#Sandmanniversary

[angelsonoah]

Mother Night doesn't take rejection kindly, and so what if she decided to....wipe her favorite son's memories and turned him into an obedient puppet?

Well, the ungrateful, selfish child needed a lesson or two for disobeying Mother anyway.

This is a mother's love. And you don't get to say no to them.

Sandmanniversary 2024 Day 3 Entry

AMNESIA

Thank you so much @mr-sadman for hosting the event

I had my fun with it a lot🥰🥰🥰

[seiya-starsniper]

I mean, I can't NOT prompt 3."Can you just look at me? Please?" with Dreamling. Because I'm predictable like that.

🤘five-and-dimes

Hey @five-and-dimes, remember when you sent me this BACK IN MARCH? 😅 I finally got around to it, for Sandmannivery and also for Dreamling Bingo!

This was originally supposed to be a shortfic and then it ballooned to 4k, whoopsies! But I don't think you'll mind all that much ahahahaha.

@mr-sadman prompt: Amnesia @dreamlingbingo prompt: Square C1 - Rescue

Rating: General

Warnings: None

Tags: Memory Loss, Dream of the Endless Saves Hob Gadling, Time Loop, Angst with a Happy Ending

Read the whole fic below or on AO3: a half-remembered dream

— — — — — — — — — —

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the air was warm and inviting. It was the type of day best spent laying out on the grass in a bed of flowers, with no thought or care to any sort of responsibilities for that day. It was a weekend after all.

Wasn’t it? 

Now that he thinks about it—what day is it anyways? Wasn’t there something he needed to do? Why did it feel like there was something he was forgetting?

— — — — —

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the air was warm and inviting. It was the type of day best spent laying out on the grass in a bed of flowers…

…Where were all the flowers?

When the man sits up all he sees is an endless sea of grass. Where was he? What time was it? How long had he been here? Why was he—who was he?

Why can’t he remember?

What was going on?

How—

— — — — —

It was a beautiful day. The sun—

— — — — —

It was a beautiful day. Again. The sun was shining. Again. The birds were singing. Always the same song, the same length, the same tune. The same, the same, the same. The sun was shining, but now it felt cold and hollow, not warm and inviting. There was something very wrong about where he was, and now that he was paying attention, he fits the pieces together to form a very simple conclusion.

Hob Gadling was dreaming. 

He’d been dreaming for the entire time he’d been here. And he still had no idea where here was. Sometimes he’s laying in a field of flowers. Other times there’s nothing else but grass and rolling hills for miles. Sometimes he hears the babbling of a brook nearby. Sometimes he remembers the vague outline of a cottage that reminds him of his childhood home. The one from 1359.

Hob doesn’t know how long he’s been here. Every time he gets somewhat close to maybe remembering something, his mind just—floats away. He wouldn’t quite call it blacking out, his vision doesn’t go suddenly dark and he doesn’t lose consciousness then suddenly wake up. Could a person even wake up from a dream into another dream? Hob has no idea.

Sometimes though, if he concentrates enough, Hob can feel a deep ache in his muscles and bones. He knows it’s his real body that feels the pain because in this dream world, Hob can run and skip and jump for miles and miles and miles. Wherever his body, his real body was, Hob knows that it hadn’t moved or been moved in a very long time. 

Too long, his mind supplies. 

Wake up, he tells himself. He’d always been able to get himself to wake up if he knew he was dreaming. But it doesn’t seem to be working this time. Hasn’t worked on any of his other previous attempts really, but Hob still feels like he has to at least try to do it again.

Wake! Up! he tells himself over and over to no avail. Wake up, wake up, wake up! 

Nothing. 

Hob growls in frustration and desperately looks around the dreamscape, hoping for some sort of sign, some sort of clue for how to get out of here. Was he in a coma? Was that why he couldn’t wake up? Was his body safe? Was he—?

Hob startles suddenly as his eyes catch sight of a shadow. The movement is so swift, so sudden, that Hob’s not entirely sure he didn’t just blink and imagine it all. He whips his head around desperately, concentrating all his focus to the spot where he thinks the shadow may have gone.

And then he sees it. A small wisp in the dark. Hob runs, desperate to catch up to it. He wants to see what it is, who it is, because he’s almost certain the shadow is a person, and maybe they know a way out of this place, a trick to wake Hob up, something, anything to help. 

But then, just as suddenly as it appeared, the shadow vanishes into the air, as if it had never been there at all.

But Hob knows that he’s seen it. He knows it’s there.

He knows he’s not alone here. Not anymore. 

— — — — —

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the air was warm and inviting.

“Why can’t I wake up?” Hob asks the shadow, ignoring everything else around him. The shadow stands out in the bright landscape of the dream, though Hob is certain it did not mean for Hob to perceive its presence at all.

The shadow does not answer him. It never does. Hob sees the shadow all the time now, out of the corner of his eye, always just beyond reach. He doesn’t know what the shadow is, but he is certain that he knows the shadow itself. He’s forgotten the hows and the whys and the whens, but he knows the shadow is a friend. That it won’t hurt him.

The problem is, the shadow won’t help him either. 

“Can you just look at me please?” Hob begs. If he were stuck here, if even they were both stuck here, wherever this weird limbo between dreaming and waking was, wouldn’t it be better if they worked together? Anything was better than this crushing loneliness Hob was feeling right now. He would do anything to have a conversation with someone right now. He doesn’t know when the last time was that he’d heard the voice of a friend. 

“Answer me!” Hob demands, his anger rising now as the shadow continues to ignore him. “Why can’t I wake up from this dream?!”

Silence. Then—

“It is not safe,” the shadow says, and then, once again, it is gone.

— — — — —

It was a beautiful day. No. It was an awful day, and Hob screams to the sky and demands the stranger—his Stranger—because something about that rings true in his mind—stop hiding from Hob and face him like a man. That too, rings true in his mind, that the Stranger at the very least, wore the shape of a human man whenever Hob saw him.

As always though, Hob’s questions are met with nothing but indifferent silence.

Hob will not give up. He knows now that something is very wrong, something that is keeping Hob from waking up, from living, and he is determined to find out exactly what.

Ever since Hob encountered the Stranger, his mind has stopped floating away, but now Hob is all too aware that he’s repeating the same day, in this same goddamned endless landscape, over and over again. And he doesn’t know why.

The Stranger knows why. He doesn’t always show up when the day resets, but when he does, he doesn’t speak, nor does he meet Hob’s eye, no matter how much he begs and pleads. If Hob tries to run to him, the Stranger somehow ends up further away, without having taken a single step. It’s infuriating. 

Today, Hob can’t see him anywhere, but somehow, he knows the Stranger is here. And still, he ignores Hob’s requests to talk. Hob tries insults next, hurling whatever cruel and uncaring words come to the forefront of his mind. No response. He tries threats. Nothing. He goes back to begging, crying even, for any sort of acknowledgement from this cruel and uncaring god. 

No response.

So Hob screams.

He screams and screams and screams and—

— — — — —

It was raining. 

Finally, something was different. Hob had grown sick of nothing but sunny days and perfect weather. It was all so fake. The sunny weather was fake, the beautiful landscapes were fake, the trees, the flowers, the singing birds, all of it was fake and Hob hated it here.

Thunder booms in the distance suddenly, followed by the unmistakable crack of lightning, as if the weather had worsened to reflect Hob’s feelings on the matter. Maybe Hob was affecting this tiny little dream world he found himself suddenly trapped in. Maybe he had more power here than he originally thought. 

Not that it really mattered anyways. Hob was still trapped, and his only hope for escape refused to talk to him. For all Hob knew, the Stranger he’s been trying so hard to communicate with is the reason he’s trapped here. Maybe he’s keeping Hob here because Hob did something to offend him. 

Even as the thought crosses his mind, he knows immediately that it’s not true. The Stranger, whoever he was, was Hob’s friend, and Hob knew, deep in his bones, his weary, achy, exhausted bones, that the Stranger wouldn’t keep him here against his will. There was something else going on, and for whatever reason, Hob wasn’t allowed to know. 

“Please tell me what’s wrong,” Hob says to the falling drops outside his cottage window. “You said it wasn’t safe, but what if I’m not safe out there? Where is my body? Why am I asleep? What happened to me?”

Lightning crackles and sparks in the distant horizon in response, but Hob receives no other indicator that the Stranger, the shadow, had been listening to his pleas at all. 

— — — — —

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and Hob thinks he has never heard anything more perfect and wonderful in his entire life.

Because today, Hob finally remembers. 

He remembers the meeting with his Stranger in 1389. Then 1489. And 1589. And on and on they went, secret meetings in the same tavern once every hundred years. A friendship borne on shaky beginnings, but still steadfast and true. He remembers the name of his friend. His patron. His—

“Dream!” Hob calls out to the sky. It vibrates and shakes and Hob can feel the atmosphere of the dreamscape tremble at the utterance of its maker’s name. Hob learned that Dream’s name is a closely guarded secret, that it is sacred, because to hold Dream’s name in one’s mind is to hold power over the Endless himself. 

Even knowing this, Hob still calls for him. Even knowing the pull of Hob’s will, Dream still does not come.

Which means that something incredibly bad has happened. Dream would not lock Hob away like this without cause.  

“Why am I here, Dream?!” Hob yells. “What’s going on?!”

— — — — —

It was…a day. 

Hob does not know how long he’s been here, trapped, scared, alone. The dreamscape has grown dull with each passing, unchanging day, and Hob’s will to continue on with this charade of a life grows thinner and thinner as well.

He does not want to die. Hob will never ask for Death’s hand, of that much he’s certain. He will stay here for as long as it takes, confident that one day, he will once again taste what it feels like to be awake. To be alive.

But Hob is also tired, and, perhaps more importantly, he is bored. As peaceful as his little cottage is, as safe as it appears, there is nothing left for Hob to do but wait. And he does not know what he is waiting for, other than for Dream to finally speak to him and tell him that everything’s all right again.

