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#the dreaming
sunsoftatooine · 2 years
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little abstract painting of dream in his realm
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hellfirelady · 2 years
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i love this scene particularly, because it shows how comfortable dream actually feels around hob. the way he sits down and leans back, relaxed? most of the time he holds himself very strictly, he's so composed because of his position and the burden he has to carry. he can be more himself probably only in the dreaming yet he has to keep his feelings inside there because he's lord of dreams, so again - maintaining the position. and here? he looks like he breathed again. i haven't seen him like this through the entire show
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drag0ns-edge · 2 years
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@ the dream of the endless / the sandman stans out there
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magical-ely · 3 months
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First off happy new year!
Second, have my sandman phone backgrounds that I drew a while ago bc I could not find the time to paint in the last few months...
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aerial-tal · 7 months
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Kate Bush Moving in a blue leotard in 1979.
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krae-hb · 2 years
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The Corinthian getting ready in the morning be like
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issylra · 1 year
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the dreaming + inside the castle
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gewdmorning · 2 years
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Corinthian literally found himself babysitting a kid he had kidnapped who was the baby brother of a dream vortex that was about to collapse in on itself and take the whole world with it just so he could be all dad notice me i’m edgy
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amones · 9 months
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…and those who pass by see only smoke.
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withoutyouimsaskia · 1 month
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Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 1)
Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
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​GIF: Originally posted by @tavners
Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader
Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)
Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Tension. Home invasion. Voyeurism. Implied masturbation. Dream manipulation.
Word Count: 2.6k
A/N: Wow, this took way longer to finish than I had originally planned. My head's been all over the place with trying (and thus far failing) to find a new job. The themes are very different to what I've written before; I hope it reads okay. Please let me know what you think. All my love, Saskia xx
Sandman Masterlist
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Fate.
A phenomenon that governed every particle of matter within the known universe and even those beyond.
Some considered it a comforting concept that excused them from the burden of decision making, citing: "I'll leave it up to fate." For others the phrase was a cursory, throw-away comment or a romantic line they heard in the lyrics of a song.
The real truth of the matter was that Fate was a trio of immortal beings, goddesses, with sight so potent that they knew the past, present and future of every individual to have lived. The mythology of the Greeks, Romans and Norse hadn't been too far off with their stories of the Moirai, Parcae and Norns but of course, no humans really believed there to be any realism in myths. They were just stories. It didn't matter either way; they existed and had influence regardless of what the majority believed.
For beings such as The Endless siblings, the presence of Fate in the cosmos was not only real, but also something that affected even themselves.
For the King of Dreams, an eventuality had been prophesised long ago by The Kindly Ones that spoke of a bond that was to be forged between himself and a mortal.
Lord Morpheus, in his pride, had tried to be above such a foretelling, even questioning its validity because the notion of a mortal accepting his version of the universe seemed wholly implausible.
But he could not truly stop himself from wondering about you, reaching out to see if he could feel your presence in the minds of the dreamers he hosted.
It wasn't something he indulged in with frequency. More of a once-in a-decade interval. Enough to appease his curiosity.
Of course, this was put on hold during his imprisonment at Fawney Rig.
Morpheus had had much to contemplate during this period. The damage his absence caused to the collective subconscious, the decay of his realm, the loss of freedom and dignity. There was also a chance that you had been born and died in the 106 years he spent in captivity.
What if he was too late and had lost the chance of discovering who you were?
It was a nauseating prospect that scraped and scratched a space deep within his being; bleeding him of his remaining stores of hope that were so significantly depleted after the death of beloved Jessamy.
Despite the nasty emotional wound, finding you was a charge that he assigned at the end of his priorities after his escape.
Recovering his scattered tools, restoring the Dreaming, locating his absent creations, unravelling the mystery of Rose Walker and confronting Desire all had needed to come first.
The latter interaction had left Morpheus with a seething rage that was currently propelling him down the boards of the dock that sit above the Ocean of Dreams.
The dense mist in the air is buffeted by his movements and the only sounds are the tread of boots, the creak of wooden slats and the lap of water.
With each step, the liquid becomes choppier as it reacts to its master's mood and by the time he has reached the end of the dock, the surface of the water roils fervorously, completely in line with Morpheus' dangerous temperament.
The words of Desire's final silken-toned taunt echo in his mind with grating persistence.
