#early morning sandman musings

[orionsangel86]

Its morning now and I have not stopped thinking about those leaked pics all night. I had some weird hyperfocused dream about Dream in that robe not that I could tell you anything else about it...

Still a bit confused about why both Dream and Orpheus appear to be wearing long sleeves and long leggings under the robes though. Did the greeks wear leggings? 🤔

Not sure whats going on there. Its fine on Dream cos he's a spooky eldritch being that can magic his clothes on, but for Orpheus I would have expected something a bit more... Greek? Idk.

Also the mystery of the ruby... could it be on his shoulder? I think the robes are pinned at the shoulder and it would make sense to put the ruby there, but we shall see!

[zzoomacroom]

Fic: The Seeds Are Bursting, The Springs Are Seeping

Dreamling, Smut, One Shot, 2832 Words

Tagging @fleabagoftheendless and @mallory-x because y'all expressed interest with the WIP ask game. Also, credit where credit is due--this was partly inspired by several different asks sent to @gabessquishytum (some of which may or may not have been from me 🤫).

Tags and summary below the cut (very NSFW!):

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022), The Sandman (Comics)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling

Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling

Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, One Shot, Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Domestic Fluff, Dream Sex, Wet Dream, Oral Sex, Blow Jobs, Sex Toys, Butt Plugs, Vibrators, Dildos, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Retired Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus Has a Vulva, Hob Gadling is Good at Cunnilingus, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus Loves Hob Gadling, Hob Gadling Loves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Musings on Morphussy, Masturbation, Vaginal Sex, Top Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Bottom Hob Gadling, Top Hob Gadling, Bottom Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Married Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling, Lazy Morning Sex, Not Beta Read

Summary:

They are both breathing heavily, foreheads pressed together, and Hob grasps Morpheus’ backside with his free hand and pulls him closer still. Morpheus reaches between them and wraps his hand around Hob’s thick, throbbing cock, stroking vigorously until Hob cries out and spills over Morpheus’ hand and onto his own stomach. His hole twitches and clenches around Morpheus, who soon reaches his own peak and floods his lover’s insides with his seed just as—

—Morpheus, formerly Dream of the Endless, awakes with a gasp. He blinks, bleary-eyed, as he finds his bearings. He is in bed beside Hob, who is still fast asleep, in their flat above the New Inn. It is early yet—6:23 AM, according to the clock on the bedside table. The morning is quiet and still; the only sounds he can hear are the gentle tapping of the rain on the windows and the steady rhythm of his husband’s breathing. He is cozy beneath the covers, their shared body heat making it perfectly toasty. It is peaceful. He is content.

Except for the fact that he just woke up in the midst of an intense orgasm and he is still unbearably aroused.

(AKA the Retired Morphussy fic, in which Retired!Dream has a wet dream and he and Hob have lazy, weekend morning sex)

Continue reading on ao3:

[theriverspath]

Unforgiven: A Good Omens Teenage Human AU. Ch 1: Don't Say A Word

Rated Teen. Adult language, underage smoking, bullying

Summary of Entire Work

So, what if the characters of Good Omens were American teenagers in the early 1990's? And Crowley was a headbanger? And closeted trans? And she and Aziraphale secretly repair their long-broken friendship? And that friendship evolves into something deeper? And Lucifer is Crowley's older brother while the Metatron is Aziraphale's?

Chapter Preview

"I brought the Walkman. You got the tape?" Bee produced a small tape player from her jacket. She unplugged the headphone wire and dropped it back into the pocket. Crowley reached into her bag, being careful to not let any of the three of them see her hands shake. Ligur’s comment had gotten to her more than she liked. If she let him know that, though, the teasing would only get worse. So, with hands steadied by sheer force of will, she pulled out a cassette. At first glance, the paper cover under the plastic case appeared to be completely black. But as she flipped it open, the subtle embossed image of a coiled snake caught the morning light. Bee pressed a button on the Walkman to open the clear door and held out her hand. Crowley slid the tape out of the case and handed it over.

“You haven’t listened to it yet?” Hastur asked over the clacking sounds of Bee loading the tape and shutting the door. Crowley rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“I swiped it from Luci’s car this morning. I haven’t had time to.” Hastur nodded his approval. The album had been out for months, but none of them had been able to get their hands on a copy of it. Bee's dad had managed to steal their neighbor's cable, though. So, they’d all spent way too many hours parked in front of her television just waiting for MTv to play the singles' videos. And when Crowley heard the album blaring from Luci’s Camaro yesterday, she knew that she’d be able to grab it before school. Her older brother was never awake before she left in the morning, and he never locked his car doors. It had been as easy as breathing to take the tape. The only difficult thing had been finding it. Luci’s glove compartment was overflowing with metal albums. As Crowley had dug through the plastic rectangles featuring images of flames and demons, she mused that when she got her own car she’d only keep Metallica in her glove compartment.

Bee hit play on the Walkman. A dark, repetitive guitar sounded out, quickly followed by driving drums. The sound was thin and tinny from the portable stereo’s little speaker. And, they had to keep it quiet so that the teacher didn’t discover them back here. But, the opening riff was still powerful enough to keep Hastur nodding his head. Ligur soon followed, then like falling dominos, Crowley and Bee were also gently headbanging to the beat of “Enter Sandman.”

-----------------

Tron didn’t bother to wish Aziraphale a good day when he hopped out of the truck. Aziraphale counted himself lucky that his brother had even agreed to drive him to school this year. But, he knew it was only because his mother had ordered it as a condition for buying him the F-150. It most certainly was not because of some sort of familial affection. Tron was class president, debate team leader, and on track for law school after graduation. His dreams culminated at the White House. He did not have time to hang around with a younger brother who always seemed to have his nose buried in some ridiculous paperback novel.

Aziraphale sighed and returned his copy of Courting Catherine to his bag before opening the passenger door. He grabbed the backpack and his trumpet case. He needed to drop off his instrument in the band hall's cubby room before first period, so he set off across the parking lot. Tron had parked in the very far corner, where he and his friends usually gathered before class. That meant that Aziraphale had a clear view of the band hall’s back wall as he made his way onto campus. He didn’t pay much attention to the little group clumped up out of sight of the courtyard. That is, until his eyes caught a flash of red.

Crowley. Aziraphale's breath hitched in his chest, and his feet stopped. Crowley had changed so much since they had last talked. Gone were the mop of floppy curls and easy smile. Instead, dark glasses hid a guarded expression. A long fall of fiery waves contrasted with the faded black jacket and gray scarf he wore against the cold. Aziraphale had watched the transformation from a distance over the past few years, and it had caused a dull ache to bloom in his chest whenever he thought about it.

