#Sand Shaper | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cuubism · 3 months

Text

Morphology | Dreamling | 4.6k words | Explicit | AO3

eldritch Dream, genderfluidity of a kind, lots of smut, nonhuman organs, angst, body dysphoria, undefined body forms and transformation, brief eldritch panic attack, they/them pronouns for Dream

Dream is not meant to stay in one form. But they must, for that is the form that Hob knows. That Hob loves. Or so they think.

this is based on @gabessquishytum and their anon's post located here, about Dream believing Hob won't want him in all his nonhuman shapes, only to discover Hob is very much a monsterfucker... and also loves him very much. I was going to append it to the post but then it got kind of very long. Hope you don't mind me playing around!

---

It was not for dreams to be only one thing.

In the Dreaming, they morphed and shifted, merging from one form to another. Smoke to wind to water, lava to sparks back to stone. In the minds of dreamers they took every unconceivable form, a thousand impossibilities as various as the limbs of Destiny’s forking tree. They were all of unreality. All that could not be, all that was hoped for, fleeting, forgotten, or held, for a time.

In the Waking, it was different. Dreams Dream bent and condensed into a singular form. They he knew well enough from his dreamers that while fluid changeability may be accepted in the illogical narratives of dreams, it was not so in the Waking. To interact with humans, he must appear as one, with the limited mutability that allowed.

Which was not to say that Dream disliked his Waking form. He chose what was pleasing to him. But sometimes it felt… stifling, for one used to being as expansive as the clouds.

Particularly after his imprisonment. Kept like an insect pinned to a board. Immovable. When he was meant to move. When he was Morpheus. Shaper of Forms.

Dream put that away from him.

Hob liked this form of his. Dream had come to understand the way Hob looked on him, and he liked that Hob wanted this form. But. He was not meant to stay in this form. Not always. It was. Chafing. It was. Hurting.

No matter. He could stay in this form that Hob wanted, because more than wanting to break from this skin Dream wanted Hob’s love. And his desire. He wanted to keep Hob’s gentle, heated touch.

This form of lean muscle and sharp bone. This solid body that had endured Roderick Burgess’s prison but also received Hob’s love… he could keep it. Yes. He could. He could.

~~~

I am wind that wishes to storm. Cloud that edges on rain. I am caterpillar’s dream of flight, I am words of disbelieving, I am the hopeful light of new stars, I am— I am water’s dance with the shore, and the sun’s kiss of the moon, and— and— no—

“Yo. Roiling mass of terror that I’m pretty sure is the boss. You good?”

Dream opened their eyes. They did not have eyes, but no matter. Dreams were often about seeing. Matthew was standing on the sand before them, head cocked.

“You alright?” he repeated. “I couldn’t tell if the shrieking was a bad thing or just like. One of your things.”

“One of my things,” Dream repeated.

“Can never know,” said Matthew. He hopped onto an arm that Dream’s form generated just for him to stand on.

“I was not,” said Dream, “shrieking.”

“You were definitely shrieking,” said Matthew. “It sounded like a laundry machine dying.”

Dream grumbled in offense.

Matthew nudged his head against one of Dream’s hands. “Do you… wanna talk about it?”

Dream considered. “Do you often ponder your own physical form, Matthew?”

“Well, since I became a bird,” said Matthew. “Kinda weird. It’s cool, though. Who doesn’t dream of flying, amirite?” He flapped his wings in demonstration, lifting off Dream’s arm, then settling down again.

“And when you were human?” Dream asked.

“Every human thinks about their body, dude.”

“Did you desire to change it?” Dream pressed.

“You mean like a weight loss program?” said Matthew. “Those never work.”

“No,” said Dream. Their form morphed around them, here legs, there tail, wings, teeth. They could not make it settle, not on a human shape or on anything else. They felt— agitated. They should return to their usual human form. Should. “That is not what I meant.”

“Ohhhhhh,” said Matthew, and smacked his face with his wing in realization. “It’s this whole deal. Well, you could change it if you want? I mean. You’re doing it.”

“I did not mean to,” said Dream, their form still writhing around them, never landing on any one shape. “I—” they were meant to go see Hob. They had been cloaked properly in their usual shape. And. Something had snapped.

They remembered, now, falling to their knees on the sand, the careful construct of their human self, a body once worn easily as one of many, shattering into a million shards.

They should. Change. They should change back. They wished to see Hob, and Hob, for all his adaptability, was only human, he would not be able to tolerate this, this thing that could not even give itself a face, or decide what it was, this thing that found physical stasis anathema after so long pressed in glass. Hob cared for the being that he knew. Not this one that, Dream thought, sometimes did not even know itself.

“Whatever you’re doing, I think you should probably stop,” Matthew warned.

“You dare to question me?” Dream bit. He was condensing back down under his human mask, he could do it, he could. He had loved this form once. Could again. As one of many.

Matthew nipped at his hand with his beak. And it was only this that made Dream realize he was clawing at his face so hard he was bleeding starlight.

Solidity spiraled away from Dream again, and they let out a hard breath. It was useless. Whatever meager control they had maintained since their escape was slipping from them. It was pointless to pretend otherwise any longer. Or to pretend that they could truly offer Hob the form he was accustomed to.

“Matthew,” Dream said, and Matthew hopped to attention. “I have some business I must attend to. Please leave me now.”

“Are you sure—?”

Dream waved a hand and sent him back to the palace.

If it was impossible for them to consistently return to their prior state, then at least they should be done with it now. Show Hob what he was truly dealing with. That Dream was not what he thought. Or wanted. Then, at least, they would spare themselves any greater heartbreak.

Wrapping the barest trappings of their usual form around them like an ill-fitting coat, Dream stepped into the Waking.

~~~

Dream emerged directly onto Hob’s bed as a formless shadow. It felt good, to be formless. Normally, they did like to take a form, but to choose recently had been taxing.

Hob was awake and reading. Dream had been meant to come for dinner, and was late. When Dream appeared in a sudden fall of darkness, Hob shrieked and flung his book at them on instinct. It simply passed through Dream with no effect.

“Dream?” said Hob, gasping, the spike in his adrenaline clear. “Is that you, love? Somehow? Or am I about to get eaten?”

Those do not preclude each other, Dream said. Though as they were still a shadow, their voice was more a low rumbling vibration than a true voice.

“Not sure how I understood that,” said Hob. He tilted his head, trying to make out features in the darkness but not, Dream thought, managing it. “Always kind of knew you were more than you seemed,” he added. “Didn’t quite picture this, though.”

It is but one form I am capable of holding, Dream said. Strictly speaking, it was not quite a form at all. As they said it, they shifted, unconsciously, until they were the beam of lamplight caressing Hob’s face—Hob’s hand chased them across his own cheek—and then the lulling hum of traffic, comforting night sounds. Hob kept reaching for them, not quite knowing where he was reaching. And Dream slipped into his daydreams, his vision for what Dream’s many forms might be.

Hob’s daydreams were a comfortable place to land. Warm. Welcoming. And when Dream emerged, they were a thing of Hob’s imagining, something dark and shadowed and multi-faceted but ultimately. Touchable.

That was what Hob desired of them?

“Okay,” said Hob, “what actually is going on here? Are you okay?”

Dream did not reply, stuck on Hob’s daydreams. He did not wish for Dream to force themselves back into their usual form. He merely molded what Dream brought him into a form that was comprehensible to him.

Relief crashed over Dream, magnitudes greater than the dread they had refused to acknowledge. They knew, now, that they had truly expected this to be the end. To scare Hob off. But Hob did not seem to be scared.

“Dream?” Hob reached a careful hand toward them. He pet down Dream’s flank. Fur that was soft because he was touching it. He huffed an incredulous laugh. “Wow. It really is… you.”

“In some fashion,” said Dream.

“In some fashion,” Hob repeated. “In what fashion, exactly?”

Instead of answering, Dream butted their head into Hob’s shoulder. Following the relief of his touch, so much softer and more detailed, now that they did not have the barrier of a stifling form in the way.

“Darling,” Hob said, petting Dream’s hair, “need words.”

“No,” Dream mumbled petulantly. And Hob allowed them their petulance. Dream let out a long breath. It blew warm over Hob’s throat, and Dream felt him shiver. They trailed fingertips up Hob’s ribcage, along bare skin, feeling the stacked solidity of his bones. Hob shivered again.

“It’s like that, is it?” he said.

Dream shifted closer, half slither, half crawl, until their form, incomprehensible even to themselves, was draped over Hob’s lap. Bliss, there, the warmth of him. “You are not repelled?”

“By the ten arms? I think I can cope.” He pressed his lips in close to Dream’s ear. “In fact. I had a dream about this the other night. Well.” He laughed. “I guess I’m having a Dream about it now, eh?”

“Did you?” said Dream, ears pricking up. Had their… moods slipped into Hob’s dreams?

“Can’t remember the details,” Hob said. “But I remember how it felt.” He trailed fingertips up the bony knobs of Dream’s spine. Unlike Dream at the moment, Hob only had two arms, but Dream felt every press of his fingers acutely.

“How did it feel?” they whispered.

“Like,” Hob murmured, lips to Dream’s jaw now, “you were everywhere. Like I got into your body and made love to you from the inside out.”

The thought made all of the strange and varied nerves of Dream’s shifting body stand on end. They wrapped legs around Hob’s waist, arms around his shoulders. Scraped sharp teeth over his pulse. “Really?”

Hob laughed. “Interested now, are you?”

“Yes,” Dream rumbled, their form flickering in excitement, to shadow then a falling rainbow of light, to a mass of vines that wound all around Hob’s body, and then into roots, as if they could grow into Hob, then branching veins pulsing and racing with Hob’s heartbeat, then back to a morass of half-body, half-shadow, because yes, they wanted to be held by Hob, they must remember that.

Hob was still for several moments, then laughed incredulously. “Okay. You’re so cool. I don’t know what to do with any of that, so I’m going to have to wing it.”

He traced a hand along the soft feathers of a wing that had grown with his words. Dream shuddered. A sensitive part of the body, indeed.

“You’re gorgeous,” Hob murmured. “My strange creature.”

Dream purred in pleasure, wrapping their wings around Hob’s back, mouth catching on the edge of his jaw, and, incredibly, felt Hob growing hard under them, as he would if Dream lounged in his lap and mouthed at his jaw as a human.

“You like this,” Dream said, unable to keep the surprise from their voice.

Hob chuckled. “Didn’t you know I fell for you the second I saw the spark of the otherworldly in your eyes? Just didn’t know the whole of what I was looking at. Not then.”

The spark of the otherworldly. “You are in love with dreams.”

“Figured it out by now, yeah.”

“You are. In love. With this,” Dream said, voice echoing from more than one throat, choked up.

“With this? You mean with you?”

“I do not know quite what I am, now,” Dream admitted.

“Well,” said Hob, slipping a hand between them. Dream gasped in pleasure, wings fluttering involuntarily. “You want to find out?”

Squirming against his hand, Dream said, “Do you even know what it is you are touching?”

“Haven’t a clue,” Hob said cheerfully. “Made you go all shivery, though.”

It had. It was. Dream writhed in his lap as Hob experimented, moaned in startled pleasure, toes curling. Body shifting to hurtle towards that arousal. Hob startled as his hand was suddenly enveloped in heat, something he could press into, and Dream whined, so full all at once with no prelude, body twisting out of control without their explicit direction. But it was good.

Hob gripped them by one wing—these had stayed even as Dream’s form continued to spin—and Dream quivered as Hob pulled them closer, pressing his hand deeper into slick heat. He was grinning against Dream’s throat, scraped light teeth over his pulse, sucked a bruise there. Dream’s form rode the wave of his daydreams, provided a wet mouth for him to bite and kiss as soon as he thought of it. Dream tangled long fingers in his hair, claws digging in.

“Can I fuck you like this?” Hob breathed against his lips.

“If you can cope with me changing on you,” Dream said. “I am not. Entirely in control. At the moment.”

A shameful admission, but Hob groaned as if it was the hottest thing he could think of. “I get to have you multiple ways at once? Oh, how will I manage?”

Dream laughed. It may have been a bit teary. Their many hearts were racing, lungs stuttering for air. Wings shivered, feathers fluttering. A long, furred tail wound its way up Hob’s back to wrap lightly around his throat, possessive. Dream would not let this man go now. Could not.

“Budge up, let’s see what we’re dealing with,” Hob said, probing deeper under Dream’s form with his hand, the other still firm on Dream’s wing, which he seemed to have understood was very sensitive, and intended to press that advantage as much as he could.

The touch of Hob’s hand, in Dream, on them, around them, was bliss. Dream wished to be full of him again. To, as Hob had dreamt, be made love to from the inside out.

Riding that hope, their body shaped another hole for his questing fingers. Hob obligingly pressed his fingers in, but said, “Regrettably, darling, I’ve only got one cock, and I had other plans for my hands.”

“Regrettable, indeed,” said Dream, and Hob laughed. Then, “Plans?”

“Oh, yes. I expect some other interesting things may crop up, eh? Need hands free.” He leaned in close to Dream’s ear, which flicked toward him to listen. “I’m going to find every erogenous zone on this body and make it scream.”

Goosebumps broke out all over Dream’s body. They clung to Hob with every limb they could find. Hob grinned wickedly at this reaction. It was a look Dream knew well, one that always boded very well for them indeed.

Hob worked Dream open on two fingers—though he need not, Dream was already wet and gaping for him—then maneuvered his sleep shorts off, took his cock in hand and stroked it twice, hand slick with Dream’s fluids. Then he lifted Dream bodily and sank them back down on his cock.

Dream whined, careening up several registers, as they were filled so suddenly, as they took Hob to the base. Hob groaned at the feeling of their body. Dream tried to adjust to him but couldn’t, Hob’s cock pressed on sensitive spots deep within them, and any time they thought they’d gotten used to the feeling their body produced a new place to torment.

They clawed at Hob’s back, leaving red lines with sharp fingers. Hob gave an experimental thrust, shifting Dream in his lap, and Dream bit down on a scream as their body lit up, chasing the feeling, loving it, magnitudes more affected than in their usual, limited form.

