#sandman ff

[oneshots-heaven]

A Love That's Not Mine — Morpheus/Dream

On the search of totems of power, Morpheus meets upon Johanna Constantine who draws his attention to her — much to your dislike.

Warning: pure angst/sadness (it’s a short one) Morpheus/Dream x Dream!Reader

“He will not like seeing you sit on his throne.“

You glanced back over to Lucienne whom you had been talking to for the past hour as she sorted hundreds of parchments in the ruins of the Grand Hall in hopes of finding something certain. Something she would not talk about with you, claiming it was not of your interest.

“I appreciate your concern, but I do not care.“

Lucienne sighed at your reaction, but strained from doing anything other. It would have been pointless anyway, experience from hundreds of years had taught her that—that was how long you had known each other. A hundred years had been the recent you had spent together, buried underneath the ruins of what you had once called your home. The Dreaming—once a beautiful place filled the greatest imaginations, the fearfullest nightmares and the deepest wishes—was not what it used to be without its king to reign.

A hundred years gone by without a sigh of its rightful king and his land wasted away like a faded memory until only its truest dweller stayed. Lucienne, as much as you, was one of the only ones who remained, in the most fearful hope of his return and the re-reign of his land. Days turned into weeks, passing into months and years. A hundred years meant nothing to the ones you’d already spent in your lifetime, but a hundred years felt awfully long when you existed without any purpose.

As the king return ever so suddenly, your purpose came back along with him. However, all what once had been wasn’t the same when he returned. You had felt it cutting deep in your heart when you first saw him again. Whatever may happened to him in all those years, he would not speak much of it. All it had done was change him into another man, one that you struggled to recognize. One that struggled to recognize you.

The ruins of the Grand Hall shook upon his return from his search for his totems of power he had gotten stolen.

“May I utter one last warning?“ Lucienne said quietly, her tone so distressed. She had been a friend, especially over the last hundred years, but she still did not understand when it was not right to play with fire.

You sat still on the throne of the king, ignoring her final warning. Even with the best words, you would have not been able to explain the source of your bitterness, the very one that turned you crueler as the days passed by.

As the stone floor vibrated underneath your feet, you knew he had been successful in his search for at least one of his totems. The panicking, yet lightening gaze of Lucienne revealed that she knew just as much. The king of the Dreaming slowly returned to his highest powers. You felt it in the electrified air as he entered the Grand Hall, the surrounding changing with every of his steps, carrying a small but heavy looking pouch in his right hand. It was even smeared across his face, his eyes were almost as bright as the mystic ones of his librarian.

“Lucienne,“ he greeted her, his voice carried a hint of relief, as he caught sight of her first.

“My lord,“ she said happily, however, her smile vanished and her stolen gaze revealed her worry to him. She lowered her head quickly, closing the book in her hands, as he had already taken notice of you sitting still and sternly on his throne.

You recked your chin, eyes attached to the pouch only, avoiding his glaring glance as he stepped closer. “As I see, you have found your sand, my lord.“

“I have, indeed,“ he claimed calmly, but somehow you knew it was only the calm before the true storm. He did not turn around to address her properly and simply said instead, “Lucienne, will you please leave us alone?“

“Of course, my lord.“

As she turned away from the Grand Hall off to the side entrance, her eyes met yours for one last time as another warning, however, in this one laid a request. Keep your silence, it almost said. She asked you not to share your deepest anger, and rather to keep your mouth shut, although she knew better than that. The lord of the Dreaming may be an Endless, but it did not matter how mighty or powerful he was, you would speak your mind, especially now when what you called your home seemed to falter.

“And as I see, you’ve made yourself comfortable in my absence.“

You straightened your position, yet not dared to slip away from the throne. “As comfortable as ruins can be.“

Morpheus scoffed. “Do you really dare to sit there and hold a grudge over my absence, which was to your notice not my fault? Have you forgotten the part where I have told you about my abduction?“ “No, you did not failed to mention that.“

“So, what is this for?“ he argued, motioning to you sitting sternly on the place that belonged to him, and only him. A place you would’ve never dared to sit at without his permission, but that was years ago. A lifetime had past ever since, and so had your patience with him. The Dreaming was falling apart, its magic seemed lost, and there was no other but him to blame.

Just as there was no other to save it.

You pushed yourself out of his claimed seat, stepping down the broken apart steps to the ground level of the Grand Hall. Morpheus stood mighty, all tall and fearless, in the same spot as you walked closer to him. “I congratulate you for earning your sand back. It will bring good back to the Dreaming. It just leaves me to wonder what it has cost you.“

His gaze was brutal, but you did not let him falter you. “What it has cost me?“ he echoed. “It has cost me nothing but nerves. Put your worry aside.“

“I worry as I please, especially if humans like Johanna Constantine become a dangerous part of your deal to getting the sand back, or become a threat in general.“

His brows furrowed, the confusion being obvious written all over his face, but as your words hit him, he brushed past you stepping up the stairs to his throne, saying with his back turn on you, “Jealousy does not suit you well.“

Your blood drew cold. Someone else in your place probably would’ve known it better, to keep their mouth shut and not speak up against the judgement from their lord. Someone else would’ve, but not you, because how dare he come back after all those years of his land suffering and belittle you this way?