Aziraphale was caught by a sudden urge to walk over to his old friend. His feet started to move again, making a crunching sound on some loose gravel near the edge of the parking lot. Crowley must have heard because his head stopped nodding, and he slipped his hair behind his ear to be able to see in Aziraphale's direction.

Aziraphale didn't realize he'd waved until his hand was already in the air. His breath started again with a quick intake, and he felt a smile on his face. For a second he thought his silent greeting might be returned. But he must have been mistaken. If he had really seen a look of pleased surprise, it quickly disappeared. He couldn't make out Crowley's eyes behind the glasses, but the meaning of the small shake of Crowley's head was clear. Aziraphale shouldn't say anything like a hello. He shouldn’t join the group behind the band hall. He was not welcome there.

[freak1ish]

#Freak1ish— rp blog for a fandomless OC Lupin Delmont, void kitsune, demon fox. His main default verse ties in with most fandoms and will be the verse I will use primarily. My other verses include The Sandman./ DC comics Supernatural, Stranger things, Buffy the vampire slayer, Grisha verse, Dragon age, Marvel, True blood. You can find these on Lupin's pages AU and crossover friendly. Rated 18+. Lupin’s real face/ face claim is Timothee Chalamet but because of his facial disfigurement/ scarring he chooses to wear his older face at all times specifically his main verse. His older faces face claim is Tom Ellis. NSFW CONTENT THROUGHOUT. Such as violence, and gore as well as horror related themes. Written by Coyote ( 30+) United Kingdom. This blog is medium activity. PLEASE NOTE I am going to be on a works programme from Wednesday for the next nine weeks which will involve me getting up early every morning until the 10th September so my activity may be affected during this time.

I have decided to make Caleb a secondary muse/ side muse for the moment but feel free to send him memes.

A study in learning to love oneself,  surviving trauma, being dark and sarcastic, striking fear in the hearts of the many, corruption, survival, and trying to learn how to love.

LUPIN DOC / LUPIN VERSES / LUPIN SOUNDTRACK / CALEB DOC. / CALEB SOUNDTRACK / ASK PROMPTS / OPEN STARTERS

[moorishflower]

i think that it is very easy for me to get bogged down in how i wish i was smarter

or, perhaps, that i wish i was more LEARNED

and the things that i want to write are the things that i find joy in reading, i want to write a story about stories, i want to be able to write these dense intertextual beautiful things like @wordsinhaled's incredible mythology piece, i want to be able to write soft things rife with meaning, i want to ruminate on the translations of ἄνδρα μοι ἔννεπε, μοῦσα, πολύτροπον, ὃς μάλα πολλὰ. but then there's always the pitfall, that i sometimes go back through my own work and it never seems to have gone where i intended it to go. the writing goes where it will. i came to terms with that a while ago, that i'm not the sort of person who can have an outline or even, sometimes, much more than a vague feeling about what i would like to put down. my brain is liquid light, if i try to grasp too hard at it it scatters into refractions that are beautiful but meaningless.

and then there are days when i go back through something i've written and i read it again and again and every time it's like it's been written by a new person. sometimes i read my own writing and i'm so pleased i could cry, i find the things that i didn't even realize i was writing about, the connections and the intertextual meanings, but i wrote them with no awareness of them. does it count as being learned if you pull it from your subconscious? is it intertextual if you only realize the text you were referencing after the fact?

anyways it's early morning and the sun is up and there are mourning doves on my balcony. i haven't written for eight years. eight years.

on september 1st i was catapulted back to the early 2000s, i was young and stupid and sad and i read The Dream Hunters for the first time, i was already familiar with Yoshitaka Amano but Neil Gaiman was new to me, and up until then i had read high fantasy almost exclusively, eddings and salvatore and hobb, and it had never occurred to me that you could write like he did. that you could take the unfamiliar and make it familiar, not by explaining it or giving it complicated lore or a story full of adventure and action, but by filling it with love. to love something is to know it. on september 1st i watched the first episode of The Sandman and i remembered what it feels like to love writing. it's been eight years.

sing in me, o muse! tell me a story, not about a complicated man, but about my complicated heart!

[moonmaiden1996]

Claiming his Queen

Taking a break from the real world and wanted to write a random idea I needed to get out after watching the Sandman. I loved the book but the casting was amazing. I am literally dying with how good it is. REQUESTS OPEM

Soulmate Fic

Summary- You spent your summers at the Burgess Manor with your parents, but stumbling upon captive in the basement is going to change your life forever.

Slightly dark fic- Warnings include imprisonment, possessive thoughts, pain and soul branding. 

You remember playing at the Burgess Manor as a child. The gardens were stunning, a sea of green against the glimpses of colour. You spent many days happily frolicking outside as your parents attended the meeting within the house. Many staff had whispered about the devil trapped in the basement behind the Grand Magus's powerful spells. Some said the Grand Magus himself had discovered the secret to eternal life and hid it behind the door. One staff member even said it was a vampire who would creep upstairs in the dead of night and steal away his victims.

There was a sort of glee at taring around the ancient house, discovering secrets, chasing the ghosts and battling monsters. As you grew older, the monster did not lose their appeal; it was more that you had discovered everything that could be discovered, apart from the mystery of what was in the basement. In the long summer breaks away from school, you spent great lengths observing the guards disappearing and not reappearing till they changed in the early morning. Was it the demon? Buried treasure? Or something more?

The summer humidity clung to your brow as you absentmindedly perused one of the many books in the library. The ruckus from the party had long ago distracted you from reading. Your parents were regular attendees of the Burgess coven meeting; as a child, the cloaks and candles held some romantic notion, but as you grew older, you saw what it was, a chance for bored people to play dress-up and dance around naked.

'You should get to bed.' The soft voice of Paul pulled you from your musings.

'Come on, Uncle Paul, it's early.' You smiled, sliding the book off your lap as you stood.

'Hmmm, well, I won't tell if you won't; there is some chocolate in the study; I think I can trust you not to get caught.' Paul wagged his finger.

With a new sense of glee, you abandoned your attempts to read, slipping into the library unseen, eyeing the bright pink box lined with cherry cordials. Yet it wasn't the chocolates that distracted you; it was the guards. Normally they never emerged outside their shift hours, but the hot night drove them above stairs. Quietly, munching on your chocolate, you watched as the squat men shuffled away.

