rb this and tell me what ur accent is. this has no purpose except the fact i just realized i could have like... mutuals with cockney accents or newfoundland accents or something and thats just wild
135K notes
·
View notes
Really into them in a divorced way
[Black and white sketch of Calliope with an arm around Dream’s shoulder and a hand on his cheek]
1K notes
·
View notes
Since you have expressed being okay with more asks, can I be greedy and ask for more of 'sequel, or Dream's parents fucked him up'? What you're already posted has ripped my heart out in my favorite way 🥺five-and-dimes
oh, well, I'm always here to tear out hearts... this is planned to feature in chapter eight, too.
Hob manages to hold in his feelings until they’re on the Tube home, thankfully sans Dee, who’s headed off to see some friends of hers, apparently not feeling the same way as her brother after their glorious afternoon.
“What the actual fuck?” he demands, and Dream jerks, startled. “Sorry, love. I just. The way your mother speaks to you is horrifying.”
Dream barely looks up from his hands in his lap. “Thus it hath e’er been.”
Jesus Christ. “My darling, you know that the way she treats you is unacceptable, right?”
Dream takes a minute to look up at him. “I. I suppose so.”
thanks so much!
ask me about my WIPs
33 notes
·
View notes
Dream - art by Michael Zulli
240 notes
·
View notes
78 notes
·
View notes
AWFA sequel please?
Fair 'nuff! This is the one I'm actively working on, fwiw - it's almost at 5k words and I started it almost immediately after finishing AWFA actually let's not talk about that 😅
Yes, so the sequel is called Like Real People Do because Hozier is the epitome of dreamling as always. It follows directly from the end of AWFA and traces Dream and Hob's developing relationship and will eventually involve quite a bit of me rewriting the comics to have Hob in it 😂
Haven't gotten to any of that, though, but here's a snippet:
He looks back up at Dream — and up it truly is, now, Dream having gained several inches on him at some point during the proceedings, drawing in shadows.
Hob, bemused, lets himself be crowded up against the wall. Usually Dream keeps all such malleability of form for the Dreaming.
“Oh, hello,” he breathes out, staring into Dream’s darkling eyes. He knows he sounds daft, love drunk, and doesn’t care.
Dream leans in, and Hob is prepared, now, for the light brush of sand that heralds their departure for the Dreaming.
What he isn’t prepared for is a stretching moment of swelling darkness, a sense of overbearing pressure, like he is a submarine surrendered to the depths. It should feel like drowning, but it doesn’t, it feels like flying. Before Hob can really process what’s happening, everything suddenly vanishes, leaving him bereft for a split second before he finds himself standing outside a dive bar he used to frequent in the 80s, getting hot and heavy with a wanton, sinuous shape that could have been any of the faceless hookups he’d had and then forgotten, writhing and spit-slick in the dim neon lighting. It takes him far too long to recognise the creature arching and moaning beneath his lips as Dream.
He registers it with a shock, and pulls back, just for a moment, fighting past the dream logic.
“Whoa, hey—”
Dream — because he knows, intrinsically, it’s Dream, even as he can’t get the face to resolve properly in his vision — makes a sound of protest and presses closer, nearly overriding Hob’s reservations. They’ve done this plenty of times in the Dreaming before, after all, so why—
The scene shifts again; now they’re in his old Porche, under the stars, and Hob is nearly bowled over by the combination of lust and deja vu, having Dream spread out underneath him like this. He leans down to kiss him, accompanied by Dream’s satisfied hum, but something still niggles at him.
Was it good for you, too?
He remembers the dreams now. He doesn’t remember an answer to that question.
20 notes
·
View notes
Round Three/3, Poll
P. Craig Russell
VS
Mike Dringenberg
Uh oh, it’s one of those again…
We have arrived at our last pairing before the finale hits tomorrow, everyone! So make this one count, because it’s the battle of the (supposed) Sturridge lookalikes.
And as usual, we recommend you read up on background information, look at wonderful art appreciation for both and refresh your memory (especially with regard to the issues they created). You can do this here. But as you know from last week, they also created some bloopers or slightly OOC portrayals, which you can find here—we don’t want to be too biased 😉
Plus, have their Sandman issues again:
P. Craig Russell: Fables & Reflections #50: “Distant Mirrors—Ramadan”, Endless Nights: “Death—Death and Venice”, The Dream Hunters
Mike Dringenberg: Preludes and Nocturnes #6-8, The Doll’s House #9-11 and #14-16, Season of Mists #21 and #28
While you are still voting for your favourite Morpheus/Daniel and NOT story arcs, we would like to hear (and see!) what other portrayal totally knocked it out of the park for you:
This round is all about your favourite artist’s Sandman characters other than Dream.
Let us know in the reblogs, post your favourite panels or unofficial art like commissions—we want to see it all!
Here’s the poll to vote for your favourite if you want to see them again (you can find the whole bracket and some additional info here, and feel free to check out previous matches via the tag #sandman march mania):
25 notes
·
View notes
For the wip ask game, I'd love to hear about Deja Vu, I just read the first three chapters and I thought they were really good 😁
aw thank you!! I really enjoy that one still even though it takes me so so long to write it
I even have all the chapters planned out, it's just an intense and emotionally draining fic to write so it takes me FOREVER
from chapter 5, which takes place in 1699. some light spoilers for chapter 4, but tbh you can probably predict how that whole situation with Eleanor is going to go down in the end XD
--
For ten years, it has been nighttime in the Dreaming.
For ten years, no sun has fallen through the stained glass of Dream’s throne room, no morning light has risen, no sunset has marked the passing of time. No stars manage to glimmer through the heavy clouds, no moonlight on this night between lunar cycles, the beginning and end. Only the darkness of a winter night, somewhere far north where the sun is not expected for months, and life must adapt to its absence.