You laughed dryly. “You must mistaken me, my words have nothing to do with jealously.“

Morpheus huffed, letting himself down on his throne. “But what else are you trying to provoke?“

Your gaze was sternly on him. “Nothing. I am just protecting what is mine.“

He recked his chin, his hard gaze meeting yours. Two stubborn souls cannot exist next to each other. “But I am not yours to protect, nor will I ever be.“

Every argument came back to this, full circle to the harsh reminder. Always some heavy words to drown you in, to keep you away from him, as if your actions were smothering him. He always seemed to forget that all you’d ever wanted was for the Dreaming to thrive and blossom, but he instead acted as if you were an intruder in your own home.

“I am in no need of reminders of that.“ you spoke calmly, but the bitterness seeped through, poisoning every word. “But you are the king of the kingdom I exist in, so I shall remind you of that  before you go and risk our home so selfishly, once again. Because as it appears right now, you have forgotten yourself!“

Raise your voice and you’ll know when to regret it, the words were burned in your head, and although they still hurt like the first time Morpheus ever threatened you, you still didn’t listen to him. How could you when he was the source of everything you’d ever loved and kept you in constant fear to lose it all within seconds? One change of mind and it all could be gone. That was a terrible power to have and you despised him for having it.

“Don’t you dare talking to me like that.“

Tears burned hot in the corners of your inner eyes. It was written all over his face. He didn’t care about how you were feeling, perhaps he never did. But what made it even worse, was the way he looked at you—so full of rage.

You kept your head held high. There was nothing for you to lose if he would risk it all anyways.

“The Dreaming is everything I’ve got, it’s everything I love. How can you not understand my fear when you go and blur the lines between our world and the ones of people like Johanna.“ you tried to explain to him, however, with every words you’d found yourself more damned. “You took a liking on her, and I have seen how love can turn you into a fool. If you give into that, then one day the lines will be too blurred, and you’ll risk our home for something that is not worth it. And I thought you had here everything you could’ve wanted.“   Your nerves went blank as Morpheus pushed himself out of his throne. There was softness in his gaze, but you knew it was a trick to keep you from running away. In those eyes, you had lost yourself so many times that for moments, you forgot that he was an Endless. He was not created to be good, he was meant to be cruel.

He stepped in front of you, gripping your jaw so harsh within seconds as his hand snapped forwards, pulling your mouth closer to his. “Do not go over your head, my love. You are nothing more than a carnation of what I’ve wanted you to be. You’re a part of my essences, I’ve created you. You do not get to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do. If this kingdom goes down, then you’ll vanish with it, because you are not real.“

Once you’d promised yourself to not show any fear in front of them, but this felt like the end. It did not matter anymore, so you did not hide as the hot swelling tears rolled your cheek onto his hands. His words hurt, like they always did, but these ones hurt even more because you could have never fulfilled the very sole reason why he created you.

Although the pain, you leaned into him as you felt as if your heart was being ripped out of your chest, mumbling, “I was your dream once, and now you’re kicking me out.“

The grip of his hands softened, strangely allowing you for the briefest of moments to lean further against him. The hardness of his gaze vanished, and for once, the treacherous softness seemed to be truthful. His hand cupped your cheek as he said, “Time changes, my dear.“

And this may was the end of what you ever were and all of what you could’ve been.

A/N: This has been sitting in my files for ages. I’ve never truly finished writing this, however, I liked some of the lines I wrote of this, so I’m sharing this unfinished piece with you all. Hope you still enjoyed it. 

[dontfuckmylifewtf]

No matter how weird the questions are that Neil Gaiman gets (or for the matter we see because he answered them), I would like to remind everyone, that having around 80.000 asks in your inbox gives you a lot to choose from.

Meaning, that Neil Gaiman probably actively chooses from these 80.000 questions what he answers.

So for the love of god, stop bullying the people asking "cringe" questions. They probably didn't expect to get an answer anyways, and Neil chose to answer them.

[tringstarruuu]

Dreamling as Howl’s moving castle AU

[windsweptinred]

He just wants his chair, fluffy slippers, a good book and to be left alone in peace. But nooo..... Why couldn't he have been an only child?

[notallsandmen]

Understatement of the Endless

[qqueenofhades]

21 with Dream and Death?

"Sister," Dream says ominously, for the fourth or fifth time, and for what is absolutely more than the fourth or fifth time, is merrily, cheerily, completely and totally ignored. "We've had our fun, don't you think?"