Biting your lip, you suckled the smears of dark chocolate off your fingers as you hurried along the hallway. Carefully, you pried the door open, willing the squeak away. The staircase of crumbling stone was dimly lit, and the smell of mould and dust loitered in the air, tugging at your nose. Crouching down on the steps, you surveyed the open recess of the room. A frown tugged at the corners of your lips. It was empty save for an out-of-place Ikea desk next to one of the walls. Then something under the white neon lights caught your attention. Moving down the stairs, your eyes adjusted to the almost blinding light. No wonder the guards sort to escape the intense heat given off by the strips of bulbs that hung above you.

Your eyes flickered back to the strange glass ornament in the middle of the floor. For a moment, you thought your eyes were playing tricks. In the centre of the orb sat a naked man, skin almost translucent in the light. Only his ebony black hair seemed to show that he was there. Moving forward, you could not help but let out a horrified gasp. The man was almost painfully thin and painfully naked; you thanked all the gods that he was crossed-legged.

'Hello? Are you ok……' your voice stuck in your throat as the man's head snapped up to meet her gaze, his steely silver eyes piercing through you, drawing you in like a magnet.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Even behind the thick glass of his prison, Morpheus felt a sharp sting pierce his soul. His eyes greedily watched as a shiver ran through her body as the invisible thread between them bound them.

A fire had been lit inside him, and hunger he had never felt before clawed up from within him. His gaze had her transfixed; their connection fizzled, desperate to touch. Morpheus always believed that love always ended in pain. Experience had given him definitive proof; Nada, Goodrich, Eric, and Susana all ended in betrayal or anguish. It was messy. Humans were proof. Their love was not real, a fleeting respite from the loneliness, a belief they clung to. Real love was rare. Soulmates were extraordinary magic that the creator bestowed onto humanity at the beginning. It was the only pure magic left in the world. It was strange magic that none of the endless cared to fathom. Why would they? Soulmates were gifts to humans, not the endless, yet there she was—his soulmate.

His silver eyes watched as she moved hypnotised across the short distance. Even through the thick glass, the hum was violent, deafening, and maddening. Lifting his hand, he placed it over the glass beckoning to her.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Your body felt free, impossible light as it surged forward towards the man. You weren't sure he was real; he was pale and perfect like he had been chiselled out of a piece of alabaster marble. A painful jolt passed through your open palm every step, yet it spurred your movement until your hands met, the glass separating them. It was almost too hot to hold your hand in place, but your body refused to flinch.

His eyes burnt into yours, engraving themselves onto the back of your mind. The swirling silver spheres were the last thing you saw before your body crumpled to the ground.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The soft mumble of voices was what broke through your unconsciousness, and for a few seconds, your body felt light and free before the heaviness sunk into your bones. The searing pain surged across your left palm and arm until it finally rested in your heart.

'What happened?' Your voice was weak and raspy.

'You were electrocuted, sweetie; you were told never to go down into the basement.' Your mother whispered. 'The burn… is only small. Not worry.’ Her voice cracked a little as her gaze rested on the tightly bandaged hand.

'I….The glass. There was a man.' Your voice sounded so strange to you, so rough and weak.

'There was no man, sweetie. You touched one of the exposed cables; we are lucky Alex found you.’ T

'But there was a man…I…’ you tried.

‘Shhhhh sweetie, we will be home soon. Rest. ’ Your eyes felt too heavy to fight against the command, but they stayed open just long enough to see the look of guilt past your parent's faces and the worry that set deeply in Alex Burgess’s eyes.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After that, you saw your parents less and less. They never did return to the Burgess Manor, and neither did you. All mention of the man in the sphere was forbidden. You had skin graft after skin graft, but nothing could cover the red mark on your hand. A reminder of the man in the sphere. As if you could ever forget. He scared you, the silent creature. In her mind, he was always watching, never speaking, but his eyes seemed to devour you, drawing you in. You wonder if that is how sharks get their prey. They wait for a careless swimmer, too mesmerised by the eyes to notice the teeth before it is too late. You wonder if he has cursed you. Then you wonder if it is too late to save yourself. But you know, it's too late anyway.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The travel back to the Burgess estate passed quickly. It was almost a relief to see the ominous grey house standing proudly against the green lawns. It was hard to believe ten years had passed already; everything still looked the same, apart from Paul. He stooped a little more now, and his hair, you think, is much greyer than you remember.

'I’m glad to see you again, but you have come at a rather bad time; Alex has had one of his nasty turns.' Paul started.

'I didn't want to see him. I want to see you.’

There was a flash of understanding over his face as he took your arm, leading you away from the house, across the lawn and into the maze that hung off the side of the house, not stopping till only the top of the manor could be seen.

'It's about the man in the basement…’ you began.

'Dear child…’ Paul sighed, interrupting you, but you remained strong in your goal.

'I am not a child anymore. You can't explain it or ignore my questions anymore. I know what I saw…what gave me this.’ You rolled up your sleeve to reveal the angry raised burn that decorated your hand. ‘You can't keep him chained down there anymore.'

'I know…I know… but I can't. Alex… is delicate; you don’t know the power of that thing' he sighed, sitting on the little bench he had walked you to.

'I know exactly. This mark is proof of that. I dream of him; he haunts me. No matter what I do, I still feel that burn through my veins. I cannot get rid of it. …It…it hurts. And I can’t… won't bare it anymore.’ Your bite out the last part as you look down at the man you once tenderly regarded as an Uncle.

He gazed up at you with weary eyes. Only now did you see how old he looked, the worry lines that wreaked his beautifully dark skin.

'You know, in the beginning, I feared him getting out, but now, after all this time, is there anything that he could have done worse than all this?' Paul shook his head as they watched the birds glide across the sky. ‘We should have done more for you, helped you somehow, but Alex was so scared….’

‘What's done  is done; just please help me  now.’

Paul said nothing, but you saw the slight nod of his head.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

'You know she came by the house today. You remember her, don't you? She has grown into a rather pretty young woman. You can have her; all you need to do is promise.' Alex Burgess was an older man now, made feeble by time and despair.

Often, the man would talk to Morpheus about the future Queen of the Dreaming, forcing pictures of her in front of him like a cruel taunt. Endless questions about the mark, Morpheus’s mark on her skin. Promising to give him her name, not that it mattered, she was HIS Queen, or she would be soon.

