#The sandman fix

[ohraicodoll]

Figment | Chapter 5

(Gif credit to FilmBlazer)

Chapters:  5/7 Fandom:  The Sandman (Comics & TV 2022) Rating:  Mature Relationships:  Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Original Female Character, Dream/Reader Characters:  Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Original Female Character, Matthew the Raven, Lucienne Additional Tags: Mix of TV Dream and Comic Dream, Spice a little later, kinda enemies to lovers, Cause Dream likes when people backtalk to him, lots and lots of tension Summary: She had only been able to enter other’s dreams two years ago, but she knew the rules. Don’t interfere with the dream. Don’t create anything in another’s dream. Don’t destroy anything in another’s dream. But then she stupidly broke one of those rules and the Lord of Dreams does not take kindly to others messing with his domain. Chapter Summary:   A game between two where both win or both lose. Read Here on AO3 Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

CHAPTER 5

The memory of his touch followed me through most of the following day. When I woke up, I replayed the scene over and over, trying to figure out how it had gotten to the point where the King of Dreams was sensually kissing my hands. There was no mistake, that’s what it had been. It was amazing how even with those inky black pits for eyes, I could feel his gaze burning on me. The heat of those starry eyes was scorching and powerful enough that even remembering them, I had a hard time breathing. Because he was Dream of the Endless, the embodiment of dreams and nightmares and stories, billions of years old and more powerful than the mind could fathom. And I…was human, utterly and blandly, human. We were brief flashes of life in comparison to him. Existence that long had to be lonely and he had said he had relationships. He’d been cheated on, which now that I’ve met him, seems mind-boggling because who would dare? Lust and want and desire seemed to beckon all though. It should be no surprise if he had had escapades through the years, if only to temper back that loneliness. It was hard to wrap my mind around. I don’t know, maybe he was secretly a flirt. He didn’t seem like the type but also, who knows? The minds of gods are hard to fathom. My own was struggling to simply process that all of that powerful attention, the attention of such an ethereal being, had been on me.

And I had enjoyed it. Reciprocated. Teased him as if he couldn’t snap a nightmare into existence in a second. As if it was no big deal to stick your hand into the open mouth of an alligator, the idea that it’d bite not even worth considering. I had been brazen, so unlike how I would have been in the waking world. But I was beginning to realize that the me in the Dreaming had no reason to hold back, no reason to skirt around others feelings or to not speak up or hold back anger. Because nothing felt permanent, even if I knew that wasn’t true. It felt like it. I didn’t have to be worried about getting fired in the Dreaming or hurting a coworker's feelings or being embarrassed about mis-stepping. And there was power in that and courage. I chewed on my lip, struggling to focus on the reports in front of me as the echo of Morpheus’ fingers on mine played over and over, the tingling of his touch that reverberated throughout my whole body. My skin had been so sensitive, every minute caress of his thumb sending lightning through me. Someone snapped in front of my face and I jumped, knees smacking hard and loud against my desk, and I almost bent over from the sharp pain.

“Hello?” My coworker, Anissa, was hanging off the side of my cubicle, eyebrows raised high into her hairline, “I’ve been calling your name for like a whole minute. You’ve just been staring at your screen and haven’t stopped pressing the letter A the whole time. I blinked, a wince still on my face, and glanced at the screen to see lines and lines of A’s filling it. Well shit. “Sorry, I was distracted,” I grumbled and rubbed my hurt knees. Anissa smirked, “Yeah, no kidding. There’s practically drool on your face.” The smirk grew when I instinctively went to wipe my lips and found nothing. I only glared annoyed and leaned back in my chair, “Sorry, what did you need?” She grinned and stepped even more into the small space, leaning back into the cubicle’s wall, “Oh no, we’re not skipping past whatever this is. So who's the dream boy? Cause I know for a fact you did not go back to Thomas.” Flashes of skin the color of marble and hair like ink danced in my mind and I shook my head, “It’s not like that, there’s no one. I just stayed up late to finish reading that new contemporary romance they’re pushing hard next week and it’s still on my brain.” Anissa raised a brow, utterly not believing my bullshit lie, “Uh huh. Sure. The mediocre romance with the paper thin characters. All I’ll say, because you seem like the type to be embarrassed but you completely shouldn’t be, is that it’s okay to have a little… fun so quickly after a breakup. Life’s too short to be mopey and you’ve been utterly mopey these past few weeks. Who knows, something non-committal might just be good for you.” I laughed awkwardly and coughed, embarrassed and not knowing if this is a conversation I really wanted to be having right now, especially after last night, “I will…keep that in mind. Thank you, Ani, I would like to hide under my table now.” She winked and pushed off my wall to leave, “Fine, go back to daydreaming about your mystery man. I was only coming to tell you the meeting is canceled since everyone decided Friday meetings are dumb so you can spend the rest of the day and all weekend thinking about him.” She practically cackled as she walked off and I shrank into my seat, face in my hands. What was wrong with me?