"Had our fun? I honestly don't think you've even started." Death of the Endless, wearing a pumpkin-themed hat and sipping a steaming apple cider, tosses him a mischievous look. "Look, there's the ring toss. Go try to win a giant stuffed animal for Hob, why don't you? I'm sure he'd love it."

Dream opens his mouth in outrage at the idea of him ever participating in anything so uncouth as a ring toss, or attempting to win what is indeed a ridiculously oversized soft toy for his -- well, he doesn't like boyfriend, which sounds too juvenile, and he doesn't like partner, which is too unspecific, and technically they're not actually husbands but it feels something close, and anyway, never mind all that, Hob doesn't want the damn thing anyway. It's absolutely hideous. One of Dream's minor nightmares might be craftily concealed within, just waiting to come to life at midnight.

"No," he says instead. "I think not. Can we go? Unless we are here because one of those children is going to fall off the carousel, or choke at the apple-bobbing, and this is actually for work, but -- "

"It's not for work." Death shrugs. "Just for fun. Which, by the way, I still don't notice you having."

Dream makes a deeply skeptical noise in the back of his throat. It is a universally known fact that harvest and/or Hallowe'en festivals put on by well-meaning borough councils can be, to say the least, often a terrifying experience in the way they did not quite intend. This one, in Islington, north London, is not so bad as things of that nature go, though the yobs loitering outside the park already shouted at Dream that he had a nice vampire costume, loser, and didn't he ever leave his mum's basement? (This incident, it must be admitted, probably disposed him to prejudice from the start, but still.) It's a pleasantly atmospheric and windy afternoon, leaves falling golden and just enough of a bite to the air to think of retreating to a warm pub or burning fireplace. There is, perhaps, one circumstance in which Dream would be enjoying it more, but alas --

"Let me guess," Death says, reading his mind with wickedly precise sisterly intuition. "You're sulking because Hob had to teach Britain in the World, 1600-1850, and couldn't get off work to come with us."

"That is -- " Dream sputters. "That is not -- "

"Hazards of dating an academic." Smirking, Death slips her arm through his and wafts the cider enticingly under his nose. (It does indeed smell good, but Morpheus refuses to admit it. ) "And you know, most ordinary people do feel free to say that they like the person they are with. May I add, finally."

Caught, of course, dead to rights, Dream can do little more than grumble feebly. Fine. Maybe it would be more fun if Hob was here. Not, however, that he ever intends to let his sister have the satisfaction of knowing that.

(Though, of course, she already does.)

[signiorbenedickofpadua]

I just tried to summarise to myself what Risk and Reward is about (besides romance) and thought: "Family. And horses." My next thought was: "Ah, it's The Fast and the Furious, but in Regency England and with less crime," and then I almost started crying from holding in my laughter as I pictured Dream and Hob all dolled up in their Georgian garb sitting in cars souped up with NOS and everything, just absolutely burning rubber around the pastoral landscapes of southern England.

Now, I may have started relearning how to draw just to make art for this fic, but even I draw the line at learning to draw cars, but I still wanted to put this image in your minds, so here you go. (And if anyone feels like drawing/photoshoping that image into reality, please go for it.)

But yeah. Go read Risk and Reward, or should I call it The Expeditious and the Exasperated? It's got family, fast cars (horses), homoerotic tension, illegal street racing (friendly horse racing and illegal duels), betting, car-meet parties (balls and Molly Houses), and uuuuh...Corona beer? (wine and lemonade???) No heists, sorry. Whether any of the side characters look like Vin Diesel or [insert former-wrestler-come-actor here] is up to your discretion.

[light-yaers]

Bring Me A Dream (Morpheus ‘Dream’ x Reader One Shot)

Fic Masterpost | AO3 

You’re a lucid dreamer, a strong sleeper. That’s how you meet the Sandman. He helps you learn, helps you dream. 

But you want more, you need more. So does he.

Warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of sex.

Word Count: 4.5k

The first time you met him, you were crying. When your dreams usually brought solitude and understanding and a lightness that you seldom experienced in reality, this one had shifted into a nightmare. You were powerless. You couldn’t change it, you simply had to endure.

The scene had changed. Turned sour. Turned cold. When before the fields you thought up were green and luscious, full of life, they were now grey; decaying before your very eyes as the flowers began to wilt and melt into mud.

“Why is this happening! I control the world, here!” you screamed, hoping it would make a difference, but it was no use. All you could do was accept this fate.

You dropped to the floor, scuffing your hands over the ash-ridden dirt; the remnants of your once beautiful dreamscape. You wept. 

That’s when the Sandman appeared.

Dressed in a long black coat and donning a piercing and inquisitive gaze, he knelt to the floor at your side. “Why do you weep, child?” 

“My flowers… they’re all dead,” you sniffed, a few stray tears still falling down your cheeks. He regarded you blankly. His expression was as sharp and as cold as marble. “Who are you?” 

That made him smile. The tiniest curl of his lip. “I am the King of Dreams,” he said. Your eyes widened.

