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[mistersandmangivemeadream]

Update: Icons & Backgrounds

Got myself a nicely commissioned piece of artwork especially for my writing blog and I think you should know about her. 

Bee’s knees & a dream to work with. Excellent work. Deserves your money.

Go on and give ‘em your ideas. 

Please Do Not Use This Image Without Tagging/Crediting 

@samithereens​

Best to Follow For More Artwork on-

Twitter:https://twitter.com/samithereens 

IG: https://www.instagram.com/samithereens/

[mistersandmangivemeadream]

W is for War

Intro: It was a simple request. This is longer than my usual, but it’s a pair I’m (amongst many others) acutely fond of. Sirius and Lupin were not given nearly enough justice by their original writer. I hope to give them both more hope and justice in the ways which I can. 

Obviously, we are in the world in which Black did not die. It is a couple years later, around when Harry and Ginny are engaged with their wedding on the horizon. 

There will be a second part to this eventually. 

The title of the piece is a harken back to ‘M is for Magic’ by Neil Gaiman, a collection of short stories, who in turn got that from a collection of short stories by one of his favorite authors 

Read This on Ao3 

CW: death & war imagery 

“What’s going on?”

A man looks up with eyes flaming like Gabriel’s sword at the Garden Gate of Eden. Perhaps a touch damper than that, but no one has been close enough to the angel to really tell if they too cry with the look of half annoyance and half on the verge of something else entirely unrecorded by men. 

“I have to find it.”

The friend, very much confused as to what they have walked into, asks, “Find what?” Trapezes step by careful step over record sleeves that are scattered haphazardly around Sirius. 

“Their song, Remus. Their damned song. I...” the air deflating quickly out of the man as he leans  back onto his haunches though there are no balloons in sight. Tears begin to burn traitorously at the edges of his eyes as he angrily wipes them away with a sleeve. No need for those here if they aren’t going to be helpful in finding anything. “I found the record they played at their wedding…. that night...it just...needed some cleaning up...I kept it all these years” Gesturing to a plain gramophone on a hutch. “And now I can’t find it....I can’t...” Hands travel over these case-less records as if it’ll repair whatever is cracking. 

Their sleeves forgotten. 

Remus sinks to his aching knees, that have nothing to do with the cold or incoming storm front, to help. We’ve all felt them before, if you were to go pray right now you’ll feel it again even.  

Floorboards creak. The wind moans. Wordlessly they search to and fro for 15 minutes or so. Brows furrowed and more and more desperate as minutes tick on by. They search under couches. In old bookshelves. Found things in the curtains that bite. Sirius suckles at his injured  thumb as he bashes in some crushed velvet with a ferocity usually reserved for fiercer adversaries than decorative throw pillows. 

Surprise of all surprises, as is usually the case when one is looking for anything that is lost, they find it resting in the back of the hutch the record player is on- where Sirius swears he had looked when he first began. It is untouched by time or hardship, dusty yet perfectly serviceable for their purposes. 

The hair of a dog-man happy cries while he rushes around like a little boy asking for Lupin to, “turn it on, turn it on” as he exuberantly throws open the curtains. His dear friend smiles as he puts on the pin. 

He looks 10 years younger and quite a bit more rakish as he puts out a hand. 

“Dance with me, Moony.

It’s something your grandparents danced to.That your parents scoffed at as children till they too followed in their steps.Do all love songs work this way? 

The bouncing around and stepping on toes and then hitting the slow songs. Spreading apart slowly like that new thing is fresh strawberry jam. Sticky and sweet and new and familiar. Sirius ignores the dry mouth that accompanies the closeness of his friend. He smells like cloves. 

Waving to the record player which has begun to play Lily & James’ first dance, he moves over with sudden interest to observe the fat droplets that have begun to hit the window pane.Leaving a couple meters between the men. Lupin’s fingers twitch like Padfoot has always been his phantom limb. Be a little more outrageous of an idea if Remus couldn’t feel the ache returning. This time isn’t wasn’t just in his knees , it spread out in a particularly prickly way outwards from his chest, as it began to rain. 

“I wanted to find it for Ginny and Harry’s wedding.” Sirius now grins back at Lupin who must nod away like a good friend does, “you think they’ll disown us if we recreate that night at Lily & James’s wedding? I don’t remember anything past you getting me outta James’ dear Aunt Barges’ claws.”Catching sight of his friend's expression that looks less than affable, the bark of a laugh dies in his throat. The silence becomes damning. 