So Hob decides to sleep.

He realized, some time back, that though his physical body is asleep, his dreaming body is wide awake. But this manifestation too, needs rest, and cannot sustain itself forever, even in the realm of dreams. His dreaming mind, too, needs rest from time to time, which Hob belatedly realizes is the reason why sometimes he has a dreamless sleep.

Dream, Hob is certain, will wake both his subconscious and conscious minds, when everything is safe in the Waking World again. 

The cottage in this landscape of Hob’s mind contains a bed big enough for Hob to sprawl in. Hob wouldn’t have had this bed back in the 1300s, it’s more reflective of the one he shared with Eleanor in the 1500s, back when he was a lord and could afford all the finest silks and sheets. It’s far too large of a bed to sleep in alone, and Hob almost wishes he could craft himself a companion of some sort to cuddle up to, to at least pretend he’s not stuck in his own mind alone. And well, it was probably for the better anyways. Hob is pretty sure that even if he could make himself a companion, it wouldn’t be Eleanor he would create in his mind’s eye to cuddle up to. And well, that would be rather embarrassing to explain. 

So Hob settles in his large bed, alone, and lets himself drift off, hoping that he won’t wake too soon.

— — — — —

It was a beautiful…night?

Hob spins and spins and spins, and still, he cannot fathom how it is he’s surrounded on all sides by nothing but darkness stars. He thinks he should be falling, for there is nothing but infinity below his feet when he looks down.  And yet, the ground beneath his feet is solid as anything Hob has ever stood on, even if staring at it too long makes his eyes a little dizzy.

Everything Hob has come to know about his dream world is gone. The cottage is gone, the bed he’d been sleeping in for eons and eons and eons is gone, the grass, the flowers, the rolling hills, all of it is gone, gone, gone. Like it had never existed in the first place. 

Hob tries running in one direction, then another. Yet for all his efforts, he never seems to truly move anywhere. He wonders what it all means. 

Then, Hob sees him. A shadow in the dark. A wisp of power. A spark of hope and light and friend.

Dream of the Endless rushes towards Hob in the blink of an eye and collapses in a broken heap at his feet. Hob startles and then falls to his knees, clutching his oldest friend in his arms. Has Dream always been so small? So frail? 

“My friend, what’s happened?” Hob asks, trying to not jostle the other too much. Dream doesn’t respond, only groans when Hob tries to take a closer look at him. “Dream, please, are you all right?” Hob pleads, hoping and praying to whatever entity out there that the Endless was all right. That this wasn’t the end of the line for the two of them.

Even if it was though, Hob is certain he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. 

“Hob,” Dream gasps after a moment, his head suddenly shooting up as he meets Hob’s eyes. Hob realizes with horror that his friend’s face is covered entirely in blood, and his eyes are sunken, endless pits of black. Dream looks like someone had beaten him for hours, then thrown him out to fend for himself. Hob feels helpless, not knowing what he can possibly do to help. 

“My friend,” Hob wails, tears filling his eyes, and gripping Dream tightly. “What happened to you?”

“It’s over,” Dream wheezes, then coughs out a darkened ball of sludge. “You’re free.”

“What? Dream!” Hob yells, and then—

— — — — —

Hob gasps and coughs loudly as air, real air, fills his lungs. To finally breathe with his waking body is both the most glorious and agonizing thing. He feels as though he had been dead and brought back to life, only this time around, he’d spent a particularly long time being dead. Everything hurt, his head, his eyes, his bones.  

“Oh fucking hell,” someone curses from next to him. Hob’s head snaps harshly to his left, trying to locate the source of the voice. 

It is a mistake to move so suddenly.

Hot, fiery pain shoots up Hob’s spine and all the way up to the tip of his ears and he groans. The voice curses again, calling Hob a bloody idiot and it’s only when Hob sees a flash of a bright white trench coat that he finally recognizes who it is that’s at his bedside.  

“Constantine?” Hob tries to say, but his voice cracks on the syllables. He coughs again. He’s thirsty. Parched even. His tongue feels like lead, and every time he tries to say something else, the words come out as a cough and a wheeze instead. 

“The one and only Hobsie,” Johanna replies, still seeming to understand Hob’s intelligible noises anyways. “I’m sure you’re wondering what the flying fuck has happened then,” she adds, gesturing between the two of them. “Let’s get you some water first though, you look and sound like shit.”

— — — — —

Hours later, Hob’s mind is spinning as Johanna explains to him what’s happened to Hob over the past eight months. Eight. Months.

Apparently, someone had figured out that Hob was immortal, and, unsurprisingly, had tried to see if they could steal his immortality for themselves. There was a battle, a negotiation with a demon that Johanna was all too happy to smite, a failed spell, a cult, and—a coma.

A coma induced by Dream. To save Hob’s mind. The demon that the cult had summoned had wriggled its way into Hob’s head, eager for a vessel that would not die so easily. One that could easily wreak infinite destruction and chaos upon the mortal realm. 

Dream would not let that happen. He’d followed the path of the demon into Hob’s mind, had fought tirelessly with it, while keeping Hob’s own consciousness locked away in a small pocket of the Dreaming, where not even Lucifer themself could reach. He’d left the guard of Hob's physical body to Johanna, who then stuck Hob in one of her safehouses just outside London, checking on him every other day to see if his condition had changed. She had been just about to leave for the evening when Hob awoke and, in her words, “scared her fucking soul into next Thursday, you git.”

Johanna, unfortunately, has no idea what’s happened to Dream, but she’s not nearly as terrified as Hob feels she should be when he describes to her the last he’d seen of the Endless before he’d woken up.

“That bastard’s too stupid to let a demon off him like that,” Johanna says, shrugging. “I’ll see if I can get a hold of him, but you need to fucking rest, or he’ll kill me himself.”

Hob thinks he should be afraid to go back to sleep, after being asleep for so long already. But shortly after Johanna leaves, Hob finds himself growing sleepy once more, and for the first time, he falls into an entirely peaceful, dreamless slumber. 

— — — — —

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the air was warm and inviting.

Hob takes a deep breath, and smells fresh air for the first time in eight months.

He is awake. He is alive.

It had taken him almost an entire week to recover his strength after he’d woken up. An entire week of trying to make sense of his life, how he’d lost eight months of it, the cult of wannabe wizards who had tried to take his immortality from him, the lies Johanna had spun on his behalf so no one would look too closely into why Hob was suddenly missing. It had been overwhelming those first few days, but Hob’s always been quick to adapt to things, so today he is taking the time to relax and enjoy his hard won freedom. 

Hob feels his presence before he sees him. He’s gotten good, over the centuries, at being able to sense when Dream was nearby. There was always just the subtlest change in the air, a sudden smell of morning rain where previously there had been none.

Dream sits next down to Hob on the bench, a loaf of bread in hand, which he starts to break apart to feed the pigeons that have gathered at their feet. He looks much improved from when Hob had last seen him. Still fragile, but whole and unhurt. 

“I’ve been waiting for you to show up,” Hob says, turning to face Dream and smiling to show that he’s not angry.

“I am aware,” Dream replies, his own lips quirking up just so. “I apologize for the delay. I had some additional matters to deal with.”

“Banishing demons and the like?” Hob asks with a small chuckle. Dream huffs. 

“How are you, my friend?” Dream asks instead of answering Hob’s question. Hob stretches and then cracks his neck in response.

“Still a bit stiff, honestly, but doing loads better,” Hob answers. “Thanks for…everything. Even if I wasn’t always the most grateful at times,” he adds a bit sheepishly. He still remembers how angry and frustrated he’d felt. How lonely he’d felt. 

Hob knows, logically, that he’d mostly reacted out of fear and ignorance, much of which was brought on by his amnesia in the Dreaming. But he still feels guilty about all the unkind things he’d thought about Dream, when Dream had been out on the front lines desperately trying to save his life. Things he knows that Dream was able to perceive while Hob was locked away in the Dreaming. He wonders if that’s why Dream hadn’t come to see him right away. If his friend was angry at him, though he didn’t look like it at present. 

Hob is shaken out of his morose thoughts by a solid hand on his shoulder. Dream’s hand. God, he really must look like a wreck if Dream is this concerned. 

“I am sorry,” Dream says solemnly, “that I took so long to rescue you. You suffered unnecessarily because of my shortcomings.”

“Dream,” Hob says, swallowing a lump in his throat, and trying to ignore the heat creeping up his face at where his friend is touching him. “You saved me. That’s not nothing.” 

He’s touched at how much Dream cares, but it really wasn’t the Endless’s fault that Hob found himself in danger. If anything, it was Hob’s fault entirely for not being careful enough, despite centuries of living, and learning that hard way that he needed to be careful.

“But it was my fault you were compromised in the first place,” Dream says, then suddenly goes silent, his face pinched.

Hob furrows his brow, confused. “How’s that?” he asks. “It wasn’t your fault that someone figured out I was immortal.” Dream sighs, then shakes his head.

“Those that captured you were not well versed in the ways of the occult,” Dream answers.“They mistakenly summoned a demon far more powerful than they intended, and it was only because the demon knew of your association with me that they were spared their lives, and allowed to strike a bargain.”

“So the demon only helped because he knew you and I were friends?” Hob asks. “That’s hardly your fault still.”

“That is—not all of it,” Dream says, looking wretched and like he’s marching to his own execution.

“Then what else?” Hob asks, placing his hand over Dream’s own. It’s surprisingly warm beneath his touch, but Hob may just be projecting. Dream tries to remove his hand from Hob’s shoulder, and Hob lets him, but doesn’t release his own grip on the Endless’s hand, letting their hands slide down to the bench between them instead. 

“It’s okay, Dream,” Hob says, squeezing his friend’s hand in reassurance. “You can tell me.”

