#he loves gault and fiddlers green!!!

[queenii-llama]

maybe its just the bittersweet aftertaste of my religious upbringing coming through but it makes me absolutely feral to see how much Dream cares about his creations. he loves them. he loves them !!!!

[tumbleringismycopingmechanism]

It's probably glaringly obvious but Dream's subjects all represent aspects of him

Lucienne = his love for stories/books (although maybe Lucienne her love for books in common with Dream (seeing as she used to be a raven and is thus not entirely formed by Dream), instead of being specifically made of that part of himself; or maybe that part of himself became a part of her when she was reshaped from a raven into a librarian)

Mervyn = stubbornly doing his duty, however much he hates it

Corinthian = the part of him that is Nightmare, but also his ache to taste humanity and to impact their waking lives as well as their dreams

Gault = his desire to be better, to not hurt everyone he touches and to make their lives happier

Fiddler's Green = the part of him that comforts, that is a respite for the dreamers from their waking lives, but also once again his love for books and his desire to be among the dreamers in the waking (though here a bit more passive; less a wish to shape their waking lives and more a wish to simply be a part of them and to see the world as they see it)

Cain and Abel = his feelings for his siblings, a constant push and pull of hating them / wishing to hurt them / wanting to be left alone by them and loving them / forgiving them, however big their betrayal / seeking their company

Ravens = his loyalty and (again) sense of duty (while they are not made by Dream and a huge part of their personality comes from their waking life, I would argue that they do at least get a deep sense of loyalty with their raven body. I can't quite imagine someone like Matthew, being self-proclaimed "not the best person when he was alive", otherwise having this deep loyalty to someone he barely knows, or such a strong sense of duty / wish to please The Boss)

[seiya-starsniper]

For the hurt/comfort prompts

I'd like 14 with Morphenne or 4 with Hobrintheus, please. I'm excited to what you would envision for either of them.

14 - "Thank you for sticking by my side." - from the Hurt/Comfort Prompts

This wip is MONTHS in the making, and I'm so happy to finally be able to share it! Big thanks to @sandman-rarepair-fest for giving me the motivation to finish it 😄 Go check out the other fics people are posting for the event!

Rating: General Status: Complete Chapters: 1/1 Words: 2,958 Warnings: No Warnings Apply Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Hell Invasion, Post-Battle, Feelings Realization, First Kiss Summary: Hell invades the Dreaming, and in the aftermath, Lucienne is always there for Dream. But who will be there for Lucienne when she needs help?

Read more below, or over on AO3: Hopelessly (I'll love you Endlessly)

--------------------------

When Hell makes its move on the Dreaming and attacks, aiming for a complete invasion, there are thousands of casualties in the ensuing battle. Some injuries are fatal, and Dream feels each last breath, every agonizing scream, as their brief lives blink in and then out of existence. Each death is a wound, more painful than any direct cut to Dream himself, and Lucifer’s demons know it. So they aim for the weaker dreams first, those easiest to kill, to maximize the quantity of injuries they can inflict on the Dream Lord before they eventually move to target the more powerful dreams who actually have a fighting chance. 

Fiddler’s Green devours a hundred demons before his pastures are burned to ash, Gault’s wings are torn from her back as she takes on a high ranked demon lord, and Cain for once does not get to kill his brother Abel, for another demon guts him first. Cain, in revenge, takes out three upper level demons before he too falls to the rage and brutality of Hell. 

It does not take them long to breach the outer walls of the castle. More dreams and nightmares fall. Dream cries in agony with each new one, and Lucienne grips him tight in her arms, her and Matthew’s presence the only comfort in the otherwise cold emptiness of the throne room.

Dream wants to fight, wants the demons Hell and Lucifer themselves to pay for what they’ve done. And they will. He is ready for them. They are ready for them.

What the demons of Hell do not know, what Dream has been carefully guarding since his return from a hundred years imprisonment is this: that the Dreaming has been refortified so that it may never fall to ruin in Dream’s absence again. Or in an invasion, such that the current situation is.

In each of the denizens of the Dreaming, Dream has placed a small piece of his power within them, effectively turning each and every one into a dreamstone, forever connected to their lord in such a way so that Dream will never be cut off from his realm again. Through this deepened bond with his subjects, they will always know where he is, and he, in turn, will always be able to call on them.