__________

“Rest assured that your shadows shall not remain lonely upon your next visit.” It had taken me a whole extra hour to settle my nerves and actually fall asleep that night. His words had whispered through me like a promise. That he would be there in my dream, watching. My lip was raw from worrying it between my teeth all day and I had paced the length of my bedroom for an unreasonable amount of time. This was dumb. The anxiety was dumb, the fact I had even flirted with the Dream King, the thought that anything was going to happen. The Dreaming was his domain, he was in every facet of the realm. Of course he was going to be there, he was always there in some form or fashion. And with that, I slipped into the Dreaming, not knowing what I would come upon. I could hear music, string instruments filling the air and indistinct chatter humming in the background. Opening my eyes, I was standing on the second floor landing of a large ballroom, lanterns lit everywhere and light sparkling off all the shining golden décor. The style of the place was Victorian but still modern with intricately carved pillars and facades. The ceiling was made of glass though, a dome top with the night sky dazzling above. There was a host of different people below me, dressed to perfection but with indistinguishable faces underneath masquerade masks of various animals. They laughed and danced and I wondered if they would have actual faces underneath those masks or if they were just blank slates, placeholders to fill out the world of my dream. The candles of the lanterns flickered, casting everything in warm light but leaving deep shadows all around and in the corners. My eyes searched and I wondered if he was there, waiting and watching, keeping those shadows company as he had said he would. I couldn’t feel a mask on my face but knew I was dressed to match the rest of the crowd, glancing down to take in the black fabric of my skirt. Sometimes my dreams changed my clothes, sometimes it was whatever I had worn to bed, but it had never been this extravagant as if it knew who I was hoping to meet. The dress was gauzy and so deeply black it felt like I was staring into a void, the same darkness Morpheus’ eyes seemed. It was floor length, the skirt pooling at my feet and sparkling crystal stars glittering in the fabric but still felt light as if I was dressed in a cloud. The shape of it hugged my frame, A-line with a deep V-neck that fit me well, gems and sequins embroidered in the bodice in swirls and flowers and leaves. My arms were bare, with the exception of bracelets of gold leaves, but attached with golden pins to the straps of my dress, a long cape flowed to merge with the inkiness of my dress with the fabric draped just so to where my back was still a bit bare and exposed. I felt royal, a dark queen watching over her court and the night her domain. My hair was left undone, falling around my shoulders and down my back in long curling waves. I could see my reflection a bit in the mirrored reflection of the floor, buffed and shined to magnificence, and could see the shimmer of gold streaked over my cheeks and the coal lining my eyes to darken them. I looked like the night sky and the shadows cast by the flickering candle flame. Pushing away from the railing, I was surprised to notice I wasn’t wearing shoes though, my feet bare against the cold of the marble floor and the chiffon of my dress dancing along the skin. That pleased me a bit, as if I was the only one allowed the impropriety of going barefoot in the midst of all these elegant people. Dressed to the nines but still having a small act of rebellion. A winding staircase led to the first floor and I smiled at the mingling people, trying to overhear their conversations but only hearing gibberish. As if the dream had been sure to populate the setting, but couldn’t put forth that much more effort to craft every single thing these people said. The attendees wore finely pressed suits with waistcoats, flowers tucked into pockets, gold embroidery sewn into their charcoal fabric. Nothing was plain, everything exquisitely over-the-top. Black and gold seemed to be the theme for this party, the women wearing glittery dresses with dark flowers sewn in ornate styles with obsidian stones while the men wore ebony suits with gold details and chains attached to antique pocket watches. It was beautiful and felt dark, mysterious, a ball made of smoke and extravagance. I walked around the edges of the dancing crowd, taking in the details and the various masks everyone wore, and began to feel it. A prickling at the small of my back, lingering, like a finger trailing over the exposed skin there. Pausing, my breath hitched and I slowly peaked over my shoulder to stare at the corners of the room where the candlelight did not reach. The darkness engulfed those edges, writhed, making the ballroom seem as if it had no walls and was floating in the abyss, but no twin stars could be found. I knew he was there, could feel him, that vibration of his power sliding over me like the whisper of silk and a lover’s caress. Chewing on my lower lip, thankful the dream hadn’t given me lipstick and knew my tendencies well enough, I turned back around. I could go to him, sink into those shadows and let him find me there. Eager, so very eager, to see what he would do. Or… I made a choice. Head held high, I merged with the crowd, deciding to hell with staying on the fringes, and slid through the bodies of masked people dancing and laughing there to the innermost parts. A woman, slightly reminding me of Anissa, with a gold beaded cat mask danced by me in the arms of a man with an angular deer mask. His antlers were tall and almost made him a crown of thorns atop his hair. They cheerfully laughed and swung each other in a circle, her skirt twirling along mine as she went past to the thrum of the music. Someone with a fox mask and gold dusted black jacket brushed against me and paused and before I could blink, had grabbed my hand in his. He raised it up and was spinning me before pulling me into his arms so fluidly I was disoriented. My hand was in his and the other on his shoulder, his resting on my waist, and we danced.