Dream stares at the point where their hands meet, face still pinched with discomfort. Hob lets the silence between them drag out, not wanting to rush his friend. Whatever it was Dream wanted to tell him, it clearly was something that weighed heavily on his mind, and Hob didn’t want to put his friend under any more duress than they both had been through recently. 

“The demon knew,” Dream finally says, so quietly that Hob can barely hear him, “that I felt more for you than just friendship.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Dream—” Hob starts to say, his heart suddenly lurching,  but Dream holds up his free hand to silence him.

“That is not the only confession I wish to make,” Dream admits, before he takes a deep breath Hob knows damn well he does not need.

“Okay…” Hob replies, bracing himself, but still feeling hopeful, despite Dream’s somber tone.

“After our reunion at The New Inn,” Dream says, his face now tinted the slightest shade of pink. “You dreamed of me.”

Ah. 

“I…see,” Hob says, processing all this new information while trying to calm the rapid thump-thump-thump of his heart. “So you’ve known for a while then,” he continues, his question confirmed when Dream nods his head silently at him, still looking somber. 

“Why then—” Hob coughs and then clears his throat. “Why all the secrecy then?” 

Dream’s brow seems to be in a permanent state of pinched, and Hob wants to smooth it out with his thumb, but he holds himself back as the Endless considers his words. 

“My love has been a burden to mortals before,” Dream replies, looking stricken as some painful memory seems to overcome him. “It is, in fact, forbidden for the Endless to consort with mortals, barring certain circumstances,” he continues. “I withheld my knowledge of your feelings, as well as my own, for your own safety. For all the good that it did in the end.”

“Hey,” Hob says, squeezing down on Dream’s hand as understanding dawns on him. “I’m still here thanks to you. And still plan to be for the long haul. Too much to live for, remember?”

“I still put you in danger,” Dream starts to argue, but Hob shushes him gently.

“That sort of danger comes with what I signed up for,” Hob reassures him. “And I’d go through it again, just so you know,” he adds sincerely. “Too much to live for still includes you.”

Dream's eyes widen, shock and hope and awe clearly painted across his features. “You would still—?”

“I would,” Hob replies immediately, leaning in just close enough for them to almost kiss. “You're worth the risk, any day, any century, Dream.”

“You are a fool,” Dream replies, but there’s no reproach in his tone. Only a heat that makes desire curl in Hob’s belly.

“Maybe,” Hob grins, staring pointedly down at Dream’s mouth. “Can I kiss you?”

“You can do more than just that,” Dream purrs, and then suddenly the two of them are enveloped in a whirl of sand that instantly moves them from the park bench to Hob’s bedroom. Hob laughs as he finds himself pinned beneath the King of Dreams.

“C’mere you,” Hob says, tugging his oldest friend down into a kiss. 

It was a perfect day.

[mr-sadman]

Mr. Sadman presents : Sandmanniversary 2024!

Welcome lovelies!! We hope that you join us for this weekend celebration, from August 3rd to 5th, all around our favourite tv show!

Our stance on plagiarism and AI 

We do not accept nor condone the use of plagiarism, including the use of AI, whether in writing or art. If you are caught using either, you will be disqualified from the current event and barred entry for the other events the Mr. Sadman team puts forward.

Disclaimer : all images used in our graphics come from the Unsplash Archive (https://unsplash.com/about) which are free to use

General Rules and Information

Being a server member, while strongly advised, is not mandatory for this event. Our AO3 collection will be entirely open and unmoderated for everyone to post. We will be accepting late submissions, so fear not if you don’t have time to post everything you wanted to post! Additional events, such as watch-parties, fic read-alongs and game nights, will be held on the server.

The official tags for this year’s edition are : #Sandmanniversary and #Sandmanniversary 2024

For reblogging purposes, make sure your tumblr blog is visible in searches and don’t be shy to tag our account (mr-sadman)! Unfortunately, despite our vigilance, some posts can evade our attention, if that’s the case, please DM us and we will rectify the situation.

Official AO3 Collection : Sandmanniversary 2024 [link]

If you are under the age of 18, you will not be able to create explicit content for the event. Just to reiterate, Mr. Sadman is a 16+ server.

The Mr. Sadman Modteam is a firm believer of “ship and let ship” as well as the kinktomato (https://fanlore.org/wiki/Kinktomato). In accordance with the Server’s existing rules, we will not tolerate any discrimination and harassment in any forms whatsoever. This includes: queerphobia, homophobia, racism, content policing, hate speech, doxxing, shaming, etc, as well as hostility towards organisers and fellow participants. 

Since the event is a few weeks away, what can I do now?

Spread the word and the joy! We have decided to post the prompts early to give more time for people to get creative!

Without further ado here is this year’s prompt list : 

Saturday 3rd

Uniforms Secrets Strap-ons

Sunday 4th

Call in the night College Impact Play

Monday 5th

Domesticity Amnesia Shibari

FAQs/TLDR

FAQs : 

When is the event ? From August 3rd to 5th! While you should post the prompt for each day it is associated with, we will also be accepting late submissions, so have no worry!

Can I combine prompts? YES!! Be sure to indicate which days and prompts you are using in your description, otherwise, go free! You can post on either days associated with your prompts, or, if it’s a multipart work, on each corresponding day!

Is there any content restriction ? We accept all  works of all mediums - writing, art, collages, playlists, podfics, translations, video edits, etc. - , whether they are SFW, NSFW and/or triggering. Writers and artists- tag appropriately ; Readers and viewers - be mindful of tags!

Where should I post my work ? Anywhere from Tumblr or AO3!! We have accounts on both platforms and we also have an AO3 collection : Sandmanniversary 2024 [link]!

What tag should I use for visibility ? We recommend using both #Sandmanniversary and #Sandmanniversary 2024 as well as tag our account (mr-sadman) ! We will try our best to reblog every entry but if you see that we haven’t reblogged/retweeted your post yet, don’t be afraid to DM us! Make sure your blog settings are set so that your posts appear in searches - otherwise we might not see them!

Are polyamorous ships accepted ? Yes!! The more the merrier!

Are xReader / xOC works accepted? Yes!!!

Do I need to be a part of the server to participate? Absolutely not! Sandmanniversary is open to all! Although some additional events (such as a watch party, game nights and fic read-alongs) will be held on the server, submissions do not need to come from server members only!!

I need help, how do I reach a mod?

If there is something that is not covered by our rules masterpost and/or FAQ, you are very free to reach out to us in the Discord server’s dedicated channel or in Tumblr DMs! 

[rexwrendraws]

Sandcastles: Year One, A Sandman Fan-Fic Anthology ⏳

To celebrate The Sandman's one year anniversary this past weekend (how has it been a year already!?), I started a self-indulgent project and decided I wanted to take a crack at typesetting for the very first time.

So, I'm very proud to present: Sandcastles, an 180-page digital anthology that celebrates some of my favorite Sandman fics from the past year! Sandcastle collects shorter fics ranging from gen to mature, and is print-ready and available to be downloaded for free. Through this anthology, I hope others can get the same joy from these fics the same way I did over the past year (think of it as a glorified fic rec list)! (And, if anyone's interested, the print-ready files are available for download as well, if anyone wanted to print their own copy of Sandcastles!)

✨ Download Sandcastles here!

Thank you to all the authors for giving me permission to include their work in this anthology! This is my love letter to all of your work! Please check them out and leave a kind word or two!

The fics included in Sandcastles, in order of the Table of Contents, are the following:

Companions - Picture_Yourself (@anthrossandman)

Fridays - hardly_an_escape (@hardly-an-escape)

Warning Sign - issylra (@issylra)

Snacktime - fishydwarrows (@fishfingersandscarves)

Stray - softestpunk (@softest-punk)

Aulon Raid - moorishflower (@moorishflower)

Unbidden Miracles - mostlybuddingthoughts (@mostlybuddingthoughts)

Available - softestpunk (@softest-punk)

Points of View - cuubism (@cuubism)

Fern-Fevered - notallsandmen (notallmaenads) (@notallsandmen)

The Last - secondjulia (@secondjulia)

Scratch a Little Itch - sanyumi (@valeriianz)

Simple Dreams of Comfort - softestpunk (@softest-punk)

The Apocalypse is Nigh! - cuubism (@cuubism)

To Those Who Dare Wonder - Astrophel_Hireath (@mentallyinvernation)

The Perils of Inebriation - Lilibet (@the-slow-arrow)

Touch - softestpunk (@softest-punk)

Passing the Time - Anonymous

I'm Stuck on You (I'm Mighty Glad You Stayed) - hardly_an_escape (@hardly-an-escape)

Hob Gadling vs. The British Museum (Unknown Artist, c. 2022, Oil on Canvas) - TheAllKnowingOwl (@theallknowingowl)

This also counts as my submission for Day 1 of @mr-sadman 's Sandmanniversary 2023 prompts (Collection) :)

_ _ _ _ _ (Post & files updated — 29.08.2023)

[writing-for-life]

Happy Birthday/Anniversary Murphy, you’ve finally made it to 35 in human years even if you’re haunted by the narrative.

The debut issue of The Sandman went on sale on November 29th 1988.

And I've been following you around for nearly as long (three decades, help), the hopeless fangirl I am.

Have some fanart by moi to celebrate (the only one I’ve ever been sort of happy with), created just before you turned 30. It went through a few iterations since—the one you see here has largely been painted over the original, which was a bit triggering in certain ways (shamelessly posting it now. Don't repost the image without credit, reblogging is okay and appreciated though):

Plus, you in your birthday suit in your birthday issue (art by Sam Kieth & Mike Dringenberg):

Plus, you at your most beautiful (at least to me) in Soft Places (sorry, I know you felt like shit), art by John Watkiss:

[teejaystumbles]

The Hound, clad in his typical red and white ensemble, now similarly torn and dirtied as Dream’s, stares back at him. His breath is fast and his brown eyes are wide. He stills and remains silent for several moments, as if afraid he might startle his prey into running again. But Dream is done. He has wrenched his ankle with the last jump from a roof and this is as far as he goes. Dream gives a wry smile and rasps, “You got me.”