The deepened connection, however, has its drawbacks. Each new death feels like a cut directly to Dream’s body, to his soul, and he cannot help the torrent of grief that engulfs him every moment another dream perishes. But at the same time, their deaths are simultaneously a balm, an injection of power that revitalizes him. Each and every dream fallen in battle has not actually died, but instead, their essences have been called inside his body, providing Dream with a limitless supply of power and energy. Their wills too, lie intact within him, and Dream is filled with their hopes, their pain, their fury.

Only when the doors break down and Lucifer’s army spills into the throne room, does Lucienne release her hold on him. Dream can feel her smile at his back as he transforms into his Nightmare form, channeling the pain and rage of each and every fallen dream into one unrelenting attack after the other. The demons of Hell don’t stand a chance.

Lucifer flees, abandoning their own people to their deaths, when they see what Dream has done. What he has become. Dream chases them as far as the gates, and then roars in victory when the Lord of Hell disappears over the horizon. The message is clear. Dream of the Endless is more powerful than ever, and any that wishes to prove otherwise shall be met with the full strength of his power. 

Invoking such a power, however, has its own set of consequences.

When the last of the demons fall, and the Dreaming is once again safe, Dream collapses onto the floor of the throne room, crying in agony as he tries to soothe the pain of death for more than a thousand different entities residing within him. The dreams are loud in their sorrow, and it is so much grief, so much heartbreak, it is all too much. 

Fiddler’s Green is the first to be resurrected, and then Gault. It is all he can manage before Dream is reduced to a sobbing, useless mess. 

Lucienne holds him throughout the night, whispering words of comfort to Dream, and all that reside within him. It soothes the ache by the tiniest fraction, and he is grateful for her embrace. 

With each day that passes, Dream brings another dream, another nightmare, back to life. With each life revived, the agony fades, but the memories of their deaths, their feelings in those moments do not. Dream had accepted the risk of this when he had asked for the denizens’ permission to imbue himself even further into their lives. Each and every resident had given their consent, some more freely and easily than others, but all had agreed that not knowing where Dream had gone for the last hundred years was worse than what Dream was asking them to give him. 

Lucienne and Matthew stay by his side, holding vigil as Dream wrestles with the tangle of wills raging inside him. 

Eventually, Dream expels the last of the dreams from his body, and soon the only voice residing inside his head is his. He allows himself a short reprieve to rest and recover, then sets to repairing the damage to his castle. 

“No offense, boss,” Mervyn tells him days later, when Dream is feeling more himself, “but I never want to share a body with you and everyone else in here ever again.”

Dream laughs, despite himself, but when Mervyn is gone, he sobs into Lucienne’s arms, unsure why he is still feeling so emotionally fraught.

“You took on a lot to keep us all safe,” Lucienne tells him, her voice soothing and low. “You have never infused yourself so closely with us before. Of course it would overwhelm you.”

Dream knows this, and yet, still he feels like he is drowning in a sea of unending grief.

--------------------------

After he finishes repairing the castle, Dream takes some time to wander the Dreaming to assess the full extent of the damage done by Hell’s forces, Lucienne follows his lead, taking careful notes of all the things that need to be repaired, while also making sure that Dream does not take on too many restoration efforts in one sitting. Mervyn helps with some of the smaller repairs, however the large majority of fixes to the realm still fall to Dream to complete.

Dream expects Lucienne to eventually return to her librarian duties, once Dream is mostly recovered and well enough to fully dedicate himself to restoring the Dreaming to its former glory. But even after the majority of the realm has been recovered, Lucienne does not leave his side. Instead, she continues to keep vigil over Dream, never straying more than a few paces from him, when she can help it. In the days immediately after the attack, Dream had grown so used to her constantly being within his peripheral vision that it takes him some time to remember that this was not always how things had been between them. Even Matthew, who has never been more than breath away since he had become Dream’s raven, does not keep nearly as close of a watch on Dream these days. Because Lucienne is always there. 