It was frenetic, fast and loose, as if the music and the dancers knew the rules but chose to push the limits and test the boundaries. It was less structured and I realized, more like following the flicker of flames. This was a ball of mystery and passion and they danced like it, unbound and wild and letting themselves be carried away. I didn’t think I knew how to waltz but I kept up, adrenaline rushing through me and that knowing burn tracing up my back and following me, as the fox faced man spun me again. My dress flared around me like tendrils of darkness and a different hand held mine high now, a man with golden hair and a black crow mask. Both of us mirrored the others movements as we swirled around each other, connected with only our one hand pressed against each other. Someone else grabbed my other hand, a woman in a rabbit mask, and the crow faced man passed me off to her. Our movements were liquid as we moved into the same dance, a mirrored circle where the only point of contact was the soft press of our hands conjoined together to form two halves of a whole. It went like that on and on, hands grasping and pulling and sending me off, the various strangers of the ball spinning me in circles before passing me off to the next, an endless chain of revelers going on and on. The room was a carousel of flickering lights, shadows, and masked faces. It was exhilarating and dizzying and I was laughing, feeling almost drunk and light and warm. Weightless. Absolutely weightless, as if I was shaking off every worry and concern with each press of hands and touch of skin. I danced with them all. Women. Men. Shapeless forms that seemed recognizable and unrecognizable but swirled around and around. The ball, the crowd, the darkness pressing in from the corners of the room, were bewildering and sensuous and I soaked in the magic that hung in the frantic air like the sweat that clung to my skin and dripped slowly between my breasts. My heart was racing and hair flying around me to match my dress as I danced, partner after partner in a twirl of glittering fabric. And then he was there. My breathing was ragged, lips still turned in a smile, as the spinning suddenly halted and the world came to a jarring stop as it was his hand that took mine and I had to keep myself from careening into him. A rock in the middle of a rushing river, the stopping of momentum earth tilting. Morpheus stood in front of me, a pillar of night in the sea of the crowd. No one looked or even brushed against him, as if we were in a bubble of our own that could not be touched. Those eyes of fathomless darkness and their pinpoints of light for pupils stared down at me, taking in the flush of my skin and the energy radiating off me. Our hands were raised between us, opposites clasped, his fingers strong on mine but still so gentle. His cloak looked like it was cut from the stars themselves, the flames burning almost a light gold at the hem and the edges brushed in stardust. If I wasn’t mistaken, he almost looked more formal, a waistcoat and silk black shirt underneath to match the ensemble of the crowd. His skin glistened in the light of the candles, making him look warmer, almost more human-like under their cast. Not quite so pale and made of stone, but still not human. Too beautiful and powerful to ever be mistaken for human. I couldn’t help it, couldn’t help the utter thrill of seeing him there, and grinned, chest still heaving as I worked to catch my breath.