“Wow,” Hob said, fond laughter in his voice, and heat too, as Dream panted wetly in his ear, “this is going to be fun. Have you been all worked up, my darling? Just needed someone to give you what you really need?”

“Needed you,” Dream murmured. They clenched around Hob, tried to steady themselves, but it only made things worse. Everywhere deep inside them was searing flame, their skin-feathers-fur prickly with static, they feared and needed Hob’s touch in equal measure. To soothe. To set alight.

Hob slipped a hand into the other space Dream had left to tempt him, probing deep. Dream bit down on his ear, drawing spots of blood. Hob drew his hand back, met one of Dream’s many eyes. Licked Dream’s fluids from his hand.

Dream lunged forward to kiss him, whimpering into Hob’s mouth as that drove them impossibly deeper onto Hob’s cock. Hob pulled them close, kissed them hard, caught a fistful of Dream’s hair and pulled. Dream’s body decided that it liked that very much, indeed. They whined at the grip, clawing at Hob’s skin with many hands.

Hob brought them close with a firm hand, bounced Dream in his lap, moving them on and off his cock. Dream wailed, overstimulated by all the angles of his touch, torn between pulling away and diving closer as Hob swept his tongue into their mouth, over sharp teeth and soft palate.

“There’s a love,” Hob breathed. “Does that feel good, darling?”

Dream couldn’t offer a reply, and Hob didn’t wait for one. He dug his fingers into the tight feathering of Dream’s wing and tugged. Dream shrieked, wings flapping wildly, sets of them bursting along their back, more, more, less, more. Hob didn’t let up, stroking his fingers through the feathers, dragging over soft skin, sucking on Dream’s throat all the while.

Dream saw white, their body seized up, and the nebulous hole Hob was using to fuck them morphed into a mouth.

Hob yelped to suddenly feel his cock grazing over shielded teeth. Then he laughed. “Don’t you dare bite my dick off, you menace. It’s horrible to regrow it.”

Dream would have asked how he knew that, except Hob’s cock was down their throat. They choked, swallowing around him. Dream did not need to breathe, and so the pressure was exquisite. Their long tongue wrapped around Hob to the base, caressed his balls. Explored further, along his perineum, to probe at his entrance, and then press in.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck—” Hob’s voice was a strangled shout. “Dream what the actual fuck are you doing?” It didn’t sound like a complaint.

I am fucking you with my tongue, Dream said, a hum directly from their form to Hob’s.

“I can bloody well tell, Jesus Mary and—”

Dream purred and rumbled in pleasure, the satisfaction of taking and being taken at once, of being inside their beloved and having Hob inside them in turn. As Hob had dreamt.

Hob’s fingers pressed into Dream. Dream’s form gave and made places for him to press into. Hob’s fingers tickled deep within them, starlight and heat tracking their path. Dream swirled in an indefinite vortex of shape, a hundred things at once, their body prickling all over with the pleasure of Hob’s touch.

Hob twisted against them, clenching down on their tongue, shouted “Dream!” and came down Dream’s throat. Dream swallowed him down in pleasure, retracted their tongue from Hob’s body, eliciting a long moan. They let Hob pull out, and licked the final taste of Hob from their lips before letting that mouth disappear into their form, the traces of Hob consumed.

And then Hob flipped them, somehow manhandled Dream’s indefinite form down to the mattress, pressed down immovably on legs and arms and wings so that the softest parts of Dream’s body were bared to him. Dream reached for him, always they reached for him, cock hard and straining, cunt aching, the slashes of their being weeping for Hob to come inside. Always weeping. They cried out, every inch of them trembling for Hob’s touch.

“You gorgeous nightmare,” Hob said. “You brilliant daydream. Oh, my darling, I love you so much. I’d do anything for you. Anything. But mostly I want to do this.”

He pressed his mouth to where Dream’s body strained for him.

Hob had a very talented and generous mouth, which Dream had blessedly been on the receiving end of many times. This was different: Dream’s form echoed out Hob’s touch, replicated it a hundred times over so every crevice of their body could feel the flat swipe of his tongue, how he drank Dream’s fluids down, the drag of his stubble over lips and folds and the soft skin of thighs. Dream’s many limbs trembled, bent, reformed themselves in ecstasy, they dragged at Hob’s hair, pressing his face deeper so Dream could grind against him, which only made Hob grin.

Hob pressed two fingers into Dream’s mouth and Dream greedily sucked on them, grounding themselves. Taking Hob in more than one way at once… yes. That was what they wanted. They closed their many eyes and gave themselves over to sensation. Hob’s mouth and tongue, the taste of him, the weight of his body as he bent Dream on the bed, his scent, musk and the woodsmoke that seemed to cling to him all these years later—or perhaps that was only in dreams.

They were a dream of completion. They were a dream of ecstasy. Of flight. Hob’s hand tangled in their fragile feathers. Hob’s mouth and fingers inside them. Then Hob plunged three fingers hard, deep within them, as he sucked on Dream’s clit, and with a piercing noise like glass shattering Dream came.

They were. Fragments. The individual colors splayed wide by a prism. Red, yellow, blue. Hob’s fingers trailed through them, blending the colors like paint in water. For several moments Dream drifted, more thought than being. Distantly aware of Hob’s weight on them. It felt… like kindness. Then they floated back to the present, light as the first flight of unfurled moth wings.

Hob was lying on them, looking at them, head tilted. A twinkle in his eyes. He skated his hands up Dream’s sides. Flowers bloomed in the wake of his touch, their soft petals shivering with sensitivity. Hob plucked one of the flower buds and, holding Dream’s gaze, ate it. Swallowed it. Dream watched the movement of his throat.

Inside out, he thought.

“Broke you into pieces,” Hob said then, with satisfaction. “Think I might have seen God for a sec there. Can do better, though.”

“Better?” Dream echoed, voice hoarse. Their form shifted, still, but slowly, languidly. No longer restless. A dark wing draped over Hob’s back. A tail played with his hair. He didn’t seem to mind.

“There’s so much we can do with this,” he said. He gazed at Dream, fond, terribly knowing. “Only getting started, love. I love—” he kissed Dream’s belly, a light, ghosting touch, and tickled Dream’s side with his fingertips— “how sensitive you are like this.”

“I—” Dream started. Absent the writhing need, now they just felt… stripped. Vulnerable. “I expected that you would. Not. Like this. It is not. Human.”

“Neither are you,” Hob pointed out.

“I appear so,” Dream said.

Hob snorted. “No, you don’t.”

Dream stared at him, unable to decide whether or not to be offended.

“I wear the guise of a human,” they insisted, and, to prove it, morphed back into the form that Hob would know as his lover. It was an easier coat to wear, now that they knew they could take it off.

“No, keep the wings,” Hob complained. “Those are cool.”

Dream obligingly returned wings to their form.

“I appear human, to you,” they insisted again.

“Dream, I say this with all the love in my heart, which is quite a lot because I do. Love you.” He leaned on his hand, looking at Dream with sparkling eyes. “You look about as human as a kid wearing a bedsheet looks like a ghost.”

Dream stared at him, mouth agape.

“Don’t worry, it’s a gorgeous costume,” Hob said. “Love it. Really, really do. But I could always tell that wasn’t the whole truth of the matter. Especially once I got close.” With this, he winked.

“A part of me is human,” Dream said. Had Hob truly always seen through them? Paid so close attention as to perceive the translucence of the mask? “For I am the dreams of humanity.”

“And a part of you isn’t,” said Hob. “For—” he mimicked the cadence of Dream’s speech, though not in a mocking way— “you are also the dreams of birds, and shadows, and stars.”

Dream nodded. “These and more.”

“Brilliant,” said Hob.

Brilliant, Dream thought.

Then Hob tilted his head, thinking back. “You expected me not to like that?”

“Recently,” said Dream slowly, “I found I could not maintain this form without pain. And so my hand was forced.” It hurt still, to think of. “I had no choice but to make my true form—or rather, my true formlessness—known to you if I wished to be here at all.”

Hob pushed himself up from where he was lying on Dream’s chest, and instead straddled his hips so he could take Dream’s face between his hands. “It hurts?” he demanded.

“At times,” said Dream. “More so. Since.” They didn’t finish the sentence.

“Why are you doing it now, then?”

“It does not hurt so much now,” Dream said. “It is simply that when I stay static, it begins to. Ache.”

“Ache,” Hob repeated, looking stricken. “Dream, if it hurts, then change back. Be a chimera or whatever the hell you were doing before.”

“That is how you interpreted it?”

“To be honest, I don’t think my brain was really interpreting it at all. You were just kind of… everything.” He stroked a fingertip along the fine bone of Dream’s wing, which was folded against their back now. “Did like the wings, though.”

“I’d noticed that.”

“Cheeky.” Hob shook himself. “Getting distracted. The point is, don’t hurt yourself. I don’t want to see you hurt yourself.” He tipped his head against Dream’s, lips to their skin. “Much rather see you how were today.”

“How?”

“Letting go. Enjoying yourself.” He smirked, Dream felt it against their temple. “Making all kind of lovely noises. Squealing. Shrieking—”

“I was not shrieking.”

“You were shrieking.”

Hob tickled his fingers through Dream’s feathers, and Dream made an embarrassing squeak. They smacked Hob in the face with that wing, and Hob burst out laughing, even though he had to pull a feather out of his teeth.

“I love you,” he said. “Don’t hurt yourself. Be... the indefinably strange creature that you are. And just trust me to keep up.”

Hob kissed them lightly on the lips. Dream leaned into him, made still for a moment by the depth of Hob’s care for them, how Hob caught all of their longing and swallowed it, kept it warm. How he loved Dream. And dreams.

Hob drew them both down to the bed, and the covers over them, and Dream let their other forms creep out, hesitant, but hungry for Hob’s affection. And a creature that was the sky’s dream of nightfall and the poetry of rain upon a still lake, that was the individual patterns of snowflakes and the sculptures built of their drifts, that was ambitious owl and frightened vole, quiet soil and its thoughtful worms, shape and narrative and human, too, of course, laid down its many heads, and curled its much-loved wings over its lover, and rested in his dreams.

#i wrote this so fast in truly a fit of insanity... hope it's hot and not just weird! it's definitely weird though #dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #nsft #my writing #gabessquishytum #eldritch smut

181 notes · View notes

0v3rcast · 11 months

Text

Gnaw (part 1)

Contains: Body Horror, Blood, Violence

You had fallen to Teyvat some time ago, pulled down from the sky by a brilliant platinum star, the elements gently beckoning for you, all of them trying to prove their land the most suitable for your descent.

"Welcome back, Sea-shaper," Hydro murmurs, their voice the babbling of streams and the roar of the angry sea all at once. "Fontaine has such sights to show you. As you created, we have created to honor your actions. For your beauty, we have made our people beautiful. You will want for nothing-"

"COME TO US, HOLY TINDER," Pyro roars, its voice the starving crackle of flame and the churning of molten rock as volcanoes erupt. "NATLAN AWAITS YOU WITH AN OFFERING OF ENDLESS PASSION. YOU SHALL NEVER GO UNPROTECTED, UNLOVED, OR HUNGRY."

"Welcome, almighty Whirlwind of Creation," Electro purrs, speaking with the rattle-boom of echoing thunder. "Shall you grace my people with your presence?"

"Welcome home, Blessed Foundation," Geo hums, their voice the whispers of sand and the ancient growl of tectonic plates shifting. "Liyue has grown prosperous since you've last seen it. Perhaps you should come to us instead, where the riches of Teyvat could be put directly to use in pleasing you?"

"Don't listen to them, First Breath! We've waited for you the longest, like, a whole forever! We were first!" Anemo pleads, in the tones of breeze softly rustling leaves and howling tornadoes. "Even if you just stop by, that's totally fine!"

"You've finally come home, Heart of Winter? Good. We have missed you so." Cryo coos, the flurrying of snow and ancient creaking of glaciers their voice. "Snezhnaya may be a harsh land, but faith is enough to warm the bodies of my people."

"Flower of Irminsul, Root of All, please! You cannot come down! Another wears your face, please turn back if only for a few more days!" Dendro howls, desperate, voice a cacophony of falling trees and leaves rustling. "You ar-"

Dendro's voice fades as you pass the point of no return and begin to burn through the sky towards Mondstadt, Anemo ripping at the air to direct your course even as the other elements rage at them for their impudence.

As you fall, the memory of this conversation fades from your mind.

Welcome home, Maker, whispers the Abyss into the back of your mind.

Since that day, your time in Teyvat had become quite difficult. Whatever hopes you'd had for this world were soundly dashed.

Mondstadt 'welcomed' you with scorn and hostility for sharing the same face as their Heiliger Schöpfer, the Divine above Divines.

You were unsure as to why they hated you so, simply for your face- especially since that face is one that's otherwise looked kindly upon in this world.

You do your best to take in the sights, all the same. Though you are confused by the frosty reception, this place is so much more interesting than the game shows.

There are many more homes and people, you see (and pet) some stray animals, pick a particularly low philanemo mushroom after a couple seconds of jumping and stretching in an attempt to reach it, and generally just enjoy the (rather tense) locale.

Your confusion became fear when the Knights of Favonius begin to chase you. You'd done no crime, why would they hunt you like this, especially with such wrathful looks on their faces?!

The closest you get to meeting any of the allogenes on friendly terms comes when you breeze past Sucrose, yelping out a greeting to her. She just watches you go, incredibly confused, before a Knight accidentally bowls her over in his maddened rush after you.

Just as you exit the gate, the Knights just behind you, yelling curses and what you presume are threats-

P a i n.

Eula Lawrence just pushed a greatsword through your lungs and out your back. You have no clue how she got here so fast, where from, or how you didn't notice her.

You gag and choke as your blood quickly rushes into the space (and out of your body, simultaneously).

With a vicious yank, she tears it from you in a diagonal motion, nearly carving you in half.

A darkly satisfied look in her eyes is all you receive when you uselessly try to gasp for air and plead for help.

Your vision begins to fade, but before you can die of blood loss her boot comes down.

(Your nascent godhood activates the moment you die, and it plots a new trajectory: your misery will shape you until such a time comes that you will never feel this suffering again.)