“You do not need to be my shadow any longer, Lucienne,” Dream says one afternoon when they are alone together in the throne room and reviewing Mervyn’s latest reports of needed repairs. Most of the remaining items are small, with the exception of the Sea of Nightmares, which seems to have grown quite restless in the past few days. Though Dream would prefer to get the rest of the small repairs over and done with, so he can focus solely on the Sea of Nightmares, Lucienne has forbidden him from exerting any more of his powers for today. 

Lucienne purses her lips at his words, her eyes kind even as she frowns at him.

“I am where I am needed, sire,” she replies. Dream sighs. He had expected this.

“Lucienne, you have many responsibilities to attend to, and I am well enough to hold my own without your aid,” Dream says. 

Lucienne shakes her head. “You may need me, sire,” is all she says in response, before she returns back to reviewing Mervyn’s reports. 

Dream hates himself for not trying harder to keep Lucienne at bay, to insist that he is fine. But the truth of the matter is that Dream is tired. He is tired of his function, tired of having to defend himself and his realm time and time again, tired of carrying the weight of the entire universe and its unconscious minds on his shoulder with no hope for reprieve. 

The only time Dream feels even a modicum of relief is when Lucienne is there. Lucienne, who places his hand in hers and squeezes it to distract him from his maudlin thoughts. Lucienne, who takes stock of all the restored dreams and nightmares, ensuring that they have fully recovered from their ordeal with Hell’s minions. Lucienne, who still hums a lullaby in a long dead language from a long dead planet, in the quiet of the throne room, knowing that the sound soothes Dream’s ever fraying nerves.

So Dream does not press further when Lucienne insists on keeping watch over him, even as he feels as though she is treating him like a piece of fragile glass that could shatter any moment.

--------------------------

When Dream finally ventures out to the Sea of Nightmares to assess the damage Hell’s forces have done to its waters, the waves rush up to meet him, and Dream braces himself to be pulled within their depths. The Sea has been temperamental ever since the battle with Hell, and Dream knows it is likely questioning his competence. It is just another thing he will have to weather, another challenge to be conquered. He is prepared to remind the old nightmares that dwell beneath that he is still their master, that the battle with Hell has only made him stronger, not weaker.

But the waves of the Sea crash just past him, enveloping Lucienne instead and pulling her down into the cold dark depths.

Dream does not think twice before he follows, desperately diving in after her.

The Sea of Nightmares is vast and infinite, containing the collective fears of every being within its waters. Dream feels his own insecurities rise to meet him, threatening to swallow him whole. The Sea recounts each and every death that Dream allowed to happen, all of the pain his subjects had to suffer at the hands of Lucifer and their demons. It reminds Dream of his century long imprisonment, of how he let his realm fall to decay. It recalls how Dream has scorned and hurt those closest to him, from Nada to Hob Gadling. How he continues to hurt those closest to him. Especially Lucienne. 

Lucienne.

Dream’s eyes snap open, clarity piercing through the darkness of the Sea, as he remembers the reason he’d jumped into the water. His goal recalled, Dream starts to swim in the direction of Lucienne. Though he cannot yet see her, he can feel her, and he will not let his rogue creation take her from him.

He spots her not far south from his current location, and Dream dives downwards to reach her. As he swims closer to Lucienne’s location, Dream realizes the Sea has shifted. It is no longer showing him his deepest fears and insecurities.

No, he realizes with a sense of growing dread. It is showing him Lucienne’s.

Lucienne had always been steadfast in her devotion to him, and Dream had always believed they had an easy understanding of one another, a shared goal to keep the Dreaming alive and well, a sense of honor and duty. As Dream reaches out to grasp Lucienne’s hand, however, he realizes the depths of her devotion. Not only to the Dreaming, but to Dream himself.

The Sea shifts again, this time revealing to Dream Lucienne’s deepest fears. It shows him the countless lonely nights spent waiting at the Gates of the Dreaming, waiting, hoping, praying for Dream’s return. Another wave shifts the image to the sight of Dream, bruised and broken, as Lucifer’s minions invade. Yet another shows Dream, alone and surrounded by nothing but death and chaos, clearly prepared to sacrifice himself to some yet unseen force.

What Lucienne fears most, the Sea seems to whisper to him, is losing the one she loves most. Losing Dream.