“You’re the man who puts sand in my eyes every night? The Sandman?” you let out, utterly amazed. “What are you doing here?” 

“I traverse through dreams,” he said simply.

“Why my dream, though?” you chided.

“I sensed your anguish,” he said softly, looking around at the now desolate and dark field. You follow his movements, taking in your surroundings, your world. Your dead world.

“I don’t understand,” you started. “This has never happened before… they didn’t listen to me this time,” 

“You are a lucid dreamer, child,” the Sandman said. “The ability to completely control ones dream is a rarity to get right, time after time. You can still control this world,” he urged. 

“It won’t work. I’ve tried—,” 

“Your tears betray you,” he cut over you. Gently, he reached out a boney fingered hand, swiping his thumb beneath your eye to mop up your remaining tears. “The dream can sense your fear,” 

You looked up at him, into those piercing, yellow eyes that so easily landed upon yours. The Sandman gently cupped your face as you stared into his— jaw razor sharp, nose straight, eyes on fire.

He didn’t scare you, though.

“Okay,” you said, sniffing away the rest of your sadness. “What do I do?” 

“Close your eyes,” he almost whispered it. You obeyed him. “Imagine your flowers growing, thriving, living,” 

You sucked in a deep breath, imagining the once green fields, full of poppies, lilies, sunflowers— every species under the sun. They filled up the entire meadow, swaying subtly in the breeze as the sun shone proudly. 

You could feel the breeze first, and then the glorious fragrant scent hit your nose. When you opened your eyes, the Sandman was gone, but your flowers were alive once more.

The second time you saw him, he scared you. Ten years later, you were a teenager and vastly unhappy. Reality wasn’t something you indulged in anymore, so your dreams were your solace.

You created worlds in your sleep, building castles and a backdrop of rolling, snow covered mountains. There were people there; not like humans, more like elves or fairies or witches. The weather was always gleaming.

You ruled over your kingdom happily; alone.

Until he showed up again.

“Your majesty, you have a guest,” one of your guards informed you. You were in your study, writing, drawing, living. You dropped everything immediately—

No one visited you. Ever.

“Who?” 

“The King of Dreams,” 

When you saw him again, you thought he’d smile. Only seeing him once before made you believe you’d made him up; conjured him from your mind, the same way that you made the flowers grow. 

He looked the same. Ageless, eyes just as piercing as they were before; perhaps even more so. He inhaled deeply when his eyes met yours, hands by his side, flexing his fingers anxiously.

“Hello, Sandman,” you spoke, smiling at him fondly despite the sharpness of his gaze.

“Hello, child,” he replied. You turned to your guard, gesturing for him to leave. The large drawing room doors shut behind him— you and the Sandman were alone once more.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, stepping forward to pace the room. 

“You built all this?” he chided immediately. “A Kingdom from within your mind,” the two of you glanced out of the window to the left, overseeing the landscape.

“You sound like it’s abnormal for humans to create within their dreams,” you let out, smiling to yourself. “Dreamscapes are where we can truly live,”

“No,” he spoke suddenly. “This world cannot be sustained. Your mind would crumble. The Dreaming would implode,”

You found yourself understanding every word he said, despite never hearing of the Dreaming before. This visit was not a coincidence, you realised. He had come to scold you, to warn you.

It made you angry. 

“What are you trying to say?” you let out, mood immediately changing. “You can’t take this away from me,” 

“I… just want you to be careful,” he let out thoughtfully. “I know living in ones dream can be beautiful. You built these walls with your mind, you should be proud,” he turned to you, smiling at you smally. “But, reality can also bend to your will,”

“How?” you chided bluntly. “Reality is nothing but a burden to me,” 

“No,” Dream said, flicking his eyes over your panicking expression. “You need to live in it, otherwise you’ll always compare it to your dreamscape,” 

“I never thought the King of Dreams would tell me to stay awake,” you let out, and the sound of the Sandman laughing hit your ears for the first time. You whipped your stare to him, awestruck at how he looked amused.

“I never thought I would see you again, yet here we are,” he said fondly. “You’ve grown, child,” 

“You haven’t,” you said lowly. Slowly, you strolled towards him, until you were chest to chest.

He peered down at you, skimming his gaze over the features of your face. You wanted to reach out to him, to touch his face, to feel his skin; but you wouldn’t allow yourself to.

“Will I see you again?” you asked. 

“I hope not,” he let out, and you know why he said it. The King of Dreams was a bad omen to behold. For him to appear meant danger. For him to be absent meant all was well. 

Still— those words hurt you. 

You had so many questions, but no time for him to answer them. 

“Goodbye, child,” he spoke softly. You inhaled a sharp breath, reaching forward suddenly. 

“Dream—,” 

You woke abruptly. You didn’t weep, but your heart ached beneath your ribcage. You clutched your chest, feeling the pelting of your pulse throughout your veins.