"The Hunted" (tumblr, AO3)

[apocraphelion]

sandmanniversary 2024 day 3 | shibari

(nsfw- nudity) dream in predicament bondage

[unpredictable-probabilities]

A Dream Companion

Part 2 of The Home That Waits Outside the Spotlight

Summary:

After some time away, Morpheus finds Hob waiting for him at The White Horse. As they begin to spend more time together, they start to discover what they truly want and what makes them happy.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5,311

Notes:

For Sandmanniversary 2024 | Prompt: Domesticity

It's not necessary to read the first part in order to understand this one. They do make a few references to the first part, but those aren't super relevant to the plot~

Enjoy reading!

[Read on AO3]

———

Hob took a sip of his beer while reading the latest reviews about The White Horse on his tablet. They had a lot of new customers just in the first week after Morpheus posted about it on his social media, and now that it had been over a month, Hob had to hire new staff just to keep up with how busy the place had been.

Right now, though, it was that stretch of time between lunch and dinner when there weren't so many customers, and so Hob was sitting at his usual table at the back while he looked over that week's profits as he usually did every Friday.

He checked his phone; still no new messages from Morpheus. Their last conversation was a short one from this morning, when they updated each other about their schedules for the day. That was normal, though, especially when they were both busy. Hob’s just glad they still find time to talk to each other every day.

They hadn’t seen each other since Blysse’s birthday party, more than a month ago. 33 days to be exact. Hob didn’t really intend to keep count, but he could remember. Morpheus had said that his press tour would last for about two months, and in the first few weeks of them texting each other every day like giddy teenagers, Morpheus had told Hob a handful of times that he didn’t have to wait, that Morpheus had no expectations of him. Hob had playfully replied that Morpheus wasn’t getting rid of him that easily, though privately he wondered what Morpheus could have experienced back then that made him feel like he had to tell Hob that.

Hob heard soft footsteps, and while still looking down at his tablet he glimpsed the hem of a black coat approaching his table. Maybe he didn’t notice that the customers were pouring in again and someone wanted to ask if they could take a chair from his table. Hob looked up, planning to say that he was just leaving and they could take the table.

The man was standing right in front of him, a warm and playful smile on his fair face, his raven hair sticking up in places.

Hob’s face went slack with surprise, then he could feel himself practically beaming with a smile. “You’re early.”

“I wished to surprise you,” Morpheus said, his soft deep voice sounding so much better without the filter of a phone’s speaker. “I hope it is a pleasant one?”

“Of course it is! Sit down, hold on—” Hob cleared the paperwork from the table and stacked them all to the side with his tablet.

Morpheus took the seat across from him and leaned back, just as comfortable in Hob’s presence as a month ago, Hob happily noticed.

“What happened? I thought you wouldn’t be back until next month?” Hob didn’t bother to keep the excitement out of his voice. “Not that I’m complaining, though.”

“My new manager Lucienne is much more efficient; she was able to come up with a schedule that gave the entire team more free time. I still have some work to do this month, but I will be able to visit here more often. After all, it would be the responsible thing to do as an investor to check on this establishment frequently,” Morpheus said playfully.

Hob grinned. “Well said, Mr. Evermoore. And how do you find the place?” he gestured around the pub, more than a little proud of the small changes he had made over the past month. Like the cushioned seats and extra booths, and an old-fashioned jukebox playing music in the corner that the younger customers were always fascinated by.

“As lovely as ever,” Morpheus said, looking around. “The modifications are impeccable, but my favourite is still the owner,” he met Hob’s gaze with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

God, Morpheus flirting in person was an entirely different thing than when he did it on text. Hob was grateful that he’d just finished his paperwork for this week, because his brain wouldn’t be able to think of anything else now that this man was suddenly here.

“No modifications with me, though. Still the same as ever,” Hob winked.

Morpheus chuckled, then he glanced at the paperwork stacked at the side. “Ah, I hope I have not intruded on your work. If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know.”

“Nah, I’ve just wrapped it up for tonight, don’t worry.” Hob noticed that more people were coming in through the doors now; the dinner crowd was beginning to come in. Speaking of which. “Have you eaten yet?” Hob was aware of how difficult it could be for Morpheus to have proper meals on work days. The first time they met, it was already lunchtime and Morpheus had only eaten one chocolate chip cookie the entire day.

Morpheus blinked. “I had a sandwich in the car before the photoshoot earlier.”

Hob remembered the schedule that Morpheus texted him and frowned. “The photoshoot at 11 AM? You hadn’t eaten anything after that?”

Morpheus smiled sheepishly. “I wanted to get all my work done quickly so I could get here before it got too late in the evening.”

“Ohhh no,” Hob shook his head. “You’re not using your cute smile to distract me from the fact that you hadn’t eaten in hours. You should get another manager whose only job is to make sure you eat!”

Unfortunately, that just made Morpheus give a smile that was even more distracting. “Worry not, I know the owner of this place. Perhaps he can recommend something to order.”

Hob was about to say that he would recommend the entire main course menu, but then he noticed that several of the customers were looking their way and whispering excitedly. He remembered that much of the new crowd they got after Morpheus’ social media post were those who hoped to run into him. So some of these customers might just be living their dream come true.

“You look rather murderous there, love.” Morpheus said with a knowing smirk. “Not very fond of crowds?”

Hob felt his face warm, he didn’t think he was that obvious. “Can you blame me? It’s your first day back and the entire pub already wants your attention. If they start to queue up for photos I’m gonna be charging them.”

Morpheus chuckled, and Hob felt instantly better just getting to see it. “You have my word that my attention is entirely yours.” His expression mellowed and he lowered his voice a little. “Though can we perhaps go somewhere else? Getting noticed like this by a crowd makes me feel like I’m still working, and I’d rather spend a relaxing evening with you.”

“Yeah, of course,” Hob nodded, already putting away the papers and his tablet in his messenger bag, his mind running through a list of the best food places in the city. “And you’re gonna be eating hours’ worth of food, you menace.”

After a quick stop to his flat upstairs for Hob to leave his work bag and change into a fresh shirt, Hob got some garlic bread from the pub and insisted that Morpheus eat it in the cab on their way to a small diner that he had recently discovered. They had great homecooked meals, and there was always a cozy feeling to the place even at their peak hours.

“Oh, is this that place you mentioned last week?” Morpheus asked as they got out of the cab, garlic bread fully consumed. “I’m surprised you didn’t suggest walking here, I seem to remember you prefer it instead of taking a cab.”

Hob smiled at the fact that Morpheus remembered those things he just mentioned in passing. “Normally I would, yeah, but you needed a meal 3 hours ago, so we can have a stroll some other time.”

“You worry too much about me,” Morpheus said lightly as they walked through the doorway.

“I worry the normal amount for my friend who eats like a bird,” Hob said pointedly.

They sat at a table beside the wall decorated with framed pictures of how the diner looked when it was first established, and some funny quotes about food and kitchens.

“Mr. Gadling,” the waiter greeted as he approached their table with a notepad. “Welcome back. I see you’ve brought a friend—” his eyes widened at Morpheus.

“Hello, Justin,” Morpheus smiled, reading the waiter’s nametag. “What would you recommend for someone who unfortunately skipped lunch today?”

“I— Um—” Justin cleared his throat and straightened up. “Uh, the chicken pot pie is one of our heavier dishes, and the cream of spinach soup is nutritious and also filling.”

Morpheus nodded and looked at Hob. “Perhaps we can order both, then?”

“Sounds good.” Hob turned to Justin. “And a pitcher of lemon iced tea.”

“Right away, Mr. Gadling,” Justin wrote in his notepad. “Will there be anything else?”

Hob looked at Morpheus questioningly, who shook his head. “That’s it for now, Justin. Thank you.”

Justin nodded at Morpheus, “Sir Dream,” and walked off to the kitchen.

Hob narrowed his eyes at Morpheus. “How do you get ‘Sir’ and me only ‘Mr.’? I’ve been here more times than you have.”

“It’s still better than a queue for photos, isn’t it?” Morpheus raised an eyebrow.

“Much,” Hob grinned.

Their food arrived, and Hob was glad to see that Morpheus was eating heartily. They talked about how well The White Horse was doing, and how Morpheus might be taking a break for an entire year soon to spend more time with his sisters.

After their meal, Hob asked if Morpheus wanted to go anywhere else, and that was how he found out that Morpheus had a friend that was now working as a bartender in a nearby club. They hadn’t seen each other in years, and Morpheus had been planning to drop by and say hello some time this week. Hob hadn’t met any of Morpheus’ friends before, so he suggested that they go there tonight since it was still pretty early.

They took another cab and Morpheus insisted on paying since Hob had paid for the first cab that night and their dinner.

The club looked pretty high-end, the type that had a queue outside waiting to get in because the place was probably packed. When the bouncer saw them approaching, though, he immediately stepped aside.

“Mr. Dream Evermoore, welcome.”

“Good evening. He’s with me,” Morpheus gestured to Hob.

“Of course, sir. Go right in.”

Morpheus pushed the door open and they stepped inside; music sounded from speakers somewhere and there were some strobe lights, but surprisingly it wasn’t nearly as noisy or visually overwhelming as some clubs that Hob had been to in his younger years.

“So people just let you in at any club?” Hob asked curiously.

“It’s not my preferred place of leisure, but yes,” Morpheus said as they wove through a crowd of people too preoccupied with themselves to pay them any attention. “There are times when I go to places like these to maintain connections. That was how I met Johanna,” he nodded towards the bar where a woman wearing a ponytail and an apron over her shirt was mixing drinks. “She was a bouncer at another club, and she intervened when one of the other actors there was getting too touchy with me.”

“What happened? Were you hurt or…?” Hob frowned in concern.