The more time passed, the more arrogant his pleas became. The mere fact that he thought he had permission to speak of her insulted Morpheus; the pathetic man thought he could use his future Queen as a bargaining chip. It was an offence the human could ill afford. The King of Dreaming would bide his time and have his revenge on the Burgess before he claimed his future bride and Queen.

 Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

News of Alex Burgess's sleeping sickness came not long after you visited the manor, and the world seemed to fall into some sort of madness. Mass murders, strange weather, people who had been asleep for decades suddenly waking up.

You nibbled your bottom lip. Maybe asking Paul to release his captive was a selfish thing to do. People had died, and for what? That feeling clawing up from within you was still there. Your tanned palm was unchanged; the burn remains like a brand of ownership. It seemed you were still damned, and now the world was in utter chaos. With silent tears rolling down your face, you laid back against the mountain of the pillow and willed yourself away to the only place you found peace, your dream.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

You still dreamt of the silver-eyed man, but the fever and pain seizing your soul were gone. This dream was one of your favourites. It was comfortable and snug. Where nothing mattered because nothing happened, it was just you and your dream. Till you heard the voice. Dreams were always silent, or at least that was how you remembered them. But the low, velvety voice was clear, invading the silence. So deep and rich, it had to be a dream.

It floated around you till it you. Faceless arms stretched around your waist, pulling you against a hard body. Lips ghosted across the nape of your neck and drifted across the plains of your shoulder, working their way back toward your throat.

'My Queen.' The thick voice growled.

The lips were small but soft, worshipping a spot at the base of your neck. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the familiar mop of black hair that haunted your dreams. A wanton moan escaped your lips as your eyes fluttered shut, knees weak as their teeth scrapped just in the right place.

'Soon, my love, soon. After I complete my unfinished business, I will come for you.'

You woke with a start, a desperate wetness gathering between your plush thighs, the voice echoing across your mind sending shivers of desire across your body as you remembered the gruff voice. You had dreamed about his lips, face and boy before, but never had he spoken.

Wearily, you ran your hand over your neck, freezing as you stared down in disbelief at the angry purple hickey that stained your skin.

Anyone for a smut-heavy part two?

[oldiesandmusic]

Mr. Sandman

Mr. Sandman, give me a dream, make her the cutest that I’ve ever seen. make her be the reason for my early nights, late mornings, and drenched eyes

something for me to hold onto on stormy nights,  and the muse to my curses on sunny daylights.

for I am but a fool who knows only how to get by,  with lonely life, awake or asleep -  no dreams to lift me high, no nightmares to make me cry.

so Mr. Sandman, give me my dream, make her everything you want her to be just hand her to me, once, twice, and thrice  so while my day cups are empty, at least it’s brimful at night. 

[bluewatersfairy]

painted bodies 

little disclaimer: i no longer write or support p*, but this has been sitting in my drafts for two months and it’s nameless.  this can be for whoever you want it to be.

a/n: a nameless (austin) piece done in the spur of the moment 

synopsis: a painter and his muse.

warnings: none

word count: circa 910

•••

the distant tick of her wall clock was the only sound to fill the empty silence he’d been laying in for hours. to his left laid his world.  her body wrapped and fitted around her duvet, her painted skin catching the silver moonlight each time she moved.

sleep had consumed her hours ago.  his hand in her hair and his deep voice singing aimlessly made her eyelids droopy.  she’d surrendered to the heavy feeling only after she whispered his name, telling him she loved him.  

sleep had yet to find him.  it seemed the sandman had not sensed his presence in an apartment that he was a stranger to.  did golden sand circle his bedroom across town, he wondered.  was there a dream out there lost to him?

it wasn’t that he didn’t want to sleep, it was more that his mind was alive with queries about the night they had shared.  he’d come over with the intent to paint, his easel and canvas still standing to the side waiting to be dressed.  the thought was lost the moment he stepped into her room.  a confession of love, of admiration brought them together in the holiest of ways.

she was heaven-sent.  he’d known it from the minute he’d laid eyes on her but now he knew it more than ever.  he counted her in his blessing each night, thanking the forces of the universe for bringing her to him when he needed her the most.  it wasn’t such a bad thing to have an angel as a distraction from your life's passion.

his decision to slip out of bed came after an hours-long debate that took place in his head.  the warmth and loose extension in his shoulders was a feeling he knew he had to exploit.  the moonlight that lit her room through half-closed curtains encouraged him.  he could see enough, even if it was only a little. 

quietly, he fetched what he needed from the bag he’d brought with him and perched himself at his easel.  from there, he could see her perfectly in her bed.  the plants that stood behind her brought his ideas to life.

he got lost in the thought of her as he placed and manipulated various colours until she was recreated on his canvas.  one would never know but he could see it.  the colours of her soul were easy to replicate as was her smile and the natural shape of her hips.  

he compared her to aphrodite.  she was his ideal beauty, a golden goddess who spoke like an angel and guided him in the right direction.  his safety, his home, his love, his muse.  the realist to his dreamer.  her rightful place was on a lotus throne and he wished he could gift her one.

the concept of time was long forgotten when the first signs of morning life crept in through the windows.  the wooden floors became amber under the early sun’s kisses.  the beginning of the morning rush and birds chirping pulled him out of his far away world.  

his phone told him it was just past six, meaning he’d been painting for close to three hours.  he added one last touch before he stepped back, his eyes scanning over the masterpiece he’d created. he felt content.

she woke up some time later to an empty room.  his scent lingered but her heart hurt at the thought that he had left her alone.  her head hit the pillow again, her hands covering her face from the bright lights of the day.  

the thought of him made her smile like a snowman.  an old soul in a 22 year-old painter's body.  her dreamer, her light, her love, her warmth.  never had she thought she could love someone the way she loved him.  in the words of a wise fellow, some people are worth melting for.

“you’re awake.”

he smiled from the doorframe, two coffee mugs in hand.  she smiled with a nod of her head.

“only just.”

only as he moved to sit on the bed beside her did she take notice of the art that covered what had once been a blank canvas.  she gasped at the sight of it, her hand reaching for the parts of her that were obvious.  the most prominent one being the matching flower tattoo that covered most of her left thigh.  

“what do you think?”

his hesitant and unsure feelings were demolished when she grinned at him.  her eyes lined with tears.  