"Oh, poor Dream. I really got under your skin this time, didn't I?"
He is loathe to admit there is truth in the question.
There are moments where Morpheus ponders the turn that the relationship between them has taken. How Desire went from being his favourite sibling to someone one shade shy of an adversary. Their faultless adeptness at provoking his temper and manipulating the events that encircle him would be impressive if not for the danger posed to humanity.
The agitated water eventually draws focus to how out of control he and his emotions have become. Morpheus knows he must get them in check, and quickly, for he knows the consequences all too well should he ignore it.
He clenches his fist and swallows it all down, pushing it deep inside his belly until the crackling entropy of the anger is fully dispelled.
Morpheus then sweeps his coat out behind him as he sinks lithely into a crouch. Trepidation nips at his heart and tugs his attention to a sobering thought.
This foray into the water may be fruitless.
You may be long gone and there would be no way of ever knowing you.
His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath; he has run out of excuses to not look, even if he is afraid of the outcome.
Long, delicate fingers dapple the surface of the inky ocean. The waves still at the touch, obedient to him with instancy.
He repositions to full height and reaches into his coat to find the pouch of sand stashed in the pocket. A handful of twinkling grains slip off his palm into the ocean, lighting the water it touches to a luminous green.
"Find my soulmate," Morpheus commands silently.
The intention is set. He steps off the dock into the water.
At first, like every other prior attempt, there is no sign of you. Morpheus floats submerged in the tepid liquid, filtering through the hubbub of countless other dreams and nightmares.
Then there is a pull.
It is faint yet indisputable. Warmth explodes in his chest and he groans inwardly from the delicious sensation of relief.
You are alive, and you are dreaming.
A path of radiance appears in the water, a line that shows your connection, and provides a location for him to hone in on.
Morpheus dives deeper without hesitation.
As he reaches the edge of your subconscious, he rejoices that he got a handle on his emotions. He wouldn't want your first perception of him to be one tinged with rage, however unaware you were of him, with your soulmate being the source.
He hesitates for a moment before entering the dream you are in and is somewhat taken aback by what he finds.
A room comprising of four blank walls, a floor, a ceiling and a door. There is but one other feature; a window, and its view is as non-descript and inoffensive as the internal space.
You stand by said window, head turned from him.
Despite being unable to see your face, he sees your anxiety with immediacy. It is an aura hovering about your body, being sucked into your lungs with every fast-paced breath.
You begin to throw glances towards the door. Morpheus filters through the layers of the dream. No one is scheduled to come across the threshold.
The more he observes, the more questions arise in Morpheus' mind.
What was making you so affected? What were you expecting to happen?
There's nothing in the scene that is intended to be unpleasant yet you are reacting in a way that most observers would characterise as unsettled.
Morpheus, despite not yet knowing you, doesn't like to see you this way. His dominant instinct is to end the dream but he quashes the desire to review the bigger picture.
The empty room dream was symbolic of a beginning.
It clicks into place.
What you were feeling, even if on a purely instinctual level, was the anticipation of meeting your soulmate and starting your new life.
Morpheus steps into the frame, just a couple of paces behind you.
You feel his presence instantly, eyes full to the brim with tears as you whirl around with a soft gasp.
You see him.
The tears spill and patter onto the white floor.
Morpheus reaches out, overcome by his need to provide comfort.
You disappear.
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Morpheus is sat on his throne. He pores over the book he had located in the Dreaming's library a little over a week ago that contains the details of your life. It is something he has taken to doing when the impatience of waiting for you to fall asleep becomes too keen.
Your subconscious has him enraptured, watching it every night as if it is a stage show. Each dream he delves into is like the tug of fingers on a loose thread, your psyche has begun to unravel before him.
Everything from whims to cravings, hopes to fears. Your temperament, the things that delight and irk you. What drives you and demotivates you. He consumes it all with an insatiable hunger.
Based on the projection of yourself that he sees, there is no doubt that he is attracted to you.
All that prior haughty disregard for the Fates' prophecy has been cast aside like a negative thought in a meditation session. Morpheus is a romantic. A believer. He is ashamed to have even doubted your coming.
He wonders if it would vex Desire to learn of him finding his soulmate and by extension, the prospect of companionship, perhaps even physical intimacy or love.