“Hello, King of Dreams,” I spoke, husky and full of laughter as I looked up into that immortal face of his and felt the music thrumming through me. That ghost of a smirk, so miniscule I could reason it away as a shift of the light, played along his lips. He bowed his head to me and slowly, so achingly slowly, he brought my bare skin to his lips and laid a kiss across my knuckles as his eyes bore into mine, “Hello, little dreamer.” A lightning bolt shot through me from the touch and my skin felt so sensitive and tight, blazing heat coursing through me. I laughed, the sound dark and breathy, bottom lip between my teeth, “You kept your promise. I guess my shadows haven’t been so lonely tonight.” He stood straight, keeping my hand in his, and raised a brow, “You were aware I was here?” The tone was less quizzical, less him believing he had been sneaky about it. I’m not sure he had ever been sneaky in his life, but it felt like a whispered accusation, small, as if he was almost saying, “You were aware and did not come to me.” This was a king and he had expected my obedience, my supplication, and I hadn’t given him that. Had never given him that. My gaze was entranced with the way the light moved on his skin, casting his face in stark relief, and I murmured, low and smoky, “I’m always aware of you.” Those twin stars flashed mauve in the candlelight. Everything about me was vibrating as I stood before him, overheated and tingling. I lowered my gaze, staring at our clasped hands between us as my free one balled in the fabric of my dress and then blinked up at Morpheus from under long lashes, “Dance with me, Dream King?” I could feel his gaze roam over mine, face flush from the revelries and lip slightly swollen from chewing on it most of the night (and day). Sweat slid along my skin, clinging to my neck and chest and back but I didn’t care. I felt untethered and unworried and delicious under the gaze of this powerful creature. But he bowed his head in an apology, that small smile of his almost tinged with sadness, “Apologies, milady, but I do not dance.” And there were almost unspoken words there. He didn’t dance because how would it look? He didn’t dance because he was the Lord of the Dreaming and wouldn’t lower himself to the act. He didn’t dance because he couldn’t give himself over to an ounce of frivolity. In that wave of reckless abandon that was carrying me through the night, my hand in his and those eyes of ink and stars meeting mine, I let myself grin widely at him as I questioned incredulously, “Thousands and thousands of years old and you don’t dance? I hope that doesn’t mean that you don’t know how because that would be an absolute travesty. Mostly on your part.” A part of me knew that this was a being that didn’t exactly like to be teased. He was stoic and unyielding in his ways and tightly coiled, but I didn’t care at that moment. I’d walked the razor's edge with him before and I couldn’t keep myself from doing it over and over again. It was the game we had begun. Two opposing forces butting heads, clashing and burning. One would eventually lose but not yet. Morpheus only quirked a brow, not biting at the tease, thumb grazing slowly over the skin he had kissed. “I am very well capable of the act, little dreamer. I simply do not partake,” he replied, admonishing and daring. I raised my own brow, taking a step back in challenge. We never broke eye contact even as I moved a little further away, fingers still wrapped around each other, and a dare in my eyes. Chase me, play with me, take the bait. And with a flash of a mischievous grin, I raised our joined hands and twirled under his arm, letting the darkness of my dress ripple around me as I spun myself.