Morpheus shook his head. “He was drunk and he cornered me against a wall, but Johanna stepped in before anything else could happen. He was twice her size but you wouldn’t have known it from the way she twisted his arm.”

“Wow,” Hob said, impressed. “Then I’m really glad I’m meeting her.”

They reached the bar, and Johanna’s eyes landed on them.

“Well, well,” she smirked at Morpheus after handing a customer his drink. “Look what the cat coughed up.”

“It’s lovely to see you too,” Morpheus smiled and momentarily placed a hand on Hob’s back. “This is my friend, Hob.”

“Hey,” Hob raised a hand in greeting. “He was just telling me how you two met.”

Johanna whistled. “That feels like forever ago. How long has it been, 2 years? Nearly 3?”

Morpheus nodded. “Blysse still speaks fondly of it. Back then she would ask me to retell the story of the ‘badass female bouncer’ as if it were a bedtime story. She has been asking to meet you.”

“Well she’s too young to go here, but I have the next weekend off if you all wanna hang out at the shiny new pub of your friend here,” she jerked her head towards Hob. “I’ve seen the posts. Owner of The White Horse, right?”

“Yeah,” Hob nodded. “And it’d be great to have you over, though I don’t recommend going during the peak hours, more people have been packing in and hoping to run into Morpheus there.”

Johanna raised an eyebrow. “‘Morpheus’, huh? Not Dream? He must really like you.”

“I don’t think that was ever in question,” Morpheus said evenly.

“I wouldn’t mind hearing it again,” Hob quipped.

Morpheus smiled and leaned against the bar. “Perhaps I should buy you a drink first.”

“Oh no,” Johanna said. “You’re not gonna be flirting in front of me, are you? I don’t get paid enough to see this.”

Hob’s phone rang in his pocket; he checked it and saw that Merv was calling. “Hang on a tick, love,” he told Morpheus. “I just need to see if something’s going on in the pub. I’ll be back for more flirting later,” he winked at Morpheus, who playfully smirked at him.

“Ugh,” Johanna said in disgust and rolled her eyes.

Hob walked over to the fire exit where the crowd was thinner and the music wasn’t as loud.

He answered his phone. “Merv, is everything alright over there?”

“Yeah, boss. Just asking about that thing you said back then, keeping the pub running for you and your friend after closing time when he gets back? Are we doing that tonight?”

“Ah,” Hob remembered telling Merv and Lou about that a week ago, when he’d been thinking of different plans to do when Morpheus returned. “No, we won’t be returning to the pub tonight. You all go home and lock up after closing time.”

“You got it, boss,” Merv said.

Hob ended the call and pocketed his phone again, making his way back to the bar.

He could see that Johanna was mixing drinks for a few customers, and some guy with a leather jacket had just sidled up next to Morpheus.

“Hey,” said Leather Jacket. “You’re that actor, right? Can I buy you a drink?” he flashed a smile.

“No, thank you,” Morpheus said politely. “I’m here with my boyfriend.”

Hob froze in his tracks a few steps away from them.

“Ah, my bad,” Leather Jacket said and turned around, almost bumping into Hob. “Woah,” he staggered.

“Hob,” Morpheus straightened up, a panicked look in his eyes.

“Oh,” Leather Jacket looked at Morpheus and then at Hob. “You must be the boyfriend. You two have fun.” He clapped Hob on the shoulder and melted back into the crowd.

“Hob,” Morpheus said again. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t know what else to say,” he fidgeted with the stem of the glass on the bar that Johanna must have prepared for him. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I wasn’t sure if you wanted alcohol so I just asked Johanna to prepare a drink without one. I believe this is soda and some kind of fruit syrup.” He slid the glass over to Hob.

“Morpheus.” Hob wasn’t thinking about drinks right now. He stepped closer. “What you told that guy…”

Morpheus drummed his fingers on the bar. “I know we haven’t established anything, and we don’t have to yet. It was just the simplest explanation I could think of to tell him. I haven’t been going around telling people we’re dating, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he added playfully, but Hob could see he looked nervous.

“I haven’t either but…” Hob placed his hand on the bar, inches away from Morpheus’. “I kinda liked the sound of it, when I heard you call me your boyfriend,” he smiled sheepishly, feeling nervous too. “So, if you want…” God, why was this so nerve-wracking? It was like he suddenly forgot how to use words, and he couldn’t even blame it on alcohol.

Morpheus was looking at him in surprise, a smile appearing slowly on his face as he realised what Hob was trying to say.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Johanna cut in and turned to Morpheus. “Just take him home. I don’t wanna be watching this all night,” she gestured vaguely to the both of them.

“My ‘home’ is hours away,” Morpheus said. “And I haven’t checked into any hotel yet.”

“We can go to my flat,” Hob said. “Why didn’t you say you don’t have a place to stay yet?”

“I didn’t want to impose, especially since I had surprised you with my early return.”

“I’m your boyfriend, Morpheus,” Hob grinned. “Of course you can stay over.”

Morpheus’ answering smile was brighter than the sun, and Hob could have kissed him right there.

“Please leave,” Johanna said.

“Gladly,” Morpheus said without looking away from Hob.

Morpheus paid for the drink that neither of them even tried, and they got out of there as fast as they could.

After another cab ride that felt much longer than it probably was, Hob was being kissed against his own front door two seconds after locking it behind them.

Hob clutched at the front of Morpheus’ coat, pulling him even closer as they explored each other's mouths.

“I have missed you,” Morpheus breathed against his lips, and Hob shivered at the adoration in Morpheus’ voice.

“I missed you too,” Hob whispered, closing his eyes as emotions welled up in his chest, nearly overwhelmed by the feeling of finally, finally having Morpheus in his arms.

Morpheus cupped his face and tilted his head back, deepening the kiss. The soft slide of their tongues was quickly making heat pool low in Hob’s belly, and he couldn't stop the moan that escaped him when Morpheus shoved a knee between his thighs.

“Hob,” Morpheus’ voice trembled. “I will take you to bed if you allow it.”

Hob groaned and tightened his hold on Morpheus. “Yes,” he said breathlessly. “I don't have any condoms but… do we need any…?”

Morpheus’ arms wrapped around his waist. “I have not been with anyone since my last test came out clean.”

“Me too.” Impatience was clawing in Hob’s ribcage and he all but dragged Morpheus down the hall.

Their coats and shirts were flung on the bedroom floor, and Hob fell backwards on his bed with Morpheus on top of him, kissing him like his life depended on it. Morpheus shifted and his cock pressed down on Hob’s through layers of denim, eliciting a moan from them both.

Morpheus moved to Hob’s neck, lavishing the sensitive skin with his lips and tongue. Hob was breathing heavily, his fingers clutching at Morpheus’ hair, his hips twitching in search of friction.

Morpheus put a hand on Hob’s hip, his thumb moving back and forth on the skin just above the waistband of his jeans. He pulled back enough to gaze down on Hob. “I wish to be inside you.”

“Fuck,” Hob gasped, already squirming beneath Morpheus. “Yes, Morpheus.” He blindly reached for his nightstand and managed to get the lube out of the drawer, knocking a few items down in the process.

Hob gave Morpheus the bottle with a trembling hand, and they practically tore the rest of their clothes off.

Morpheus smoothly crawled down, and before Hob knew what was happening, Morpheus took him in his mouth.

Hob yelled and just barely stopped himself from thrusting, wanting to chase that soft molten heat.

“Morpheus…” he groaned low in his chest, eyes squeezed shut as Morpheus worked him from root to tip. A slick finger prodded at his rim, and Hob made a wounded sound as Morpheus slipped one then two fingers inside him, all the while lapping at the slit of his cock.

Hob grinded down on Morpheus’ perfect fingers, gasping and whimpering when a third one stretched him deliciously for what seemed like an eternity. “I'm ready… Morpheus…” he arched his back and dug his blunt nails into Morpheus’ shoulders.

All at once Morpheus withdrew his fingers and released Hob’s cock from his mouth. Hob whined at the loss but it was cut off by Morpheus’ lips against his, kissing and nipping at him as he lined himself up.

It was a slow slide in, and Hob fought to keep his eyes open so he could watch every minute expression on Morpheus’ face; the crease on his forehead, the fluttering eyelashes, the parted lips.

Morpheus buried himself to the hilt and pressed his face into the crook of Hob's neck, breathing heavily.

Hob moaned and rolled his hips encouragingly, drawing a soft whimper from Morpheus.

Morpheus began to move, and Hob didn't bother to stop the noises coming out of him, doubting he'd be able to even if he tried.

They tried to keep kissing, but they just panted in each other's mouths as they found their rhythm and increased the pace.

“Not gonna last,” Morpheus gasped. He reached between them and wrapped a hand around Hob’s cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts.

Hob clawed desperately at Morpheus’ back, sobbing through his moans as he felt his peak fast approaching. “Close,” he said through gritted teeth.

Morpheus sped up inside and around him; a particularly hard thrust sent lightning up Hob’s spine and he screamed, spilling between them as he felt Morpheus’ release fill him.

Hob reached up to the back of Morpheus’ neck and pulled him down for a kiss that was more sighs and soft gasps than anything else.

They held each other through the last of the aftershocks, and Hob could feel Morpheus’ heartbeat thumping against his own.

After a while, Morpheus gently slipped out of him and grabbed his black shirt off the floor, wiping them both down with such tenderness that it made Hob's chest ache with fondness.

“You'll have to borrow my clothes again in the morning,” Hob smiled lazily.

“If you have no objections,” Morpheus returned the smile before tossing the shirt back down on the floor and lying down beside him.

Hob turned and wrapped an arm around Morpheus, pressing his face into the crook of his slender neck. “Until when are you staying?” he mumbled.

Morpheus faced him and pulled him closer, resting his chin on Hob’s head. “I am free for the entire week.”

“Wait, really?” Hob pulled back a little to look at Morpheus.

“That’s the second part of the surprise,” Morpheus smiled.