It is all too easy to imagine the sickly sweet grin they would smile at him, shown to be fake by the almost imperceptible contempt glinting in their golden eyes.
Would his triumph drive them to distraction?
It is this smug sentiment that spurs his next decision. He wants more. The next logical step is to find you in the waking world.
He rises from his throne, a sure hand ready to bring forth his pouch of sand when he falters.
Tears pool in his eyes.
His mind is suddenly marred with the memories of what happened in 1916. The agony, mortification and rage that followed. He couldn't go through that kind of treatment ever again and the waking world expanded the risk of it transpiring.
"No," he says resolutely. His sadness turns to resolve, the hard line of his grimace matching those set in his brows.
He will not let the actions of a group of mortals dissuade him from going to you. And besides, he has researched everything he can about you from within the safety of the Dreaming.
He takes a measure of sand and uses it to materialise within your bedroom.
It is obvious from a quick scan of it that deliberate attempts have been made to ensure the space is cosy and calming.
Two marshmallowy pillows support your head. The cotton sheets have been meticulously tucked to avoid drafts. A lavender reed diffuser fragrances the air with a subtle scent. There are no devices or screens visible.
Everything has its place. A coaster supported glass of water within reaching distance. Touch activated lamp in case of emergency. The diary lined up with the back left corner of the bedside table, pen placed parallel in the spine dent. All clothes are in the wardrobe or stashed in the laundry basket.
Morpheus moves to the curtain-shrouded window and delicately moves the dark, heavy fabric to catch a glimpse of the outside world.
The scene is sepia stained from an old streetlight positioned right outside your home. It explained the choice of curtains.
You stir slightly from the change in environment and Morpheus allows the curtain to fall back in place. He remains stationary until your breathing returns to its previous pace. It is imperative that his presence remains undisclosed. He knows that mortals do not take well to home invasion.
Then, your right hand slips out from the duvet cocoon revealing a cushion cut ruby ring on your middle finger.
He smiles exultantly. The similarity between the jewel and his own now-destroyed dreamstone was undeniable.
The Fates were making it transparent.
You were the one.
Morpheus approaches the side of your bed now. In your momentary discomfort, you had moved your head, making your whole face visible to your uninvited guest.
He bends gracefully so his face is closer to yours and observes you with an intent fascination.
Even in the gloom, Morpheus asserts that your features are even more captivating now that he is able to look upon them in person and is certain that if he could guarantee an absence of fear then he would fall to knees and worship you right there.
Fingers stroke a lock of hair splayed across the pillow and his thoughts turn darker still, imagining what he would do with you if he could get you alone in the Dreaming. How he would seduce you with words, and then pleasure your body with his own until you were senseless.
Getting you there would be so easy, all he needed to do was move his hand up and touch your skin and -
Morpheus stops himself, deciding that now is not the time for an introduction. He will wait until tomorrow. You need to rest. It will be quite the revelation for your sweet mortal heart.
Morpheus whispers a promise, "We will be together soon, my precious soulmate."
He leaves after taking one last look at your peaceful form.
When he returns to the Dreaming, Morpheus discovers that the visit has riled him way beyond what he thought possible.
It was supposed to sate his curiosity and answer some questions.
It has done the opposite.
His craving for you is sublimely intense, opiate-like in its ensnarement.
He needs to possess you. To have you all to himself. Everything would fall into place. Loneliness, disillusionment, jealousy; they would never darken his outlook again. You would heal him, he is certain of it.
He paces restlessly in the low light of his private chambers as heat ripples beneath the surface of his being, charging him with pure sexual lust.
He hungers for the moment when you feel the same about him.
For now, all he can do is stand and touch himself while thinking of your face, an act that has been carried out repeatedly in the days since he found you in the Ocean of Dreams.
An erotic idea enters his mind.
Your subconscious is still in the Dreaming; he knows the feeling of it intimately.
Perhaps he could bring you a dream mirroring his own current fantasy.
To give you a taste of what was to come.
A gift that only he could bestow.
The mere thought of it turns him on even more. His back arches and his eyes roll back as he choses the words through which he would deliver the offering.
"Dream of me," Morpheus murmurs breathlessly. "Dream of me."
He repeats the phrase until he is unable to continue, moans taking over the darkened space around him.
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It is dusk the next day when Morpheus returns to the waking world.