“i think the way you see the world is beautiful.  and i’m so honoured to be a part of it.”

he bowed his head to her and she copied his actions.  what went unspoken was no mystery.  whispers of ‘i love you’ danced through the air accompanied by chimes and taps of the promise of forever.

she brought him back to bed with no more than a promise of a cuddle.  he was asleep on her chest in no time. while he lightly snored, she pondered over his painting.  he captured her in a way she could never see herself.  did she do the same for him?

with their painted bodies tangled in one another, a peaceful slumber floated over them like a rain cloud hiding the sun.  they’d be brought back to full health by the time they were to awaken.  but for the time being, the golden dreams that had been lost all night had found their rightful owner.  

[omenthenarrator]

CHARACTER FILES:

Subject 1: Felix Griffin

Age: 19

Gender: Male

Occupation: College Student; Freshmen

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Brooksview became a ghost town once the sun set. Lights winked out of existence and shops closed up. The streets became abandoned as the darkness of the night settled like a heavy fog. The town itself seemed to cease breathing, waiting with baited breath for the morning to come.

And so it would remain every night until the dreamy morning light spilled like liquid gold across the ebony sky. Those puddles of light danced gracefully, painting the darkness with watered down colors. Life slowly returned, the town heaving out a sigh as the townsfolk stumbled out of their tiny, tidy homes.

Of those residents, one young man would stumble through the busy days with heavy, hunched shoulders. Weary and ragged, he would spend the daylight hours hiding in the shadows and dark corners to avoid any sort of direct contact.

Felix Griffin was not like the other residents. He was impartial to the days filled with chattering voices and bustling bodies. He disliked the harsh sun that glared down at the world with what he described to be a savage resentment. Nor did he appreciate the cheery greetings from passersby that led to his clumsy attempts to speak around his lead tongue.

Some might assume that since he so disliked the lively pleasures of the day time, he must enjoy the haunted hours of the night. However, this assumption would be incorrect, for it was quite the opposite.

No, while the days filled him with slight annoyance, the nights filled him from top to bottom with pure dread. The empty void of true darkness, the shadows hidden within darker shadows, the footsteps that, right as he turned to contront his stalker, would vanish without a trace. The things that hid in the ruthless night would send his heart racing. Try as he might, he couldn't reign in his mind as it conjured up thousands of deadly scenarios.

With this information, one might assume he was just being irrational. How could someone hate both the day and the night? Those two things, when added together, would build up the entirety of his life!

Well, in truth, there was a time of day -two in fact- that also made up a portion of his life. This was the time where he thrived, building his own little world around himself and Brooksview.

The time he liked to call the in betweens.

Felix Griffin was a peculiar young man who enjoyed the quiet, waking moments just before the sun rose and the somber, dying breath just after the sun set.

One, he mused, was the time that left early birds shifting in their bedsheets. The other, however, were the last safe moments before children dove beneath bedcovers, hiding their faces for safety.

He was aware of the superstitions behind both times. Spirits were given access to the physical realm, demons lurked within shadows with plans to steal stray wanderers' souls, and madmen with murderous intent were sent into a blood thirsty craze.

However, Felix was not a man of fanciful thoughts or superstitious beliefs. He scoffed when ghost stories were told and rolled his eyes at tall tales invented by mothers to keep rowdy children in line.

Thirteen year old him decided he was too old to believe in such nonsense and nineteen year old him couldn't agree more.

He had more important things to focus on, such as his studies. There was no time fir campfire stories about monsters who lurked under children's beds.

Perhaps that would explain why he liked the in betweens so much. If he lived a majority of his waking moments during the times were people were warned to stay in and rest, it proved that his defiance to folklore was justified.

Those hours of dusk and dawn were his alone, and he was the king over the monochrome shadows and sepia skies.

But things were beginning to emerge from the shadows. Not seen or heard yet, simply lurking... Learning.

Felix Griffin didn't know it yet, but soon his quiet safety in the in betweens would be destroyed. He would be thrown into a world filled with the very things who's existence he'd rejected for so long.

The longest night of his life was fast approaching and there was little Felix Griffin could do to stop it.

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[vuulpecula]

@deficd​ inquired: 😴from mulder because why not 

send 😴 to wake up my muse, who dozed off too early ( or send 😪 for the reverse ) | accepting

      Mr. Sandman, I’m so alone, don’t have nobody to call my own. Please turn on your magic beam, Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream. Wafting from one of the camp counsellors cabins, the music floated on a summer breeze. Eerily echoing throughout the deserted spread of old cabins. Most of the others were off spending the incredibly hot day in the water or hiking in the forest, taking part in one of the many outdoor activities offered. One-half of the troublesome foxes, however, had been sent back to their cabin early. Her skin having had burned bright red before the morning had dripped lazily into the afternoon. This she got into trouble for whereas one of the wack camp counsellors who’d been caught chain-smoking got off with a slap on the wrist. She didn’t like the way he smirked at her or Fox as they made plans to meet secretly in a few hours. After lunch when everyone was too distracted with whatever they filled their time with. 

      Her lunch of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich sat heavily in her stomach while she waited for Fox to meet her. A half an hour since they said goodbye, he promised, but it was taking forever. She was growing drowsier by the minute, aided only by lunch and the swollenness of her burn. I did put on sunscreen, I promise I did! What did it matter if she rested her cheek on her arm and closed her eyes for just a little while? Fox would be there soon with his wild stories and self-assured smile. Resting her eyes, that’s all it was until it wasn’t. She drifted off easily, lulled by the strange, distant music. It filled her dreams with a sensation of being weightless, floating through the dry heat on a phantom beam of light. Up and up and up until the clouds parted to let her through. They seemed to whisper her name as she passed them, reaching out tendrils of white smoke toward her. One poked into her shoulder and she awoke to a sear of sharp pain. It was not a cloud that had sent her plummeting back to consciousness, but the index finger of Fox Mulder. 

      Peeling her cheek from her skin, Fox assessed him warily. Her eyes felt sandy, the flesh around them swollen. “I thought you were only supposed to be a half-hour,” she yawned. In all honestly, she had no idea how much time had passed. Judging the location of the sun she could’ve been correct. “Fox, you don’t -- You don’t look so good, are you alright?” 

[thenightling]

My top thirteen favorite individual Sandman issues (Opinion)

Keep reading below...

Warning: Contains some spoilers.

13.  The Sandman Special 1: Song of Orpheus.

The Song of Orpheus is a backstory revealing Morpheus’ falling out with his son Orpheus and the slight revisions Neil Gaiman made to the classic Greek myth of Orpheus visiting The Underworld to try to retrieve his wife.  