You wake screaming in the woods, hands coming to clutch at your chest.

A massive golden scar lies just between your xiphoid process and sternum, perfectly horizontal in a way that only comes with practice.

Your clothes are covered in the brownish rusty red of old dried blood, and quite badly torn from where you were sliced nearly in two.

Breathing feels... easier, somehow. Like your lungs didn't just heal from immense trauma.

Your stomach aches badly and your mouth feels like it's full of sand. How long have you been laying here beneath the sun?

Your attempts to rise from this resting place are fruitless. You're so exhausted you can barely move your fingers.

Darkness slowly weighs your eyelids down and you fall asleep, even though you know you should not.

---

Elsewhere in the world, a being wearing your face stares up at a statue to themselves, noting with some alarm the golden scar across its chest.

The only recent news they had about an imposter was the Lawrence outcast running one through.

Now they'll have to find some way to replicate your scar and keep up the ruse.

"The original has truly descended, then... fine." They hiss, words venomous, glaring at the face of the statue. "If I can't have this place as my playground, then they won't get to have you."

---

The next time you wake, it is night, and the hunger in your belly is gnawing at you with such fervor that you feel lightheaded.

When you stand, your head twinges with pain as if to protest even this miniscule expenditure of energy.

Your body stumbles at first, briefly overcome by vertigo, but quickly adjusts.

Your mind changes its tune completely upon seeing a plump, ripe Sunsettia growing on its branch.

You desperately scramble over to pull the Sunsettia from the tree- only for it to drop into your waiting hands as soon as you reach up.

The 'how' of this doesn't quite matter to you in the moment. You bite into the ripe fruit and moan in bliss at the tart taste of the flesh and the sweetness of the juices. Within twenty seconds, you've reduced this fruit to a nubby pit, almost like a peach has.

That's kinda neat, actually. You distantly wonder what you have to crossbreed with a peach to make Sunsettias.

You pat the tree as if to thank it, not noticing that it suddenly stands a bit straighter or how its leaves are just a tiny bit greener, and go to find a nice place to put down this future Sunsettia tree.

You eventually get bored of looking for a good place and just poke a hole into the ground with a fallen branch, then stuff the remains of your first Sunsettia into the hole.

You wander off into the woods in hopes of finding a road, unaware of the golden-leaved sapling slowly growing behind you.

With a new source of energy in your system, you feel the urge to get moving- might as well make the most of this while you have it.

Your stamina is better than before, it feels like. Distances that previously felt difficult feel easier on your legs- and definitely on your lungs.

Perhaps this has something to do with your demise?

...what's that weird whistling soun-

You fall, dead, an Anemo-enriched arrow punching through the back of your head.

For a brief moment, you dream of a place deep beneath the surface of Teyvat, and a ruined statue oozing corruption into infinite darkness.

You wake with a small headache, very hungry, and more than a little pissed. Won't people just leave you the fuck alone?

Somehow, you feel sturdier. Less breakable. As nice as that is, you don't particularly feel up to testing it.

You stand.

Perhaps you should avoid civilization from now on.

#genshin sagau #sagau gnaw #reader has a terrible time #sagau impostor au #aint my best work but i cant think of what else i need to add to it #next part to come out whenever it starts haunting my brain

649 notes · View notes

five-and-dimes · 1 year

Text

Safe in the Palm of Your Hand

Morpheus, King of Dreams and Nightmares, Dream of the Endless.

Lord Shaper.

For Dream, his body is not always a fixed thing. He would even go so far as to say that most of the time it is not a fixed thing. He is sand, so many countless pieces shifting under the lightest winds and the softest touches. His form changes based on how others see him, on how he sees himself, on how those two expectations interact, on whether one is stronger than the other or if a reasonable middle can be found.

Sometimes, though, he is sand in an hourglass (impenetrable glass, no wind, no air, no gentle touch to guide his form, motionless, frozen in his helplessness) and he doesn’t feel solid, he feels fragile. Breakable. Like the same soft touch and gentle wind will shatter him. In those moments, his expectations of himself will always outweigh anybody else’s.

And it is such today. His status as an Endless does not protect him from his own nightmares, not when they are his own memories, and on this day his body feels wrong. He does not feel like an Endless. He does not feel like a king, or a lord, or a person. Even months after escaping the Burgess Mansion, after regaining his power and repairing his realm, even now, he finds himself feeling… small. His form shudders and shivers and he feels weak, he feels like a vermin to be caught, a prey to be hunted and devoured, he feels dirty, unwanted, unloved, unsafe, small, small, small-

There is a mouse in Hob’s apartment.

He almost didn’t see it, was only alerted to something being amiss by the soft, frightened squeak when he opened his front door. Turning his head, he caught just a glimpse of a small shadow darting behind the old armchair in the corner. Closing the door behind him, Hob hums in surprise. Living above a pub, he’s never dealt with mice or other creatures in his home, most being more attracted to the kitchen and trash cans on the first floor before stumbling into the catch-and-release traps set around the property.

Sighing, he lets his bag fall from his shoulder onto the floor, resigned to his new task for the night. He can finish grading in the morning, once he’s dealt with his unexpected guest. Over the centuries he’s managed to overcome the instinctual disgust and fear at the sight of rodents, but that doesn’t mean he wants one running around his apartment. For a moment, he considers going back downstairs to get one of the traps from the kitchen, but he doesn’t want to give the small creature a chance to hide deeper in the apartment. Besides, he’s wily- he’s certain he can herd the mouse into a box and get it outside himself no problem.

There is a box next to the coffee table in the center of the room, full of papers and documents he’s been procrastinating on organizing, and he casually dumps the contents onto the floor as he approaches the armchair. He keeps his footsteps soft and slow, hoping not to spook the mouse into bolting. So far though, Hob hasn’t seen it since it darted into the corner. Kneeling carefully, he positions the box on its side in front of him, reaching out to move the chair to one side in an attempt to give the mouse only one direction to run.

The mouse doesn’t run.

Hob can’t help but furrow his brows sadly once he’s able to see it, huddled as far in the corner as it can get. For a moment he feels his heart clench in a way he doesn’t fully understand, something more than just general compassion for a small creature, and then he gasps as he realizes what he is looking at.

Two bright points of light emit from the mouse’s eyes.

“...Dream?” The name is less than a whisper on Hob’s breath.

He doesn’t receive an answer, but he doesn’t need one.

Since the stranger's delayed return, he and Hob had seen each other several times, a surprising change in their relationship that Hob welcomed with open arms. After so many years, Hob was finally given answers to some of his countless questions, including a name, and a summary of what exactly his friend is. Dream had even been generous enough to visit Hob in his dreams once, and Hob still gets flutters in his stomach when he thinks of the bright stars of Dream's eyes.

The box is quickly tossed aside and he crouches down farther. Dream had explained to him during one of their recent meetings that he was able to shapeshift (his explanation was far more detailed and complicated than that, but shapeshifting was the closest Hob's human mind could get to understanding) and his heart cracks in his chest as he takes in the sight of his friend in a form he has never seen before; has never even imagined in relation to the Endless being.

Pitch black fur contrasts the bright white of his eyes, but the fur looks matted and thin, tiny ribs peeking under the skin, and he doesn’t know if mice can cry, but the fur looks wet and clumped around the eyes. A long thin tail is sickly pale, and Hob can see him trembling even through the rapid rise and fall of the tiny chest.

Dream is always so strong and untouchable in Hob’s mind, it’s jarring to see him so small and clearly frightened. He doesn’t know what happened- why Dream is in this form, why he’s here, but Hob doesn’t think there’s a force on Earth or off it that could stop him from reaching out to comfort.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he keeps his voice soft and gentle, afraid of frightening him further. Afraid of hurting the small, fragile ears. “Hey, I’m not gonna hurt you, you’re alright,” slowly, so slowly, Hob cups his hands and lowers them to the ground before his friend, “you’re safe here, can you come out? I just want to help.”

Still no response, unless you count Hob’s heart breaking more each moment he watches the mouse shake and shiver in the corner. Part of him wonders if he should leave Dream alone, but it feels too cruel, and Hob has always been one to trust his instincts when it comes to matters of the heart. And so, taking a deep, steadying breath, he cautiously moves to gently scoop the mouse into his palms.

It hurts more than he expected to actually feel tiny trembling paws against his skin, but Dream doesn’t run. In fact, he turns jerkily and tucks his little face against Hob’s fingers, curling into a ball as if trying to hide. He lets out a soft shushing sound, bringing his hands to his chest, cradling the mouse against his chest and making a shelter with his hands.

Dream isn't sure how he got here either.

He had been feeling off kilter for days now, the weight that lived in his chest feeling more unbearable than usual. More and more he found his surroundings reacting to him; walls closing in and curving, clothes growing thinner and thinner, air becoming frigid and still. His lungs felt tight, desperate for breath he didn't need, and then he caught his reflection and the glass shattered in response and he heard someone yell, maybe worried, maybe angry, angry, angry, and then he was gone.

When he lands, he knows he's in a new form, but he can't focus on it, too scared in a primal way he can't identify. All he wants is to hide, it's all his mind can hold on to, so when he hears a door open he runs. If he can just stay hidden, if he just avoids capture, maybe he'll be able to pull himself together. But when he is found, his terror and sorrow are so great he freezes. He thinks he recognizes the man in front of him, even if he looks different being so much larger than him, but it doesn't matter. It doesn’t ease his fear, his grief, his hopelessness. Dirty, unwanted, unloved, unsafe.

Dream feels small. Dream is small. So small and easy to hurt. He thinks maybe he always has been.

But…

But the hands don't crush him. He is lifted slowly and then he finds himself… held. Not held down, not trapped, not caged. Even as one hand folds above him, there is no tension, and Dream feels certain he could escape if he wished too.

He does not wish to.

Hob's hands are warm, so warm, and soft, and nothing like the cold hard glass of his memories. Dream finds himself curling up as he is cradled against his chest, soft fabric covering a strong chest that doesn't scare him as much as it did a minute ago. Cupped against him like this, he feels ensconced in a gentle cave, the shadows beneath his hands a welcome peace against the thought of a hundred years of harsh light keeping him on display.

Slowly, his trembling body stills, curling up tighter and soaking in the warmth.

"There you are," Hob coos, sitting on the couch, ever careful of his precious cargo. It is a great honor, he thinks, to hold an Endless in the palm of your hands. To be tasked with protecting something so valuable. Cautiously, he lays down, smiling as he sees the mouse curl deeper into his sweater, resting right over his heart. Hob keeps one hand cradling him, and brings the other up to pillow his own head against the arm of the couch. "Sorry if I scared you earlier," he keeps his voice low, "wasn't expecting company. But I meant it when I said you're always welcome. I'm glad you came to me."

Hesitantly, he moves one thumb to carefully stroke the matted black fur of Dream's back. It almost looks like the mouse sighs, relaxing even further, and Hob grins.

Continuing his gentle petting, Hob does what he does best.

He talks.

He tells the little dream mouse about the annoying staff meeting he had, and his favorite and least favorite coworkers, and one of his friends who wanted Hob to start a karaoke night at the New Inn, and how he thinks in his next life he wants to buy a fixer-upper and do as much as he can with his own hands. He tells Dream the little mundane things that have made Hob think of him, and how he wants Dream to get a phone but he thinks his head would explode if Dream ever sent an emoji.

He talks, and the mouse relaxes more and more, no longer curled desperately tight, but burrowing comfortably into him, and Dream thinks that maybe being small isn't as scary anymore if it means he can feel Hob's heartbeat drum against his entire body.

Eventually, Hob's hand goes limp above him, draped over Dream's form like a weighted blanket, as Hob talks himself to sleep.

Dream is still small. Still fragile. But he is surrounded by Hob Gadling, by his warmth and his compassion and his love, and he realizes that all he wanted was to feel safe, and Hob managed to give him that and so much more.

When Hob awakes, it is to the sun shining through his living room window and Dream, his familiar, gangly, human-shaped Dream, laying across him with his head on his chest. Hob's hand is resting on his wild black hair, as gentle with him now as he was the night before.

"Hi," Hob's voice cracks lightly as he wakes, but his grin is wide and bright when Dream turns to look at him.

"Hello."

They'll talk about it, later, after Hob has stretched the kinks out of his neck and has used his puppy eyes to convince Dream to eat some breakfast. Later, Hob will hold his hand and let Dream tell him fragmented details of where he's been this past century, of what was done to him. He'll stroke Dream's back when he seems to shrink, stuttering and stumbling over words about how who he wants to be and who he's supposed to be and who he's been turned into all cut into who he is like broken glass. Dream will speak a lot about broken glass. Dream will speak a lot about being broken. Later, Hob will hold him and tell him that being hurt is not the same as being broken.

Later.

For now, Hob just smiles and gathers Dream in his arms, letting him rest his head back down to listen to his immortal heartbeat, happy for the heavy weight against his chest.

#the sandman #dream of the endless #dreamling fic #dreamling #hob gadling #my writing #pre-dreamling #I guess lol #first Sandman fic be gentle with me #probably a silly idea but I couldn't get it out of my head #you've heard of meowpheus #not get ready for #mousepheus #yes I will be drawing sad mouse Dream being cuddled by Hob eventually

722 notes · View notes

darkened-writer · 2 years

Text

imagine| Adoring Veneration

summary || ❝Would you have me dust my knees in the white powder of the snow, just to apologize to you about my lack of faith? Or the way I pray to you?❞

pairing || Morpheus x Worshipper!Reader

word count || 1,405

warnings || Morpheus being a sexy, stubborn, horny, immortal mf.

notes || @beautifulbows924 inspired this fic with her works with Worshipper! Reader! So please, go check out her fics about the concept!! Also, this fic is heavily inspired by Cirice by Ghost, so go take a listen to the song!!! And enjoy.

For generations, upon generations, your family line had a very vast presence within religion. Not any normal religion however, but one worshiping a group of entities known as the “Endless”. Your ancestors were keen on these mysterious beings, but your family had adored one endless in particular. Morpheus, Oneiros, Dream, Lord Shaper, Dream of the Endless.

