upper end of average, but knowing it was a superstar’s dick imprinting itself through me, knowing it was Julien’s dick funk intensifying and integrating into my very fibers was more than enough for me. I was giddy and it seemed I was able to slightly affect the inner-wear I was possessing. Julien grunted in his throat as he felt me wrap tighter around his lower half. He scratched his balls and adjusted his dick through the fabric, and shivered momentarily as he felt me vibrate in elation.

Then came the shirt. I felt my driver crawl his way through me, tone arms snaking through my own. I shivered in satisfaction as my fabric draped over his defined chest, before resting where they should be- encapsulating Julien’s abs. I felt myself move in gratitude, compressing around his nipples as I played with them. The movement must have translated in real life, as I felt him transfix over his own body. My driver’s eyes glazed over as his body began to pull me out, as if to give me a show. Julien then began play with himself, nipples getting rock solid.

He ran sensual hands, over his chest and downhill midriff. His skin began to flush with color, as he plumped up a little from the bloodflow. A low guttural sound escaped Julien’s throat, practically moaning out an “…al….al…most…”.

Then, as soon as it started, it had ended. Still in a daze, Julien once again slithered into my upper half, this time his shivering in joy as his now-diamond-hard nipples grazed delightfully up my insides.

That bizarre little show must have gotten something out of him, as I felt myself awash in his body heat. It felt like security and belonging. Feeling Julien’s body heat emanate from deep within me, feeling his warmth touch every part of me- I was in paradise.

At last came the balaclava, his eyes peered through me and I felt myself conform around his face. When his plump lips touched my fabric, the rest of me seized.

Whether from nervousness, or from the stifling of my fabric, his breath shortened. The quicker paced air expelled by his body and through me shot tingles up my spine and through my ears. The air he huffed out was warm and wet, and I could feel it getting caught my fabric and in turn, my very being.

As he relaxed himself and his breathing slowed, I took note of the feel of his face through me. It was like I was reciprocating a permanent kiss, but one that encompassed my entire head. My thoughts felt dull and jumbled, like Julien himself was occupying my brain cavity- like I didn’t need to think as he would be doing the thinking, for the both of us. Oddly, I began to feel some semblance of his thought pierce through my own. Nate had never described such a thing before, so I had no idea what to make of it. I paid the odd feeling no mind, as it was nothing short of true fulfillment.

Being now of fabric, I was stretched and contorted to fit his body shape. Form fitted into the perfect shape- the shape of my driver. In every sense, I sought to be the perfect inner-suit for him. I wanted to be worn by him proudly. His heart was still pounding in nervousness, but I embraced him the only way I could- through my tightening my hold on his body and a reflection of his own heat back- I liked to think some part of that had an affect on my driver, as he was no longer shaking.

He went to put on the outer layer suit, and god was it something. The outer-suit was a tight fit, so as he slipped us into it, I felt it compress me and my driver even tighter together. I had been sandwiched between Julien and his suit- not that I had any qualms about it. The smell pervading the air I was trapped in was incredible. Deodorant that smelled of menthol and sandalwood, but an undercurrent of Julien’s musk. My driver’s scent.

= = =

As he walked to the crowd, I felt him raise his hand, waving it across his adoring fans.

Little did he know he was wearing one of them.

It felt good to be worn. It felt good to be moved by him. It felt good for Julien’s movements to be at the core of my own.

I heard and felt the low hum of the engine as they waited. The day was sunny and there was a soft breeze through the air. All in all, a perfect day for a race- and I was in the perfect position to experience it. It was heaven being worn like this. I laid in the contentment of stillness, partially by the stillness of my wearer. We sat there for a few minutes. From his steady breathing, this must have been a bit relaxing for him as well. It felt like enjoying a nice picnic with my un-knowing driver.

Then, in a flash, all that vanished. It was like a shift in the very air itself between the racers. The air around us thickened while the audience began to quiet.

Julien gulped and I felt a stray bead of sweat from his forehead dot my fabric.

Tense.

Knuckles gripped white.

Foot frozen above the pedal.

The hum of the cars became a roar as the a loud buzzer rang and the race began.

In a split second, in reflex not earned, I felt the my leg pulled forward as Julien pushed the pedal.

Even in my astral state, I felt my stomach dip as I was pulled forward and the car accelerated at a breakneck pace.

The sound of cars roaring past.

The feel of wind buffeting.

Then, a slow and steady breath from Julien. My compass. I focused on his breathing, matching it to my own vibration as it brought me back to center.

I couldn’t help but laugh at the mix of anxiety and release. A race was fun enough to watch on a screen. More-so in person. But, actually being there? Actually feeling the thrill of having yourself rocket past as a part of it? It was an entirely different experience. For lack of a better word, I felt in true sync with him.

Julien quickly overtook the vast majority of racers, placing himself squarely in third.

He bit his lip as his brain churned.