Dream’s hand reflexively followed the movement, keeping me grounded as he knowingly or unknowingly helped me spin. Then I stopped with the soft rustling of skirts, my hand clasped firmly in his, closer than before as the fox faced man had done to me. So close now I had to crane my neck up to see his face. My grin was wide and proud, chest almost pressed against his while I took in air and my other hand rested on his shoulder to balance myself. His hand had caught on the curve of my waist, those long fingers of his digging gently into the embroidered fabric. His cloak coiled around us like a serpent, blending with the blackness of my gown, and I was surprised that it felt like the most luxurious velvet I could have imagined. The velvet of the night sky, soft and warm and inviting. Laughing softly, I beamed with my tongue between my teeth, “See? Now you’ve partaken. Dream of the Endless does, in fact, dance.” The candlelight darkened his face, eyes shadowed completely and mauve stars burning as he whispered, “Impertinent little thing.” But the words were almost adoring this time, an echo of the angry words he had once hissed at me, a whispered promise in a dark room behind closed doors. “Always,” I whispered back into the space between us, grin slipping into a playful smile. I knew my cheeks must be flushed, that the redness was probably creeping down the exposed skin of my chest. Every point of contact was electricity. My body was so sensitive, alight with his touch and gaze and the dark way it traced from my eyes to my nose, lips, neck before meeting my own gaze. His head tilted ever so slightly and in the back of my mind, I thought I could hear the crowd hush and the music slow. Then we were moving, him guiding us slowly into a dance. Less a full waltz and closer to a gentle sway but I would take it. I would take whatever he would give me. He held my hand in his and pulled me flush against him, chest to chest, not allowing any space between us. And I didn’t care. The whole world could be burning and I wouldn’t care because he was a cold fire, dark and burning and swallowing me whole in its blaze. The other revelers were dark shadows, not quite tangible anymore, but merely brushes along my skin like smoke as they danced around us. The music was low and rich, thrumming through me and reverberating through my blood. Morpheus watched. He watched every little reaction. When he twirled me, almost lazily so my dress could slide along him, and pulled me back in with my back to his chest, he drank in my laughter and watched it light up my face. When I was fully against him, he drank the shaky way my breath rasped out at the contact, hand still entwined with mine and arm fully wrapped around my waist and keeping me there against him. He pressed his face into my hair, nose trailing down my neck to match as he ran a single finger down my free arm and watched my chest hitch at the feather light touch. He laughed softly against the sweat soaked skin of my neck and laid a teasing kiss there, lips lingering until I clenched my fingers in his and let out an imperceptible moan. “Have you had quite enough, little dreamer?” the dreamlord asked into my skin, lips grazing the sensitive spot there as he spoke and I almost moaned again. But I let my head fall back to his shoulder, neck bared to him and eyes slid shut, and grinned, “Oh hardly. Don’t tell me you’re tired already, your highness?” He chuckled into my ear and leaned his head down to lay another torturous kiss on my collar bone, teeth grazing this time. Then he was twirling me away from him, spinning me, pulling me back into the whirlwind of skirts and dancing and heady music that wrapped around us. We danced and danced some more, my body floating and only tethered by his body against mine and our clasped hands. My fingers dug into the muscle at his shoulders, grasping onto him, and I felt them shift under my hands. He was sculpted from stone, lean but muscled, his grip on me tight as if I really were smoke and would flutter into the air if he let go. While sweat and hair clung to me, breath coming out in frantic gasps, Morpheus was unaffected but I could feel his hungry gaze taking me in, watching each bead of sweat slip down into the bodice of my dress and the flush along my gold stained cheeks. We slowed and swayed, his thumb brushing patterns into the back of the hand that was trapped in his. The hand at my waist shifted and left my body and I didn’t even have time to be confused to where it had gone before I could feel the light tracing of his knuckles along the bare skin of my back. I jolted, something I’m sure he could feel, and my breath hitched as he ran them up and down, up and down in agonizing slowness. My breath came out in tattered wisps, so close to him that each exhalation brushed along his neck. If I were to lean forward, I could rest my forehead along his jawline, the long stretch of his neck before me. Images flashed of licking up that long expanse of neck, tasting him, clamping my teeth around that pulsing heartbeat there and seeing if I could garner a reaction. That small trace of his knuckles were undoing me, my mind only able to focus on that small bit of contact and gods if it wasn’t the most erotic thing. Dream leaned forward, breath hot on my skin as he whispered in my ear, “Are you certain that your shadows are sufficiently comforted? I am here, but perhaps they wish for your presence as well.” I bit my lip and turned my face to his as he turned as well, my nose skimming along his skin. He pressed his forehead to my own and I was utterly swallowed by the darkness of his gaze, the feeling of his breath mingling with mine. It wouldn’t take much, just the smallest of movements, and I could press my lips to his, could taste him, drink him in like he had.