Plenty of imagery of Oneiros’s ‘haunting’ figure lingered within childhood memories. Painted walls of your childhood room adorned with sand like specks and an ever-looming black shadow. He was, without a doubt, a force to be reckoned with based off of the tales your mother read to you before bed.

‘He knows of your deepest dreams, and your most haunting nightmares.’

But as you grew up, into teenagehood, rebelliousness struck swiftly. You denied the claims of any “endless”, shunning the once child-like love for the Sandman away with anger. It had brought great pain to your elders, but within the rage of rebellion grew a curiousness as you were never aware of his watchful eye.

He watched you grow.

Watched you grow angry and distasteful.

And even in your dreams, he contemplated why you would stray from your family’s worship of him. Were you going to be the end of the family tradition? Was he simply not good enough for your endless devotion?

You grew into a stunning young woman, personality to match it all.

And he grew even more keen when he witnessed you looking into a box within your own walk-in closet.

It was a large, wooden chest-like box, carvings of runes on the edges of each side. They read, ‘Worship and Adoring Veneration’. The contents of the inside being filled with altar materials for him. Black and white candles, a small pouch of sand, strawberries preserved in a vastly tight bag, and a dagger that glittered with the shine of a stone in the grip, a Dream Stone.

You were lighting the candles with a lighter, repeating the prayer that he had heard for years upon years, and he felt a smile tug on his lips, feeling foreign but right.

“Oh, gentle King of Dreams, Honor me with your presence, Morpheus, ruler of Dreams and Nightmares. Bless me with pleasant dreams and comfort the nightmares of mine within your care. Bring peace to those within disarray, and comfort to those with no hope.”

Oh.

The blouse that was sat around your figure was now being slid off from the shoulders, your fingers gripping the pouch of sand as you began to sprinkle the individual grains across your chest, head lent backwards; eyes closed.

“Hail Morpheus… and Praise be…”

Your voice was laced with the erotica of creme and vanilla, Morpheus’s own self shuddering at the view.

What has made you change your mind about him? How were you so sure that he was listening to the prayer being uttered by your saccharine lips?

Perhaps he would toy with you and cause a bit of mental chaos.

The notebook sat on your desk suddenly flipped open, rousing your eyes to open at the disruption.

“Wha…-?”

A slam, as the paper finally settled and stood still, but the discoloration of the pages alarmed you from afar.

“Go to the paper… and be enlightened, my precious acolyte…”

You didn’t tell yourself to move and yet, your body moved on its own volition towards the notebook.

Sand was everywhere across the desk, almost set upon to show a design, and you had recognized it immediately. It was a recreation of Morpheus’s helm, although poorly done, it was still vivid. And the words scrawled onto the paper sent a tremor up your spine, the haunting feeling from your childhood suddenly ever more present.

‘I’M REAL AND I’M LISTENING TO EVERY PRAYER THAT PASSES THROUGH YOUR LIPS’

Ever since the message was scrawled down within your home, you had felt as though you were being watched. Not just watched; but inspected, taken apart. You never felt truly alone for any moment at all. And that fact truly instilled fear within you.

Morpheus, the Lord of Dreams and Nightmares was frighteningly real.

And while finding this out was frankly terrifying, you still carried on with your days; committing to worship before you were to sleep. And like you had asked, he had blessed you with many precious dreams, of great happiness and pleasure.

He really was always listening to your praises, and that struck a question.

Had he been watching you all these years? Even when your faith wavered?

Hopefully, he would show himself to speak truly face-to-face.

“Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?”

The winter landscape came into view within a moment’s notice, the haziness making you immediately aware that you were within a dream. Was this of his creation, on purpose?

The particles of snowflakes fell down gently, settling onto the already covered ground. There was a green fence to your left, painted with what seemed to be many coats of paint. The pale blue sky was nostalgic and reminiscent of many winter mornings, walking to school wrapped in a warm coat; nose reddened from the sheer frozen air. But what had caught your eye was the bright streetlight. The light bouncing off of the pure white of the snow, making your eyes squint.

“Hello…? Morpheus of the Dreaming? I recognize the feeling of sleepiness here… I know you sent me here for a reason-...!”

The area was dead silent except for the crunch of the snow against the shoes you had on. Your nose felt like it was going to fall off, along with your fingers that lacked gloves. Cold and distant, just like the Endless.

“You’ve intrigued me, acolyte. Years of inactivity within worship and suddenly you are willing to give your body to me.”

You turn to the streetlight, eyes widening at the difference of Morpheus’s dark robes compared to the snowy ground. He was striking, skin pale like the ground and yet he looked as beautiful as the books had drawn him to be.

“How could you have really known if I was real, hm? You were practically serving yourself on a silver-platter for an Endless you didn’t believe in. Seductive to the air.”

His tone was harsh and yet as you walked closer to him, the feeling of being picked apart arose once again. You liked to watch you, the way you move, the way you carry yourself, it was alluring; the pinnacle of humanity’s lustful grace.

“Would you have me dust my knees in the white powder of the snow, just to apologize to you about my lack of faith? Or the way I pray to you?”

He scoffs.

“You really think that would be enough, acolyte?”

“Surely.”

His pale fingers wrapped rather tightly against your clothed shoulder, arousing a shudder from your form. You oozed power and yet, he could make you weak with just a touch.

Down.

He pushed you down until your knees were thoroughly submerged within the snow, the wetness seeping into the once dry fabric of your pants. His gaze looked down upon you, while you looked up at him with a feeling of.

Lust?

How could you feel these scandalous and unbecoming thoughts about him of all people. He was an Endless, a being to be worshiped with words and offerings. Not the flesh of the loins or the offering of one’s bodily autonomy.

“My lord… I apologize for my absence within worship. If you’d allow me too, I’d like to show my adoring veneration for you.”

Your voice was like sliding honey across toast, slow but sweet; sultry but coarse. It could bring any man to his knees; it could bring any man to shed their clothing and submit. But was he just like any human man?

“I have no desire for your… services. You may offer me regular offerings made just like your ancestors before you. Pray to me every night before you sleep. And maybe, just maybe, I can forgive you of your transgressions.”

“Yes, my lord. Anything for you, your majesty.”

His once rough hand was now on your cheek, thumb caressing the skin of your cheekbone with a deep caring.

“This Dream is over.”

A gasp, sweat covering you head to toe.

And the feeling of his hand on your shoulder, the coldness of your knees within the snow; it all lingered even in real life.

Praise Be, Hail Morpheus.

#xreader #fanfiction #morpheus x reader #the sandman #dream x reader #neil gaiman #the sandman comics #the sandman x reader #sandman x y/n #sandman imagine #morpheus dream #morpheus #dream the endless x reader #dream of the endless #tom sturridge #tom sturridge x reader #possible part 2?

939 notes · View notes

just-some-random-blogger · 1 year

Note

Hello how are you? I'm going to request an imagine from Morpheus interested in Lucifer's twin sister, in the imagine Morpheus will get the bag of sand that was with Johanna and the reader was with her since they are very good friends, and the reader offers to go with Morpheus to the hell with him, he accepts since he wants to spend more time with her, reader being lucifer's twin having the title of star of the night she and lucifer have the same powers because they are twins she is still in heaven being an archangel when lucifer went to hell she keeps visiting him, reader and lucifer have a great relationship

Harbinger Of The Dusk

Dream of the Endless x Angel!Reader

Summary: After a century of being apart from your love, you meet again with the help of Constantine and accompany him to retrieve his lost item from your twin's domain.

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: fem!reader, simp!dream, beloved!lucifer, some hurt/comfort, typos, etc.

Part 2 kinda "Holy"

A/N: the rest of your asks is below the cut! Yes hello nonnie. Its been ages HAHAH but i am well. As well as someone doing their finals is HAHAHHA. Tbh i remember i was really excited when i got this ask cos its so fresh and i love Gwendoline christie sm that i began writing it straight away but then it died 💀 BUT THEN i read the sandman comics in our school library and felt a really strong desire to write for dream and include hell somehow THEN I REMEMBERED THIS REQ and fell in love with your idea all over again so im using your req to scratch both our itches <3 <3 although I will say since then, my image of the ruler of hell has changed dramatically after reading the comics. by the time i wrote in lulu, it was comic!lucifer in my head and not gwen. still referred to lightbringer with fem pronouns <3 cos why not. this was a treat to write in all honesty, so i hope you like this nonnie <3 Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @deniixlovezelda @shadow-pancake9 @sloanexx

Dream was tired, fatigued, completely and wholly exhausted. He barely made it back to the Dreaming, only to see it in rubble and ruins. At this point, he was, too, falling apart.

But then Lucienne appeared, Lucienne appeared and reached out to him and then suddenly, he couldn't fall apart; he wouldn't.

He knew what he had to do, what he had to do for himself, for Lucienne, for the Dreaming.

And so he spoke to the Fates, and now here he was, with this occultist detective, Johanna Constantine, who had woken up from a bad dream.

She shoots awake, clutching her chest. She pushes back into her bed when he catches Dream's nearing figure, "Constantine."

"Stay back! I'm warning you!" she shouts, pointing a finger.

Dream, although unappreciative of her authoritative words, allows her the courtesy of catching her breath and wits, as she was still reeling from her nightmare.

"I am Lord Morpheus, Shaper of Forms, King of Dreams and Nightmares, Prince of Stories, Dream of the Endless."

Johanna makes a face as she heaves. She relaxes suddenly, as if deciding he was no longer a threat to him, though he broke into her apartment, "wait, Dream of the Endless? That's you?"

"Indeed."

She huffs, leaning against her pillow, "huh, how'd you get out?"

Dream stiffens. Johanna awaits his response. She does not get one.

She decides to ask another question, "does this mean I'll be sleeping better now?"

Dream does not reply this time either, but Johanna does; she responds to herself, "well of course not, Johanna, people like you don't sleep well."

Finally, Dream speaks, "how do you know of this?"

Johanna turns to Dream. She raises a brow, "about me not sleeping well? Well, duh, it's me that-"

"About my imprisonment?" Dream cuts her off coldly.

Johanna clamps her lips together upon hearing this. She watches him for a moment. She sniffles and crosses her arms, "her."

"... her?" Dream slowly repeats.

She nods, "her."

When the woman does not clarify or continue, he begins to feel his patience thin and his anger flare. The room begins to darken, his form begins to grow. He was in no mood for cryptic responses.

Johanna had not yet caught on to this, which was why she frivolously thought of adding, "the star of the night."

Dream quickly snaps out of his trance.

Johanna turns to her bed then back to him. She watches as Dream reacts to her words. He looks like he was kicked in the gut. He looks winded. She carefully says, "isn't she your girlfriend?" She narrows her eyes and pushes her blankets off her, "she doesn't get personal, rarely talks about herself in the name of selflessness, but she loves to talk about whom she loved and I can tell-"

"How do you know her?" Dream quips.

Johanna makes a face before she gets off her bed, "she's an angel, I'm an exorcist. It makes sense, no?"

"Where?"

"Where?" Johanna repeats, shaking her head, "where what?"

"Where do you meet her?"

She furrows her brows, "why d'you a-- you want me to take you to-"

"Yes. Take me to her," he quickly responds, "but first, you must help me retrieve something."

After the Endless and the exorcist retrieve the something, that was a bag of sand, Johanna drives them to a home for the aged. It was called Dusk Haven. Immediately, Dream knows this is the right place. He hastily exits the car and stares at the building, wanting nothing more to run inside and look for the angel, but is seemingly unable to move from where he stood.

Johanna steps out of her car and walks over to the Dream King, cocking her head to the side, "come on then."

For a moment, Dream watches before following after her.

I stop what I am doing when I feel a familiar presence near me.

I hear my name get called out and I turn to Margaret, the old lady I had been conversing with, offering her a smile and quick regard as I tell her I must do something.

"Alright, but don't be too long, pretty girl."

I nod, "I will do my best, my dear."

I before I get out of the hallway, I open the door and find Johanna passing by. She turns and blinks, lips parting at the sight of me, cheeks tinting red. I smile, "Constantine."

She stares. I hear her breath hitch. She clears her throat, "Angel."

"My love."

My stomach drops.

I turn and see the face of Dreams. My lips part. I whisper, "my love."

I walk over to him and seal him into a tight hug, feeling my eyes water and my throat and chest constrict in grief and longing, "my dream."

"My angel," he mutters against me, sealing his arms around my form. Dream crumbles into me. I feel him crumble against my form. I feel him release a tight tension in his spine. I feel him relax and find refuse in him. My body calls out to him. I missed him so.

Johanna watches then huffs, "I reckon my work here is done."

Dream's eyes dart to her and he nods once, "yes, thank you, Constantine."

I close my eyes and nuzzle my face into his neck.

She nods, "see ya, Sandman," then walks off.

A few elderly fellows pass us in the hall as we continue to find solace in each other's arms.

"How lovely."

"Get a room!"

"Oh I remember when Gertrude and I-"

"I'm walkin' 'ere."

"Such a stunning girl with such a strange, scrawny boy."

I pull away and take his face in my palms. I trace his cheeks with my thumbs and brush his dark hair out of his face. I inspect every inch of him. He was whole, but he was also not. His face, normally, was angular and bony, but never like this, never.

Dream looks upon me with his hands resting my waist. He allows me to touch him as I please, and while I knew I was always special in this, I knew that he was never too keen on any bold form of affection, as it was not his nature.

"I was forbidden to interfere," I mutter lowly as my hands roam him. I avoid his gaze.

He rubs my back, "I know," he pulls me close, "I know this," he sighs, "I do not fault you for not coming to me."

I look back at him with sorrow, "you must have been greatly distressed," I frown, taking in his sullen form and tired eyes. I have not seen him in such a state. He has taken many forms throughout his life, and though most of them were slender and lean, never did he look so thin or hollow the way he did now.

I blink away my tears, "there has not been a day that I did not want to go to you, Dream."

He places his hands atop mine and leans into my touch, "and there has not been a day I did not want to see you," he leans in and kisses me. I immediately reel him and and deepen our exchange. As our lips and tongue dance together, he briskly pulls away to speak, "to have you touch me lik-"

"GET A ROOM!"

"CALLAGHAN, YOU PUT A SOCK IN IT!"