It was almost as if I could tell the next movement he was about to make.

And in fact, his body telegraphed the maneuver.

Then came the cloud I felt he was always bothered by.

A moment’s hesitation brought about by his mind.

In that split second instance, he was passed by another person and dropped to fourth. I felt his shoulders slump in self-deprecation.

This was it. This was where I was needed.

I focused relaying back the dull pleasure I felt in being worn back to him. That seemed to have done a bit of work, as I felt my driver’s grip tightened as he focused back and moved to close the gap.

The car whooshed past third, and I could feel the wind begin to encapsulate us tighter. I fed him more of my pleasure, wrapped over and tackling his anxiety myself. I constricted tighter around his thighs and felt them buckle slightly as his hip thrusted forward. He was moaning. In my fabric confines, I screamed euphoric. “Fuck,” was all I could think as I felt his rod harden inside me, then through me. In my stretchy form, I adapted to his shape, and I felt every moment of it. I was huffing internally as I tried to scream and grab at something to manage the wave after wave of pleasure I felt. Instead, I felt myself constrict around his biceps. He let out an uncharacteristic grunt as I felt his muscles flex.

“Yeah… like that.” Julien moaned. I was surprised he hadn’t driven us into a wall by this point and would have been surprised by his words, had I not been entirely preoccupied by the onslaught of euphoria. It felt like every part of myself was being rammed by him. He thrusted forward again, thickened and rock-hard and now dripping with sweat, as I yielded to the emotion.

Surrender.

All rationality left me as I felt myself consumed by our bliss. I felt his sweat glide and pool all throughout me, and his rank natural odor intensify through me. I wanted more of it.

Greedily, I sucked up every ounce of him, feeling his grime and sweat pervade through me and inside me. I moved across his body, constricting and sucking till my fabric clung to my driver like a layer of skin.

I could no longer smell the deodorant he had on, long since replaced by heat and moisture and his miasma.

Once I was impossibly tight around him, I swallowed every part of him even further, squeezing and integrating every ounce of his perspiration for myself.

As I did, Julien’s moves became clearer- measured. Every turn a calculated maneuver as he glided across the asphalt. I felt myself shift left and right with him as we raged for our place. Then… the road evened.

Julien had secured second place.

We quickly made work of second as well and blazed straight through to first. In the distance I heard the roar of what I could only assume was the crowd.

We were still moving unbelievably fast, but there was a bit lucidity now. I no longer felt myself needing to hold back his anxiousness, though I wasn’t sure how much of it was me actually helping at this point.

Instead, I felt an odd sensation through me and our synced mind. It was- recognition. “Thanks, partner,” I felt him think. I dared not speak in my mind further, not knowing if he knew of my presence in his clothing or how he’d even feel about it. I didn’t have to worry long. Before I could consider any options, I felt a reassurance wash over me from him. “I know it’s you.”

I then heard something sweet come from deep within me. A soft tenor coursed over every bit of myself, as vibrations roused throughout. Instantly, my attention was drawn to the driver wearing me.

He was humming.

His ease and enjoyment itself was all I needed to know I had made the right decision. For in this moment was an experience that would stay with the both of us, and one that only we had the privilege of sharing. A private moment shared between two.

He did a little dance in his seat as he hummed, and I giggled in our semi-shared mind. I then felt another emotion of Julien’s penetrate me. It was a stirring of something I had not known to ever come from him. Cockiness.

With his voice still in a song-like cadence, and a childish playfulness, he reverberated a thought throughout me before proceeding to speak them. “Let’s show these people what we- what this new an improved Julien Michel can really do. Keep sucking me dry- We’re gonna break some records.”

Commanding me. Calling himself improved with me, calling us both by his name was enough to rile me up- he didn’t have to tell me twice.

I dutifully wrapped around my driver tighter, as I felt him floor the car.

Through the face-mask that I had become, I could feel the imprint of his smile widen through me, causing my astral self to make the very same face. Oh fuck.

The heat around us increased and the engine screamed as we rocketed past.

I could feel the heat in our bodies increase as well.

The car was near flames as the winds rushing through the vehicle became a tempest from our acceleration.

Julien’s face morphed to one of euphoria. His mouth hung slack-jawed and his eyes closed briefly as we both felt our climax dawn.

I’m not sure which one of us played out the intrusive thought, or where it originated, but the only word reverberating through our synced mind was, “Closer.”

Recognition of my astral self and Julien’s began to blur.

“Keep going” was all he said, as he was squirming in his seat in pleasure. Pure hedonism.

As he writhed, he only served to intensify the sounds of the rubber and leather, the sounds of the seat and suit and my fabric rubbing upon each other. My senses were flooded by a mix of his own and the feeling of his bare, sweaty skin rubbing upon my own.

I drank the sweat from his every follicle, which had only served to fuel my greed for him further. I was drunk on his essence.