“I think I like your surprises.” Hob reached up and rested his hand on Morpheus’ face, tracing small circles on the cheekbone with his thumb. “You'll be staying here, then?”

“If you'll have me,” Morpheus said softly.

Hob looked him right in the eyes. “Always.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss on Morpheus’ lips, smiling at the contented sigh it drew out of him.

***

Sunlight streamed in through the gap in the curtain, and Hob instinctively reached up to close it, squinting against the glare.

He realised that there was an arm wrapped around his stomach, and a head resting on his chest, soft black hair tickling his chin.

Hob felt himself smile, memories of last night coming back to him as he fully woke up. He carded his fingers through Morpheus’ hair, marvelling at the fact that he was allowed.

Morpheus stirred and hugged him tighter. “G'morning,” he mumbled sleepily.

“Morning, love,” Hob planted a kiss in his hair. “Breakfast?”

Morpheus hummed in agreement.

“I do need to stand up to make it,” Hob pointed out, smiling fondly.

Morpheus yawned and rolled off him, propping himself up on his elbow. “I would like to help.” He tilted his head to the side thoughtfully. “After we shower.”

“We?” Hob blinked a few times, suddenly fully awake.

“If you wish,” Morpheus said with hooded eyes, his fingers trailing down Hob’s chest.

Hob had never gotten out of bed so quickly.

***

“What are we cooking?” Hob asked as they rummaged around in his kitchen to see what ingredients were available.

“How about baked potatoes and some steak and vegetables?”

“For breakfast? Though I suppose it’s closer to brunch now.” Hob turned around and saw that Morpheus had already laid the ingredients out on the counter; seeing them sparked something in Hob’s memory. “It’s what we cooked together on the day we met,” he realised.

Morpheus smiled softly. “You remember.”

“Of course I do. Now come on, we gotta get you used to a regular mealtime schedule.”

***

Hob sighed and leaned into Morpheus’ touch as the long slender fingers combed through his hair. He was lying down on Morpheus’ lap on the couch while listening to him read aloud from a detective novel. Jazz music was playing softly on the speakers in the background, and it was all so relaxing that Hob’s eyes had fallen closed about one chapter ago.

Morpheus paused in his reading and hummed thoughtfully. “I must say I am quite at a loss for this case. What do you think?”

“Hm?” Hob blinked his eyes open and looked up at Morpheus.

“Who do you think robbed the museum? At first I thought it was The Cheshire Brothers but they had just proven that they weren’t even in the country. And the position of the artefact's display case suggests that it was taken by someone with impressive acrobatic skills. So now it’s more likely that the trapeze artist Natasha could have done it.”

“Uh…” Some of those details definitely sounded familiar to Hob, but he didn’t think he should be blamed for not piecing together the clues, especially not when Morpheus was currently caressing the shell of his ear.

Morpheus raised an eyebrow, his fingers moving to Hob’s hair again. “Were you paying attention at all, Mr. Gadling?”

“I know The Cheshire Brothers and Natasha!” Hob said defensively. “And the artefact that was stolen was a ruby necklace, right? Or was it a crown?” he frowned.

Morpheus sighed dramatically and closed the novel. “You make for an awful detective,” he lightly traced a finger down Hob’s nose.

Hob smiled at the touch. “That’s what we have you for. You’re the brains and I can be your feisty assistant who makes snarky side comments and carries around a magnifying glass.”

Morpheus chuckled. “A pause on the reading for now, then? What would you have us do, my love?”

Hob felt a warmth bloom in his chest at how easily Morpheus called him that. He realised the music was still playing, and it gave him an idea. He got up from the couch and stood facing Morpheus, holding out his hand like a proper gentleman. “How about a dance?”

Morpheus blinked at him. “What?”

“We already have the music,” Hob pointed out.

Morpheus placed the book down on the coffee table, but he looked hesitant. “I am not a good dancer.”

“Dancing isn’t meant to be good, it’s meant to be fun.” Hob stepped closer and smiled. “Come on.”

Morpheus looked at Hob’s hand, seeming to relax a little before taking it.

Hob led them to the middle of the living room where they attempted what could generously be called a waltz before they began stepping on each other’s toes and dissolved into fits of giggles.

When they calmed down enough, Morpheus wrapped his arms around Hob’s waist, and Hob wound his around Morpheus’ neck. They just swayed from side to side along with the music, finding comfort in each other’s embrace.

“Hob…” Morpheus said after a moment, eyes to the floor.

“What’s wrong, love?” Hob asked in concern, wrangling his brain back from coming up with a hundred worst-case scenarios about what Morpheus wanted to say.

“Nothing,” Morpheus quickly reassured him, meeting his gaze again. “Nothing’s wrong. I’ve just been thinking… Well, The White Horse is quite popular now. And I did say back then that once the pub can stand on its own again, I would withdraw my investment so you can be the sole owner.”

“I remember,” Hob nodded. “I don’t mind you owning part of the pub, though. Is that what you’re worried about?”

Morpheus seemed to be having trouble finding the words. “I… do not want you to feel indebted to me in any way. Our relationship is important to me, and at no point do I wish for you to feel like you can’t bring up any grievances you have with me because I’m putting money in your business. Nor do I want you to hesitate in… in ending our relationship should you ever wish to, because it would be messy to have an ex as a business partner.”

Hob’s eyes widened, and for a few seconds he felt at a loss for words himself. Then he held Morpheus’ face in his hands, looking right into his eyes. “Morpheus. I’m with you because you make me happy, because you understand me so well and I know I can always be myself when we’re together. Your money or my pub have nothing to do with it. But if it matters to you, then yes, you can withdraw your investment anytime. It’s not gonna change anything.”

Morpheus let out a breath of relief and pressed his forehead against Hob’s. “Johanna was right. I really like you a lot.”

Hob smiled and closed his eyes, already pretty sure he feels much more than that for Morpheus. “I really like you a lot too, in case it wasn’t already obvious. And Morpheus?” he pulled away so they could look at each other. “You don’t have to talk about it now, but I hope someday you’d feel comfortable enough with me to tell me what happened…? Why you kept telling me that I didn’t have to wait for you, or why you’re thinking that I might wanna break up with you when we just got together.”

Shame appeared on Morpheus’ face and he looked down again.

“Hey, hey,” Hob said gently, tipping Morpheus’ face upwards to encourage him to meet his eyes again. When he did, Hob continued. “I wanna know because I wanna be able to reassure you properly, so I can have a chance to prove to you that what we have now is different from whatever happened to you back then. Our relationship is important to me too, you’re important to me. And I wanna make sure I can keep reminding you of that.”

Morpheus’ eyes misted over, and he caught Hob’s lips in his, a soft gentle kiss that made Hob tear up too.

“I will tell you, eventually,” Morpheus said. “Soon,” he added more firmly. “I just need a bit of time…”

“Of course, love. There’s no rush.” Hob placed his hands on Morpheus’ shoulders soothingly.

Morpheus gently took Hob’s hand and pressed a kiss on the palm before letting it drop back on his shoulder. “You make me happy too. You make me want to take better care of myself, and… I’m not usually fond of dancing but… I like dancing with you.” He smiled then, and it was the most beautiful thing that Hob had ever seen.

“Good, because I definitely plan to dance with you every chance we get.”

Morpheus closed the remaining distance between them to embrace Hob, resting his chin on Hob’s shoulder and pressing their bodies together.

Hob gladly melted into it, a smile on his face as they continued swaying together to the soft music.

———

<- Part 1

(Sandmanniversary 2024 Masterpost)

(Masterlist)

[fleabagoftheendless]

Chapter 5 is here and that too with an art by me!!

This chapter covers Day 2 prompt, “College” for an event by @mr-sadman

[angelsonoah]

FATHER—

I failed my son and so you said

I loathed you and I wish you were dead

Father, even when you walked away I still love you

Even enraged and devastated I still do

Because the last time you caressed me

Part of you died here

And I carried them

I carried them with my teeth

Never letting go like a loyal dog

Always waiting

Waiting here

Until we meet again

Sandman Anniversary 2024 Day 1 Entry

SECRETS

@mr-sadman

[seiya-starsniper]

Hi Seiya! If you are taking prompts for the angry confessions prompt game may I suggest 13. "It's not a secret that I love you. Don't act like it is." - perhaps for Corintheus, from Dream to the Corinthian (maybe at the convention?)

Hello friend, and Happy Sandmanniversary! 😄💖 I'm so happy I finally found inspiration for this angry confessions prompt because it's SO GOOD.

This prompt also fit perfectly for @mr-sadman's event: Day 1 - Secrets

Special thanks to @valiantstarlights for giving me a really cool suggestion for the fic, and to @kydrogendragon for the beta read 💖

Fic can be read in its entirety below, or over here on AO3:

— — — — —

“Do you know why I do it?” The Corinthian snaps as Dream approaches him on the stage of the Cereal Convention. “Do you even care why I’ve defied you, over and over again, your perfect creation, your masterpiece?”

Dream stares at his once favorite creation, and tilts his head in curiosity. He had come here to unmake the Corinthian, had been mere moments from doing just that, but something in the nightmare’s tone stills his hand. 

“I did it, so I could taste what it felt like to be human,” the Corinthian continues, his voice cracking as his entire body shakes. “So that I could understand them. So I could be something that you—you—” he cuts himself off suddenly and growls, as if he still believed he could withhold himself from Dream. 

They stare at each other for a tense moment, circling each other like two apex predators, ready to strike. Dream quickly grows tired of the game though, and when the Corinthian refuses to speak further, Dream takes another step forward and decides to break the silence himself.

“Something I could what?” Dream demands. The Corinthian does not flinch at the authoritarian tone in his creator’s voice, but Dream can tell by the agitated hiss in the Corinthian’s eye-teeth that he has rattled the nightmare with his words. 

“Something you could love,” the Corinthian’s ocular mouths growl in unison, spitting out the word ‘love’ as if it were venom between their teeth. 

