#like chlamydia in a theater troupe

[the-apocrypha]

I was tagged in the Last Line Game by @dsudis ,@tharkuun and @cuubism! Here's a lil snippet of what's coming next in the cottagecore universe:

And so Dream dips a finger into the jar and closes his eyes and carefully, quietly begins to hum his way up a chromatic scale. He can hear no notes with which to harmonize, but that does not mean it is not there. He remembers well the choruses of this realm that had ebbed and flowed like symphonies around him, before his exile. He remembers sneering at how paltry, how  dull they had seemed compared to those he had grown up with in the fae realm. 

If only Dream had known, then, how quiet his world would one day become. 

It is about two thirds of the way up the scale that he hits a note, and he feels the faintest tugging in his chest, and he stops. Repeats the note, and feels the tug once more, a magic almost too subtle to feel except with the utmost concentration. 

Then he moves to the diminished fifth above it, and he hums life life life life until he feels the tiniest pulse of life cling to his fingertip, like the fleeting grasp of an infant hand. 

Tagging @pellaaearien, @yamru and @kydrogendragon, if they want to play!

[the-apocrypha]

I got tagged a hot minute ago by @tj-dragonblade in the last line game, and am finally getting around to it now! I've been taking a bit of a mental break from writing the last two weeks, but I am slowly chipping away at a very dumb little cottagecore ficlet, set very early in Dream and Hob's relationship.

“Nooooo, no, no, no,” Hob adds quickly, sitting up and accidentally banging a hand against the edge of the table in the process. “No, don’t stop. I shouldn’t have said that. I like it when you’re like your bird.”  “You like it,” Dream repeats slowly, “when I am like my bird.”  Hob bites his lip. “...No?”  Dream is thinking of how many times Hob has called Jessamy beautiful and gorgeous and lovely. How Hob had asked, last time, if he could perhaps keep some dried strips of meat around for her, as little treats. Dream thinks, entirely against his will, of the stories Desire has told him of mortals that lay with goats and sheep and horses and anything else that might be warm and wet and of an appropriate depth.  …surely not.  “I’ve upset you,” Hob says, crushed. 

Tagging... (I feel like we just ping this challenge round and around the same circles in the Sandman fandom like chlamydia in a theater troupe, but I'm not mad about it) @pellaaearien, @dsudis, and @mid0khan, if you'd like to play!