The instant he touches down on the Earth's surface, he knows exactly where to go. The metaphysical connection between you is as strong as the energy pulsing through a ley line.
The city he is directed to is thrumming with life but the side street he stands in has been spared from the furore.
It is fortuitous that he is permitted to be unobserved for Morpheus is struggling now with the urge to get closer.
Providence is pulling him in and also locking him out.
He walks up to the door and then an invisible force makes him back away.
He doesn't even try to fight it.
The Fates hold all the cards. Morpheus is beholden to their each and every whim.
It is surprisingly liberating.
He is dancing in the cross hairs. Blinkered by the tie the universe has fashioned for you.
All he has to do is wait.
The door to the building is pushed open.
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Taglist: @herfantasyworldd
"Fate. Up against your will. Through the thick and thin. He will wait until you give yourself to him."
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disease · 1 year
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KATE BUSH // GET OUT OF MY HOUSE [THE DREAMING, 1982]
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daddyjackfrost · 2 years
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darling ; dream x f!reader
sandman masterlist
read my sandman series stay with me here
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The Dreaming, a realm of dreams and nightmares, was the home to many, including Dream of the Endless and his wife, Lady of The Dreaming.
In contrast to her husband, Lady of The Dreaming was a soft and gentle soul. The light to his dark. The dream to his nightmare. While Dream managed everything that occurred in the night, the nightmares and creatures, His Lady managed The Dreaming in the day, the more mundane of dreamers. Those who drifted in and out of their realm; the children, the elderly, and the night owls.
It was a good life. A happy, loving, joyful life. One that Morpheus and his Lady wouldn’t have traded for anything. They were content, and so in love.
Until the King of Dreams and Nightmares was captured. For over a century.
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80 years later…
Lucienne, the head librarian of The Dreaming, paced in front of the crumbling library doors. The library was one of the only places in The Dreaming that remained upright. As the rest of the realm withered away, Lucienne and the Lady tried their best to keep the Library—Morpheus’s favourite place—as intact as they could. All their belief and love was channeled towards the tower filled with books as old as time.
With a hesitant knock, the librarian waited for an invitation.
“Come in, Lucienne.”
Pushing the door open, Lucienne’s eyes landed on the slumped figure of her Ladyship. As she had been doing for years now, the Lady of the Dreaming stared out of the Library’s grand window. She watched her realm, the one she had loved and taken care of for thousands of years, deteriorate into rubble.
Lucienne threaded her fingers together. Not only had she watched her home turn into nothing, she watched her Queen, once lively and the heart of the Dreaming, turn into an empty shell of the God she once was.
“Can I make you some tea, my Ladyship? Perhaps a meal?”
The Lady turned her head and smiled at her old friend. Without Lucienne, the Dreaming would have crumbled completely long ago. She patted the empty space next to her. “Come sit, Lucienne. I could use the company of a friend.”
Lucienne smiled and sat next to her Lady. Together, they both travelled deep within their minds, recalling old memories of their home, when it was once beautiful and filled with imagination.
“I wonder what Morpheus thinks about, trapped in that glass. I have not seen him since Corinthian made Burgess place a shielding spell. Do you think he knows we have not abandoned him?”
Lucienne hesitated. Ever since Jessamy was killed, there had been no news about the King of Dreams. Shifting her eyes to the Lady, Lucienne took in her sullen eyes, her glazed skin, and the slight tremble of her hands.
“Lord Morpheus is smart. That being said, I’m sure he does not know that his absence has resulted in… this.” Lucienne wanted to console her Ladyship, but there was little to offer. “He thinks about you, I’m sure.”
The Lady of The Dreaming clapped her hands and stood, smoothing out her long black dress. “Yes, he must. Let’s make our rounds, Lucienne. Perhaps we shall find something unusual today.”
Together, a librarian and a God in love walked the planes of their home, hand in hand, welcoming the warmth and comfort they offered the other, knowing they had little time left.
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100 years later…
Dark, silver and blue eyes watched as Alex Burgess’s wheelchair wiped away the containment spell that had kept Dream, King of the Dreaming, captive for over a century.
Paul, Alex’s lover, turned back to look at the strange and powerful man. With the slightest nod, he pushed Alex’s wheelchair towards the door. This was the last time either man would come to the basement. They had hoped that this final offering would spare them.