Dream feels wretched. Undeserving. How had he not noticed that she carried these feelings for him all these years? He had always been perceptive, able to easily glean even the most carefully guarded secrets, and yet, this one has gone beneath his notice.

Or perhaps, he thinks to himself, he had simply refused to see it. 

Dream’s despair threatens to pull them both deeper into the Sea of Nightmares, to drown both he and Lucienne in the cold, cold, dark, but Dream will not let it. The Sea of Nightmares is still his subject after all, and it will heed the call of its master. Of Dream of the Endless. 

The Sea heeds his call and releases them. Dream takes Lucienne and then swims to the surface.

He breaks through to the surface just moments later, gasping for air and clutching Lucienne to his chest. She is unconscious, likely due to the shock of the Sea’s attack on her. With a single thought from Dream’s mind, they are both transported to his private chambers, and he lays her carefully on a wide bed with dark satin sheets, before replacing both of their wet clothes with dry ones. Then he fashions himself a chair to sit in and waits. 

Lucienne gasps as she wakes an undetermined amount of time later, coughing fitfully as if her body were trying to dislodge the water from the Sea of Nightmares from her lungs. But she is a creature of the Dreaming, and so there was never a true risk of her drowning.

“My lord?” Lucienne says once she’s caught her breath, turning to him. “What—what happened?”

“The Sea of Nightmares is still yet unstable,” Dream answers. “It stole you beneath the waters.”

“I—see,” Lucienne replies, her brow furrowing. “And you— you rescued me?” she asks, widening her eyes as shock then worry crosses her features.  “My lord, that was a dangerous maneuver. You could have been greatly hurt.”

“I could not lose you, Lucienne,” Dream says simply. It was true. Lucienne has always been an instrumental part of the Dreaming, of Dream’s function, but she had truly become invaluable to him when he had returned from his imprisonment at the hands of Roderick Burgess. Lucienne had shone a light on Dream’s weaknesses, had helped him see past his own pride as he struggled to adjust himself to a realm that had rotted away in his absence. She had shown Dream that change need not be a terrifying thing, that it could be beautiful, not just in his creations, but in Dream himself.   

“My lord,” Lucienne argues, “it is still not worth the risk—”

“You are worth every risk, Lucienne,” Dream interrupts her, cutting off the thought before she could finish it. “There is no one more valuable to me than you,” he adds, and realizes he means it. Lucienne had become wholly irreplaceable to him, and that could only mean one thing. 

“I have been negligent in saying so in the past,” Dream continues. “But I would like to thank you. For staying by my side for all this time. For believing in me, even when others had given up. For giving me—” he pauses, then takes one of Lucienne’s hands in his, raising it to his lips. She inhales sharply, caught off guard by the intimate gesture. “Something I still do not think I deserve.”

“My lord?” Lucienne asks, breathless.

“Lucienne,” Dream murmurs, his lips ghosting along the knuckles of her fingers. “I do not yet believe I am worthy of your love.” He looks up at her, hoping that she sees that he is serious about his declaration. “But I would like to be, if you’ll allow it.”

Lucienne’s eyes widen, then crinkle as she lets out a small huff of laughter. “I would respectfully disagree with that assessment sire,” she replies, turning her hand in his to squeeze it in return. “You do not see yourself as I do,” she adds, her voice soft and fond.

“Clearly, else I would have noticed your affections sooner,” Dream replies, feeling his own lips quirk upwards as he returns her smile.

“Perhaps that is only a testament to how well I know you, that I kept them hidden for so long,” Lucienne teases. Dream barks out a laugh, and it echoes loudly in his chambers, but he does not care. Lucienne has heard him laugh many times in the past few thousand years, so he is unashamed to let her hear him now. 

“Perhaps,” he allows. “But now you are no longer permitted to keep those feelings secret. I would have all of them, immediately.”

Lucienne rolls her eyes, but still stares at him, fondness clearly etched across her lovely face. 

“You have always been greedy with your lovers,” Lucienne answers. “But I suppose I do not mind that about you.”

Dream’s only response is to pull Lucienne into a deep, breathtaking kiss. 

[themirokai]

@windsweptinred had this lovely post which got me thinking about Rose and Gault and then I couldn’t stop thinking about Rose and Gault and then I rewatched Gault’s scenes and then I wrote this story. It’s about 2,500 words, most of it under the cut.