“Goodbye, King of Dreams,” you whispered. 

You tried to move on. 

But as you grew older, so too did your curiosity. Your mind only expanded, alongside your dreamscape; though you took Dream’s advice—

You didn’t visit nearly as much, didn’t devote all of your time and energy on the palaces within your head. 

Dream never returned. You were never able to find him, either. He was dust.

In university, all you do is doodle the Sandman in lectures. He’s on every piece of paper, every notepad, every essay plan— the wild hair, the piercing eyes, the black coat and combat boots; The King of Dreams.

“Are you drawing that emo guy, again?” your best friend, Heidi, says. She’s always been straight to the point and utterly unapologetic about it. Her forwardness is what keeps you tethered to reality.

“He’s not an emo. Well— I guess he sort of is,” you let out, amusement on your lips. 

“Who is he? New Tinder match?” she quips. You scoff loudly, garnering a scolding look from your professor, before going back to the lesson. 

“No,” you lower your voice. “He’s just… a guy,”

“Bullshit. You’ve been obsessed with him for a few weeks now,” Heidi spouts.

Try fifteen years.

“What does he do?” Heidi goes on, suddenly curious. You indulge her, colouring in Dream’s coat in all black.

“He’s… a monarch,” 

“He what? Is he a fucking prince?” Heidi bursts.

“More like a king,” you smile fondly.

“You’re fucking with me. What kind of dating apps are you on, girl? Kingdom Mingle?” you elbow her softly, trying not to laugh.

“Shut up,” you scoff.

“So, what is he like? Have you ever met him?” Heidi continues. 

“He’s… reserved. He’s got these really steely eyes, like when he looks at you, you can really feel him staring at you, y’know?” you say thoughtfully. “I’ve met him twice,”

“Twice? So, you’ve bonked?” she lets out. You grimace immediately.

“Bonked? Who the fuck says bonked? Are you twelve—?”

“Just answer the damn question—,” 

“No! We haven’t fucking bonked,” you shout at her lowly, trying not to alert the entire class to you.

“Shame,” Heidi says bluntly. “How old is he?”

Ah. What a question.

“He… looks twenty-five. Ish,” you said hesitantly. Heidi furrows her brows at you, looking at you like she just stepped in dog shit.

“Looks?” she coughs out. You stare at her, wide eyed and almost blushing because it all sounds so fucking ridiculous. “Girl—,”

“Just— fuck off,” you stutter out. “He’s just some guy, some Instagram celebrity that I have a stupid crush on who I’ve met twice— in passing— or whatever, and that’s it. He doesn’t know who I am and I’m probably never going to see him again, so,” you scribble on your page, trying to expel your emotions, before abruptly stopping and letting out a sigh. You turn back to Heidi. “He doesn’t matter,” 

Heidi looks at you thoughtfully. “Men,” is all she says. You let out an abrupt scoff, feeling better already.

“Yeah. Men,” 

You lay in bed that night, candle flickering on your dresser and covers all the way up to your chin. Part of you is hesitant to enter your Kingdom tonight. You don’t know why.

You ignore the feeling, closing your eyes— and then you’re there.

Home. 

Until you wake up again.

No Dream. No nothing. Same old bullshit, day in day out. When you’re not an uni, you’re at your stupid job at the mall. Serving juveniles bad smoothies wasn’t exactly your goal in life, yet here you were—

Hair tied up and stuck through the back of a cap that had Smoothie-licious! on the front in pink bubble writing. 

You almost doze off during the quiet hours, gently closing your eyes behind the counter.

“One choco-strawberry blitz, honey,” their voice perks you up and you snap your eyes open, only to be met with the most glamorous person you’ve ever seen.

It sort of takes your breath away, with their perfectly applied lashes and ruby red lip stick and perfect skin and, and—

Wait, what were you doing?

“C-coming right up!” the words wobble out of your mouth, before you get to clumsily making the smoothie for them.

“What’s that I sense?” they let out sensually. “I’d notice a lady with a crush from a mile away,” 

“What?” you whip yourself around to them, cheeks warming up violently. 

“Oh, you do, don’t you, sweet girl?” they pout at you. “For the King of Dreams no less,” the breath hitches in the back of your throat. You immediately raise all of your defences.

This person wasn’t human.

“Who are you?” you ask strongly, finding your voice. This was the first time you’d encountered any kind of god or deity in reality. 

“My brother didn’t tell you about me? How rude,” they let out, before dropping their hand out before them; for you to kiss. “I’m Desire, darling. Dream’s stunning sibling. Charmed,” 

“That’s not a word I’d use,” you let out, frowning at the introduction and this entire situation. “What do you want?” something hits you in the gut then, making your heart tremble. 

Dream. Had something happened?

“Is Dream okay?” you stutter out, but Desire only laughs through their fingers.

“My, my. You really do like him, don’t you? Only met twice, yet your thoughts are utterly littered with him,” Desire smiles at you, but it’s not real. They’re fake smiling. They are a snake. “When was the last time you saw him, hm? What was it— five years ago?”