I pull away from him and turn to the arguing seniors in the hall. I look back at Dream, who leans back into me and clutches my body close. I sigh ands him and lead him down the hall, "perhaps we should get a room, my love."

Dream looks at our joined hands as we exit the home for the aged. He thinks there is a great comfort in knowing that the angel before him is just as honeyed and tender as before, that she lives her life in servitude to others still, that after a century, there is a constant that is the she, the North Star of Dreams.

But he remembers he did not have time for tender honey, though he missed the taste so badly. No time, not at present, "my love."

I stop in my tracks when we get outside and turn to him.

"I do not wish to be parted from you," he starts, stepping close to me, caressing my cheek, "but there are things I must first do."

I knit my brows before I nod, "of course, Dream," I shake my head, "I know you value your duty most of all," I place a hand on his cheek, "and I shall do them with you."

Dream stills as I rub his cheeks. I look at him through my lashes, "I, too, do not wish to be parted from you. I beg that you do not tell me you came only to see me and leave."

He lets out a breath and leans his forehead onto mine. He closes his eyes when I move to kiss him. One I pull away, he speaks out my name. He speaks it with so much reverence I feel my wings flutter from behind its glamour of invisibility.

"I do not mean to deny either of us of each other's company, but you see, my helm has been bartered off to a demon," he pulls away and takes my hand, "I must go to retrieve it in hell, and taking you may cause you quarrel with your blood that I do not wish to happen."

"Oh," I mutter softly, "one of dearest Lucifer's acolytes has your artifact?"

He nods, "it remains to be seen."

"Then do not fear. I shall accompany you to my half's domain."

A line forms between his brows.

I chuckle softly and smoothen the crease on his forehead, "do not trouble yourself with useless worrries, my Dream. You could not cause strife between us that is not already there."

I grab his hand and breath in deeply, allowing myself to take on my truer form. I pull him up as I stretch my dark wings out and begin to rise from the ground, "my sibling is capable of only bearing one grudge against me."

Dream holds onto me as we rise up into the sky. He utters, "not joining her uprising."

"Yes," I clutch him tightly against me, "I am certain though Lightbringer will be most pleased to see me."

And so when we get to hell, Dream and I stand before the gates, awaiting for the keeper to come. Once the wretched thing appears, Squatterbloat, I speak to the demon guard and announce ourselves, "I am the Nightstar, Harbinger of the Dusk, Star of the Night, Bringer of Darkness. With me is Dream of the Endless, King of Dreams, Shaper of Forms, Prince of Stories. We have come to speak with the my blood half, Morningstar, Bringer of Light, Ruler of Hell."

For a moment, I see the demon is too stunned by my appearance and glory to speak. He begins to chant, "holy, holy-"

"Open the gates, Squatterbloat."

He looks upon me then grins, "an angel of the most high, in hell?" he laughs, "you have fallen to the depths to join our ruler."

I narrow my eyes at him, "do I look felled to you?"

"Your feet touch upon the ground," Squatterbloat says, looking down to my shos.

"What do you know? I live amongst the people, and I am not yet in hell."

"Oh, your glory excites me-"

"Chose your words wisely, or I shall smite you."

He tries to reach out to my form, "oh, holy," his paw raises, "I shall love to defile yo-"

"You will regret attempts," Dream quips with a look of disdain.

I blind him with darkness. The demon yelps.

I rise from the ground look down at the him, "you will find that I will not be ridiculed by a lowly imp."

I watch as Squatterbloat withers away, writhing in pain and confusion. I blink at thw pathetic display then turn to Dream, reaching out to him. He takes my hand and I decide to fly us over the gates instead.

"Is this proper, my love?" Dream mutters as we soar over the damned who wail and lift up their hands, calling out to me for deliverance.

I make an annoyed sound, "I will soon destroy the abominations here if we interact with them any more. The ruler of hell would surely appreciate that less."

Dream does not argue, "very well, my love."

When we descend into the heart of hell. I release Dream and prop him down on his feet, but I, myself, do not touch my feet upon the stone. I would both be desecrating myself and my beloved's domain by doing do.

"Lightbringer," Dream calls out, "Morningstar! I call upon you."

There is a crash.

"WHO IS THERE? WHO INSULTS ME BY ENTERING MY DWELLING WITHOUT-" the ruler of hell stops when she gazes upon me. The Fallen blinks, "ah," she releases a breath and smiles, raising her arms out to me, "sister."

I smile back, "my half."

I soar over to Lucifer, placing my hands upon her face. We kiss and I take in her appearance. She looks well. "It is wonderful to see you, beloved"

She nods, "it is wonderful to see you."

There is a groan from the side.

Mazikeen looks up at me and gawks at my form. I turn to her and her half-rotten from, and smile, "greetings, Mazikeen."

She mumbles a garbled greeting in response, eyes wide in wonder of my figure and cloak of holy darkness.

Lucifer turns to Dream, "why have you brought an Endless with you, beloved?"

I turn to Lucifer then to Dream, "there is something that he wishes to retrieve from a demon."

Lucifer crosses her arms and tilts her head, "ah, I see. The Endless has been bested by one of my children."

"I am not bested, Morningstar," Dream speaks, "I was imprisoned for a century and with that time, my helm was taken and traded to a demon."

My twin purses her lips, "I see," she waves a hand, "do not dawdle then, Dream of the Endless, speak the name of the demon and I shall call upon them."

Lucifer and I look at him.

Mazikeen hisses when her hand burns when she tries to touch me.

We turn to her.

"Mazikeen!" Lucifer scolds.

Mazikeen apologizes, pulling back. I look at her as she clutches her rotting arm that was now further mangled.

"I do not know the name of the demon," Dream replies.

"I see," Lucifer repeats, "then we shall call upon them all."

The demons, djinns, damned, and all clamor at the foot of the stronghold. Dream and I walk to the edge, looking out the opening, beholding the view before us. I look out to them as they see my form and praise and curse me all at once. I feel revulsion, a thick bile rise up my throat. I spit it out my side.

Lucifer walks next to me, laughing lowly, "you insult me, my blood."

I turn to her and offer a half-sympathetic look, "it is my nature. Do not be insulted."

Dream looks upon the pit and tries to make out one who has his helm. He listens to them and their dreams. He cannot isolate the cries. He pulls out his bag of sand and scoops a clump, breathing out to it, causing it to flurry over the entities. It then summons the demon that has his artifact.

With a whiff of sand, the demon is brought before us.

"Choronzon," my twin and I speak at the same time.

"My Lord," he bows to my twin. When he turns to me, he falls onto his hands and knees, "my- my-" he starts and tries to lift his eyes, but he cannot look upon my form. Choronzon turns away and shields himself, "I- how may I serve?"

Lucifer watches as Choronzon retreats me. Once he is far and look back at her, she points, "the Dream King wishes to retrieve something from you."

"Greetings, Choronzon," Dream addresses.

Choronzon, now turned away from me, regains composure, "Dream King." He grins.

"I have come to retrieve the helm that was stolen from me."

He grins even wider, sharp teeth laced with malevolence, "stolen? Me?" he places a hand on his chest, "you flatter me too greatly."

"I do not speak to flatter you," Dream retorts.

Choronzon laughs and licks his hand, wiping the side of his head. He basks in self-indulgence.

"Well, have you the helm, demon?" I call, narrowing my eyes upon his disgusting form.

He cannot bare to look at me but he replies, "I don't know of a helm."

"You cannot deceive us," my twin and I speak in unison once again.

Choronzon turns to his master, evading me, "right. My liege, the helm is in my clutch after I traded with something. It is mine. I have broken no laws of hell in gaining it," he turns to Dream, "it's mine."

"Very well," Lucifer says, turning to the Endless as well, "what say you, Dream? I shall not assert myself to a child that has kept my laws."

Choronzon is smug. Dream tilts his head at the demon, "it is not yours to keep, just as it was not something to have been traded for."

Choronzon shrugs then smiles, "then you challenge me?"

I scoff.

Lucifer's lips curl.

Mazikeen watches.

Dream scowls. He thinks about his condition, and how he was not yet strong enough to fight. I watch him, feeling the agitation rise around him. We all can sense it. I knit my brows when he finishes debating and states, "very well."

Choronzon beams.

"No," clatters a sword, "I disagree, demon," I announce, pointing my blade upon his neck. I take my full angel form, stretching my wings. It glitters with darkness as I hover above the creature.

Choronzon shrieks and topples back, the mere presence of my weapon overpowering him already.

"MASTER!" Choronzon calls as he shields himself from me, turning to my sibling for aid.

I press nearer with a look of fury.

Lucifer looks upon her demon and his pathetic form on the ground and watches him shrivel. She crosses her arms while doing so.

"You will soon perish if you do not release what you hoard, Choronzon," my voice echoes and my eyes blaze with darkness, "I will smite you that none of your vileness shall remain, as though it never was. Is that what you wish, deceitful creature?"

"MASTER!" Choronzon calls, screwing his eyes shut until he is at the edge of the room.

Dream gazes at the demon curling up in terror.

The miscreant calls out master again.

"She asks you a question, dear Choronzon," Lucifer says, "do you wish to see the power of the one favored by most high?"

"NO!"

Lucifer raises her hands and shrugs, "then you know what you must do."

Choronzon immediately brings out the helm and throws it away with desperation, "MERCY!"

I pull back and mellow my form, allowing my weapon to dissipate into the air, "this is not mercy, demon."

Lucifer nears Choronzon as he shivers. He reaches out to her garments and cries out, "master-"

"I am sorely displeased with you," she says, looking out to her people, "where are the twins Agony and Ecstasy? Take him away."

Choronzon screeches as he is taken away. He begs all the way down.

Dream picks up his artifact and finds himself sighing in relief.

Lucifer turns from Choronzon with a blank expression, watching as he is dragged away in chains, to me, lips turning into a frown, "that was hardly fair, my half."

I turn to her and shake my head, "I am incapable of hardly fair, beloved. You know this."

"I know this," Lucifer sighs. She looks to Dream as he puts his helm on, "and you. You use my beloved as leverage to beseech me. You have acted most wrongly."

"I did not wish to bring her with me, but you will find that she insisted," Dream says, reaching out to me. I move towards him and take his had.

"Thank you, Lightbringer," Dream nods in regard.

Lucifer scoffs, "thank me?" She laughs, "so you have your helm. Tell me, then, why I should not keep you here?"

I furrow my brows at her look of anger, "my half-"

Lucifer raises a finger. I hold my tongue.

Dream looks upon at her as she walks over with a grimace.

I watch as she stares him down.

"Well?" she imposes, "can you not think of one good reason for me to release you? Or will you use my half as leverage again?"

"An Endless has no place in hell."

Lucifer's lips curl, "and yet you see, you have no power here. It is not by your own power that you have come, and I will not allow you insult me further by using my sister as your chaperon."

I look at Dream, tightening my grip upon him, wanting nothing more than to speak on his behalf in this moment.

He is silent for a long moment

She grins, pleased with herself for besting Dream of the Endless.

Seeing her like this makes my stomach roll. My heart aches at sight of her unquenchable thirst for power. I begin to recall her fall I feel my eyes water at her self-importance. She wounds me deeply

Lucifer catches my express but offers me no pity nor remorse. Instead she raises her nose with arrogance and asserts, "you shall not take him out, beloved. I will hound him, if you do."

"But he is set to rebuild his own domain," I mutter through tears, "you will not keep him here, devil."

"Then he shall give me reason not to, angel."

Dream turns to me and wipes away my tears, "reason?" he starts, "power? You say I have no power here, but tell me," he turns to Lucifer, "what then would be hell without its dreams?"

My half throws her head back and laughs, "hell has no need for dreams, Dream King."

"No?" Dream pulls me towards him, "so I ask," he turns to the legion of damned, "what would hell be if it could not dream of heaven?"

I lift up my eyes to Dream.

Lucifer stills.

I look at my beloved lover then my beloved sibling. I wipe tears.

I feel a fury bubble from within my half. It tears at me. It makes my face harden. It guts me.

It was plain to see that Dream had given reason.

"Come, my love," Dream mutters softly, leading me off as he began go walk away, "let us leave this place."

I nod and allow Dream reel me away like a ballon. I give ruler of hell one last look, "farewell, beloved."

Lucifer glares then turns away.

Dream and I navigate hell as he walks and I float. The damned part for us to give us clear passage.

Lucifer watches, looking down upon her domain, tears streaking down her face, "one day, we shall destroy you."

#dream of the endless fanfic #dream of the endless fluff #the sandman fanfic #the sandman fluff #the sandman x reader #morpheus fluff #the sandman x you #dream x you #dream fanfic #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless x you #morpheus x reader #morpheus x you #dream x reader

203 notes · View notes

immacaria · 1 year

Text

Fluffbruary: February 3 - Coast

Tags: Outsider’s POV; retired!Dream au (kinda); Canon Divergence; Fluff;

There is a little house at the coast, on top of a cliff and the people say that there lives an old witch and his companion. They live their lives quietly, keeping most to themselves, and go down to the village when they really need to. They are good neighbours, friendly with the kids, respectful with the others and, when someone needs help, their door is open all the time for everyone, tea waiting at the table and biscuits in the oven.

One of them, the witch, is tall and pale, lean muscles covering his bones and blue eyes that seem to know anyone's secrets. He says his name is Dream Gadling, a joke he and his siblings had that had gone too far, but more than once the villagers saw strangers call him Lord Morpheus, Oneiros, Lord Shaper and Dream of the Endless. He is strange, but he is kind and his stories help to keep the kids' eyes shining and their laughs loud.

The other one, the companion, is smaller than the witch, but his shoulders are broader and darker than him. His eyes are brown and warmer like honey, surrounded by crinkles that appear every time he smiles. If you ask him for his name, he will say it's Robert Gadling, but insist you call him only Robby because Robert was my father, only the witch called him Hob and their strange visitors called him Hope.

No one really knows when or why they arrived at the shore. One day they weren't there and the other they just appeared, no explanations, no trucks being unloaded. They had just popped into the abandoned house and never left.