In The Sandman, Morpheus is Orpheus’ estranged father.  I love the character of Morpheus but I’ll put it bluntly right here and now.  He used to be an asshole.  He may have even been easy to brand as a villain during his backstory.   

Much of The Sandman is Morpheus’s redemption, setting right the terrible wrongs of his past.   And in Brief lives he is forced to face the sins of his past in regard to how he treated his son.  But here is where we get that tragic backstory and a raw, cold taste of what a jerk Morpheus used to be as a contrast to how much he grows later.     

12.   Sound of her Wings  (The Sandman issue 8)

The Sound of Her wings is the issue of The Sandman that introduces us to Death of The Endless, Dream’s older sister (though she looks younger).  Today she is the official living embodiment of Death for all of DC comics.    Though I have to confess the main reason I like this one is how adorkable Morpheus is when he’s feeding birds.   And that happy expression on his face at the end of the issue. You don’t see that too often with him.   

11.  Calliope (The Sandman Issue 17)  

Just as Song of Orpheus shows us the assholary of Morpheus’ past, Calliope shows us just how much he has changed.   The story is brutal and difficult to read but you also get to see Morpheus as an avenging angel figure, saving his ex-wife from an abusive master who sees her as something less than human.

Poor Calliope was captured and enslaved by mortals who have abused her in the most sadistic and insidious ways.  It’s not just a man abusing a woman (that’s bad enough) but you also see a dehumanization.  The writer currently exploiting and abusing poor Calliope has thought processes along the lines of “It would be wrong if she was a real woman.” 

The fact that she is a muse- a supernatural entity- causes him to treat her as something less than a human being. This is actually a recurrence in The Sandman as we also saw how inhumanely Morpheus’ own captors treated him. 

What happens to Calliope is a chilling display of the inhumanity that could also be an allegory for casual misogyny and to a certain extent, even racism.   The cruelty is such that it’s hard to feel sympathy when Morpheus unleashes his anger on Calliope’s abuser.         

This is also the first time we almost see Morpheus apologize to someone for his previous behavior but he doesn’t actually start doing that until The Season of Mists.

10.   Soft Places   (The Sandman Issue 39)   

Soft Places is a story that can be read at nearly any point in The Sandman.  What I like most about this issue is if you pay careful attention you realize that when Morpheus makes his appearance in this story he is actually between issues 1 and 2 of The Sandman.  He was on his way back to the castle, weakened from his long captivity.  And Marco Polo (lost in time and space) shows him pity and compassion and offers him his water.  For this reason Morpheus helps him to get back home.  

Morpheus sacrifices the last of his own strength to do this, leaving himself at the indefinite mercy of The Soft Place.   Thankfully Gregory (the rather dog-like Gargoyle) finds him and takes him home to his master, Cain at The House of Mystery.

Not only did this give a satisfying story between the first two issues but also teased an what was yet to come and what was happening “Off camera” after the events of A Game of you.   

9.   The Wake: Epilogue: Sunday Morning (The Sandman issue 73) 

I always liked Hob Gadling (Morpheus’ immortal / formerly human) friend.   Here we get a brief story about Robert  “Hob” Gadling.  He also tells about a dream he had and he is given the chance to die but (as always) chooses against it.

Hob’s indefinite life may have actually secured Morpheus’ own posthumous existence as a Dream Entity.   The dream Hob had in this story was of Morpheus (after his death) and Destruction of The Endless.   Here’s the thing though.  At the time Hob had this dream Destruction really was visiting The Dreaming.  And Hob had no idea what connection Destruction had with his deceased friend.  He only knew Destruction as a street artist he had seen once. 

The implication I get here is that Daniel brought Morpheus back as a dream entity.  And with someone like Hob there to potentially dream of him eternally that secures Morpheus’ post-humous existance and freedom from having to be Dream of The Endless for all eternity.   This is how I choose to interpret it.   Call me a dreamer. ;-) 

The artwork is also gorgeous in all of The Wake.  

8.    Midsummer Night’s Dream (The Sandman issue 19)

A Midsummer Night’s Dream happens to be my favorite Shakespearean play so this was a real treat.   We got a fun story and a dark yet also delightfully wicked version of Robin Goodfellow (Puck).  And we got a loving nod to Shakespearean history.  

Morpheus has Shakspeare perform the A Midsummer Night’s Dream play for the real faery court.  And all sort of things happen as well.

If you pay attention you notice Titania tempts Shakespeare’s little son. She also lures him to eat faery fruit.  And anyone who knows faery lore knows what that mean.  She has laid claim to the boy.   He will become a faery and belong to her. And that is a nice, bitter-sweet way of addressing the loss of Shakespeare’s little boy.

The story also has one of the most unforgettable Sandman quotes.   “Tales and dreams are the shadow truths that will endure when mere facts are dust and ash, and forgot.” 

7.   Overture Part 6 (The Sandman Overture Part 6)

I love The Sandman: Overture with all my heart.   And it was difficult to pick a specific issue of it to be a favorite.   I chose part 6 because this is the moment where Dream, Desire, and Hope save the universe.   The metaphor is brilliantly obvious.  

The artwork is gorgeous.  And we get to see both Dream and Desire be heroes (”just for one day.”)

You also get to see exactly what happened to Morpheus right before his capture in The Sandman: Preludes and Nocturnes.  

6.   The Doll’s House Part 4: Men of Good Fortune. (The Sandman issue 13)

I mentioned before that I love Hob Gadling.  This is the story that introduced us to him. Not only do we get the backstory of Morpheus’ immortal friend but we also get to see our proud antagonist finally swallow his pride and admit that yes, he has a friend.   It’s one of the sweetest issues of The Sandman while also showing how people (in general) don’t really change.  Individuals might but human beings are still human beings and the complaints of the thirteenth century are eerily similar to the complaints of the late twentieth century. This story is also the first time (I think) we see Morpheus say his indignant “You dare?”   

5.  The Parliament of Rooks (The Sandman Issue 40)

This is a fun issue.  Baby Daniel lucid dreams his way to The House of Secrets where  Eve, Cain, and Abel tell stories to him.  Eve tells her own “three-in-one” tale and Abel introduces us to the concept of “Lil Endless.”    

4.   Season of Mists Part 2. (The Sandman issue 23)

This was a great issue.  After all the build up of Morpheus planning to return to Hell to rescue Nada (whom he wrongfully left there ten-thousand-years before) and the fear and dread involved with going back there we find out that Lucifer has quit.   