“You alright, Moony?” 

Exasperation like he has never heard before from that mouth. Sounds like disappointment, but not the kind for putting his hand into the tin before supper or about his tastes in sock-wear. Something burns brightly in those eyes that look back at him. “Why must you always do that?”

Confusion clouds his face as he watches the werewolf stride over to the gramophone. “Do wha-”

“Do not dare insult me Sirius John Black-”  as he raises the pin off the record the music dramatically stops. As he yanks it off, Sirius yells. 

“REMUS DON’T-.” 

The man pauses to look at Sirius. Just looks for an undetermined amount of time enough to make his friend’s skin crawl with apprehension. He grabs the sleeve and gently slides it back in, “Do you trust me so little, Black?” 

That stings. “I….we just found it didn’t….” There are no excuses, none that matter, that the last time he had trust it’d died in a place called Godric’s Hollow. He had been running like hell was on his heel ever since. 

Boys don’t come home from war; the men do. But even the trenches had radios. 

Remus becomes as intrigued by the rain as Black had been earlier. Record still in hand, the grey slate a metaphor. Dull ticking of a clock a reminder about things lately borrowed. The room breathes as Lupin regains a composure he is most known for. As his thoughts start collecting again in an orderly manner, he speaks without reserve though it lacks heart, “I waited for you to not be dead.You were all that was left out of all we had lost. And I thought I loved you because you came back when no one else could. But that’s not true- ” 

There are tears in those eyes, “I’m lonely too.” 

There’s the ugly thing now like a croaking frog that leapt out of his mouth. “What was I before the moon? Before the war?” There is no time to explain. 

“I don’t know.” 

The Irish trip into their graves.  

Do the English dance into them? 

The man looks down at the piece of memorabilia. 

“I miss them.” Then he rests it down back on the hutch like a babe laid to rest peacefully. Harry will one day play it for his child .This hope is like poppies as his hand rubs mindlessly at his chest where his heart should be if he hadn’t vomited it onto the carpet already at Black’s feet but a moment prior. “But I would miss you more now for knowing you.” Sirius’ tongue is mud. Thick and useless, unlike the strawberry jam sensation earlier it has an iron tang that is fast to fill the mouth.Can’t breathe for all the space in Grimmauld Place the lot of them. They’ve forgotten how.

There’s ringing in Black’s ears, his skin buzzes the same as whatever lives in the curtains, and Azkaban rattles in his chest like somebody is about to kiss him. 

“Why do you always do that?”

“What?”

There is no memory of how Sirius got across the room so fast. 

“Wait for me” 

That kiss hurts. The second less so. The teeth clicking in unfamiliarity does much to make the library once more into a sanctuary,  as they both come up air grinning and laughing like the fools they are. Not quite yet sure how to proceed, Sirius for once in his well endowed life discovers himself nervous at the foot of a lover. 

We- and Lupin- shall call that poetic justice. 

Pushing a lock of hair behind Black’s ear who has yet to come to terms with having butterflies at his age. Do they need cages? Can they live off fish and chips? “What is it?” Remus asked a crease furrowing his brow. 

“Oh I was just wondering if butterfli-” he waves a hand, “-nevermind. We need suits, you know?”

Remus’ eyes glitter in good humor, “Oh do we now?” 

“Of course for my Godson’s wedding. Unless you are telling me you’ve retained your boyish..form all these years?” The look goes to Remus’ gut. It is one he has seen half a dozen times….at other women...at other men. Sirius adjusts a lapel that need not be adjusted in his personal opinion. “I’m afraid it has seen better days.” Lupin tries to half-joke, not thinking about scars, fresh and not, underneath. “What about yourself-” He pretends to look around Black, “where do you hide all those pints?” 

Scandalized and incredulous Sirius exclaims hand on chest, “I’m offended. They went straight to my fine derriere. Thank you kindly, Professor.” 

An eyeroll most impeccable which had been under reservation for Sirus John Black since they’d been 11 he stated plainly, “Moony, you know I don’t teach anymore…”

Padfoot wouldn’t let Moony get away with anything, “I’m sure you could teach this old dog a few new tricks.” 

The wink; His friend was back. The taste of him in his mouth still new he watched as Sirius went to snatch a jacket off the back of a chair. “Come on, luv.”

So he followed after. 