Dream let out the softest of breaths, he could feel the freedom that awaited him. With the slightest stretch of his muscles, Dream stood. The hum around him grew louder, and settled deep within his heart.
With what remaining power he had, Dream broke free from his prison. Putting the guards to sleep, Dream rolled his shoulders. Before he reunited with his love, his wife, he had someone else he needed to take care of.
Alex Burgess had to pay for his crime. And the crimes of his father.
An unfortunate becoming, Dream thought. To pay for a father’s crime.
With a deep breath, Dream travelled to Alex Burgess’s dreams.
“Hello,” Dream spoke slowly. His voice carried through Alex’s mind, wrapping around his subconscious and drowning him.
Alex Burgess's eyes widened into a look Dream had come to familiarize with.
Fear.
“It’s you. You’re… you’re free.”
Dream stood, in all his dark glory. “I am. Do you have any idea what it was like? Confined in a cage for a century?” There was malice in his voice, running deeper than Dream’s thirst for vengeance. “Do you understand the damage you’ve done to your world?”
Alex shook his head, trying to back away from the very entity that had haunted his waking hours for years. “I’m sorry,” the man cried, “I didn’t know. Please.”
Dream stepped closer to the frightened man and leaned down. His eyes glowed and his anger simmered. “Your punishment, then, shall be a gift.” Dream had not missed the wince that came from Alex Burgess. After all, it was his father’s selfish need for a gift that had killed him.
“I give you this, the gift… of eternal… sleep.”
With a blow of sand, Alex Burgess was put to sleep for eternity.
Morpheus, now completely free of human control, thought of home. His realm. His love.
With no time wasted, Dream opened a gateway to The Dreaming. He was going home, back to his sweet lover.
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Dark grains of sand prickled Dream’s face. With power he seemed to lack, Morpheus had gracefully landed in his realm on his side, weak.
“Sir? Sir!”
A familiar, feminine voice called out to Dream, and for just a human second, he imagined it to be his lover. Footsteps ran closer, and Dream tried to open his eyes.
“Oh, my goodness. It’s me.” Lucienne crouched beside her Lord. “It’s Lucienne.”
With a soft gasp, Morpheus opened his eyes. A burst of something warm washed over him, seeing his librarian. His loyal, forever liable librarian.
“Lucienne,” Morpheus said weakly.
Lucienne's lips pulled into a smile, her eyes glazed. “You’re home, my Lord.” She put her hand out.
Reaching for her hand, Morpheus’s eyes twinkled. “I am.”
Pulling her Master up, Lucienne and Morpheus stared at each other. Unspoken words, apologies, and questions hovered in the air between them. But Lucienne just smiles, and Morpheus nodded once.
They both begin the trek back to the palace, and Lucienne watches as her Lord takes in the outskirts of The Dreaming. How dull and unkept it has become.
Once they reached the doors to The Dreaming, Lucienne cleared her throat. “Forgive me, sir, but the realm… the palace… they are not as you left them.”
Morpheus pushed open the large doors. His eyes scanned the view before him. A piece of his heart broke, seeing his creation, his realm, in this state.
With a deeper, emotional undertone, Morpheus asked, “What happened here? Who did this?”
Lucienne threaded her fingers together. Her eyes on the tower, where she knew her Lady was residing.
“My lord, you are The Dreaming, The Dreaming is you. With you gone for as long as you were, everything began to crumble and decay.”
“What of the residents? The palace staff?”
Lucienne did not miss his true intention. What of my Queen? Where is she?
“Gone, sir. Most are gone.”
Morpheus' eyes lit with a dull fire. “Had they so little faith in me? That I would return?”
Lucienne wishes she could have been honest with him. Tell him just how his absence had affected the realm, the residents. She wished she could have reminded him of the Endless that had abandoned their realm. But she held her tongue. Like the loyal servant she was.
“What of my Queen, Lucienne? Where is she?” Morpheus wished he sounded less fearful.
Lucienne hesitated, and then she sighed. “She is here, my Lord.” Stepping next to Dream, Lucienne pointed at the palace tower, the library. “She is there. Waiting for you.”
Without hesitation, Morpheus began walking towards the palace. Once he reunited with his love, held her in his arms, he could think about his realm and the damage he had yet to repair.
Lucienne followed her Lord quickly behind him. As they reached the palace, Lucienne opened her mouth. “Sir… If I may?”