Lucifer explains to Morpheus why he’s shutting down Hell (Dialogue adapted by the Lucifer TV series for a conversation between Lucifer and Linda). He the asks Morpheus to help him cut off his own wings and finally Lucifer leave Morpheus with the key to Hell.  

Now poor Morpheus must figure out what to do with the abandoned dimension and deal with the various Gods, goddesses and creatures of mythology and folklore who have come to try to lay claim to it.  

3.   Sleep of The Just (The Sandman issue 1)

This is the very first issue of The Sandman and it was very different from the first issue of any other comic book I had ever read before.   A LOT happened here.  Where most comic book writers would have taken this story told in this issue and stretched it out for twelve issues, this was concise and brilliantly written.

The Order of Ancient Mysteries, lead by Roderick Burgess, summon and trap Morpheus AKA Dream of The Endless.   They were trying to summon his sister, Death, but got him by mistake.   He is held prisoner for seventy-two-years before finally escaping and seeking revenge on his captor.  

What I like most about this issue is that the story really ropes you in and the internal artwork reminds me of a classic horror comic, something I really appreciated.

2.  A hope in Hell (The Sandman Issue 4)

This is The Sandman issue where I truly realized I was reading something utterly different.  When I first started reading The Sandman it was mostly to learn Lucifer’s comic book back story but I fast got hooked on THIS story and forgot all about Luci. 

I must confess that though I am a life-long comic book reader I have a habit of skimming or out right skipping most combat scenes.  I find them boring and often over the top.   (I was a teenager in the 90s and early 2000s and got burnt out on over-the-top action scenes a long time ago).  So I fully anticipated having to skim over certain parts of The Sandman.

However...

It was when I got to “the battle” in A Hope in Hell that I finally let my guard down and realized this was something completely different.  This was never going to be like any other comic I had ever read.  There would be no giant factory explosions or characters punching each other on busy center-fold pages full of sound effects and fire.   

When I got the line “I am hope.” I finally let my guard down and understood the real magick in what I was reading.  That was the moment I fell in love with The Sandman. 

 Also I love David Bowie.

1.  Imperfect Hosts (The Sandman issue 2).   

As you may have guessed A hope in Hell PROBABLY should be at number 1 on this list but I have a soft spot for Imperfect Hosts for what a delightful surprise it was for me.

I love Gothic Horror.  I grew up loving anthology horror like Tales from the crypt.   Imagine my surprise to discover The Sandman’s minion “Nightmares” entailed old school horror hosts.  Even Destiny of The Endless, the mad mod witch (The Fashion Thing) ,The Hecatae, and Lucien The Librarian were all old horror hosts. 

To see someone like the Crypt Keeper-esque Cain taking care of the weakened Dream Lord was a treat for me.   I also noticed the loving homages to horror comics artist Bernie Wrightson. 

Bernie Wrightson holds a special place in my heart because many years ago my mother gave me a large coloring book signed by Bernie Wrightson.  I didn’t recongize the name but she recongized his style as something I like.  And she was right.   It turned out I already had several books that had been drawn by him but had never checked the name.   I have long since lost that coloring book... and my mother...   But Bernie was a reminder of how well she sometimes knew me.  And this issue reminded me of Bernie Wrightson and so reminded me of her.  So Imperfect Hosts had to take the number 1 spot.   

It also introduced us to the adorable baby Goldie.

[perinferiadastra]

The fourth piece of my collection. This is my thanks to @angrymintghost for running the @ghostbcsecretsanta event and for betaing my work. 💙 Thank you again for all of your patience, kind words, encouragement, and for being so lovely. I hope this piece will be enjoyable.

Characters: Swiss Ghoul, all the Nameless Ghouls, Cardinal Copia, and a surprise appearance...

Warnings: No warning applies.

Rating: General.

Word Count: 2019.

Summary: The snow that fell around the Clergy stirs an echo of youth, half-buried in years of memories but easily brought to the surface by one mischievous Ghoul.

The chirp in his ear woke Swiss up. Not violently, not like the wretched alarm they kept on their tour bus was prone to do, causing many of them to smack their heads against the bunk above them even a year into their tour. This was a soft wake-up, akin to lazy summer mornings when the sun would stream in through the cracks of the curtains and pull him out of his slumber little by little. The arms of Morpheus retracted similarly, and gave way to the entanglement of limbs that formed the cuddle pile of the Ghouls, the warmth threatening to lull him back to sleep. It took him several minutes to gather the strength to pull himself up and out of the nest, purring softly to quieten the displeased noises of the others as they continued to rest.

On his way out he stopped to tuck them in, the blankets having been thrown haphazardly during the night by their moving limbs. The sight of his sleeping friends never failed to amuse him, even the more energetic ones of the lot becoming calm and carefree, their frowns giving way to contentment. This did not mean they were off limits in the middle of their prank wars, if the doodles he and Dewdrop were prone to leave on each other were any indication. The two were in the middle of a truce for the winter holidays, though, so Dewdrop remained unscathed as Swiss tucked him in, pulling the blanket away from where it had become caught on his broken horn.

Stepping into the shower was one of life’s little joys, Swiss mused. It helped that he could now enjoy a shower cabin larger than the ones of their hotels - while they were spacious enough when they had mortals in mind, when the Ghouls’ tail was added into the mix he found the showers the Clergy had provided them with were much more comfortable. Hot water poured steadily and washed away the dust, glitter, and other pieces of evidence of last night’s party, leading them down the drain and leaving him with only his memories as reminders of the events. The steam rose up, mist forming on the surface of the shower cabin and allowing Swiss to doodle shapes idly as he allowed the water to further detense his muscles, still relaxed from sleep but carrying the exhaustion of yesterday and the accumulated weariness of a year of touring.

Eventually emerging from the warmth and getting dressed in cosy clothes, Swiss headed towards the cafeteria, fully intent on treating himself to a deliciously unhealthy breakfast. After having two servings packed up, he headed towards the Cardinal’s office, curious to see how the return to the Clergy was treating him. They had become quite close during the Band Project, as individuals sharing close quarters every day for a year were prone to do. Swiss enjoyed the playful banter he shared with Copia, and had a teasing greeting on his lips as he entered the office. The tone was set and carried on for the duration of their meal, Copia sharing some insight regarding Nihil and Imperator in regards to the previous evening’s merriment. Gossip, though common in their Church and easily spread, was always better from inside sources, and Swiss delighted in the first-hand recounting of the events from a mortal perspective.

