#wildscratch

FORMSHAPER

a multimuse roleplay blog for DREAM OF THE ENDLESS (both first and second) and many other characters, both canon and original. fandoms include the sandman, red dead redemption, black sails, and the bedlam stacks. 18+ only, low activity, and selective, but non-mutuals are welcome to interact.

written by various members of the Wilds system (27, they/them collective pronouns).

       morpheus is gone.  morpheus was always half gone anyway.  and morpheus loved her, but he didn't love her enough to stay with her.  it's not something incredibly difficult to understand, it doesn’t need to be dissected.  it’s actually really simple; they loved each other and it wasn't enough for him.  but it was enough for her, right?  she thinks, she hoped, she prayed.  it felt like it was enough and it felt like it was real and it occurs to her now that maybe that was only just what it felt like.  but that's not what it really was.

       she closes her eyes, thinks about the warmth of the sun on her face and its stick-butter glow.  and the way it turned her hair to a plume of tendrils on fire, flame-red and unruly.  and how the silk soft blades of grass tickled the tips of her fingers and toes and cheeks and held her like a pair of arms.  and everything was simultaneously calm and alive and unreal, but more tangible than anything she’d ever felt here.  is she allowed to mourn the life she lived in the dreaming if it wasn’t legitimately even a life at all?

       her eyes snap open, cold as ice, sharp as steel, as pointed as a knife.  frankie looks at the Dream that is not her Dream and tries to decide if she wants to kiss it or kill it.  the glittering, cosmic eyes are the same.  the face is almost the same.  the lips, the jaw, the skin tone are all eerily similar and hauntingly different.  she looks away,   ❝  i think-  ❞   a careful start, fingers jammed into her pockets to hide the way they twitch with rage and ache with emptiness.  eyes still distant, avoidant, looking anywhere but there.  her mouth is wine stained and pursed with sour ire.

   ❝  if you have somewhere you belong, you should go back there now.  ❞

[ look buddy i want Dream2 to be cute with someone but I don't know WHO so you're going to have to spin a wheel or something--]

kiss prompts. ( accepting !! )

The dragon rarely had time for these things - relationships, or something that was affectionate and nice. They hadn't done much since Jaina. Nor Anvenna. But it seems like their dreams is something that could momentarily allow Kalecgos to have something close to what it felt like years ago.

To forget their troubles - their dying Aspect; how the Blue Dragonflight was thinning every day or every year. A dying breed.

send 👅 to put fingers in my muses mouth. ( accepting !! )

The Corinthian's mouth was no match for Dream's fingers. They were shoved in deep - exploring a dangerous maw. ( Though to Dream, it's probably just a typical tuesday. ) The nightmare's mouth was open, but the Corinthian began to bite down onto the fingers. Not like Dream cared. There's resistant, wanting whatever was in his mouth to stay in his god-damn mouth!

Two other mouths hissed - sneering, a crease forming in the middle of his brows as he furrows them. Dream pried his mouth more like their fingers were the Jaws of Life. Rescuing an eyeball. It's not a Dreamer's. No. It might be perhaps a creation's eyeball. Like the eyeball, Dream's fingers were covered in what looks like to be blood and spit.

@wildscratch has sent this in: ❛ why is it whenever we see each other, you’re covered in blood? ❜ [ daniel dream ] | &. 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬. ( accepting !! )

WAKE UP, JOHN CONSTANTINE.

And the nightmare is over.

Standing at the foot of the bed is a familiar, dark figure, whose eyes burn like stars in the pitch black.

"You must think I have not kept my end of our bargain," says Morpheus, sounding... disappointed. "I was not aware that another nightmare had decided to prey upon your memories, too. It will not happen again. He will be dealt with."

it's never been like this before. he's never been catapulted away from the fingers that seem to dig into him forever and the teeth that rend like love, sent spinning weightless, meaningless, senseless into the fathomless ( endless ) dark. sinking in an iced-over sea, whispers of fucking eye-eater shimmering, fading into the seamless black glass surface. somehow the absence is so much worse; panic slams his ribcage, the echo of his fists beating against the ice. he has to get OUT before it comes back, out of this fucking nothing tomb, he has to . . . he has to —

WAKE UP.

he jackknifes to his senses with a shout, and when the fog of sweat-drenched horror fades, he sees . . . well, stars. literally. saved by the bell, and eyeballs intact. never thought he'd be happy to see the creepy fucker looming over his bed. that's morpheus for you, con job, says his stress-fried brain with a smirk: always seems to catch you mid-plummet.

' jesus. ' spit crackles in the back of his dry throat, like he's been dreaming so long that he's mummified inside: a desiccated thing to be uncovered in a dusty corner. like rachel. he pinches the bridge of his nose, splays fingers out across his eyelids — still there, thank christ. this time. ' it's real. jesus. '

his hands are shaking. he almost bites off the end of his silk cut getting it in his mouth; no luckier with the lighter. ' so that's one of yours, then, is it? not to tell you how to do your JOB, mate, but making things with fuckin' teeth for eyes is bound to cause problems down the line. ' it'd sound funnier if he wasn't numb and nauseous, crawling to the core. he's never woken up before it ate the eyes; it almost doesn't feel real anymore, having them. ( something skittering across the shard in his mind saying to do it himself. )

' how exactly do you deal with it, eh? pop it back in the workshop for a spell, make it a more palatable little nightmare? VERY bloody generous. ' he ought to mind the gift horse, but he can't be arsed when he's still shivering in his sheets and the fucking lighter won't spark. he gives up with a snarl, flicking the unspent cigarette at dream's feet. fancies he can still hear the nightmare chewing, chewing, chewing. christ, he just wants to sleep. ' what the sodding hell does it WANT with me? '

' oi! i'm not DONE with you, sunshine! ' fucking immortals, fucking constructs, fucking fuck you of the endless — people are always just bloody assets to them, aren't they? he's some specialty tool ( heh ) that hasn't broken yet, so they've made it their mission to see how far they can push his limits. drag him to the dreaming and then leave him here, why not? not like he's got anything better to do. OH, WAIT!

he jabs a finger into dream's chest, never not expecting it to come clean out the other side, one of these days. ' i'm not one of your sodding creations, get me? you don't throw me out as soon as you're done playing. now you've put me in the middle of this mess, and i don't have the luxury of a kingdom at my beck an' fuckin' call to get me out of it. so you're gonna help ME, now. ' fury and desperation are twins, and a constantine twin always kills the other one; it's a game of chance to see which will win, this time.