undergrounds | Mr. Sandman

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Mr. Sandman

6 Feb.

It's February, still cold but Valentine's Day just around the corner and people starting to think of spring, it might not be surprising that romance seems to be in the air. Hard to pin down just what the difference is—but romance seems to be nagging at a lot of minds.

It might be because last night, you had a dream. Nothing clear, but bits and pieces stick with you. Maybe it was just stolen glances and light kisses, or maybe it was flashes and surprising jolts of something more physical, more raw. Either way, the dream doesn't quite fade away when daylight comes.

The strangest part? It's about someone you normally try not to think of that way.

Dreams are like that though, sometimes. It's probably nothing.

10 Feb.

A few days later, and the dreams keep on keeping on. For at least one person, it's every night. For others, it may be more intermittent. It may be just happening for the first time, after a visit to the Redbright Institute or passing through the surrounding neighbor, or after chatting with a particular vampire. It might happen spontaneously. Either way the dreams keep coming, and they continue to be about someone in particular, someone who you've been denying or ignoring your attraction to, but it's getting hard to pretend you don't feel a little warmer when you think about them.

It's starting to seem like there's something a little weird going on here. Even weirder? There's a chance that the person you're dreaming about is having the same dreams. Not just romantic dreams—the exact same shared dreams.

At least, they are if they're dreaming of you too.

14 Feb.

It's been a week now, and the dreams keep escalating. Not only do they become more frequent, they're more vivid. What started with disjointed images and feelings, more impressions than anything else, have evolved into full narratives—ranging from chastely romantic nonsense, imagining that the object of your desire is a knight coming to rescue you from a dragon, or arrived to offer comfort and support in a bleak moment, to intensely erotic. Some of them may be down right silly.

But the common thread is there. They are all about the same person, and they all expose the fact that you care about them in a way that's not as platonic as you've pretended.

And maybe it's about time you confronted that?

On the other hand, maybe you're just riding this out.

Either way, this is getting sorted out tonight. There's not going to be a better time for it

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Sex dreams were decidedly NOT a usual thing for Daryl. Sure he had morning wood as much as the next guy, but not as a result of a vividly explicit dream. Or eight. The first time it happened was after he'd visited the Redbright Institute to see if they had any records of a squirrel shifter student anytime in the past five years. No dice. But as the visit was right before his normal mid-day nap time, he'd gone and found a sunny, secluded spot in the garden to curl up in. And maybe an hour later woken up in a cold sweat and fully human. Apparently when he'd gotten into what was happening in the dream, he'd transformed to match. Not a fun realization.

He had to figure the reason it'd been about Natasha was because he was at the institute.

The second time it'd happened was that same night, during his mid-night nap. This time about a different, equally attractive Vampire. But one with a very different body.

The third time was the very next day, once more during his mid-day catnap. And once more he woke up human and with a hard on he couldn't easily get rid of.

For some reason the dreams continued, getting more detailed each time, and alternating between the two. Every time he shut his eyes it seemed, he would get himself into an embarrassing situation and have to quickly find some place private to relieve himself of the tension.

The one that really got to him, though, was the one that came at midnight when the 13th was rolling over to the 14th. Of all the dreams he'd had, it was the only one that didn't involve sex, though he wouldn't be surprised if that eventually happened with how much his libido had suddenly spiked. But it was also the one that made him really, really ashamed for having it at all. A man shouldn't dream about a happy domestic life with a married woman. Even if she'd been helping him take care of a small child off and on for the last week. Made it really difficult to face Liadan the next time he saw her.

[]OOC: Daryl's only personally experiencing dreams about 3 people, but if you'd like to play out a dream your character is having about him, I'm game.]]

Some of the dreams were more tame. Make out sessions at the back of the club, or snuggling up together, watching a TV and chatting quietly. Others were far more sexually explicit. All of them, however, left him with a lingering sense of the smell of wolf and a memory of far too bright red hair.

He didn't even know what had brought this on. These dreams hadn't even started until days after he and Party were at the club together, and there had been nothing that had reminded Roddy of him. All he knew was that they had suddenly started, and once they did, they just kept getting more intense despite him trying desperately to get them out of his head.

As time went on, they got more elaborate, too. Full violin concerts being put on for his audience, or spending a night camping in the woods together, comparing wolf and rat survival tricks. And, of course, the sexual fantasies hadn't stopped, either, they had only gotten longer and more explicit.