Time passed, though the Ghoul would hardly have noticed if not for the interruption of a member of the Clergy bringing in Copia’s paperwork for the day. They parted with ease, their conversation coming to a close, and Swiss headed back to the cafeteria to grab snacks for the other Ghouls. On the way back, he hummed lightly, stepping outside as he moved between buildings. The winter sun was high upon the sky, causing him to close his eyes against the light, head tipped back and enjoying the light breeze of the morning, a pleasant change from the biting frost they had been experiencing for a while now. He could hear the little Ghouls playing in the snow close by, their laughter an echo of that of his friends’ many years back, trading snowballs between lessons, not a care in the cocoon of their world, so far away from the present and yet so close within reach, ready to be grasped and brought back.

It gave Swiss an idea, and everyone had grown to know early on that Swiss having ideas almost inevitably resulted in a steep descent into chaos. Keeping the appearance of a calm, collected Ghoul by emulating Mountain as much as he was able to, Swiss returned to the nest, where the rest of his friends were showing signs of stirring from their sleep. Setting down the snacks on one of the tables, he stepped over their forms with practised ease, dodging their tails on his way to the curtains. He slowly moved the fabric aside, the light causing several grumbles to emerge from the pile, though he did not bother to attempt to figure out their sources as a pillow came flying in his direction. Swiss grabbed the makeshift projectile in midair before setting it aside, stopping himself from flinging it back as his instinct dictated.

“Rise and shine, sleepyheads,” Swiss said, heading back over to the snacks and selecting a few, bringing them within the reach of his band-mates. A tried and true technique, it caused several limbs to emerge from the blankets and blindly grab at the proffered food before vanishing in the pile once more. Over the next few minutes the rest of the Ghouls woke up, emerging and greeting Swiss, though greeting was more of a loose term that stood for ‘questioned him as to why he was awake at such an infernal hour.’ All this he brushed off and waited for them to go through their respective morning routines, gently chirping at them when they were being too slow for his liking.

More amused than confused by Swiss’ behaviour, the others complied, though teasing him by dragging their feet and munching slower than they normally would. Swiss had always been full of life, his energy feeding their own. His knack for mischief had often caused him to be singled out and removed from the rest, but he had always taken it in stride and his friends loved him all the more for it, doing their best to minimise the distance. Despite spending nearly every day together, they hated the setup of the stage sometimes, an extra, unnecessary gap so very reminiscent of the rows of desks their superiors would put between them and Swiss during their lessons. Seeing him so excited, his tail flicking wildly despite his attempts of stoicism, removed their grouchiness for being woken up and fuelled the group for what was starting to look like a long day ahead of them.

Dressed warmly at his request - though ‘behest’ would be more suitable, considering Swiss had taken to wrapping scarves and coats around them, as if he were decorating a tree the way mortals tended to do around this time of the year - the Ghouls stepped outside and breathed in the cold air, the freshness of it removing the last of the sleep from their eyes, the last of the grains brought by the Sandman during the night cracking and falling away. The little Ghouls had left, likely brought indoors by their caretakers out of concern that they would catch a cold. They were far more resilient than mortals, but even they could get sick, and the band-mates knew from personal experience how unpleasant ill Ghouls could get.

Evidence remained of the little ones’ playtime, snow figures littering the landscape of the vast courtyard and trailing off towards the woods as far as they had dared to venture. The snowballs that had not broken up upon contact with solid surfaces were spread around the area, and some were still unused, stacked in piles of precarious balance. The sun hadn’t managed to melt much, the cold preserving both the shapes the little Ghouls had moulded the snow into and the ice that covered the ground, hidden by a thin layer of snow in some places and cleared out on the natural slopes of the landscape, undoubtedly having acted as slides for the young ones.

While the other Ghouls were busy taking it all in, Swiss made a valiant effort to sneak a few paces away and scoop up one of the snowballs from the piles. He would’ve likely succeeded, had he not slipped on the ice, ending up face-first in a snowbank, his legs kicking wildly in order to free himself. After the band stopped laughing long enough to help him out, this served as the start of a snow day, the group acting as they hadn’t done in what seemed like ages, even the more mature of their members, like Rain and Mountain, partaking in the fun with the same glee they had in their younger years, at one point shoving snow down the back of Aether and Dewdrop’s coats in retaliation for the snowballs that had landed in their ears.

Their laughter rang out loud and clear, enough to draw an audience, distracting members of the Clergy and Siblings of Sin from their tasks as they moved between the buildings, causing most to step away in order to avoid becoming involved in their play fighting, and a few brave ones to join in. Word got around, as it tended to, and Copia was notified, stepping outside a few hours later to bear witness to the result of the chaos. The Cardinal was greeted by the sight of his Ghouls laying down on the ground, still giggling, an odd sound that he rarely heard from them. They were clearly worn out, and he could see their chests heaving as they drew breath.

Noticing him, they sat up, looking for all the world like they had been caught with their hands in the proverbial cookie jar. They all sported matching grins, the sharpness of their fangs evident in the slowly fading light. The snow clung to their lashes, and caught the light of the soft inner glow of their eyes, dispersing it subtly, like miniature crystals, precious discoveries if one knew to look for them. Shaking his head fondly, Copia approached his band-mates, setting his hands upon his hips upon reaching them. Before he could so much as say a word, Swiss and Dewdrop stuck their tongues out in unison, startling a laugh out of the Cardinal, and causing the rest to resume their own sounds of amusement, oddly reminiscent of the tinkling of bells in the wind.

Photos were not usually taken around their Clergy, the Ghouls being often unmasked on the premises and the risk of the images reaching the masses being far too great to be left to chance. In that moment, however, the Third Papa snapped a picture on his phone, having followed the commotion for the past hour from a window upstairs. The Papa had been on his way to visit Nihil when he heard the loud noises from outside, and stopped to watch the lot, amused by it and by seeing his own former band-mate in this setting. The Third thought it rather sweet, and as he eventually left after texting Copia the image, he changed his trajectory, heading instead towards the building of his other former band-mates, spending an evening with his own family of Ghouls.

It turned out that the Papa had had the perfect vantage point for the group photo that would become the favourite of those within the frame, private and only known to themselves, a moment in time captured and preserved, a memory within a bottle that they could uncork at any time in order to bring back the feelings within. The Ghouls, now joined by Copia after much cajoling on their part, settled down in their nest once more as the day came to a close, shaking off the cold of the day through their shared warmth. It was with familiar, contented chirps that Swiss drifted off to sleep.