“Shut up,” the words pour from your lips before you can hold back.

“First time, seven years old; second time, seventeen years old—,”

“Shut up,” you spit through clenched teeth.

“Twenty-two years old now and no more Dream—,”

“Shut up!” you scream at the top of your lungs, but for some reason, no one reacts. Almost like you and Desire are trapped in some kind of time bubble, just the two of you. Alone. “You don’t know anything,”

“Don’t make me laugh, mortal. This is my job, you know? I can feel the desire radiating through your giant and clogged pores,” 

“Why are you here? To scare me?” 

“Oh gods, honey, no,” they say, almost shocked. “I’m here to tell you that Dream isn’t worth your pining,” 

You let out a revolted scoff. “You don’t know him then, it seems,” 

“Rich coming from the girl who’s met him twice when I’ve known him since the start of creation, but sure,” Desire twiddles their fingers, looking at their long, claw-like nails. They’re painted blood red. 

Your blood starts to boil before you can even help yourself. Curiosity will be your downfall. “Why isn’t he worth it?” you let out, jaw clenched.

Desire leans on the counter, getting comfortable. 

“Dream doesn’t care for others, not the way you care for him. His realm is dark and desolate and, by god, the man has no friends. He’s utterly cruel,” 

You’re confused. It’s clear to see, slapped all over your face. You didn’t want to believe Desire’s words, but it was hard not to.

“But… he’s the King of Dreams. He offers humans the chance to escape, to create their own worlds, to… be someone else entirely,” 

“Dreams are more complicated than that, darling,” Desire says, looking at you sadly. “Don’t worry your precious, little, lucid self about all that, though,” they gently boop your nose, making you flinch.

“Lucid?” you let out. “You— you spoke to Dream about me?” 

Dream knew you were a lucid dreamer; able to control the outcomes of your subconscious with a snap of your fingers. How could Desire know, if Dream hadn’t told them?

Desire lets out a smug hum. “Okay, you’re smart. I’ll give you that,” they give you one glance, up and down, as if judging you. “I’ve said all I needed to say, so I’ll be on my way,” 

“Wait— does he still follow me?” you let out desperately. You know you sound it, but you don’t care. “Morpheus. Does he still follow my dreams?”

Desire winks once. It makes you feel sick.

“Goodbye, Dream’s girl,” they wave with their clawed nails, before walking away. You blink once, and they’ve vanished.

The mall is back to normal. People mill around. Voices mumble to each other. But you can hardly hear them— your heart is beating so fast and your blood is pumping so aggressively that you feel like you’re floating.

Dream still knew you, still thought about you, that was for certain; but for Desire to show up— that was unnerving.

Something felt wrong. Something felt off.

You needed to find Dream. You had to.

You go to bed at 6pm, forcing yourself to fall asleep. As soon as your eyes shut, you wake up in your kingdom, out on the fields.

The weather is grey. The clouds are black. It all feels wrong.

“Majesty, what’s going on?” your guard asks, as soon as you enter the castle.

“Not now, I have someone I need to find,” you let out.

“The King of Dreams?” he asks, and your heart stops. You turn to him, brows furrowed low.

“How did you know?” 

“I had a feeling, your majesty. The kingdom has felt… unsettled today,” he lets out, shaking slightly. You approach him softly, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Do you know how I can find him?” 

Your guard shrugs. “The Dreaming is impossible to navigate. Only Dream himself or a vortex could possibly traverse the dreamscapes, your majesty,” 

“Where does Morpheus reside in the Dreaming?” you chide. 

“His palace, I believe. Off limits to dreamers. Only demons or citizens of his realm can make it there,” 

Well, fuck.

There was part of you that wanted to scream. You were in his realm, in his world, yet so far away from him. Dream never had any trouble finding you— he could seek you out easily— but for you, finding him was like a needle in a haystack.

“I have to try,” you whisper to yourself. “I built this world, I control what happens in my dreams,” your guard regards you gently. “Maybe… I can summon him here,”

“Summon the King of Dreams? How?” 

You step back, looking out over the vast horizon of your kingdom— the kingdom you built with your mind, singlehandedly; the kingdom that you control every time you close your eyes.

“By imagining he’s already here,” 

You close your eyes immediately, balling your fists. You imagined this room, the drawing room, with all of it’s rugs and lavish curtains and dark wood furniture, with a view out to the snow-covered mountains that you grew from your mind.

You imagined him here, with his flowing black coat, his skeletal frame, his wild hair and even wilder eyes— the Dream that you so ached to see again, to talk to, to learn from.

He knew all, and you wanted that.

You’d wanted that since he’d taught you how to make your flowers grow again.

Please, Dream. I know somewhere you can hear me. 

You imagined him approaching you, imagined him sticking out a hand to your face and smiling in that way he did; just for you. Not a full smile, never a full one, but the small kind that still made his lips curl. 