[mistersandmangivemeadream]

I ship you with Charlie Weasley! ((There are no gifs of a casted Charlie so I decided Sam Heughan. I decided))

Intro: I love your description of yourself and so it was easy peasy to imagine you in a scenario where you could very well get yourself out of it, but a little help by a clever man might not be unwarranted.

Had lots of fun cracking jokes in this one.

Enjoy!

It burned.

The overpriced lemon drink made you pucker your lips and left behind a flavour similar to sour candies that had been soaked in your grandmother’s bathroom cleaner. Very specific. You don’t remember ever tasting toilet antiseptic. Have you?

You had envisaged this night going much differently.

Your date is an accountant. And it’s not his fault that he gives all accountants the exact reputation expected of them from infancy. Formal, nice, dull. Smells like a nice department store aftershave his mother bought him. Who lives with him. That’s not weird. He has a 401k. There’s a patch of dry skin to the left of his sweetheart shaped lip.

“....so that’s when I told Graham no it’s because your formula is not for the right function, sum….”

You really were hoping the accent would help. It has not. You don’t know whether to scream or yawn so you smile.

“get it-”

It comes out sharper than you mean to, “I got it. Will you excuse me-need to go use the restroom.”

The water from the club’s bathroom sink is desperately splashed into your face over and over. Still not as mind-numbing as the conversation. It’s the most invigorating thing you’ve felt all night. If you hear one more accountant joke or weird fact about David’s mother you might very well explode. The bathroom door opens as a man goes to the urinal closet to you to take a piss. Why? Like why right there? Creep. The sound of it splashing against the tile is the only sound except for a  dull throb of bass from the dance-floor underfoot. You just want to go home. Everything is buzzing. Annoyance.

“You know if you were any louder out there the whole block would hear ya”

You squint over. “I’m sorry, excuse you?” His accent is nicer than your dates. Do the English travel in packs? Like pigeons? The United States like a honing device or maybe those bug lights that lure you in then ZAP. Dead. With a shake you get off the excess water and go to grab a paper towel. Wary of the stranger with his odd introduction. An earring catches the light as he runs a free hand through red hair. He’s hot. Weird. But hot.

“Sorry, I could hear you...well..you were ‘loud’ like I said and I think you might prefer eating nails than talking to whathisname”. Jiggling back into some seriously tight pants, your gaze goes back up now little scared. You had quite literally thought about eating nails at some point in the conversation. He shouldn’t know that. Lucky guess. You go to walk around the man. The ginger looks over your face quickly and realizes something. He quickly cleans up.

“That sounds weird. Doesn’t it?”

“Yeah just a bit my sweet dude.”

“‘Sweet dude’. That’s a new one.” He laughs and it’s not a serial killer laugh. You think. You're not sure you’ve ever heard a serial killer so you may not be a good judge of character in this regard.

“Nah, legilimens.”

Your fear quickly dissipates  into anger. How dare-

“You’re right that sounds worse doesn’t it?”

“You think?”

“It’s just you were giving off bad vibes when the gent started touching you. That’s the empath shit you don’t need care about- and thought-”

No business of his about how’d you said you weren’t interested in anything like That as politely as possible and he’d still somehow found ways to touch you. You’d handle it.

“That’d you’d save me? I can take care of myself, thanks. You can’t just go barging into people’s head-”

His brow furrows and he protests. “I didn’t barge.”

“Sneak in like a sneaky little snake man.”

The bark of a laugh on the man fills every corner. You don’t like how it sneaks up into your chest and makes you stop thinking about where you’ve tasted toilet antiseptic before. Arms remain crossed as the Englishman stays a healthy distance away. His hands go  up in a contrite manner. Yeah. We will see how sorry he really is….

“Listen. I’m sorry it was invasive and won’t do it again. Just answer me one question. Or not, won’t force you. ‘Do you want a way out with the gent or not?’”

Like a balloon all the air goes out of you.

“Yeah….but..”

A feeble protest. As the ginger puts out an eager hand as he gets within a couple feet of you,

“Then Charlie Weasely at your service. Man with a plan against the wankers of the world. And at least a pint of liquid courage in me.”

You can’t help the lip twitch that’s almost a smile in the right lighting. As Charlie’s voice lowers to match his soften eyes,

“If you’ll have me?”

There is a pause. “Fine. But you are still a weird snakey man.” Taking his hand, you never realized how much you appreciated a man who believes in skincare and hand lotion. Firsts for everything tonight.