[[OOC: Roddy's only dreaming about one person, but if anyone would like to play out a dream or if anyone's dreaming about him that would like to hit him up and have awkwardness ensue, feel free.]]

It started small enough. Glimpses of red hair, high heels, the smell of lipstick and whiskey. Evie woke up with the taste of it on her tongue. What was odd though, she found, wasn't that she'd had a sexual dream- though far be it from her to tell anyone about it, she still had some of her Victorian sensibilities, after all- but was that it was about a woman. Evie had always been quick to decide if another woman was attractive or not, after all she wasn't blind. But she'd never been attracted to them.

Normally, she would have written it off. But as the month wore on, the dreams became more and more explicit, and it was getting harder and harder to ignore that these dreams were about Natasha.

Yet night after night, she found herself in these dreams, getting closer and closer to the younger Russian, yet she was always out of reach.

On one particular night, her dream found her in the same dilemma. Dressed in what would have been her human-self's nightmare- a light purple number that was laced far too tightly for her taste- she was chasing after Natasha on horseback, one hand reaching out for her. But Natasha would always dash up a bit further ahead, laughing, as the two women made their way through a forest. She knew what was up ahead, instinctively- a spot in the woods where someone had made a garden, hidden from most's eyes.

And oh, she realized, as they slowed down to a walk, they had a picnic basket. Now this was just ridiculous.

[like everyone above, while Evie's only dreaming about one person, lmk if you want her to pop up in your dream.]

Edited 2017-02-08 03:21 (UTC)

Dreams were nothing unusual. Nancy had a good number of nightmares, and really wrote off most dreams she had. But something was different about the most recent ones she'd been having. They seemed to linger even longer when she woke up, leaving her feeling a little hazy, thinking back through the dream multiple times over coffee.

Soon enough, she started to notice patterns. There were three particular people that kept coming back in her dreams.

Sometimes, she'd dream about the man that slept beside her, his strong arms wrapped around her, how perfectly she fit against him.

Sometimes, she'd dream about a man that used to sleep beside her, the weight of his dog at the foot of the bed, her head against his chest.

And sometimes, she'd dream about a man she used to sleep with, in fine silk sheets that housekeeping would wash as they went from room to room, champagne from room service sitting on ice.

It was easy to see why she dreamt of the first two. It was the third that had her concerned. But it was a dream, she told herself every morning. A weird, vivid dream, just as the others had been. But it was a dream. So it couldn't possibly mean anything.

Could it?

[lmk if you want Nancy to show up in your dreams!]

There's something disorienting about the dream, especially at first. Natasha isn't used to riding. Or forests. She's certainly not used to being laced into a corset like this. She's worn plenty of shaping dresses, but nothing quite like this.

Even so, she doesn't struggle to keep her balance on the horse. For the moment, the dream just carries her along.

That starts to change as she gets her bearings—she glances back over her shoulder, seeing a familiar face. A face that's been in her own dreams before. One she feels a thrill to find chasing her. The sense of familiarity gives her a hint toward how this dream will end. She smiles back at Evie, slowing some as they wander further afield, the chase giving way to something else.

"Is it much further?"

Evie notices the way her friend's slowed, and she takes a few more paces with her horse before she finds herself, at long last it seems, right alongside her.

"Not too much further- the clearing should be straight ahead!" She pointed, and sure enough, as they came around a bend, there it was. The sun shone down on a circular spot, illuminating the mysterious garden. The grass was lush, the flowers blooming.

She approached and dismounted, before moving over to Natasha, holding a hand out. "Let me help you down. It's hard, in skirts."

"Thank you." Natasha drawls the answer, amused and playful. She's not used to being treated like a lady. Not by people who knew her, anyway.

She takes Evie's hand and slips her foot free of the stirrup, slipping down from the horse's back. Natasha makes it look graceful, but only with the dream's help. She does make for quite the figure in period dress, her natural curves emphasized by the rigid boning.

Did she choose these clothes? It's unclear.

"I've never been a rider."

The way Natasha looks in the gown she was in was not lost on Evie. Again, she wasn't blind. She'd always been a shapely woman, but the tight lacing only brought it out. For the first time, she really understood why Jacob was so fond of Victorian fashions for women.

She sets her down, and her hands linger a bit longer than she should.

"You're a natural," because it's the dream and it had certainly seemed that way. With a soft smile, Evie ties up the horses to a nearby branch, and rescues the picnic basket from the back of her horse.