You loved that smile.

Please, Dream. I need you. I need you. I need you.

You needed him like your body needed water. 

I need you.

“You need me,” his voice cuts through your very soul. You flinch at the sound, too afraid to open your eyes incase you’re only imagining it.

“Yes,” you let out in a whisper, trembling over the word. 

“Then you need only ask,” he says softly, and you swear you can hear his shoes as they cross the rug, but you want to be certain. You keep your eyes closed, still afraid. “If you need me, I will come,” 

You sense him stop behind you, as your eyes flutter open. You turn around and take him in; there’s that smile.

“You’ve grown,” he says fondly. Your heart almost crumbles in your chest. Your eyes start to well.

“You haven’t,” you let out, smiling at him like he’s the sun and stars combined. 

There was something about that face. The infinite abyss of his piercing eyes that went on forever and ever, like the vacuum of space or a tunnel to the centre of the universe.

You wished to learn from him; the past, the future, everything in between. The Dreaming, traversing dreams, what his realm was like, what his home was like—

But you didn’t know where to begin, not when you’re finally looking at him again for the first time in five, long, fucking years.

“I had a visitor today,” you start. “Desire,” 

Dream’s face drops immediately. He steps forward hastily, grabbing you by the bicep gently. “Did they touch you? Did they hurt you?” 

“No, no,” you shake your head, reassuring him. “They did scare me, though,” 

“Desire likes to play games,” Dream says lowly. “Was I involved in the discussion, by chance?” 

“Yes,” you swallow. “You were… the main topic of conversation,” you force yourself not to blush.

“They get bored, you see. They like to play tricks, to create schemes. I’ve always been more powerful than them, we never got on,” Dream explains. “They get jealous, sometimes,” 

“Jealous?” 

“Hmm,” Dream ponders. “I deal with dreamers. Something new every second of every day. The fleeting nights and even shorter acquaintances with humans, but when one human sticks—,” he stops quickly, only to let out a small laugh. You think it’s the best sound in the world. “They gets the urge to meddle,” 

“So… you’re saying I’ve stuck to you, now,” you ask. You feel embarrassed, but Dream doesn’t care.

“I think, perhaps… we’re stuck to each other,” the way he peers down at you, fingers curled around your arm, small smile on his lips, makes your heartbeat accelerate tenfold.

Does he know? Does he know that you think of him all of the time? 

“I wish you could teach me,” you start, looking at the floor sadly. You don’t want him to see you be so pathetic.

“Teach you what?” his voice drops at octave; it shouldn’t have been possible. His words vibrate throughout the floor of the castle.

“What you do. How you live. How you work. I don’t even know if you can go to the waking world or not,” you mumble. Dream breathes out slowly, before gently placing his fingers under your chin. He lifts your head, so he can meet your eyes.

“Curious, aren’t you?” he regards you. 

“I’ve been dreaming all my life,” you say. “You can’t blame me,” 

“I suppose not,” he whispers. His thumb gently swipes over your chin, sending a shiver down your spine. “And yes, I can exist in the waking world,” 

Your eyes widen, only appearing glassier. You don’t care. You blink at him, gobsmacked. “Can you… visit me in the waking world?” you ask.

Dream freezes, but he doesn’t pull away. His expression changes to a quizzical look. “May I ask why?” 

“Because… I want you to exist in my reality, as well as my dreams,” you whisper it, utterly transfixed on his gaze. Gently, he takes a step even closer to you, so you’re chest to chest. “I just want to be sure that you’re real… that I didn’t make you up in my head,” 

The amount of times you’d thought yourself to be crazy was multiple. There were times where you’d questioned everything— your dreamscape compared to your reality, if Dream was real of if you’d created him.

You wanted to know, properly, once and for all. Even though you knew, deep down, he was real. 

You just wanted to be certain.

Dream squeezes your arm affectionately. “As you wish,” and just like that, he removes himself from you, taking a few steps back. From his pocket, he grabs a handful of sand. “When you wake, I will be there,” he says simply.

Gently, he raises his palm to his lips and blows upon the sand. The grains spiral into a whirlwind, encasing him in particles of gold until he completely vanishes.

You clamp your eyes shut, telling yourself it’s time to wake up—

When you open your eyes, you wake in your bed. It’s late, past midnight, and your room is dark.

When he strikes a match, you gasp so loudly that you almost vomit up your heart. Dream lights the candle on your dresser, blowing out the match as a golden glow is cast around your bedroom.

“Dream?” you whisper, heart in your throat.

He turns to you, and you can still see his smile in the dim light. He steps forward, dropping down onto your mattress gently.

“Are you convinced?” he asks.

“Am I still dreaming?“ you let out, trying to stop yourself from crying or screaming or throwing yourself at him with a hug.

“No. You are awake,” he says simply, and those four words put your heart at ease, but make your lungs scream for air. You can’t believe it. He’s real. He’s been real this whole time.