“I’ll take it. But I’m a Gryffindor.”The man straight up lets out a “Rawr.” Hands and all. Christ on a bike you are going to have to re-evaluate your standards after this evening for the company you keep. You go to follow him out of the bathroom. No plan except to follow this funky little Weasley into God knows what.

“Quit staring at my ass.” he says.

“Get out of my head.”

“Oh sweetheart, I didn’t need to read your mind to know that one.”

Charlie’s wink makes you grin for the first time that night. Making you believe it may be salvageable after all.

Poor David.

He’s got his mother.

He’ll be alright.

[mistersandmangivemeadream]

a tribute/love letter

Intro: This was a request from @cerem00ny​ to talk about the Good Omen boys. As is usual, I seemed to have let myself get ahead of myself, but it was all in honest earnest admiration.

As Death says, “there are many men (anybody really) who have said it better or more succinct(ly)” than what I am to attempt. 

This is Death to @neil-gaiman​

CW: Death (figuratively and well quite literally), References to Alzheimer's

Read on Ao3

Dreams are my brother’s work. 

You know my brother’s work well. 

But have you wrote Gods out of existence like me? 

Does your son know of me? Or will you leave that to my sister, Time? 

But what of me?

There are many men who have said it better or more succinct-certainly better than what I am about to attempt. 

~

My children fight. For they are all my children. Before they were Gods’, they were always mine.I have always been. And one day when I meet with God and the anger at being separated for so long is all that is left in the inky black. 

I will say, 

‘I did your work.’

‘Please, forgive me.’

~

As leaves shook in the London breeze under a  gazebo at the end of the world-I felt what I had not felt since the Beginning; An apocalypse that was mine. 

‘Unforgivable’

“Unforgivable.That’s what I am.” 

So when that damned demon got to it before me, I felt the abandonment imminent and on my tongue as ice gathered at my scythe. And I could not move. 

Then as the nightingales sang a treble tune for the two of you, Angel, you looked scared and momentarily confused. 

As if you could forget anything. Aziraphale, acting falsely against your nature, boy.  Your holiness that had been forged from a quasi-devotion forged in your kind since before you could remember blinking. I was there beside them the day of a thousand eyes. You did it because That Was What Angels Do. You love my Beloved because there never was any other choice. 

You love him, before you, without a single demand. 

Was it the day they bombed that church as if everything was a penniless thing except your faith. That had always been well placed? 

There was bones that day, Aziraphale. I did not see your doubt in the ashes. I saw your compliance. Your punishment is God can not take that away come disease, famine, or ruin. And God did not, will not smite you. 

Don’t you think it strange? 

If you can pretend to forget him. There is not a thing you can do for that splinter in your heart now. 

What are you going to do when you are not saving the world? 

Crowley.  O’ where does your fear sleep at night? For it is not with me. Or my brother. Or my sister. Though she says ‘hello’. Nor is it with my lover in prayer. Your wordless lips in tangled sheets have given far more service to an angel than ever to your God that left you. Now, he too might leave you? If I could shout at you I would. My jaw twitches. I remain silent. 

Death is only good for endings. 

~

I switch off the television. Waiting for the things in the walls to stop. I remember what I am king of again. I consider dinner. 

I am saying it was good. What you did was good. The work was good.

And I will tell him hello from you. 

For the days he forgot you, I promise you I sent Dream, Neil.  You know my own brother  better than I though occasionally they too answer my calls. Though the man wanted me. I ignored his voicemails. I hope you too, can forgive me for that. 

My sister said it was a loan. I can only imagine what the price will be.

Perhaps the cheap red lingerie she always has threatened to put me in. 

To remember the songs; 

I needed him to not forget even for a second what you had done with all that well-placed faith. I am a selfish thing Mr. Gaiman. I may have cheated (I am Death.  I’m allowed) and shown him the gazebo at the end of the world. For Death is only good for endings after all and it was Time. He of course had commentary, as you very well know our Terry would have, but you know what was not there? 

Confusion. Not an ounce of anger. 

I let him hold my scythe.

What utter delight that man had at holding me at last. I smiled as I had not smiled for five thousand and one lifetimes. 

Teeth you know are the only bones that show.

Maybe, I was bored.

 Or….it was your service Mister Gaiman. 

To your small gods, your American gods, mischievous gods, your goddess wife, changeling child, to the old & new, to Aziraphale & Crowley, to Sir Terry Pratchett,

To memory and to your grief, I raise a glass. 