I was lost to this creature, completely lost. “Maybe,” I licked my lip and those starry pupils followed the movement, before replying in a barely audible whisper, “we should both keep them company. You obviously need a break from all this dancing you don’t partake in.” Those pinpoints of light in his eyes turned, darkening, and he twined the fingers of our clasped hands together before stepping forward, guiding me backwards. In two small steps, our surroundings shifted and my back hit the wall of the ballroom, shadows swallowing us and the revelry suddenly much farther away from us. Away from view, where no one could see us. Those twin stars in the darkness swallowed my vision as the shadows completely wrapped around him, welcoming him back with loving arms. But I could feel his breath fanning on my cheeks and lips, his hand now flush along the bare skin of my back, and I could swear I felt him smirk hungrily as his nose skimmed along mine. The dreamlord raised our intertwined hands along the wall, the long skim of cool wood against my fevered skin almost making me moan in relief, and pinned it above my head. The hand on my bare back arched me forward, pressing fully and completely against him. I could feel the message there, the trace of amusement in his movements. Caught. Captured. Trapped. I’d coaxed him into playing with me and been triumphant in that, but he was winning this game and I was his prize. The alligator had clamped down and bitten. My one free hand clung onto his shoulder as he slid his nose alongside mine before following a path along my cheek and down my jawline. I was liquid fire, a puddle in his arms with a racing heart and shallow breaths. The torture of those small, simple touches raked along every nerve of mine, taunting, and setting me a light. Morpheus blew out a small, gentle breath along the skin on the underside of my ear and I shuddered, a loud moan escaping me. “Shhh,” he whispered into the skin there, “It would be most…improper, little dreamer, to be caught like this.”   Fuck improper, he was unraveling me and he knew it. There was no one else here, no one of consciousness at least, but this was his game now. That anyone could be watching us, could hear us, could catch us and the game would be over. Continuing to trace along my skin, he bent and ever so lightly grazed his lips under my jaw and up and down my neck. I tilted my head up, eyes closed and biting down on my lip to keep from moaning out loud lest he decide to punish me and stop. He wasn’t kissing the skin, was barely touching it with his lips, gentler than the caress of a feather, but the promise that it would take so very little to do so, yet he didn’t, was aching and torturous. It was the promise, the temptation and want that was driving me insane. Because I wanted him to kiss me, to lick and bite me and unmake me entirely and the denial was painful. My chest pressed against him with each rasping breath and my captured hand spasmed, wanting desperately to be free to touch him, feel him. But he kept me in place, palm against palm and fingers intertwined with a gentleness despite the power. My other hand left its place on his shoulder, the only thing of mine free, to at least move upwards and curl around the back of his own neck. He was so warm under my fingertips, the hair at the nape of his neck unbelievably soft and my thumb tracing the hard edge of his jawline. The tip of his nose dragged upward and I was burning, dying, wanting to pull him forward by his neck and drink in his kiss, taste his lips, and completely devour him. I wanted to feel his hands on my skin, wanted those hands to dive under my skirts and grip my thighs and drown me. His forehead pressed against mine as before and I opened my eyes and could almost feel the knowing look he wore. The dreamlord was deceptively calm, but I could tell it affected him as well from the hard press of his body and the flexing of his fingers along my back. He was the image of restraint, able to take his time, all night perhaps, to pace this out. He was endless, he had all the time in the world. But I wasn’t and patience was never my strong suit. My loose fingers ran up to tangle in his hair, the soft tendrils of strands beneath them and I lightly, slowly, dragged my nails along his scalp. Morpheus hissed, half a moan, onto my lips and shuddered against me at the sound. I couldn’t help the large grin that crawled back onto my face or the utter pride that I could play this game too. He hadn’t won yet. “Wicked thing,” he growled. I chuckled darkly, pressing even closer until our lips were only a hair from each other, whispering my words onto his, “You started it, I’m merely participating.” The hand at my back trailed down, following the curve of my hip, and, as if he had read my mind, he gripped my thigh tightly, bruisingly, while pushing me back hard and fully flush against the wall. I let out a gasp onto his lips as he pressed his own body in closer and let me know exactly how much he enjoyed my participation. But he still didn’t give in, his voice molasses and burning embers and dark promises against my lips, “Well then … perhaps I should put an end to this game.” I wanted to say yes please, for him to quit torturing me and finally kiss me, to wrap my legs around his waist and sate the aching need that was throbbing through ever part of my body. Not pulling away entirely, he bent and so incredibly gently pressed his lips along my neck. I was riding the electrical current flowing through me at the touch, was sure he could feel the want dripping off me as he laid kiss after kiss up my neck up to my ear. I moaned, pressing myself harder against him, body absolutely writhing. The Lord of Dreams smiled against my skin and pressed his forehead against the side of my head, his breath teasing my ear as he whispered tenderly, “Goodnight, little dreamer.” I sucked in a breath and he pulled away enough that I could see his face and that predatorial smirk, full of satisfaction and deviousness, before the dream began to melt away and faded completely. I jolted up in bed, panting and heavy with desire and utterly annoyed to the point of being enraged. The air was cold on my heated skin, body wound so tight, and I stared in the darkness of my room, thinking I could still see Morpheus’ twin star eyes in the shadows but instead found nothing. That asshole. That complete asshole. With the loudest, most agonized groan of my life, I flopped backwards, grabbed a pillow, and placed it over my face to smother myself in. I’d made him play the game. I lost. Then again, I’m not sure he won either, if how much he had seemed to want whatever was happening was evident. But I wasn’t done playing. Not just yet.