The admission hangs heavy in the room between them. Dream knows those words are the truth, even if the Corinthian could lie through his primary mouth, his ocular mouths were as much a window to the nightmare’s soul as any human’s eyes would be. The only difference was that these windows could speak. 

The Corinthian stares at his creator defiantly, refusing to elaborate further, and Dream has half a mind to use his still limited power to force nightmare to divulge the rest of his hidden truths.

But something in the Corinthian’s gaze stops him, stops Dream from reacting too quickly to the clear taunt the nightmare has given him. There is something fractured in the Corinthian’s scowl, something vulnerable hidden behind the snarl of teeth and tongue and blood in the nightmare’s ocular mouths.

Dream stares, and then finally, he sees. 

“My little dream—” he starts.

“Don’t!” the Corinthian snaps, his eye-teeth clattering angrily as Dream takes another step closer to him. The Corinthian moves to step back, but Dream, having already recovered his powers now that Rose Walker was awake and focused on her brother instead, forces the nightmare to stand still with a single flick of his wrist.  

“Did you truly believe I did not care?” Dream asks, taking another step forward as the Corinthian struggles underneath his invisible bonds. “That I did not notice every time you left my realm for the Waking? That it did not feel like some part of me had been cut out when you disappeared?”

“Shut up!” the Corinthian cries, blood-red tears spilling from the corners of his ocular mouths. Dream stares intently at them. He had forgotten he had given the nightmare the ability to cry. “You don’t give a fuck about any of it. You don’t give a fuck about me.”

“But I do, little nightmare,” Dream insists, his voice booming in the otherwise silent presentation room. “I care very deeply for all my creations, but especially you.”

“Liar!” the Corinthian screams, when Dream is but mere inches from his face. “You care for nothing but your rules and your function,” the nightmare growls, his breath hot and furious on Dream’s skin. Dream closes his eyes briefly and inhales the scent of the Corinthains’ breath, his very human breath, cultivated over a century of being allowed to roam free in the Waking World with no consequences.

It is exquisite, Dream thinks, how deep the mimicry of humanity went. How badly the nightmare wanted to become something he thought was worthy of Dream’s love. It was a shame the Corinthian had misunderstood his creator’s motivations so deeply. But that was why Dream was here now. To correct all of their past wrongs against one another.  

“But you are part of my function, Corinthian,” Dream says, finally opening his eyes and staring directly into the Corinthian’s open, gaping mouths. “You are my masterpiece, my greatest accomplishment,” he continues, reaching a hand to cup at the Corinthian’s cheek. The Corinthian flinches but otherwise does not move.

“You stand here,” Dream continues, dropping his gaze to take in the rest of the nightmare’s face. The Corinthian truly was the most beautiful thing Dream had ever made. “Having defied me, having corrupted not one, but hundreds of dreamers, more than any of my creations could have even hoped to achieve.” Dream gestures to the crowd, still trapped in their sweet dreams of murder and pain and death. “And you still believe I could not love you?”

“I—” the Corinthian stutters, but Dream shushes him with a single finger to the nightmare’s lips. 

“My little nightmare,” Dream whispers, leaning in close enough that the Corinthian’s ocular mouths could snap at Dream’s skin if he were not careful. “Were it any other dream, any other nightmare, that sought to defy me so,” he continues. “Any other creation of mine, I would have unmade them at the first offense.”

“But you,” Dream says, raising his eyes back up to the Corinthian’s. “Your transgressions I have let slide. Because I thought—no—I’d hoped—that you would see things as I see them. That the Waking World is full of nothing but suffering and agony, and that is why I am here, and why you are here as well. To give respite. To make them confront their unconscious thoughts and desires. I serve them, not because I love them, but because I am part of them, as you are. As we have always been.”

“So what,” the Corinthian snaps, clearly agitated at Dream’s lecturing of duty and responsibility. “You wanted to teach me a lesson? So that I could be a better cog in your machine?”

“I wanted you to understand,” Dream replies, sighing. “To know what I know. That there are none, here in the Dreaming, or in the Waking, who could be your peer, or equal. You have always been singular, Corinthian, and that is because I love you. It has never been a secret that I love you. Do not pretend that you have never known, even on that night you thought you could sneak away from me, and lure me to give chase.” 

Something splinters in the Corinthian’s facade. Dream watches as shock, then agony, and finally sorrow, dawns upon the nightmare’s features in a twisted array of realization. Dream had never denied his favorite nightmare a single thing, not now, and not then, when the Corinthian had first tried to run and forge a path for himself. Dream had let him go, hoping that one day, his love would come back to him.

Instead, the Corinthian had trapped Dream in a cage of glass and iron, and left his creator to rot.

“Y-you,” the Corinthian gasps, his falsely mortal body reaching for air it does not need. “All this time, you knew and you let me—”

Dream nods. “I did, my nightmare,” he confirms, then leans to place a kiss on the Corinthian’s left ocular mouth. The eye whines beneath his lips, and Dream shushes it gently. “It was out of love that I let you go. Only love that kept me hoping you would learn the lessons I wished for you to know. I had such high hopes for you.”

The Corinthian crumples to the floor, his body wracked with sorrow, guilt and regret. Dream follows his creation to the floor, wrapping his arms around him. The Corinthian clings tight to his creator, in a manner that he has not since Dream first breathed life into his body. It is a comfort that both of them have sorely missed. 

“Dream—my lord—I”

“Shhh,” Dream coos, placing a light kiss to the Corinthian’s other ocular mouth, before he finally moves his lips to brush against the Corinthian’s primary mouth. “I have you, my beloved. I’m here.”

“I—I’m not sorry,” the Corinthian says, still defiant as ever. Dream huffs, charmed and no longer angry with him. “But I—”

“I know,” Dream interrupts, placing a kiss to the top of the Corinthian’s head, before tucking the nightmare underneath his chin, like a parent comforting a child. “My beautiful nightmare, I know. You are a hungry thing, and I created you poorly. I will not be so careless with you next time.”

“Next—?” the Corinthian’s head shoots up suddenly and horror dawns across his features as he realizes what’s about to happen to him. “Dream—no! I—Mmph!”

Dream silences the Corinthian’s mouth with his own, their lips crushed together as the nightmare struggles in his creator’s grasp. It is futile to struggle, the Corinthian knows. Still, the nightmare’s eye teeth snap and hiss and yowl as the Corinthian’s body slowly dissolves into sand. 

Dream holds onto the Corinthian for the entirety of his unmaking. Forces himself to intimately feel each and every fiber of the nightmare’s essence as he strips the Cornthian apart, piece by jagged piece. Until all that is left for him to kiss is a skull, with three small sets of teeth. 

“Next time,” Dream whispers, his lips ghosting over the top of the empty vessel that once held his greatest joy, “you will not be so flawed, and petty, little dream. And I will make sure you always know the depths of my love. You will never know an existence without it ever again.”

Dream tucks the Corinthian’s skull into his jacket, and allows himself a quiet moment to mourn. Then he faces the room full of serial killers, of humans who had deluded themselves in their self-importance, and he sees then, the Corinthian’s cries for love and validation in all their faces.

It is a cheap copy. 

They do not deserve to share in the Corinthian’s aspirations, his desires, his dreams.

So Dream takes them away. He lifts the shadow of the fantasies they have placed over their minds, forces them to confront the pain and suffering they have inflicted as a result of their monstrous desires, their unforgivable sins. He watches as their faces contort with horror, as they all flee simultaneously into the night, some to their deaths, and others desperately clawing to find a way to right the wrongs of their atrocities.

Dream does not normally indulge in the suffering of humanity. But tonight, his heart is broken, and so he lets their despair wash over him, and onwards into his younger sister’s realm. He lets himself feel the agony that is only a hollow imitation of the Corinthian’s own, for it is the only thing left of the nightmare that Dream can taste, can touch, can kiss, here in the Waking World. When their suffering is complete, he will return to the Dreaming, and he will address the issue of Rose Walker, once and for all. And then he will commit himself to the shores of the Dreaming, where he will work and work and work. Until the Corinthian is ready to be remade once more. 

[melrocks21]

Look into his eyes…as he looks deep into your soul…

Happy Sandmanniversary 💔

#Sandmanniversary #Sandmanniversay2023 #TheSandman #Sandman #Morpheus #TomSturridge

[mr-sadman]

The Mr. Sadman Mod Committee is very excited to reveal our Spring and Summer event schedule!!

Buckle up, because this is gonna be such a fun ride!

More details will be given in individual posts nearing the events' respective timelines!

Have fun and enjoy~

[tryan-a-bex]

Fireflies and a Missing Person

For the #sandmanniversary2023! Read it on AO3 Prompts: for Aug 4-6, stargazing, hunt, raven Gen, 1172 words, broken bone, missing person

Lucienne sighed deeply as Gault caressed her bald head and pointy ear tips. There was really nothing so lovely as lying on the grass in Fiddler’s Green, with her head in her love’s lap, watching the stars swirl above them. Gault always joined her in stargazing initially, but was quicker to be distracted, or maybe just slower to lie down on the grass when her neck got tired of craning at the sky. They quietly rehashed their days, each taking comfort in the other’s interest in the minutiae of her life.

Today, Gault was celebrating another trans person who, through the shapeshifting dreams she brought, had realized that he could, if he wanted to, take steps toward having the shape he really wanted on the outside as well as the inside. Gault found him as a she and left him as a he, and it was one of the greatest privileges of her life.

For Lucienne, today’s annoyance had been Mervyn Pumpkinhead. Or rather, the lack of Mervyn. Usually he was around, even ubiquitously, whenever Lucienne needed him to do any little thing. Today, she’d started keeping a list when he hadn’t appeared for a few hours. It happened occasionally that he forgot to tell her about some big project he was taking on, and she wouldn’t see him for a few days.

“Awwwk! Hey Lucienne! Hi Gault! Have you seen Mervyn?” Matthew flapped over to them across the dark field, landing beside Lucienne’s knees.