Not that the village minds. They are a happy old couple who like to walk on the coast, hand in hand, and tend to the massive garden around their house. It was not unusual to see them walking on the sand, Hob leaning down every now and then to collect seashells and look at particularly interesting whirls of sand and Dream looking out to the sea, eyes closing when the wind surrounded him as if kissing his flushed cheeks.

The people they once helped, the teenagers they welcomed into their home say they are kind and love each other very much. It’s visible in the way they look at each other when they think the other doesn’t notice, the fond look on their eyes that tell them they passed through a lot together and still came out on the other side together and in love. In the way they treat each other, almost as if they know what goes in the other’s mind without having to ask. In this way they are never too far apart from each other, a touch away from each other all the time.

Even when Dream is watering the plants, Hob sitting down in one of the garden’s benches, they don’t look apart from each other, eyes crossing every few minutes. They are the type of couple that always knows where the other is without having to search, the one who spent so many years together that they know every quirk, every sound, every breath the other makes. The type of couple that almost doesn’t exist anymore, the type that stuck together through everything and now is simply looking for a quiet place to rest.

Sometimes, when life goes too quiet, strange visitors appear at the village, looking for the witch and his companion. Too tall women and men with teeth in the place of the eyes parade through the village, following the unpaved road that led straight to their house. They, like the ones they visit, are gentle with the villagers, not minding the questions only small children have the courage to ask.

“Are you a fairy?” Young John asks the dark woman with pointy ears and a raven on her shoulder. The woman smiles and nods, patting him in the head before following the road to where Dream waits for her. At night, sweets and a book full of fairy stories appears in his room without anyone putting them there.

“Can you see with those teeth?” Young Amelia says to the blonde man with teeth for eyes when his sunglasses fall one morning.

“I can,” the man says, hands stopping in the middle way of putting his sunglasses on.

“Don’t they hurt?” Amelia says, her little hand coming up to caress his cheek.

“No, I was made like this,” he whispers, voice almost too soft and eyes closed for a moment. “Are you not afraid of me, little girl?”

“No, not really,” She shrugs and, in a bold movement, kisses his forehead and smiles before adding: “I think you are beautiful and kind, actually,” the strange man stares at her for a moment before smiling and nodding, putting his glasses back on and getting up.

“You are kind, little girl, never change,” he says and leaves, a smile on his face as he walks to the old house on the top of the cliff. From that day and on, all the nightmares Amelia has weren't truly scary, but rather comforting and gentle.

“What are you?” Young Adam inquires one time, eyebrows furrowed and looking up to the new visitor. The person in front of him is tall and could be mistaken for a man and a woman at the same time. “Woman or man?”

“Both, none, woman, man or whatever you think I am, boy,” they say, golden eyes staring at him as they kneel in front of me. “What do you think I am, young Adam?”

“Beautiful as fuck,” He says and the being’s laugh could be heard minutes after they went away, the shock of Adam’s parents forever engraved on their memories. When Adam grows up, his beauty is unmatched and almost everything he desires he conquers.

There are ones that appear more than others, like the little being with colourful hair that talks alone and appears like a different person every time or the tall, albino man with long clothes or the women with pointy ears and the black women with an ankh around her neck and black clothes. Still, most of the time, it is just the two of them, together in that big house on the top of the cliff, and living one day after the other happy and in peace.

#dreamling #fluffbruary #fluffbruary 2023 #my writing #macca writes #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dream x hob #fluff #the corinthian #lucienne sandman #death of the endless #desire of the endless #delirium of the endless #dreamling nation

172 notes · View notes

prosperity-post · 25 days

Text

Looking at the Cabaretti Legends between 'Outlaws of Thunder Junction' and the 'Desert Bloom' commander deck, there's a few I'm looking forward to playing. To be honest though, where Yuma and Annie are concerned, they are highly costed. May be a little too much. although they both have considerable power/toughness.

And no matter how much I love the character of Yuma, he costs 8 mana if you don't have any lands in your graveyard. Though I do love his abilities as they go well with both Kirri and Hazezon.

Yes, Hazezon, Shaper of Sand is reprinted in the 'Desert Bloom' commander deck with new boy Kirri, Talented Sprout. So you can have Sand Warriors along with Plant creatures. And just in case you don't want to do just a Plant-based deck, Kirri also works with Treefolk ...for some reason. Personally, just for quicker play, I'd run these two instead of Yuma and Annie.

But that's not all. We can't forget about Ghired or Bristly Bill. Ghired gives your nontoken creatures the ability to make token copies of creatures that enter the battlefield on each turn and Bristly Bill gives +1/+1 counters on landfall triggers.

As I've said, I'd rather play my Abzan colors but I do like these options and the 'Desert Bloom' deck looks exciting.

#mtg #magic the gathering #outlaws of thunder junction #desert bloom #commander deck #mtg commander #Plants!!!#fantasy card game #wotc #wizards of the coast

15 notes · View notes

gabessquishytum · 10 months

Note

Insomnia + ADHD Hob.

Hob, who hasn't even been able to sleep for longer than two hours in ages because everything is so much louder in this century. He can't soundproof anything either because then it's too quiet. He's used to hearing birds and crickets. Used to the crackle of a campfire or the sound of rain hitting tree leaves.

Now it's cars, trucks, and people shouting. It's horns honking and engines revving, and motorcycles. It's the buzz of fluorescent lighting and helicopters going across the sky in the middle of the night (I don't know if that actually happens in the UK, but it does in the US 🙃)

Hob, who has tried every possible sleep drug and, short of being outright sedated (like, with a horse sedative), still can't stay asleep.

Hob, who is so exhausted at this point that the slightest problem can, will, and has sent him bursting into tears.

Hob, who is so exhausted that he's slipping in and out of Delirium's realm. Who has 'died' due to being unable to sleep more times than he can count.

Hob, who discovered he can only get to sleep, and stay asleep, if he's completely fucked out and unfortunately for him, very few people have his stamina (he realized this sometime while Dream was captured because he met Destruction, who was more than willing to fuck him until he passed out)

Dream, who discovers that the man who waited for him despite the way he stormed out, who built him a temple, who is his friend, who he loves and desires carnally, needs to be fucked until he passes out every night to be able to sleep? Oh, he can do that. Sure, technically, he could just use his sand, but he doesn’t want Hob addicted to it. Plus, Hob doesn't need to know that.

It starts out pretty easy. Hob is already beyond exhausted, and every nerve is sensitive for it, so it's not only easy to make him cum, but it only takes a few really good orgasms before he's out.

However, the more well-rested he becomes, the more difficult it is to get him to pass out. Good thing the sensitivity never actually goes away.

It gets to a point that Hob has to start 'turning in' early because it takes a good several hours before he's fucked-out enough to sleep; they have to keep water on the bedside table so that Hob can stay hydrated enough to keep going. He always starts by fucking Dream until he can't move; Dream usually rides him afterwards until Hob's cock is too sore (as Shaper of Forms, Dream's hole never loosens unless he wants it to.)

Then Dream starts in on Hob's hole. He usually begins with his tongue, making Hob cum a few times, before he adds fingers, and eventually his cock. Dream has no refractory period and doesn't get dehydrated, so he can spend as many times as he wants.

By the time Hob finally passes out, his hole is fucked loose and sloppy and he's full of so much of Dream's spend that he's got a belly bulge and they're both absolutely covered in each others cum.

Then maybe Dream uses Hob's hole a few more times for his own pleasure, as a treat; Hob certainly isn't going to notice a few extra loads inside him.

Dream cleans up everything except Hob's hole, which he usually plugs up until the morning.

Bonus: Hob who uses horse sedatives to sleep and Dream doesn't discover this until after he retires and becomes Hob's roommate. Dream discovers that once Hob is asleep, he won't wake until morning, no matter what. Dream, newly human and horny all the time, tries to resist... but he doesn't quite have the willpower or control he used to.

Hob actually knows exactly what Dream does to him while he's asleep (he's not that stupid) but he actually finds it really hot, so he doesn't say anything and just makes sure Dream always has easy access to him.

Maybe Dream eventually catches on that Hob knows. Maybe he doesn't. Either way, he uses Hob nearly every night before he goes to sleep; after all, he always sleeps better afterward, and he knows the importance of good sleep

(I am also the anon who sent the Hob begs to be bred, not knowing Dream can do it, and Dream DOES it ask. If it's not already taken, 🐺)

All of this is SO GOOD. I love the irony of insomniac Hob. His boyfriend is literally king of sleep etc but his brain is uhhhh not neurotypical and its all just a bit of a struggle.

Dream is DEEPLY confused but of course willing to help. If Hob needs to be fucked consistently for three hours so he can get a decent night's rest, then Dream is up for the job of assisting! He witnesses Hob in a tearful sleep deprived state one time and vows that it will never happen again on his watch.

Dream makes every night into a perfect experience for Hob. The bed is comfortable, the room is the perfect temperature. Dream smells amazing, his skin is cool and soft. Hob already feels wonderfully relaxed and his brain is finally winding down from the day.

Dream may be a wet cat man but his topping skills? Incredible. He rocks Hob’s world. He's got Hob into positions he didn't even know he was capable of. He's making him cum three, sometimes four times every night. Hob goes from exhausted and sleepless to passing out right there on Dream’s cock. And of course Dream keeps using him until he's done too, it's only fair.

Everyone comments on how well rested Hob looks these days. He just smiles and adjusts his belt, trying to get comfy with that massive load of cum still plugged up inside him. He's very much living his best life. He's so much more chilled out now he's getting a good consistent fucking, apparently getting railed by his dreamlord boyfriend is the key to good mental health!

#🐺 anon #the sandman #dreamling #nsft

55 notes · View notes

un-unavoidableanxiousball · 5 months

Text

This is my first time taking part in a bingo of any kind : ] Kudos to @fandom-free-bingo for creating my bingo card. Constructive criticism is welcome since this is also my first time writing for a fandom.

Masterlist Masterlist²

Prompt used: Forehead Kisses

Rating: General

Fandom: The Sandman

Pairing: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Tags: fluff, established relationship, possible out of character

Warnings: none

Word count: 391

─────────※ ·❆· ※─────────

Hob finally finished checking and grading his students' tests. Winter break and Christmas is in about two weeks. Therefore it's no surprise his students are putting less effort in school. Everybody's excited and restless.

Hob, himself, is no better. Especially since this year he's gonna spend it with his Stranger, his friend and now his lover - Dream! (Hob finally knows his friend's name. Morpheus, King of Dreams and Nightmares, The Sandman, Prince of Stories, Shaper of Forms, Dream of the Endless. He shall rejoice with that knowledge in his heart forever.)

His first Christmas with Dream. That thought alone doesn't fail to bring a smile on Hob's face.

Hob gathers all papers after sorting them and tucks them in respective folders. Hob goes to stand up from his desk when the sound of sand swirling in the air reaches his ears.

"Hob." Dream greets Hob with that sultry voice of his which makes Hob's grin even wider.

Nowadays Dream drops by almost every few days. Unless The Dreaming or other tasks need his undivided focus and attention - Dream tends to come unannounced. Hob doesn't mind. At all. In fact, some days, he still finds it astonishing how the Endless prefers his company.

In seconds Hob is in front of his lover. "Hello Duck." he presses a quick kiss on Dream's lips "Just finished grading. So we can head home now."

"Hmm.. I know." Dream hums.

"You watched and waited, didn't you?"

"Perhaps." Hob hears the amusement in his lover's voice.

"You're lucky I love you." Hob kisses Dream's forehead.

"I'm aware." Dream replies half teasingly, half seriously. "I wonder at your kindness and love you harbor for me. I'm exceptionally fortunate to have your affection direct my way." Hob can't look away from those bright stars in his lover's eyes. "Everyone I loved I brought to ruin. Yet I fully treasure your heart as you hold mine with such care. " Dream murmurs. Hob presses a long kiss on his partners head with his eyes closed. Filled with love and admiration he tightens his arms around Dream and whispers "You deserve it."

Dream rests his head on Hob's shoulder. They stay in each other's embrace. Neither of them willing to pull away.

"You break my heart. You wanted to me to cry." Hob breaks the silence.

"Perhaps."

"Love, you're ridiculous." Hob laughs.

─────────※ ·❆· ※─────────

I honestly think I got more than a little sidetracked. I think that's gonna be my goal for the next prompt - to stay on topic. : ]]

#dreamling #bingo #the sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling #FandomFreeBingo #fluff #fanfic #dream x hob #FrostyEditionBingo #dreamling fanfic #sandman fic

26 notes · View notes

wyvernquill · 1 year

Text

More Dreamling Anastasia AU

Because I must obviously be stricken down for my hubris if I say I refuse to write something. (Masterpost can be found here!)

This one’s an earlier bit, while they’re still trying to teach “Murphy” how to act like Dream, and first encounter The Corinthian - so please be aware that there will be Corinthian-typical mentions of stabbing and blood in this excerpt!

(Tagging @10moonymhrivertam again, and also open invitation for anyone who wants to be notified of new updates to tell me so, and I’ll tag you when/if I write other scenes!)

---

“Do the list again.”

“Hob…” Murphy sighs, visibly annoyed, hands stuffed in his coat pockets and face ducked into his scarf. There are snowflakes caught in the dark tangle of his hair, and Hob wonders briefly if he would accept Hob’s hat, or look at it with the same disgusted grimace he pulled when he was offered one of Gil’s spare cardigans.

“Come on. Again.” Hob encourages. “You’ll need to know it by heart, it has to be ingrained so deeply into you that I should be able to wake you up at three in the night and have you recite it perfectly.”

“Do not dare to wake me up at three in the night!” Murphy snarls, and they will really have to work on that temper - Gilbert is very insistent that Dream of the Endless’s fury was fierce, yes, but quiet, controlled, and merciless in its silence. These outbursts don’t befit a Dream King, and they’ll have to go.

“I was speaking metaphorically!” Hob laughs and holds up his hands defensively. “I know better than to disturb your sleep, rest assured. Matthew would peck my eyes out, for a start.”

(Judging from the look on Murphy’s face, the man would approve of that course of events, and possibly praise his raven afterwards.)

“But the list. Go on, Lord Morpheus, the list.”