[disc0bandit]

You ever get so excited you explode with the yay?

[fishfingersandscarves]

Sir Robert Gadlen

[kulapti]

Aug 2023, bookbinding of The Silent Isle Imbowers by Tharkuun.

I’m sooo so so pleased to finally share this! I have been actively working on this for many months and waited until Tharkuun received her copy before posting so the final result would be a surprise.

-----------About this bookbinding under the cut

This binding has been one of the more elaborate pieces I have attempted so far. This has been my first binding where I (1) made three copies of a piece at once, (2) used a modified a historical illustration, (3) collaborated directly with another artist on the decorative elements, (4) finished matching art for the cover and title page, and (5) layered paint and heat-transfer vinyl for the covers. These are also (6) the first non-tiny books I have made with this style of hinge and cover attachment.

Pretty much immediately after I first read this story I felt I had to make myself a copy of this. I had a strong mental image of a vintage-looking cover for a fairy tale, with a deceptively simple design of flowers on the cover, probably with fancy metallic accents, the kind of thing you’d find in an interesting used bookstore with no summary, no text on the back, no dust jacket, just the flowers and maybe a title. I’m going to make a separate post about making this cover design a reality because oh man has it been a journey lol! I designed and drew the digital art for the cover (digital because of the cut and application method), as well as the corresponding title page illustration (pencil and dip pen, scanned, title added digitally).

When I asked Tharkuun about it she was excited to suggest I get in touch with quillingwords, who generously agreed to collaborate with me! Among her talents quilling writes calligraphy, and hand wrote both the book title and chapter headers for me to incorporate into my plans. Check OUT those chapter headers! So fancy! A font could never!! Quilling has also been very encouraging and let me yell about this project in dms for months so the final result could be a surprise for Tharkuun. Thank u so much quillingwords, your calligraphy adds invaluable amounts of swag to this project.

I was going to do some kinda neat font for the chapter headers, but quilling’s work is too cool for that and I decided to use a modified piece of a historical illustration instead. The illustration also happens to be cool as heck: I was browsing the Artstor database (an academic quality resource available for free via Jstor, my beloved) and found E. N. Neureuther's 1836 gorgeous etching for etching of the fairy tale Briar Rose, an illustration made for a printing of a Brothers Grimm recorded German fairy tale with Sleeping Beauty elements. Much to my delight this illustration not only matches the general look I wanted but is actually relevant to the story, itself a Sleeping Beauty spinoff.