"Let's get settled, shall we? We have blankets and pillows and loads to eat." Pomegranates, apples, and she could swear she smelled fresh baked bread.

Natasha's lips twitch, her smile momentarily confused—it seems strange, momentarily, to come out for a picnic—but the confusion passes. Why shouldn't she share a meal with her friend? (Is friend the word? And why wouldn't it be?)

"I can't wait," she smiles, studying the garden for somewhere to sit. It's lovely. Idyllic, really.

She chooses a shady spot under an arbor of roses. Waving for Evie to follow, Natasha makes her way toward it.

The man that slept beside her was looking at her from over the counter of what she knew to be a diner. All around them, others sat in the buzzing neon lights, Johnny Cash playing on the jukebox. His hair was slicked back, and though it was dark outside, he wore sunglasses.

Nancy leaned over the counter, her note-pad in her hand as she looked at him. "And what can I get for you this evening, Cooper?" She smiled at him, her skirt swishing around her knees. The cut of her dress was flattering, low in front, tight around the waist. "Do you want the regular? With a side of that-" she paused and gave him a roguish wink with a well-defined cat-eye. "special sauce of mine."

Blood. She meant blood.

The man that she used to sleep with sat in front of her this time. But he only looked up occasionally, his brow furrowed with intense concentration. He bit his lips, occasionally looking up at her, then back down to his sketch pad.

She'd asked him to draw her, when she'd seen his drawings on the deck. He was an incredibly talented artist, and it seemed fitting to ask him. She expected him to act professional, and he had- except for a minor slip of the tongue when she'd first dropped her robes for him.

The drawing was going to be a gift for her fiancé, the dream logic told her. Just like, she'd realize later, in Titanic.

It was, honestly, the sort of something girls who had grown up a very different way than Evie would have done. Which surprises her. She'd never felt much desire to be one of those girls. She'd liked learning under her father the ways of being an Assassin. She loves it.

With the basket, Evie moves to Natasha. The spot she's chosen is lovely, and soon thanks to the magic of dreams, a rather cozy nest of sorts has been created. A large plush blanket for them to sit on, plenty of pillows. The food itself should never have fit inside of the picnic basket, let alone appeared so quickly. Further more, the blanket had come with a small canopy, keeping them cool in the bright summer day.

"Wine, or whiskey? We have both." They had a lot of things, weapons scattered amongst the food.

In most of her dreams, Liadan found that her house was not only bigger but all the things that annoyed her about it were suddenly, miraculously fixed. And, of course, her husband was always home.

This time was no different. She walked into the living room and smiled to see Daryl and Johnny sitting on the couch, reading a book. "Should I make some hot cocoa?" she asked.

Caroline dreams of the sun. It's been so long since she was outside during daylight hours and she misses it dearly. And so her mind takes her out there, in her favourite sundress, where she can just let the rays warm her skin.

There are times when she's not alone though, of course. Sometimes, the people she sees are memories, those she left behind back in America. And sometimes they are people she's met since she arrived.

One of those people is Jean-Claude who, despite the heat, is dressed in that outfit she enjoyed so much at the Christmas Party. "Are you hot?" she asks, then grins since he most definitely is. And she's sure he knows it.

In the way of dreams, Natasha finds herself settled in among the cushions and roses, more comfortable than she ever remembers being at a real picnic, sitting on the ground. The corset is restrictive, but not in a way that impairs her movement.

"I'd love some wine," Natasha hears herself say, leaning in toward her friend, her voice low enough to sound conspiratorial. "And maybe some fruit?"

Daryl's eyes turned from the book to his wife and lit up like he'd just had a glimpse of perfection. His smile widened and he nodded, "Sounds great. Put a lot of marshmallows in it, too."

His gaze lingered for a moment before returning to Johnny and whispering conspiratorially, "Think we can convince her to put the whole bag in?"

She can't quite hear what he's whispering but she has a good guess. "Not a chance," she says before filling up a saucepan with milk and putting it on the stove.

As she watched the milk heat up, she placed a hand on her stomach, thinking about this new baby on the way. She wondered what he or she would be like. Probably just as wonderful as Johnny, though they would be born into circumstances that were much more stable than her son.

Evie starts to pour the two of them each a nice glass of red wine. Carefully, she hands one to Natasha, while she grabs a plate of fruit. Setting her own glass aside, she reaches for a strawberry and holds it out to Natasha.

"Strawberry?"