Murphy sighs again, turning his face up to the snow-grey night sky. Hob is suddenly quite glad Gilbert shooed them out for a walk, to clear Murphy’s head after another long day of lessons - more lessons tomorrow, and then they’ll be travelling again over the weekend, always busy or on the move. It’s quite lovely, to have this moment of tranquillity, in the dark and the snow, and to see Murphy… well. Less frustrated and harried than he usually is, solemn and thoughtful and with chapped lips from the frost.

“Destiny, the oldest, in the maze, with the book.” He recites, only slightly sullen. “Death, the second, everywhere and everywhen, but always where she’s needed, with the ankh. Dream, the third-”

“Include the names.”

“Ugh. Dream of the Endless, Lord Morpheus, the King of Dreams, Ruler of the Nightmare Realms, the Shaper of Form, Kai’ckul-”

“Kai-what?” Hob frowns. He hasn’t heard that one before.

“-Oneiros or the Oneiromancer, and the Lord of Stories.” Murphy continues, undeterred, slogging through the list just to have it be over quicker. “There, the names. Now: Dream, in the Dreaming, with the ruby - and sometimes the helmet and the sand. Always with a raven. Next, Destruction-”

“No, please,” drawls a voice behind them. “Tell us more about Dream.”

They both freeze.

Hob turns slowly, stepping to the side just slightly, just enough so he will be in range to shove Murphy behind himself, should it become necessary.

“I do so love bedtime stories,” the stranger who has approached them is grinning broadly, in a tan suit and coat much too thin for this weather, and dark glasses - sunglasses? At night!? - covering his eyes. “Though I always like ‘em best when they have gory endings. When the stepsisters cut their feet to fit into the glass slipper in the Grimm brothers’ version of Cinderella? Boy, I could listen to that all night.”

The man is holding a long knife in his hand, the sort not made for cutting anything but the flesh of your fellow man, toying with it - and Hob feels a prickle of fear slide down his spine.

“Who are you, to disturb us?” Murphy snaps haughtily, and Hob would be pleased at the excellent noble-arrogant cadence, if he weren’t suddenly fucking terrified of Murphy getting a knife in between the ribs for his cheek.

“Me?” The man laughs, throwing the knife up in the air, glittering, twirling, before catching it again. “You don’t remember little old me?”

The man’s teeth are too white, Hob notes, too bright, and too *many* when he smiles like this.

“I’m your worst nightmare, my Lord,” he says, still smiling - and then lunges forward, knife first.

Hob moves instantly, instinctively, without even a moment’s hesitation.

With his elbow, he shoves Murphy back, out of the way, and then bats the man’s knife arm off-course, coming in swinging with the other fist. It connects with an audible crack, but their assailant only laughs, giddy and breathless, and spits out half a mouthful of blood - is there some dripping from his eyes under the glasses, too - before evading Hob’s grip on his arm and dancing out of the way.

“Murphy, run!” Hob shouts over his shoulder, heart beating in his throat, blood up and boiling. He hasn’t gotten into alleyway fights in a year or two, but it’s familiar, the tang of blood, the rush of adrenaline. He’s always liked the brawls where there wasn’t a sharp object involved better, just two men and their fists - but if this madman wants a fight, he’ll damn well get one. Hob’s put better people than him in hospital.

Hob charges forward, goes for a grab at the knife arm again, and manages a short grapple, a kick at a shin, the tip of the knife wavering as they twist against each other, and slicing a red-hot line of pain along the side of Hob’s jaw - the man’s still grinning, holy shit, that’s unsettling - before the other twists himself free again with almost unnatural strength, and Hob has to jump back before that knife goes somewhere vital.

“Well, aren’t’cha quite the fighter, Hobsie?” The assailant says, with his dozens of bone-white teeth bared. “I’m glad. Makes it more fun to carve into you when you struggle a li’l bit.”

“Would love to see you try,” Hob spits back, wiping his cheek, his blood dripping red onto the snow.

They throw themselves at each other again, and the man is impossibly strong, delivering an almost casual punch against Hob’s sternum that knocks the breath out of him, forcing him back a couple stumbling steps.

And Hob knows he should run, too. The best way to win a streetfight is to not be in one, and he’s not keen on getting stabbed. Would be a waste, to die now, when he’s so close to earning himself immortality…

…but he needs to buy Murphy time.

The thought alone, of seeing Murphy dead in the snow, blood pooling around him in and coat spread out like broken wings - he can’t bear it. He’s got the man into this fucking mess, and he cannot let Murphy die because of his con. This is supposed to be a win-win situation for them all, not a threat to anyone’s life!

And if somebody’s life is threatened, it better be Hob’s own. Only fair - he gets the biggest reward in the end, he should shoulder the brunt of the risk as well.

Hob coughs one last time, eyeing the blood-red tip of the assailant’s knife. He won’t die here, he refuses to, and he’ll fight until the bitter end if-

“Wait,” Murphy says, and Hob’s heart stutters in his chest.

The idiot! The absolute fool! Hob told him to run, why the fuck is he still here!?

Hob gets barely more than a second of panic in before Murphy steps up beside him, glowering darkly at the man with the knife…

And then, in a movement quick as a flash, he throws a handful of salt-grit-sand mix - the sort the city keeps in large containers alongside the streets in wintertime, to make the snow and ice safer to traverse - straight into the man’s face.

The man screeches, voice strangely dissonant, as if it comes from three mouths at once, and jerks back sputtering, dropping his knife and covering his face with his hands.

Hob kicks the knife away, out of reach, on instinct - and then he feels a bony hand curl around his own, dragging him away, and he lets it, running hand in hand with Murphy for dear life.

(There are angry shouts behind them, threats, but Hob never looks back, only squeezing the cold palm against his harder.)

They run, and run, and run, until they finally reach the relative safety and familiarity of the street outside their inn, both gasping for breath as they lean against its walls.

“You… need not… have come…” Murphy wheezes, his thin chest heaving under his thick coat, even as his eyes are burning with indignation, “to my… defence!”

“Clearly!” Hob rasps, sliding to the ground, uncaring for the snowmelt soaking through his trousers. “Still… I didn’t want to be standing in front of the Endless alone, in a few weeks’ time.”

He grins up at Murphy - the wound along his cheek burning as he does it - and the sharp retort about being perfectly capable of handling himself in a fight visibly dies on Murphy’s lips.

He crouches down besides Hob, coat puffing up around him, and brings one hand up to cup Hob’s jaw, to turn it and inspect the line of red their attacker’s knife left there. Thumbs the cut, smearing warm blood along Hob’s cheekbone.

“You were hurt,” he murmurs, dark voice almost wavering with distress.

“Shallow cut.” Hob catches Murphy’s wrist before he can fuss any more with the wound, rubs a thumb soothingly over the thin bones there. “I’ll live.”

“Foolish man,” Murphy grumbles - but he’s very nearly smiling as he says it.

Their eyes meet.

They’re both still breathing hard, and for all his haggard, skeletal build and sunken face lined with long years of hardship, Murphy looks almost lovely like this, lips slightly parted and pale face flushed with exertion, looking up at Hob through his lashes as if…

As if…

Hob leans forward, and Murphy does too, something burning bright and smouldering hot between them, lips getting close enough to brush-

“ROBERT! MURPHY!” Gilbert slams open the door beside them, and they both jerk apart as if burned.

“Oh, thank goodness, you’re here!” Gilbert flusters, wringing his hands on the grip of his cane. “I had the most terrible premonition that my two dear friends were in danger, most ghastly, so I rushed- Robert, are you bleeding!?”

“I’m fine, Gil,” Hob tries to wave him off - to little avail.

Hob is ushered up into their room, sat down, and then berated by Gilbert for his recklessness while Murphy is carefully, studiously, dabbing at Hob’s wound with one of Gilbert’s handkerchiefs and pointedly not making any eye contact.

(Though Matthew is more than making up for that, staring Hob down as if he knows exactly what almost transpired outside the inn’s door, and is rather firmly against the idea of letting it happen again…

Which it surely won’t. It was a mad impulse in the spur of the moment - they both know better, now.

Yes.

They both know better.)

#WyWrites #dreamling #the sandman #anastasia dreamling au #and feel free to send me asks if you want me to elaborate or something #or what i had in mind for other scenes #i'm always happy to chat!#i just couldn't resist an almost-kiss here #and gratuitous references to the 1789 scene #hob and dream fighting to protect each other my beloved #also the corinthian is LUCKY gilbert got the memo a little late #because yes he DOES have a sword in his cane #and he happily would have used it #maybe he will in a later confrontation #because i suddenly have a mighty need for gilbert vs. corinthian sword-knife fencing #matthew kind of likes hob by the way #but after years of protecting murphy on the streets he's just overall wary of others #even if they seem like good guys who let him sip from their beers

142 notes · View notes

windsweptinred · 1 year

Text

A different take on human, retired Morpheus.

Death can make Morpheus mortal. She can grant him freedom from her gift, so he can be by Hob's side for however long they choose. But the human mind isn't designed to hold all that Dream knows. Memories that reach back to the dawn of time, world's come and gone. Infinite multiverses… And Morpheus's new human brain, to avoid falling to madness, will do what it must to protect itself. And slowly, he begins to forget…

At first, it's things so vast, they're inconsequential to his new mortal life. The visage of god, the realms of the heavenly and the damned. The birth of Galaxies. He lets them go and cares little. Some memories are preferable gone.

Then, he struggles to recall worlds, aeons vanish from his recollections. It's alright, he has the future here in Hob's arms. He can sacrifice the past. But he wishes he could stop the precious few memories, those of his life amongst his siblings, from slipping through his fingers. One day, while washing the dishes, he tries to recall the faces of his mother and father. He cannot.

Perhaps the most painful is his loss of self. He knows he was Dream of the Endless. Lord and shaper of dreams and nightmares. Of the Dreaming, was the Dreaming. But, he can no longer remember… How. Daniel visits occasionally, enthrals Morpheus with tales of a world he can picture, as if through frosted glass. He can no longer put faces to the names of some of the Dream's mentioned. He digs his nails deep into his thigh to stop himself from screaming. The first morning he wakes with no memories of that night's dream. He is inconsolable. Hob finds him later that day. Sat in the play pit of the local park, running his hand through the sand.

One evening, they sit, entangled in each other's arms, quoting love poetry of centuries past to each other. Hob cheekily nips at his neck, between Shakespearean verse…Then looks to him with a crooked smile to continue on, pick up where he left off. And he… Cannot. His mind is an empty void. The harder he tries to conjure the words, the further they flee from him. His head hurts, his breath catches, and finally, he weeps.

"I can't, I don't… I can't remember! Hob, I… These word came from me, but I can't, I can't… They're gone! Hob!"

"Hey, hey love, it's alright. It's alright, I'm here. Remember the thing? Remember what we say? Tell me dove."

"I am Morpheus Gadling.

My husband loves me.

We walk this road together, looking forward.

One day at a time.

Nothing else matters."

#dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #the sandman #god i'm so sorry #Why did I write this #I'm going to go drown my self inflicted sorrow in left over Christmas chocolates

94 notes · View notes

dr3am-ph0enix · 2 months

Text

Headcannons for Jamil’s Middle School friends

Names:

Ishan Salib -Twisted From Iago

Amir Fadel - Twisted from Aladdin

Raheel Ghazali Twisted from Rajah

Facts for Ishan:

Descended from bird beastmen so his nails (in place of talons) grown longer and shaper than most humans

Half queendom of roses , on his mothers side , Scalding sands on his father

Like cater his family moved a lot for his fathers work and they finally settled in silk city the summer before MS started

Speaks multiple languages as a result

Has 3 other sibling (two boys and one girl) and He’s the middle child which means he the hand me down from his older brother and sister

Him and Jamil met in their first period on the second day and they started getting along when they were assigned to sit in the same group of tables

The most emotional and down to brawl person you have ever met can and has punched somebody in the face (They insulted his friend group, he got them back and he got suspended for three days lol)

Out of everyone in the group He used to (and still does) talk the most shit but only when the subject isn’t around

Facts About Amir:

Born in the scalding sands and raised just outside of silk city

He’s an only child ( and a little bit spoiled)

He met Ishan first because they ended up being on the same bus

He met Jamil separately during Homeroom and it resulted in a two year (MS is TWST is only two years bc I said so) academic rivalry between them to see who could get the best grades and test scores

Was the first out of the group to steal food (they only got away with it the first time because he lied and said that he thought it was free bc the prices weren’t being displayed) and everyone else caught on and it became a thing

Competitive MF

The very definition of a shit eating grin, only ever did it to Jamil when he got the higher test grade or better percentage on a homework assignment.

Facts about Raheel

Born in the sunset Savannah and raised in the scalding sands

1/4 tiger beastman

Bilingual-sunset savanna and scalding sands

He’s Blind in his right eye due to an fight involving some of his brothers old friends

Only one older brother who went to school with ace’s brother

The tallest of the group and the one with the most impulse control (Jamil is a close second)

Met Amir and Jamil after Ishan dragged them both to sit with him and Raheel after they started aggressively comparing their GPAs and grades bc he didn’t want to hear them argue the whole time

The most protective of the group and the one to get them out to tricky situations when Jamil either wasn’t around or stuck as well

Often the one to break up any disagreements between Jamil and Amir with Ishan in the background yelling “fight fight fight”

Please note that this post was inspired by @deezneezz Please go check out the art they did for one of Jamil’s friends twisted from Rajah and Iago

#jamil viper #aladdin iago #aladdin #twst jamil #Amir fadel #Ishan Salib #Raheel Ghazali #twst oc #This is what happens when you have TWST brainrot for one specific idea or lore drop #This idea has been living in my head rent free ever since the info the Jamil had friends (plural) dropped and when I read it I lost it lol

9 notes · View notes

wizardofgoodfortune · 1 year

Note

27 for Spotify fic thing!

a bit of comfy dreamling. and i fully believe that this would've been better if i had finished reading the entirety of the comics. alas... we can have a bit of silliness for now! but thank you for the ask!! 💓 i hope you are having fun with the ask game.

When you've lived for such a long period of time unimaginable to the common living being, asking for help is something short of unthinkable. He is Endless, after all. Lord of Dreams and Ruler of Nightmares. The Dreaming itself.

At least, that's what Dream thinks.