To all your tomorrows, 

Death 

P.S. I thoroughly enjoyed the portrayal of ‘Death’ in the Sandman Chronicles. In particular, I am flattered you think I could have such an exquisite shape. The last time I tried Kohl was during Thutmose III’s going away party and I think I put it much too thick.  

Though your portrayal of incorrigible sass was practically well done. 

[mistersandmangivemeadream]

Anonymous Asks/Requests Now Open

Hello, now have the anonymous requests open. Have a few posts to upload over the next couple of days so be on the look out!

Sleep Well,

Sol 

[mistersandmangivemeadream]

like atlas before him

Fandom: OC, Original Fiction 

CW: Mention of Possible Car Crash/Brief Mention of Blood 

Summary: an entity that goes by the name Z moves the heavens for a babe before lessons. and is atlas in all his dreaming. 

undisclosed area. 4:03 am. trains and fog. an ungloved hand dips a finger into cold water. if the impact does not kill the family of three- the water will. z checks watch. and the air goes dead still,  a mosquito has nestled behind his ear. there is no buzz, no sounds of shattering glass or metal crumpling or the cry of a babe.

z rises from the tall wet grass now like razors in frozen time. brushes dirt from thighs as fiberglass in his hands. this is why he brought gloves. happens all the time; hazards of the job. the blood droplets are pinpricks that slip back into what can only be described as leather looking gloves. 

though they wash as skin. 

the train was early. the family had wanted to hit the road at an early god forsaken hour to miss traffic. most unfortunate set of coincidences. the reaper bends down to look into the car whose front end was a last breath way from the red train. 

coal, he thinks. humans still burn the stuff, smells black and ready to blacken those glorious lungs. 

 in the passenger side, wife had a little drool dribble with her face pressed against glass. light would be the last thing she saw. husband with an desk  office pooch would not be so lucky. and the sleeping babe, well she, she would keep sleeping. he wouldn’t have let one bit of blood stain the blue flowered onesie.

and if you might imagine pushing the entire universe's minute hand back- you would be a quarter of the way there in understanding who and what we are dealing with. z put his whole weight like atlas against the front end of the car and pushed. sweat collects as his lip. And his whole vision starts tunneling. almost there. 

then it was done.

the car looks like it didn’t even move an inch.¾’s of inch to be exact. for all intents and purposes the scene looks the same as it should. z’s chest heaves and his shadow slumps behind him. “I know, I know” in a soothing voice and a finger reaches back to stroke it. “Good work, luv.” curls around hand before going back to standing tall behind him.

deja vu isn’t people on the right track.

 it's when death makes a stop because he was bored before lessons. it’s not mercy if you are just doing it to fill the time. 

the babe wakes up crying.

[mistersandmangivemeadream]

Wrecked

Fandom: Harry Potter (OCs)

CW: Explicit content (oral)

Summary: So an Irishman and an American Twink walk out of a bar do some sexy shenanigans and blow jobs and a poem just as you’d expect. 

So much for forgetting that the only barrier between Aaron ’s flesh and his was thin cotton material. Not that Bram was looking to forget a single sensation happening right now. Selflessness was all fine and dandy for the sake of humanity, but fuck it all if it was real inconvenient when a man started grabbing your cock and eyeing it like Merlin’s gift to the magical world. The Irishman was even willing to forgive the adorable as hell eyebrow waggle. No forgiveness required, in reality. Rather it inspired a desire to wipe off any and all amusement from the lad’s face with well placed affection. A heavy hand never did a mouthy boy any harm. According to the man himself, the more harm the better. Win, win...Bram adored giving people exactly what they asked for. There was something to be said for a satisfied customer.

Doling out a well earned groan, as Aaron ’s hand traced a thoughtful pattern worthy of getting his cock putting a concentrated effort to strain even farther against the already strained fabric. 

Heart jumping into his throat as if it had no better place to be, since all the blood had rushed to join more important appendages and jaw tensed in temptation, Bram’s body without much thought slipped closer to Aaron ’s. Futile to fight the way pleasure was fuzzing out the edges of thought, but McBryne hated being left tongue tied if he could help it. Control your emotions, Bram Boy. And he would do it as poetically was possible. Where Queens was all trickster, the Irishman was an unyielding hearth of warmth. There was no mistaking his intentions. He could hide himself as well as the first  neon sign over a 24 hour diner joint on Route 66 after 50 miles of nothing but desert. 

Sometimes he hated how much his heart was a beacon. 