You let out an abrupt laugh, leaning forward to grab him by the face. He lets you, smiling even more so and shuffling himself closer to you on the mattress. 

His fingers fiddle with the seam of your night shirt. 

He’s real. He’s real.

“I missed you,” he says suddenly, and you allow a small tear to fall down your cheek. You laugh again, swiping your thumb over his jaw. His eyes quickly stick to your lips; just for a second; before travelling back to your eyes.

“I missed you, too,” you reply, and it feels so good to say that you cannot believe this is happening. A proper reunion, an understanding, a feeling.

The King of Dreams had missed you.

“You must rest,” he whispers lowly, but the way his hand trails up to your neck means that you know he doesn’t want to let you go yet. 

“Come and see me tomorrow,” you plead. “Promise me,” 

Dream lets out the smallest of huffs, the tiniest tuft of air that tells you just how much he adores you. This fondness, this closeness. Perhaps, he’d been keeping himself away for all this time to stop you from relying on your dreamscape, but now— you had him in your reality.

You had him.

Gently, Dream leans in until the gap between you in gone. His lips are soft as they press against your own. He inhales you completely, relishing in the feeling on your head, cradled by his hand, and your fingers fiddling with his hair.

He tastes like the ocean, almost. Like salt water and something else that you can’t work out— power, ageless, a king.

When he pulls away, he drops his forehead onto your own. “You have my word,” he says, and you can feel every syllable cut through your body. Every word. Every sound.

“Okay,” you whisper back. You shut your eyes, content with feeling him against you— his fingers, his lips, his forehead. Everything.

“Goodnight, sweet dreamer,” he whispers.

When you open your eyes, he’s gone.

You can still feel his lips, pressed against yours, telling you to keep dreaming.

[nanonews]

firstly, LOOK. First Orpheus beach scene and now this. I am not okay. [insert Kylo Ren MOOOORE gif]

secondly (more comics spoilers below):

Wanda's grave = A game of you storyline (early arc)

Wanda character is to be merged with Ruby DeLonge's character in the TV adaptation, as per the casting call description

Ruby = Brief Lives storyline (later arc)

in the original story, important aGoY events set stage for BL events

But Wanda = Ruby = Wanda means BL events have to happen *before* aGoY events

WHICH MEANS

Either they somehow wrote the script so that BL happens *before* aGoY, which would in turn mean they have to set up something completely different than Thessaly to be Dream's incentive to join Delirium's search for Destruction (which in turn means no Thessaly? I have to admit I thought I'd be happy about this because fvck Thessaly but now I'm not so sure...)

OR they scrap the events of aGoY alltogether except for the death of Wanda, including Hazel and Foxglove and George and The Cuckoo, and most importantly Wanda's relationship to Barbie isn't a thing, and so the sneak peak of The Land in Season 1 was a dead end, which means stuff like the origin of the Porpentine and Alianora never gets set up???

I don't know which of these I'm more afraid of happening

Gonna go with both

Or hopefully the third option that I haven't thought out yet which means we get all the stories and characters, anyone have any ideas?

Most importantly: Don't fvck this up Netflix

Addendum: Is Indya Moore the most perfect casting in this series yet? Because holy shit they look perfect

[what-the-f-is-going-on]

See we're forgetting that roderick burgess might be the one who caught morpheus but that was like, 10 years long. Alex on the other hand kept him there for the rest of his imprisonment, so yeah roderick was an ass and everyone knows he was responsible, but alex was the real warden through and through even if he wasn't cruel in nature like his father, and im willing to bet that dream might hate the father but absolutely despises the passiveness of the son that kept him there

[fiumedivita]

[dreamscrawl]

A little sneak peek from my first The Sandman fic. (The title is A Waking Conversation with Dream.) I love the idea of [Y/N] bringing up Morpheus' ex-girlfriends at every opportunity. It's fun to tease someone like him, don't you think? The reaction every time is priceless. [Y/N] had recently met Morpheus here. She's still getting to know The Endless. (×)

[akajustmerry]

the gag with g*iman appropriating the Dreaming for Sandman is that he didn't have to do that because if he'd collaborated with us to make Sandman (like he collaborated with Black creators to make Anansi Boys) it would be so fucking cool. Like, Blakfellas are the oldest culture!! we've been dreaming longer than any people on Earth! so the power this story could have if Dream was Blak, if the sandmans "dreaming" was our Dreaming built on the foundations of our spirits and stories rather than all these white deities. Like...... He didn't have to steal and bastardise it like this. But the choice was made and, in the very least, the story is all the worse for it.

[oreo-cookies-fan]

Screaming here, cuz Nandor has a bird named Matthew, what a great Sandoman crossover/reference, I'm exploding as we speak

[darthstitch]

OMG people.

The Sandman was "woke" before "woke" was a thing.

Get over it.

[diver5ion]