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To Be Brand New - 25/25, all complete!!

holy shit, we made it!!!

Check out all the art by @fishfingersandscarves

To Be Brand New || Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling || Explicit || 25/25 || 141,159 words

Book 7: Brief Lives (The Sandman), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, at least during this story, Age Regression/De-Aging, Slow Burn, like the slowest burn, Like One of Them Is A Pre-Sexual Child for the First 100K, What If The Red String Of Fate Was Also A Toddler Leash, Touch-Starved Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Protective Hob Gadling, Cuddling & Snuggling, Caretaking, Bathing/Washing, Sharing a Bed, Crying, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, Illnesses, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Explicit Sexual Content, Masturbation, Not Exactly Loss of Virginity But Kinda?, Implied/Referenced Monsterfucking, Happy Ending

On a rainy day in the Dreaming, Dream of the Endless watches the dreamfolk doting on Daniel Hall, and wishes he could be someone small enough to be loved. Hob Gadling has waited a long time for a chance to be closer to his stranger. This isn’t the way he ever imagined it happening, but he does love nothing better than being surprised.

[Read on Ao3 here!]

Thank you to everyone who supported this story in the writing, everyone who made art, and everyone who has been reading along all month! We're here! We made it! :D

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Reblog if you're a cuddler.

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Sandman fanart I’ll probably never finish </3

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A hummingbird thought a man’s orange hat was a flower [x]

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Wheee

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How Neil Gaiman killed me...

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"The Sandman" fanart

Screen wallpaper... and yes, the poppies again. Don't think I get over it soon ^___^

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i think we all learned that the real villain of Dead Boy Detectives was the internalized homophobia

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How long do you want your sentences to be?

Edgar Allan Poe: Yes

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I am four episodes into Dead Boy Detectives and I cannot bring myself to skip this title sequence ever. This is Good Omens all over again. Like how can you not love skeletons dancing in bisexual lighting to upbeat spooky music?!?

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Uno Reverse

Bonus:

@arialerendeair keeps giving me ideas to springboard off of XD

final image was referenced from Calvin and Hobbes :3

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Gift

two part comic! next part can be found here

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Off Book

Sometimes shit gets stuck in my head and I just gotta get it out. Dreamling, human au, soft smut, read on AO3.

~~~~

There is a script.

There is always a script, for everything and anything, even if Dream doesn’t always know what that script is. Sometimes he gets the words mixed up, or he gets the words right but the cadence wrong, and he’s left floundering until someone decides to cut him out of the dialog completely. 

Which. Hurts. But he gets it.

There is a script for this too.

Hob moving on top of him, hands on his hips to pull Dream back onto his cock with each thrust while Dream’s fingers curl around his shoulders. The bedframe is making little thuds against the wall, and Hob’s breath is hot as he pants next to Dream’s ear. Dream is biting his lip, because sometimes silence is more acceptable than the wrong line, and he feels the way his breath hisses through his teeth on a particularly strong thrust. Despite his best efforts, a needy, desperate whine escapes his throat. 

“What do you need, sweetheart?” Hob rasps, keeping his rhythm as he speaks, pulling back just slightly to glance at Dream’s face.

There is a right answer to his question.

Dream knows what he’s supposed to say. He knows it from porn, from oversharing friends, from partners who tried to spoon feed him his lines- You like it like this, right? I know this is what you want, I know this is what you need- until all he had to do was nod along. He knows what he’s supposed to say, he knows what’s expected, he knows the script here.

“Softer.”

He chokes the word out, and he thinks if Hob hadn’t had their faces pressed together it might have gone unheard, he might have had a second chance to get it right, to say what he knows he was supposed to- harder, faster, more- instead of pathetically pleading for the wrong thing. There are tears welling in his eyes and his breath catches in his throat as he feels Hob still. Maybe this isn’t the end. Maybe he will just have to endure rolled eyes and pointed questions designed to let him know exactly how ridiculous he was being, perhaps a few sharp comments about how weird and stupid he was. He would endure it all, gladly, to not be pushed away.

“Of course, love.”

Dream gasps, eyes snapping open when he hadn’t even been aware of clenching them closed in the first place. A tear escapes as he blinks in surprise, looking up at Hob’s gentle gaze. A flash of sadness crosses his face, followed by shining compassion as he leans down to kiss the corner of Dream’s eye, “Anything you want, sweetheart. That’s why I asked.”

People don’t ask because they want an answer. They ask to move the script forward, to follow the tracks laid down in front of them, to get to the ending plotted out in their heads already. For his whole life Dream has been taught that every interaction has one right answer and countless wrong ones. His answer had been wrong.

But Hob just smiles as he shifts them gently till they are laying on their sides, facing each other. He has one hand wrapped around Dream’s waist to hold the small of his back while the other tugs at his thigh, tangling their legs together and then petting up and down his side in long, soft strokes. 

“Like this?”

The next thrust is slow, and deep. Dream can hear himself sigh, wrapping his arms around Hob to pull him impossibly closer, burying his face against Hob’s neck just in case he fails to blink back his tears appropriately. It feels so good, and Hob is holding him so gently and fucking him softly, just like he asked, as if it was actually possible to get what he wants even when he wants the wrong thing. And he still feels certain he will do something to make it all go away.

He opens his mouth to… he’s not really sure what. To apologize, maybe. But all that comes out is a sharp gasp, and he hears Hob moan, a sound he has become so familiar with and fond of over their time together, the sound of Hob feeling good.

“God, you’re perfect,” he mumbled, a hazy note to his voice that he only got when he was truly losing himself to pleasure and Dream lets out a choked sob on the next thrust as he realizes that somehow he hasn’t messed anything up, Hob isn’t just being nice or indulging him to hold it against him later, Hob is enjoying himself just as much as Dream is.

And crying isn’t in the script either, but when Hob shifts to kiss him deeply, he doesn’t pull away at the taste of salt on his lips. He threads his fingers through Dream’s hair as they kiss, moving together languidly, no rush, no urgency. By the time they both come, Dream’s tears have dried, and Hob still hasn’t let him go.

As they clean up- still quiet, still slow- there is a part of Dream that wonders if this is just a new script for him to learn and eventually get wrong. As they curl up in bed together- still gentle, still soft- a larger part wonders if maybe, with Hob, there isn’t a script at all.

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Off Book

Sometimes shit gets stuck in my head and I just gotta get it out. Dreamling, human au, soft smut, read on AO3.