“I haven’t seen him all day,” Lucienne complained as Gault shook her head in agreement.

“He was going to play poker with us tonight, and he never showed up!”

“Sometimes he gets involved in a big project and doesn’t come around the castle for a few days. But I’ve never heard of him not knocking off at quitting time,” Lucienne admitted.

Matthew hopped sideways and shook his head.

“I have to say, I’m getting a bit worried about him. I’ve been looking all over.”

“Really?” Gault asked. “You haven’t found him? Do you need our help?”

“Would you? Could you help me hunt for him?”

“Of course! Where have you already looked?” Lucienne jumped up and stretched out the magical raven wings Dream had given her, giving Gault a hand as she rose and fluttered her glowing wings as well, and together they leaped into the air after Matthew.

It was quickly apparent that the new moon which had made stargazing so delightful wasn’t helping with an aerial search. They needed more light. Lucienne’s eyes drifted to Gault as she pondered the problem, and the gorgeous glowing lines of her body suddenly gave Lucienne the answer she was looking for. 

“Fireflies!”

“Fireflies?” Matthew asked.

“Ahhhhh!” Gault nodded.

Lucienne, as Steward of the Dreaming, had some authority to ask dreams for help, so it was no big thing for her to summon a dream of fireflies and request that they sweep along the ground before the three friends. With the fireflies lighting the terrain, it was quickly clear that they had not yet found Mervyn. 

As they covered ground, the fireflies flowing over trees and dipping into little streambeds sunken in the landscape, Lucienne also searched her mind for any hints Mervyn might have left, or any parts of the Dreaming he might have found difficult to leave. Wait, hadn’t he been complaining about a tree? And a little stream? 

“He was muttering yesterday about a Tree of Wisdom dream, where the Tree is located at the end of a long, deep ravine, its fruit only accessible after a difficult quest, but he has to go periodically to check that the little stream that waters it has not become blocked by leaves.”

“Oh, I know where that is!” Gault exclaimed, leading them in a more westerly direction.

—

The ravine was deep and dark as they glided along above it, the depths twinkling with the lights of the fireflies. They were nearly to the end when the fireflies started to gather at a certain point, and Matthew, Gault and Lucienne flew closer to see what had caught their interest.

“Took you long enough to get here!” Mervyn’s vociferous complaining reached them before they could see his head. 

“I’ve had the worst day! Had to hike all the way out here, didn’t I? Muck about clearing decaying leaves from that damn little stream. Then the path crumbled on my way back up, dumping me back down here on my ass. And this hell-forsaken rock went and cracked my leg, so do you think I could get back up? No! And you lot! Not even coming for me until after dark! No one cares about the working man.”

Lucienne put an arm around him to help him up, while Gault gathered the pieces of his broken leg. Matthew hopped around, his worried chattering a counterpoint to Mervyn’s ongoing grumbling. 

“How are we going to get him up the hill? His leg is broken and it’s not even flesh, will it heal? Does it hurt? That path looks dangerous even if it wasn’t dark. We can’t fly him home. This is terrible!”

“Maybe the roc?” Gault suggested to Lucienne. Lucienne considered. The open space in the middle of the ravine was barely big enough for the humongous mythical bird to land, but she thought they could make it happen. 

“Yes,” she agreed, “Over there.” She requested the roc’s aid as they began to help Mervyn over the uneven ground to the centre of the ravine. The fireflies continued to light their way.

By the time they got there, the roc was circling above. 

“Do you think you can manage?” Lucienne shouted up to it as it examined the terrain and the broken Pumpkinhead. It dipped its head in acquiescence. As Gault held Mervyn’s head aloft and Lucienne supported his body, the roc dove down to grab him, head in one claw and body in the other, against Mervyn’s increasingly loud protests. Lucienne was pretty sure they were token protests. Anyway, she couldn’t think of any other way to get him out of the ravine. The three rescuers rose into the air after them, Gault with the broken leg once more in her hands. 

—

The poker game was not only later but louder than usual. Lucienne had decided to provide hot chocolate drinks, on the theory that warm chocolate was soothing to people who had fallen into ravines or participated in daring rescues. Mervyn didn’t seem too interested in his. He’d patched up his leg with his tools, brought to him by Matthew, and was proudly regaling the poker group with the (only slightly exaggerated) tale of his adventure. It looked like they were letting him win, possibly. Lucienne wasn’t all that familiar with poker, but he seemed happy about how it was going. Gault brought her cup of hot chocolate and cuddled next to Lucienne on the loveseat.

“Looks like he’s going to survive then,” she remarked. Lucienne leaned on her shoulder.

“All is right in the Dreaming once more,” she agreed.

Thank you to @best-wishes for the great beta read!

Previous Next

Now with art by @ibrithir-was-here!

[purplesauris]

Trying to Recognize Myself (When I Feel I’ve Been Replaced)

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Hob has lived a very, very long life. 

He's proud of it too, though he can't brag about it to anyone but his partner (who is partially the reason he's immortal in the first place). And part of being so old, having lived so long while fancying and vying for an eldritch's attention, is that he attracts a particular crowd. A crowd he's had plenty of time to get used to, that he relates to more than he relates to humans sometimes, but one he attempts to keep some distance from.

He might be mired in the supernatural, but even he has a limit to how much trouble he'll let come to him.

Despite that, he has quite a few good friends all mixed up in the occult, from Johanna Constantine (who looks exactly like her ancestor) in the exorcism business to the twins that infrequently show up to the New Inn, mostly on full moons, and offer to lay down a few simple wards in exchange for Hob keeping the pub open past the witching hour. He likes those two best, mostly because they conduct themselves well and don't try to drag Hob any deeper than he's shown interest in going.

Right now, he really wishes the supernatural being accosting him were as deferential as the twins.

Read more on AO3!

[teejaystumbles]

Sandmanniversary Day 2 - "Hunt"

(fantasy human AU)

Dream falls against the weathered stone wall with a gasp and sinks to his knees. He cannot run anymore. He knows he has lost. Wherever he goes, wherever he hides, the Hound finds him. He has chased him for days and nights, through dark streets and back alleys, cellars and abandoned houses, under bridges and over rooftops, through the belfry of churches and finally here, up onto the highest tower of the cathedral.

Dream is bleeding from uncountable nicks and scrapes, his black silk and linen garments, made to hide him in the darkness and grant him swiftness, ripped and torn in several places. His mask is hanging in shreds off his face and is no longer doing its job of hiding his face. He suspects his identity hasn't been a secret for a while but he had felt safer with the mask. Now he pulls its pieces off, still panting from exertion. He looks down and sees the red and white coat of the Hound billowing in the wind. He is almost upon him.

[AO3] or under the cut

Dream looks out over the city - his city. His people. The people who don't believe in him anymore. Wherever he has tried to hide, they have shut their doors in his face, too afraid of Lord Burgess' wrath to shelter the famous "Dream", leading figure of the rebellion. Would they have let him in if they knew who he was? Or would they have called on the usurper's men that much faster? They would be handsomely rewarded for handing over the missing Crown Prince Morpheus. Dream scoffs and leans back against the rough limestone, wrapping his fingers around the claws of the gargoyle next to him for support. He watches the edge of the roof for his pursuer to pull himself up. He could try and kick him off. He could... Dream gulps. 

No. He couldn't. He can't kill anybody, that's not who he is. And he doesn't want to kill the Hound. He wants...

A hand appears on the edge and grabs onto it hard, before a man pulls himself up and over the edge with a grunt. The Hound, clad in his typical red and white ensemble, now similarly torn and dirtied as Dream's, stares back at him. His breath is fast and his brown eyes are wide. He stills and remains silent for several moments, as if afraid he might startle his prey into running again. But Dream is done. He has wrenched his ankle with the last jump from a roof and this is as far as he goes.

Dream gives a wry smile and rasps, "You got me."

The Hound stares,  panting. "I got you," he whispers. With trembling fingers he reaches out and touches Dream's jaw. Dream flinches and shivers violently. He wants to lean into the touch but instead he tries to lean back further into the wall. "Finally," the Hound says, and Dream lets out a wet sigh that sounds more like a sob and closes his eyes, feeling tears spill over his cheeks.

"Yes. I'm done. It's over. Do what you want."

He feels calloused fingers gently cradle his face and he waits for the pain of the killing blow or for these hands to choke him, but then there are lips upon his and he opens his eyes with a startled moan. He surges up but the Hound grabs his wrists and presses him back against the wall. Is this how it's going to go?

He tears himself away from the mouth on his and gasps, "What are you-" 

The Hound's eyes are wide and pleading and his grip is strong but not painful. His brown hair is falling into his face, the wind pulling at it. Dream can't help but stare at the handsome face he has seen so many times from afar and only once closer, from across a dining table. Robert Gadling, personal guard of Lord Burgess, and his most skilled assassin, called The Hound, is looking at him like he wants to-

Dream gulps and blushes, feeling his heart thunder in his ears. If this man wants to have his way with him before he kills him... he closes his eyes again and bares his neck, his heart clenching painfully. "Go on then," he whispers, but his captor pulls him into a hug and puts his nose under Dream's ear, making him shiver again. The words mouthed against his neck have Dream go rigid. 

"Please, Dream. Let me help."

He pulls back and looks Dream in the eyes again, bringing his hand to his lips, kissing it slowly, with intent. "Let me help you. Your majesty."

Dream raises an eyebrow and stares in surprise, his breath still coming fast, still feeling flushed by the proximity and the prospect of being ravished by the man he has pined over from afar for months. When he finally finds his words he pulls his hand free and pushes a strand of his hair out of his face, tracing Gadling's jaw reverently.

"Has the Hound forsaken its master?"

The man hums and gives him a smile Dream already knows he will become addicted to. 

"It has found a better one," he says, his words a vow, and Dream pulls him in for another desperate kiss.