In turn, Julien must have felt my own as he could only exclaim a breathless, “Fuck”, as he gyrated even deeper. I was still dripping with Julien when I felt an invasion of him in my head- it was an invasion I welcomed much as he had welcomed mine. In that moment, I felt our minds interlace even closer and it became clear what had been putting my driver in so much heat- me- he was thrashing about and pleasuring himself in the thought of wearing me on himself. He had also been fantasizing about being worn, borrowing my senses to get off on the idea. Naturally, I followed suit and did the same.

In the heat of the still-accelerating car, distinction began to blur. I thought back to Nate’s words about his predecessors. About the techniques with which the weaved astral forms to and fro. About imbuing items.

I moved on instinct as I felt myself begin to detach from the fabric.

Imbue.

No space to think clearly on what.

Myself.

I made a leap of faith and felt a gravity from his body reciprocate. I was being received to a new, welcoming home- Julien Michel.

As threads of my spirit began to penetrate his, I felt his pull as he greedily lapped up more of me, interlacing and integrating me into himself. The process was surreal. The pain and pleasure was even more transcendent. I could feel myself move in and out, weaving his physical form to his astral one, and weaving myself in between them. There was no resistance at all- in fact both his body and soul seemed to encourage it.

Julien’s unfocused eyes laid lazily on the stretch of road in front of us. His mouth still hung upon as drool began to escape. We could only moan as we continued our bonding.

By instinct, our body moved to turn properly, and the burning car sped even further. Despite the grinding on the seat, our every movement as it pertained to the race was precise. Measured. Perfect.

Sweat dripped from our eyes, and the musk that brewed within our suit intensified. Flames began to appear and wrap around the car as we could make out the finish line. We welcomed the flame, welcomed the transformative heat as we felt it bake the suit containing our body. It was consummation.

I felt myself become one with Julien as the heat welded our two woven souls into one. That seemed to do it, as was the last thing we did before the process completed- unconditional surrender. We surrendered to each other as our shared body surrendered to its impulses. The car rocketed into the finish line, we screamed, and climaxed into a new state of being.

That was the first time I came as Julien. We sat in the stillness for a second, heart pounding and basking in the afterglow as the last of Julien’s cum seeped out of our shared dick- we were one.

The car slowed to halt as the staff began to douse everything to extinguish the flames. Naturally, we were unharmed, though still twitching in the adrenaline coursing through us from the single greatest orgasm in both of our lives. I felt him recede a little, as he sought to show me what it was like to pilot the body of a record breaker and the now-number one driver in the world. I chuckled, hearing Julien’s laugh come out of me for the first time like music. My driver has earned his rest.

As I removed the helmet, with hair slick with sweat and body covered in our grime, I looked upon the world through Julien’s eyes for the first time- to the crowd watching intently. I raised my hands and it roared to life. They were chanting “Julien”. They were chanting me. Confetti exploded through the air as if to celebrate with me.

= = =

Nate rushed over after the race ended, in the body of a guard.

Through Julien’s eyes and our heightened state of being, we noticed it was him piloting the guard, twitching slightly whenever no one was looking.

Likely, the guard’s body was beginning to reject him.

Nate made his way to the garbage bin, eyeing the discarded, filthy suit and a look of worry began to wash over him.

I placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Nate…. It’s fine.” I gave the guard a quick peck on the cheek-intended for Nate before sighing dreamily. “Better than fine- and I have you to thank for all this.”

“B-but.. how? How did you- and him…” He looked dumbfounded, but recognition began to dawn as he saw my body’s new soul- it was Julien’s own soul, and mine, turned one.

Still in the afterglow of the new body I now shared with Julien, I stroked my new cheek, shivering at the sensations I felt. Hearing Julien’s voice come out of my mouth would never get old. “Twice.”

“Twice?”

“That power... It came twice this generation.” I smiled, as Nate beamed back in understanding.

“Holy Shit..” Nate whispered through the red flush on the guard’s face as he tugged on Julien’s skin, watching it provide no give or resistance to the merged souls it was bonded with. “Well, I suppose that’s one less body in the world to possess... We’ll be in touch”.

In a flash, the guard’s eyes rolled to their sockets as he shook himself free. “I- uh… huh?” I patted the confused man on the shoulder, smiling. He smiled politely in response, before scratching the back of his head in confusion and walking back to his post.

I looked over at the mirror, looked into my new beautiful autumn eyes. I watched my new arm, running my other hand through it as I felt it dematerialize. The astral remnant looked just like Julien’s arm. I looked deep inside to the Julien that was still in there with me, the Julien that had freely given himself to me as I spoke to our reflection again.

“Twice”.

-End Pt. 2-

Hope that was a fun read.

I tried to keep it as sweet as I could, but… you know me 🤪. Hopefully my lack of racing knowledge wasn’t a detriment to this one, haha. Happy Holidays!

#male possession #clothes possession #malepossession #male body control #inanimate possession

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