Natasha leans in closer, her lips parting slightly. She can't remember the last time she actually tasted a strawberry—though she can't remember quite why she wouldn't have had one recently—and the temptation is strong. Rather than take it in her hands, she wraps her lips around it and bites into the flesh while Evie holds it in her fingers.

Jean-Claude is not a stranger to dreaming about others. He is a vampire, after all, and there are times when he has entered another person's dreams after he has shared blood with them through the use of mind-control. But this is different. This feels different. At first, he does not think there is anything different from this and a normal dream. Save for the fact that he, as a vampire, dreams very little. And the dreams that he has are rarely actually so pleasant as this.

Nevertheless, he finds himself lazing on a blanket in a garden, the sunlight gentle and warm against his skin. He's dressed down, wearing only a shirt with his stockings and breeches, loose at the collar to let the warm early summer air vent through it. He has his black curls tied back in a loose ribbon at the base of his skull, and a few of the strands have managed to escape and tangle about his face already as he turns to reach for the platter of foods and drinks he has brought out -- if there is one thing he has missed, if there is one thing he will never miss dreaming about, it is food -- plucking a grape off of the bunch and rolling towards his companion. A smile on his face and in his eyes as warm as the sun beating down on them as he gestures towards the platter and cocks his head towards the other man coquettishly.

"Is there anything here that is to your tastes?"

It would seem that the sun is a common theme of Jean-Claude's lately. What is not common in his dreams is the presence of the young woman before him, although he cannot say that he is complaining. Although if he would have chosen an outfit to be dressed in, he would perhaps not have chosen leather and velvet brocade for under the direct sunlight like this. It is an interesting choice, although as a vampire he cannot say that heat truly affect him in the same way that it might have done before.

He offers her a smile in response to that choice of words. She should have known better, giving him an opening like that. He glances down at himself, giving himself a once-over before turning his eyes back up to her and stepping closer, tilting his head to the side as he does, his smile deepening the closer he moves.

"I would rather hear your thoughts on the matter, mon amie," he replies.

The chamber is dark, save for the candles here and there, but Jean-Claude does not mind. He is used to shadows and darkness -- he is a creature of the night, after all, and he does not mind the lack of light. He stands by the edge of the room, just by the window, gazing out at the moon and the stars beyond, listening to the gentle song of the ocean below, and he remembers this place. Remembers the days and the nights spent a slave, a prisoner to Belle's mercy. No, not her mercy. To her lusts.

But when he turns it is not Belle that he sees lingering by the post of the bed to greet him. He smiles to see the other man there, smiles at his posture, and his body instantly relaxes in a way that he never truly could around his Master. As much as a body can relax in such a tightly laced doublet as Jean-Claude is wearing. The fabric a deep blue, emphasizing the midnight blue of his eyes, framed in a face as pale as the moonlight itself, his dark curls loose about his shoulders. Along with breeches and stockings, Jean-Claude is wearing a short cape and loosely in one hand he clutches a feathered hat.

"I have always enjoyed the sound of the waves," he says, lingering where he is for the moment.

They're not on a ship, but instead in a large, grand living room with lofty ceilings. They're in a stately home that Cesare used to spend his time in during the 30s, while he schmoozed with aristocracy in argyle sweaters and plus fours. There's champagne on a side table and he sips it in between charcoal strokes.

"You need to stay still," he warns, looking up at her with the slightest of smirks.

The too-red juice of the strawberry drips down from Natasha's lips, on to the porcelain of Evie's long, delicate fingers. She watches it, as though it's in slow motion, before turning her dark green, almost teal eyes to Natasha's.

Another trail of juice leaks from the corner of Natasha's mouth. With her other hand, Evie leans forward, gently brushing the juice away with the pad of her thumb. Without thinking, she raises her hand to her mouth and begins to suck away the juices, still maintaining eye contact with her friend.

The champagne looks cool and crisp, everything Nancy wants right now. But she's got to stay still.

"I'm trying- it's cold," she complains, shifting ever-so slightly.

Her nose twitches just slightly. "You're so serious."

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Page 1 of 8

Mr. Sandman

Daryl | OTA for dreamshares

Roddy | OTA

Evie | OTA & Natasha

Nancy | OTA & Cooper & Cesare

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Cooper

Cesare

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Re: Daryl | OTA for dreamshares

Caroline | OTA & Jean-Claude

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Jean-Claude | OTA & Micheletto

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