Following Aaron ’s line of sight- which was currently taking on the coveted role of looking at Bram like he was lunch, dinner, and damn desert-he grabbed the boy’s jaw and pulled him a breath’s distance from his own lips. “I would be honored to fuck such a lovely mouth.” In that shared breath taking time to savor that succulent bottom lip. Small things, McBryne.  

“Don’t mind if I do.” Tipping the lad’s lip open with his index finger and using the digit to check the warmth of said mouth. What a welcome home, indeed. Drawing his hand down to Aaron ’s chest he gave an authoritative shove back. Drawing a pillow down from the top of the bed to the middle, for Queens’ head to rest upon. Gentleman to a fault he could be. A timeless tune weaved its’ way into Bram’s mind as slid off the well tested briefs. A slight hum accompanying the words that fell out as he shifted himself over Aaron ’s face.

“ ‘A’ is for the dat’ alluring ass of yours.”pulling out the the rough purr on the ‘r’ as he pushed his cock into that warm mouth. 

Running a thumb over Queens’ cheek gently as to soften the action. There wasn’t any guilt about the actual act yet rather Bram could only pretend somebody was sexual prey only for so long. It was an act ill-suited to the man he had made himself to be. He wanted Aaron  and when they weren’t focused body parts going here and there-he had interest in the boy outside of who he was between sheets. Thank Merlin, the kid had a firm hand in what he wanted and where- otherwise they would still be at the bar discussing the way the snowflakes were falling like diamond dust. 

And that would be a damn shame.

“ ‘a’ is for that arse imma gonna slide deliciously into before the night is done.”

Thrusting at the ‘slide’  and sliding his own hand behind Queens’ head to provide support while providing control of angling. 

“ ‘r’ is…” the hitch in his breath interrupting his thoughts as “is the… rich way you give exceptional..head.” and Bram could feel his neck wanting to fall back and give into the heat and movement of Aaron ’s mouth taking him in. 

Yanking back Aaron ’s head before he got too eager. McBryne was unable to turn back himself, he pulled far enough to have Queens’ head against the pillow to look into his eyes and pulling out his cock far enough for the tip to almost fall out completely. Both hands were placed on the sides of Aaron ’s face so he couldn’t look away if he tired. A finger working down the cheek and thumb over the top lip just to be a ridiculous tease.  “ ‘O’ for those eyes that e e cummings’s called ‘big love crumbs’.” Payback for the eyebrow waggle, boy. It felt like poetic justice. 

“N….” and the Wolf was peeking out once more as Bram shoved himself fully into Aaron ’s inviting heat yet refraining from pounding in over and over quite yet-

“...are y’ready for my cock so far down your throat you choke mister Aaron ?” The rumble in his chest brought an edge of seriousness to the question that would have made a lesser man tremble. 

And the rhetorical question was met with the thrust of Bram’s cock fully into the depths of that all too willing mouth. 

“Aaron ...”

Came out as a breathy moan  as Bram’s head tilted back and his hair fell back skimming the back of his neck. And the rushing sound of his own blood pounding in his ears overwhelmed him. There was no mercy in the man’s need. There was enough thought to tug at Aaron ’s hair to have the angle allow him to go deeper. Never had McBryne prayed for a man to have a solid control over his gag reflex than in that moment. 

God bless the deep throaters for they shall inherit the earth. 

[mistersandmangivemeadream]

make them the prettiest that i’ve ever seen/intro

Good evening/afternoon/morning/dusk/eternal damnation, this is your pilot speaking. 

If you look out to your right, you will observe succulent ambrosial dreamscapes coming to surface that are perhaps yours or your neighbors or a dark mysterious stranger’s who just so happen to have caught your eye and now you are left to think of them as your eyelids slide shut. 

To your left is ruin. 

So please, close your eyes.

 I promise it’s better that way. 

~

Hello, my name is Solomon aka Mr.Sandman a nom de plume that inspired me to start up this place you have found yourselves in. This is my first attempt at this sort of venture (requests/commissions) so please-have patience or kindness or if you can’t find any of those things perhaps find your wallets and I will shut up and just write something better for you. 

Linked below is Rules/FAQ. Navigation is coming together slowly as I prepare for what will be incoming. 

Over the next several weeks I will be posting examples of my work for you all to get an idea of my general writing style/level. If you have any questions/comments/concerns/belief systems-please do not hesitate to reach out. 

Cheers, 

Sol 

FAQ & Navigation