Slightly less stylistically consistent are the endpapers, which are prints of two different paintings by Arnold Böcklin: Isle of the Dead (1883) in the front and Isle of Life (1888). The first painting had occurred to me as an excellent visual to go with the story, and Tharkuun and I discussed this and agreed that pairing it with the related later, more optimistic piece was too thematically appropriate to resist.

I had fun and learned a lot making these books and I am very pleased with the result!!

Materials: Archival bookboard, cardstock, cotton cheesecloth mull, archival PVA glue, linen thread coated in beeswax, paper cord, red cotton embroidery floss. Blue cotton backed with archival paper, acrylic paint, machine cut black and gold heat-transfer vinyl. Laser printed text and illustrations. Metallic scrapbooking paper.

[rufflywings]

My Del design ^^

[lenreli]

Ferdinand Kingsley for The Comeuppance rehearsals

[wizardofgoodfortune]

LYTA HALL & ROSE WALKER The Sandman, S01E08: Playing House dedicated to @violetoftheendless

[sic-vita]

The Sandman || Morpheus’ side profile

[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)

[dsudis]

To Be Brand New: Chapter 23 is up!

Check out all the art by @fishfingersandscarves

To Be Brand New || Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling || Explicit || 23/25 || 130,256 words

Book 7: Brief Lives (The Sandman), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, at least during this story, Age Regression/De-Aging, Slow Burn, like the slowest burn, Like One of Them Is A Pre-Sexual Child for the First 100K, What If The Red String Of Fate Was Also A Toddler Leash, Touch-Starved Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Protective Hob Gadling, Cuddling & Snuggling, Caretaking, Bathing/Washing, Sharing a Bed, Crying, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, Illnesses, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Explicit Sexual Content, Masturbation, Not Exactly Loss of Virginity But Kinda?, Implied/Referenced Monsterfucking, Happy Ending

On a rainy day in the Dreaming, Dream of the Endless watches the dreamfolk doting on Daniel Hall, and wishes he could be someone small enough to be loved. Hob Gadling has waited a long time for a chance to be closer to his stranger. This isn’t the way he ever imagined it happening, but he does love nothing better than being surprised.

Chapter 23: "I am—sorry," Dream said.

[Go straight to Chapter 23 here!]

[ectonurites]

btw doing face paint at a children’s museum as Delirium from Sandman as my fun halloween activity ‼️

[teejaystumbles]

The thundering waves are calling me home to you The pounding sea is calling me home to you. On a dark New Year’s night On the west coast of Clare I heard your voice singing Your eyes danced the song Your hands played the tune T’was a vision before me. We left the music behind and the dance carried on As we stole away to the seashore We smelt the brine, felt the wind in our hair And with sadness you paused. Suddenly I knew that you’d have to go Your world was not mine, your eyes told me so Yet it was there I felt the crossroads of time And I wondered why. As we cast our gaze on the tumbling sea A vision came o’er me Of thundering hooves and beating wings In clouds above. As you turned to go I heard you call my name. You were like a bird in a cage, spreading its wings to fly “The old ways are lost” you sang as you flew And I wondered why.

The thundering waves are calling me home to you The pounding sea is calling me home to you.

more siren au stuff because I am trying to accumulate a playlist and went for Loreena McKennitt in search of folksy music I love - and I found the perfect song for inspiration. <3

@moorishflower

[darthstitch]

WDYM Sandman Season 2 might get into The Kindly Ones?

HHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

hahajajajajjdlallzelkfkeajahhaha

*laughs in Despair*

[dotieeee]

More BTS of Sandman S2!!!

[lenreli]

FERDINAND KINGSLEY as HAMZA BEY

Dracula Untold (2014)

[wizardofgoodfortune]

HOB GADLING in 1989

i hide myself from no one i know the time will surely come when you'll be in my life, my life always yellow is the color of sun rays —soul ii soul & caron wheeler, “keep on movin'”