Death said he was foolish for not asking for help during his century in the Wych Cross, in the Burgess's basement, and for the pursuit of his tools afterwards. He doesn't think she will ever understand—he didn't want to worry her, or anyone for that matter.

Much less Hob Gadling, who is a mere 600 years old. He was older than most, yes, but still. Dream should be able to handle everything by himself. The Shaper of Forms should be able to fix all his problems on his own.

This is why Dream couldn't fathom why Hob gave him this tiny device he called a 'mobile phone'.

"Keep in touch," Hob said, "for when you need my help the next time you get... compromised. Or for when you just want a drink. Or a friend," he tacked on, grinning.

Dream stared at the phone accusatorily. It sat on the couch beside him in his room, unaware of his glare.

It was as if Hob didn't know how hard it already was for him just to mention that he'd been captured. By a human, with parlor tricks, no less. And before their recent meeting, they just met once every hundred years. Now Hob expected Dream to just... 'text' him?

Dream scoffed. This was ridiculous. They should have just continued to meet every hundred years.

But then again, the whole ordeal with Rose Walker and Desire just finished. Could Hob have helped with that problem? Most likely not. But sometimes, Dream did find that... elaborating... on one's feelings... proved. Useful.

And in the light of having been betrayed by his sibling, there was nothing he wanted more than to hear someone talk at him, for distraction. Or maybe even listen to him. Much like Hob did, the last time, in The New Inn.

Dream sighed. This was ridiculous. He tucked the phone into his coat, and left. He had much to do, and little time to spend on frivolities. He couldn't spend his time ruminating on every single thing in his life; he would certainly go insane if he did. So he will concentrate on the things he can fix now.

Dream was in the middle of a meeting with Lucienne and Merv when a ding! rang in the throne room. Lucienne looked up from her notes, and Mervyn cocked his pumpkin head.

It came from inside his coat. Dream paused for a moment, and opened his mouth to continue—

Ding!

"Uh, boss, I think that's coming from you," Merv said.

Lucienne hid the lower half of her face in her ledger. Dream dreaded to think why.

"I will take care of this," Dream said, standing from his throne. "I trust you will be able to attend to the repairs in my place, Lucienne. Mervyn."

"Of course, my lord," Lucienne said.

"See ya, boss," Merv said.

Dream turned away and blinked into his room before he could see them smile at each other at his expense.

He conjured the phone from his coat, forming from grains of sand. The screen simply said, '2 new messages from Hob Gadling.'

"Hey stranger! Fancy a night out at The New Inn? Just got done with finals, and I could use a relaxing evening. Beer for me, wine for you? I got you something even better than before," the first text said.

In their last meeting, Dream had actually caved to drinking wine. It seemed more palatable than any of the drinks in the past six centuries, and he was. In a good mood, so to say. He didn't really realize how thirsty he was until he got into a comfortable atmosphere.

"And I'm thinking you should try out our pizza tonight. Only made out of the finest ingredients, I promise. If you thought the shepherd's pie was good, wait for this one," the second text said.

And how hungry.

And because the Dreaming is him, thunder rumbled in the distance, as if to imitate an empty stomach growling.

This is ridiculous, Dream thought, as he stepped out of his room and into The New Inn. It was evening this time, and the place glowed yellow and orange. It was alive with its customers' tipsy buzz, the clinking of tableware, and the smell of savory food and alcohol.

Dream looked over to the spot where Hob sat before, and felt a pang of an unnamable feeling in his chest when he didn't see him there.

"My friend," bellowed a familiar voice from behind the counter.

It was Hob. He had a small towel thrown over his shoulder, and he had half of his hair tied back. Dream noticed the beads of sweat on his temples.

"Didn't expect you here so soon. I'll be right with you," Hob said, his face bright. He gestured to the table in the corner. "Have a seat."

And so Dream sat where he sat before. What was Hob up to?

"Sorry for the wait," said Hob from behind. He came brandishing a glass and a bottle. Was that a smear of something red on his cheek? And why was he wearing a flour-dusted apron? "If I knew you would come this fast, I would have texted you much earlier."

Dream watched Hob pour him a glass of wine.

"Y'know, you could have replied. I would've been more prepared that way," Hob said, setting down the bottle, and settling down across Dream. "Not that I mind, of course. Just thought you would be more preoccupied. But I could get used to it."

Dream huffed. "Do not. You merely caught me at an opportune time."

"And what joy," Hob said. He was grinning. Then he was standing up again. "Be right back."

Hob disappeared behind the counter and into what Dream assumed is the inn's kitchen. Dream looked at the wine. It didn't seem right to drink alone.

So instead, Dream listened to the sound of the inn's patrons talking to their friends about their day, good or bad, listened to the soft music playing on the speakers, listened to the dreams of a student snoozing on his friend's shoulder, heavily inebriated too early in the night.

He was having a nightmare about his 'finals,' as Hob called it. Dream waved the nightmare away. In this place, he deserved comfy dreams. His nightmare could wait another night.

"Make way, hot pizza coming through," Hob announced from behind again, hurriedly setting down a wooden plate. On it was flat bread with golden, melted cheese and the same red sauce that Dream saw on Hob's cheek earlier. There were also sliced cherry tomatoes and basil leaves on top. The pizza glistened under the yellow lights of the inn.

"Been a while since my last pizza," Hob said, sitting down across him with a sigh. He held his beer in his other hand. Maybe this time he would stop moving around so much.

Wait.

"You made this," Dream said, in disbelief.

"Yeah, picked it up when I lived in Italy a few years back. Don't think it's as good as how they taught me, but you be the judge. And don't hold back," Hob said as he cut through the sauce and cheese with a knife. "Hey, you haven't drank your wine yet."

"No," Dream said. He didn't want to elaborate.

"Buon appetito," Hob said, gesturing to the pizza. He wiped some of the sweat on his forehead away with his towel.

Dream stared at Hob.

"Please, before it gets cold," Hob insisted.

"Are you not going to eat?" Dream asked.

"Oh." Hob paused. Was that surprise? "I suppose I should, shouldn't I?"

Dream took his slice the same time Hob did, but Dream had more difficulty with his. The cheese stretched on impossibly, refusing to let go, until Hob chuckled and cut through it with his knife.

And finally, Dream bit into the slice. Both the sliced tomatoes and the tomatoes used in the red sauce reminded him of a dream of a farmer in the Italian countryside, toiling away in the hot day and coming home to his wife and son, his arms full of produce. The hot cheese came from the milk of a family cow cherished by its farmer. It dreamt of a seemingly never-ending green pasture, where she lived with her calves. The bread had the thoughts of the man in front of him kneaded into it, thoughts of how proud he was of his students, especially those graduating soon. Even the basil leaves contained Hob's thoughts, each carefully placed on the pizza, wondering if Dream would like it.

Dream gulped.

"Good?" Hob asked. He was smiling, but Dream spotted a bit of worry on the lines in his crow's feet.

"It is," Dream tried to find a sufficient word, but ended up echoing Hob, "good."

Dream watched Hob's shoulders loosen.

"Good. Great," Hob said, grinning, fully this time.

Dream felt his own chest tighten. He stifled the feeling with more of the pizza instead, and listened to Hob launch into how finals week went.

Maybe later in the night, wine-drunk, Dream would tell Hob of what happened recently. But right now, he was content to eat, and drink, and listen to his friend.

#i think sometimes dream could use a little bit of a good time. as a treat #and i think he has a different relationship with and perception of food. idk. for fun #sandman #dreamling #*my fic #*#wintersmitth #this went longer than i thought it would im So Sorry #i didn't know how to end it. Help #i might continue it? idk what to do with this anymore. LMFAO #i hope you are doing well!#spotify wrapped #ask

77 notes · View notes

kykyonthemoon · 3 months

Text

Old friend

— Pairing: Zhongli x Guizhong (Guili)

— Tags: short, soft angst, event

— Summary: The tragedy of reunion is knowing that there might be separation once more.

— Word count: 1286

— Masterlist

— Ao3

Inspired by Lantern Rite 2023 event.

As the roar of the zither from the top of the high mountain mingled with the music and the cheers of the festival at the harbor, everyone was stunned for a long time. The sound was not of this world, but came from the heavens, and the mortals would feel privileged to have heard it once in their short lives.

Consequently, no one noticed anything unusual at the time. Those who paid close attention could only notice a few unusual breezes carrying dust from all around Liyue to one area. Every stream of sand flew with the wind, from plains to hills; from narrow streams to vast seas. Then they met, swirled and merged to become one being. A shadowy figure above the high mountain.

The barefoot maiden slid through the grass, her star-like eyes fixed on each of the xiao lanterns above her. That night, they were stars and moonlight. Peach lips parted slightly as she hummed a tune to the sound of her longtime friend’s zither. How much time had passed? Several thousands of years. Everything had changed, even her melody had been more or less altered.

Yet, she was content. Because, even though she was no longer alive, her music was passed on and was now a part of the current world.

She had been away for a long, long time. She had become part of the land, of the grass, of the wind and water, of the Liyue sky. But that night, perhaps the only exceptional night when her melody sounded, she could return.

Someone's footsteps could be heard from behind her. She could predict without turning her head.

"What a lovely evening, don't you think so, Rex Lapis?"

Zhongli's footsteps came to a halt. The maiden in front of him moved her head slightly, a smile spreading across her lips like a blooming flower. Fragile and fading, but not completely lost. Time stood still for a brief moment.

"It is true that you are back, Guizhong."

The young woman nodded gently. The sound of the zither was still echoing.

"Until this melody comes to its end."

Merely that one moment, for her to see him again. It had to be enough. She had already flown over to where Moon Carver and Mountain Shaper were still enjoying tea. She visitedCloud Retainer as she began to work on the great lantern for her disciple. She had come to sit next to Streetward Rambler when the very first notes were played. And now, she came to visit Rex Lapis, who was standing silently beside her, gazing out at the sea of xiao lantern lights.

"Would you accompany me on a walk around Liyue Harbor?"

Guizhong had always enjoyed the lively environment. She would never sit quietly on this grand and spectacular holiday. Zhongli graciously nodded. She followed him into the prosperous harbor. A man walked quietly among the sea of people and lights, flanked by a shadowy maiden who was as pale as dust. Nobody appeared to notice them, or, more accurately, no one could see them. Side by side, they strolled together.

"How beautiful!"

Guizhong exclaimed as her palm softly touched a xiao lantern on the side of the road. It ascended slightly, as though taking advantage of the breeze. She laughed slightly and added that she could have invented some fascinating machinery relating to this particular xiao lantern.

Zhongli said nothing and simply nodded. Just like the old days when they walked the mundane world together. Guizhong had always noticed everything on the side of the road. She would be fascinated and want to touch or even purchase everything. Zhongli would keep following her silently, carrying everything for her. Her eyes would be so bright, and her smile would be just as vibrant.

Over time, things had changed, and they were no longer beneath the same sky. Nonetheless, certain things remained constant.

Like their feelings.

They came to a halt in front of a teahouse. When the tea was brought out, the song was drawing to an end. Guizhong sat across from Zhongli, still happily looking down at the bustling music hall below. Perhaps, she longed for once to be in the audience, singing and cheering enthusiastically. If she had existed in this realm not in the form of a ghost, she would undoubtedly do so.

From the mountain came the music, harmonizing but not being overwhelmed with the music below. Zhongli looked down at his half-empty cup of tea. Even the gods could not catch the moonlight that had fallen to the bottom of the cup. Just as the retention of the deceased who was now only dust; it was completely illusory.

"Rex Lapis."

Guizhong spoke up. She wanted Zhongli to look at her. One last time.

"Just like this place, Liyue, you have changed a lot. You have had a new identity, a new life, and new friends."

From the upper floor of the teahouse, Zhongli looked down below, where the hat of the Director of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor - Hu Tao - stood out from the crowd. She was holding hands and pulling three of her other friends along to the diner. Zhongli recalled the meeting after Hu Tao's performance ended. Friends? Rather, it was a business relationship. But between people, or between gods and mankind, there is always a kind of contract. People frequently refer to it as fate.

"They would be delighted to meet you, Guizhong."

"Really?" Guizhong eagerly responded. "Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could meet?"

I would be delighted too if you could stay a little longer...

Feelings that could not be escaped into words have lingered in the heart for thousands of years. However, Guizhong could understand. She had always read people's emotions and knew how to make them feel good. Even after she was gone, the feeling that she was always there provided those who knew her the courage to continue on their own paths. Like the way Streetward Rambler was finally able to replay her music, theirs.

"I was concerned for you." Guizhong carried on the conversation. "I imagined how you would manage after the battle, how you would deal with your loss... But now I realize I was overly worried. You have done well, Rex Lapis. You're smiling more frequently now."

The melody from the high mountains became faster than ever. Guizhong's silhouette turned blurry. The tragedy of reunion is knowing that there might be separation once more.

"Guizhong... I sincerely miss you..."

The corners of Guizhong's eyes filled with tears. She did, however, smile.

"I'm glad to hear those words from you..."

The tune slowed down, gradually. Guizhong's body also became paler.

"You know, I'm always here, in Liyue. I am dust. I have spread everywhere. I have seen the world and countless of mundane lives. I've never really gone..."

Zhongli clenched his fist around the tea cup. The tea in the cup was rippling, as if his suppressed emotions were about to burst. Guizhong's voice continued to reverberate, becoming further distant.

"At this moment, I'm nothing but an illusion in front of you. Yet, I believe that at some point, we will all be reunited. You and I... Everyone... Therefore, as long as you remember me, I shall always exist."

"Would you make a contract with me?"

Zhongli's offer caught Guizhong by surprise. She gave a tender smile:

"Yes. This is a contract. I will always be in your heart."

When the final notes sounded, Madame Ping glanced away and saw a figure smile at her before dissolving into dust and soaring away. By the side of the teacup opposite Zhongli's, there was left a blooming glazed lily, from which a melody could still be heard softly…

-The end-

#zhongli #guizhong #genshin impact #fanfic #couple #genshin impact fanfic #fanfiction #guili #genshin impact zhongli #genshin impact guizhong #zhongli x guizhong #voyage of the hearts

13 notes · View notes