The hesitation in Lucienne’s voice put Morpheus on edge. Turning his head slightly back, he raised his eyebrow at Lucienne. “Speak, Lucienne.”
“In your absence, The Dreaming began to fall apart. The only reason it is still standing, is because her Ladyship has commanded it to. She is powerful, sir, but not as strong as you. For a century she has used power she does not hold, and it has taken a toll on her.”
Lucienne watched as Morpheus' back became rigid, how he flexed his fingers just to clench them.
“Like The Dreaming, I’m afraid she’s dying, my Lord. She’s carrying the weight of The Dreaming, and it was not meant for her.”
Morpheus stopped in front of the Library doors. He stood stiller than Lucienne had ever seen him. Power and anger rolled off him, and Lucienne squeezed her hands together harder. With a tone she had yet to hear, Morpheus spoke.
“Thank you, Lucienne. Leave me to mend the heart and strength of my Queen.”
Lucienne nodded, bowing. “Of course, my Lord.”
Before Lucienne could walk away, in a smaller voice, Dream asked her the one question that had haunted him for a century.
“Does she hate me, Lucienne?”
With no hesitation, Lucienne answered. “No, sir. She loves you just as much as you love her. If not more.”
Morpheus waited until Lucienne’s became a faint whisper. With a newfound fear, he brought his pale, slightly trembling hand to the door and knocked, once.
“Come in, Lucienne.”
Morpheus’s eyes fluttered. With a deep breath, he pushed open the library doors. Morpheus’s eyes landed on his Queen, sitting on a simple seat that looked like a throne. Morpheus’s dark eyes travelled the length of his lover, taking in her weaker body and sullen eyes.
“Darling,” Morpheus whispered.
With speed that had long died, Lady of The Dreaming turned her head to face her husband. Her eyes met his, glazed and remorseful, and she stood.
With parted lips, the Lady whispered, “Morpheus?”
As magnets do, or souls bounded by fate, Morpheus and his lover pulled towards each other. Arms and bodies tangled together, and they both took their first breath. Scents of the other filled their bodies and their hearts beat as one.
Morpheus tightened his arms around his lover, and let out a sigh at the feeling of her hands in his hair. Their bodies fused together as one, unknown to them where one started and the other ended.
His Queen pulled away, just enough to rest her forehead against his. “Am I dreaming, Morpheus? Please say no, I cannot handle it. Are you really here?”
Morpheus’s voice, thick with emotion, came from deep within his body. “I am here, my love. I am here.” At the sound of a quiet, broken sob, Morpheus pressed a kiss to his Queen’s forehead. “Oh, my darling. My love. My Queen. I am here.”
Fragile hands tightened their grip on his robes. Morpheus lifted his hand from his lover’s waist and placed it on her cheek. “You’ll never be alone again, I promise.”
Lady of The Dreaming nodded, believing her King. She could feel his trembling fingers. “It was horrible without you, my love. I…” She lifted her eyes to meet Morpheus’s. His eyes were screaming at her. Tell me everything. Be honest with me. I’m sorry. I love you.
“I am tired.”
Morpheus shut his eyes. When he spoke, his breath tickled her cheeks. “I know, darling. I’m sorry.”
Then, Lady of The Dreaming asked her husband for the thing she had wanted–needed– for over a century.
“Kiss me, Morpheus. Please.”
Knowing he owed her much more, Morpheus brought his lips to hers. Her lips were soft, almost silken, and untouched against his. Morpheus could feel the soft tickle of her breath beneath his nose, fingers carding through his hair and he breathed her in.
Pulling each other closer, the King and Queen of The Dreaming used their bodies to convey all their words, the apologies and confessions that had gone long unsaid.
Their reunion pleased The Dreaming, and as the King and Queen mended their relationship, The Dreaming began to mend itself.
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daddyjackfrost © 2022 | all content belongs to me, do not modify
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Matthew dragging a moping Dream to his date with Hob
or: Matthew is sick of the pining
reference is this
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hellfirelady · 2 years
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dream when lucienne kicks his ass out of the palace because he spends too much time inside:
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magical-ely · 1 month
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Finally had time to draw again after my exams so... here you go, have a dream ^^
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aerial-tal · 1 year
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Kate Bush in her Red Shoes - The Line, the Cross and the Curve, 1993.
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