Life in the Dreaming continues. Plants still grow, as little in the Dreaming follows strict earthly laws. Days are marked by instinct rather than sun. It does not rain, for Dream does not have the energy for such a marked expression of loss, not since that first, catastrophic thunderstorm that had nearly rent the palace in two, so many years ago now.
It does not rain, but it sometimes snows. On those nights, he will step out into the palace courtyard, wading through cold and ice he does not need to feel, watching the meager light bounce and multiply off the snow. Albedo. Yes, the only brightness he feels is reflected, now, from other sources.
Dream does not feel; Dream works. When he doesn’t work, which is infrequent, he paces the palace ramparts—it has ramparts, now, as if waiting for an imagined future battle—trying to fortify the empty place in his chest lest it keep expanding.
Ten years ago, Dream had met with Hob Gadling at their scheduled meeting time.
He almost hadn’t gone. It had felt… wrong, to go to Hob when he had fled. To come to Hob as himself, when the person Hob knew truly, loved truly was Eleanor, a disaster that Dream had pulled him into, a loss that Dream had put him through.
More than that, Dream had not been certain he could trust his own reaction were he to encounter again the man who had once been his husband.
(No, not his husband. Eleanor’s husband.)
But gone he had. He told himself it was merely to keep their agreement, because Hob did not deserve to be left in the cold. But in his heart of hearts Dream simply had to see him. He had not looked at Hob’s dreams since their horrendous parting. He had not looked at anything.
He had gone.
He had found a Hob who was ruined.
27 notes
·
View notes
Lucifer Descending
2K notes
·
View notes
Horniness is not intrinsically less pure than any other human motivation
17K notes
·
View notes
chapter five of please wake me is now up!
Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/ Hob Gadling, modern academia AU, rated E
chapter 5 of 16
part five of the sound of the unlocking and the lift away
Hob’s having a bad week. They hit him without warning, like a bucket of water being dropped over his head, like night falling without a sunset, like having his legs swept from under him.
He’d felt it it descending on Monday evening. He’d been at the National Archives again, finding more material about licensing in alehouses, and on the way home had found himself mentally cursing every person in his way on the Tube, ruminating on the lack of useful material in the documents he’d looked at, knowing he was hungry but having absolutely no motivation to even think about what he and Dream might eat that night. Only the thought of seeing Dream had stopped him from just going home and slumping face down into bed.
But he wanted to see Dream, even if nothing else in the world seemed remotely appealing, and he’d clung to that as he made his way up to Hampstead, trying to put himself back together for Dream’s sake. And when Dream had opened the door, smiling bright and wide at seeing him there, he’d reaffirmed his decision of a few weeks ago to never, ever make himself a burden to Dream. Because being the Hob that makes Dream look at him like he’s the sun coming out is the one he wants to be.
in which Hob has a bad week, and learns an important lesson about how Dream loves him.
read from the start here, and from the start of the series here
64 notes
·
View notes
Dream and Matthew—Shawn McManus
137 notes
·
View notes
AU where Dreaming has social networking and dreams are Morpheus’s employees
61 notes
·
View notes
Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💗
omg.. friendship and love 🥺
fav fics is hard... since i have 185 of them now 😂 and there's a significant recency bias. but for Sandman, probably:
Complex Mathematics - OG fic or just series in general. I just like this version of these guys :3 I'm fond of them. and it makes me happy when people like them :)
Here in the Darkness - Hope & Morpheus reverse-verse manifesto. They're my blorbos in particular. Really happy with how this turned out especially since it's actually finished unlike so many of my long fics 😂
how longingly - favorite smut :] dream's first time with a guy (hob). smut is hard to write so when I manage one that I feel good about I take the win
Patron Saint - Hob & Death friendship fic w/ background Dreamling. Really helped me understand Death as a character. And I think her dynamic with Hob is just really interesting. I technically have a WIP that's a companion piece to this but I haven't worked on it much recently.
In Waking Dreams - my first proper committed Dreamling fic that I've had basically since joining the fandom. It's changed so much over the course of writing. Really hoping I can stick the landing on this one.
Bonus: Deja vu, Deja Connu - "Dream was actually all of Hob's past lovers in disguise" fic. It takes me an actual Eon to write a chapter of this but I like how the existing ones turned out and really like the future stuff that's in progress :)
fics... so many fics all the time
20 notes
·
View notes
oooh! trust issues!
Hi hi! This is one I started forever ago, for the Dreamling Bingo, and I just never got around to finishing it. I picked it back up again recently though, so yay! This one's about a Hob who's been looking for a way to contact his Stranger and ends up being among the cultists when Dream is captured, and a Dream who is still angry after 1889 and doesn't know whether to trust Hob yet.
It's quite short at the moment, with about 3k words and nowhere near completion, so I'll post shorter snippets for it.
A jewel, red as blood. A jewel he recognised, one that often adorned one man's outfit. Often the only spot of colour on him, for the rest of him was skin pale as snow clothed in midnight black. It was a ruby he thought about often, when trying to work out just what his Stranger was, when his thoughts often found himself back to the man who offered him immortality.
Back to the man who walked out on him in 1889, the very reason Hob was even here.
And now that ruby hung from Roderick's hand. It was different than he saw it last time, an uncut stone hanging from a black cord. Stolen from the body that fell out of the fucking air during a summoning spell that included chanting here in the darkness and I summon you in poison and in pain.
Stolen from his Stranger, who might've been Death itself. His Stranger, currently trapped in Roderick Burgess's basement.
Fuck.
53 notes
·
View notes