~~~~

There is a script.

There is always a script, for everything and anything, even if Dream doesn’t always know what that script is. Sometimes he gets the words mixed up, or he gets the words right but the cadence wrong, and he’s left floundering until someone decides to cut him out of the dialog completely. 

Which. Hurts. But he gets it.

There is a script for this too.

Hob moving on top of him, hands on his hips to pull Dream back onto his cock with each thrust while Dream’s fingers curl around his shoulders. The bedframe is making little thuds against the wall, and Hob’s breath is hot as he pants next to Dream’s ear. Dream is biting his lip, because sometimes silence is more acceptable than the wrong line, and he feels the way his breath hisses through his teeth on a particularly strong thrust. Despite his best efforts, a needy, desperate whine escapes his throat. 

“What do you need, sweetheart?” Hob rasps, keeping his rhythm as he speaks, pulling back just slightly to glance at Dream’s face.

There is a right answer to his question.

Dream knows what he’s supposed to say. He knows it from porn, from oversharing friends, from partners who tried to spoon feed him his lines- You like it like this, right? I know this is what you want, I know this is what you need- until all he had to do was nod along. He knows what he’s supposed to say, he knows what’s expected, he knows the script here.

“Softer.”

He chokes the word out, and he thinks if Hob hadn’t had their faces pressed together it might have gone unheard, he might have had a second chance to get it right, to say what he knows he was supposed to- harder, faster, more- instead of pathetically pleading for the wrong thing. There are tears welling in his eyes and his breath catches in his throat as he feels Hob still. Maybe this isn’t the end. Maybe he will just have to endure rolled eyes and pointed questions designed to let him know exactly how ridiculous he was being, perhaps a few sharp comments about how weird and stupid he was. He would endure it all, gladly, to not be pushed away.

“Of course, love.”

Dream gasps, eyes snapping open when he hadn’t even been aware of clenching them closed in the first place. A tear escapes as he blinks in surprise, looking up at Hob’s gentle gaze. A flash of sadness crosses his face, followed by shining compassion as he leans down to kiss the corner of Dream’s eye, “Anything you want, sweetheart. That’s why I asked.”

People don’t ask because they want an answer. They ask to move the script forward, to follow the tracks laid down in front of them, to get to the ending plotted out in their heads already. For his whole life Dream has been taught that every interaction has one right answer and countless wrong ones. His answer had been wrong.

But Hob just smiles as he shifts them gently till they are laying on their sides, facing each other. He has one hand wrapped around Dream’s waist to hold the small of his back while the other tugs at his thigh, tangling their legs together and then petting up and down his side in long, soft strokes. 

“Like this?”

The next thrust is slow, and deep. Dream can hear himself sigh, wrapping his arms around Hob to pull him impossibly closer, burying his face against Hob’s neck just in case he fails to blink back his tears appropriately. It feels so good, and Hob is holding him so gently and fucking him softly, just like he asked, as if it was actually possible to get what he wants even when he wants the wrong thing. And he still feels certain he will do something to make it all go away.

He opens his mouth to… he’s not really sure what. To apologize, maybe. But all that comes out is a sharp gasp, and he hears Hob moan, a sound he has become so familiar with and fond of over their time together, the sound of Hob feeling good.

“God, you’re perfect,” he mumbled, a hazy note to his voice that he only got when he was truly losing himself to pleasure and Dream lets out a choked sob on the next thrust as he realizes that somehow he hasn’t messed anything up, Hob isn’t just being nice or indulging him to hold it against him later, Hob is enjoying himself just as much as Dream is.

And crying isn’t in the script either, but when Hob shifts to kiss him deeply, he doesn’t pull away at the taste of salt on his lips. He threads his fingers through Dream’s hair as they kiss, moving together languidly, no rush, no urgency. By the time they both come, Dream’s tears have dried, and Hob still hasn’t let him go.

As they clean up- still quiet, still slow- there is a part of Dream that wonders if this is just a new script for him to learn and eventually get wrong. As they curl up in bed together- still gentle, still soft- a larger part wonders if maybe, with Hob, there isn’t a script at all.

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Dream—Claudia Ianniciello

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I enjoyed Dead Boy Detectives a whole fucking lot more than I expected and I kinda expected to like it already