“Gault. Lucienne tells me that you have asked for an audience.”

Gault shivered at the feeling of her creator’s voice in her head. The last time he had spoken to her in this manner was before his imprisonment, when she had been a shapeshifting nightmare. Through the painful episode of her capture and punishment, as well as her joyful resurrection, there had been others present and so he had spoken to her out loud. This felt strangely intimate and viscerally reminded her of why she had requested the audience: she had, after all, inserted herself into someone else’s mind. 

“Yes, my lord.”

“Then come.” 

The space in front of her twisted and was suddenly the throne room. Gault swallowed and stepped forward. 

Lord Morpheus was standing on the third step of the staircase, hands behind his back, wearing a cloak of shadows and fire. From beside the stairs Lucienne smiled at her warmly. Gault had hoped that he would see her on the shores of creation or… anywhere else in the Dreaming, really. She hadn’t been here since her punishment, and though his face was calm now, she couldn’t help but picture the cold fury with which he had beheld her on that prior occasion.

Gault took a breath and bowed. 

“Speak, Gault,” Lord Morpheus said out loud.  

“My lord, as you know, in the time that I was … gone … from the Dreaming, I was living in the dreams of Jed Walker.” She knew it was dangerous to bring up what he likely still considered her insubordination, but she had no choice. His face revealed nothing. “In that time, I became very attached to Jed … and so I wished to ask you if I might be permitted to visit him when he is in the Dreaming.”

“I am aware of your feelings for the boy and this request is not unexpected,” Lord Morpheus said solemnly. “I fear, however, that it may anger Rose Walker, which I am loath to do.” 

Gault felt her stomach drop and her wings droop. She looked down at her feet. Of course Rose would only see her as a nightmare who wore her dead mother’s face. 

“I will speak with her, little dream.” 

Gault gasped and looked up at him. “Really, lord?” 

He nodded, glacially slowly. “While I do not condone all of your actions, ultimately you showed the child great kindness. And. The dream you created for him … was … amusing.” 

They had never spoken of it. The … dispute over her nature had taken precedence. But the fact remained that she had taken a vulnerable, hurting child, and to make him feel strong and happy, she had given him a ruby and a bag of magic sand, and helped him to fight monsters and protect the innocent. She had given him the names of the creator who had abandoned her. 

The creator who was even now staring into her soul. 

“More than amusing,” Lord Morpheus said quietly. “It was very touching.” 

Gault lowered her head, no longer able to meet his eyes. 

“I will let you know the result of my conversation with Rose.”

“Thank you, lord.” 

There was grass under her feet again. The throne room was gone. 

___

Dream willed himself to the portion of Fiddler’s Green where Rose Walker was chatting with Unity Kincaid. Rose’s eyes immediately snapped to him and she frowned. Unity noticed him as well, but her expression was far more amused. 

“Ladies,” Dream said, “please pardon the intrusion.” 

“What do you want?” Rose said icily. 

“Rose, dear,” Unity said gently, placing her hand on the young woman’s arm, “cut him some slack, he’s not that bad.” 

“He killed you, Unity.” 

Unity rolled her eyes. “It’s more complicated than that and you know it, dear. And besides, now he pretends not to notice when I visit my husb- spouse.” She gave him a bright smile. 

Fondness for Unity outweighed his always-simmering anger with Desire, but it was a near thing. “Crossing between the realms of the Endless is impossible for a human, Unity. … And it is easier to not notice something when it is not directly brought to my attention.” 

“See?” Unity said to Rose. “He’s sweet.” She turned back to Dream. “What do you need, Morpheus?” 

Dream shifted, clasped his hands behind his back and addressed Rose. “You are a child of the Endless, Rose Walker. You have set boundaries around yourself and your brother Jed. I respect those boundaries. Recently, one of my dreams has asked if she may visit your brother. I told her that I would speak to you on her behalf.” 

Rose frowned. “Why would a dream ask permission to visit Jed?” 

“She was a nightmare when you met her. Gault.” 

“Gault?” Rose asked, incredulous. “The shapeshifter who impersonated my mom?! No! She can’t see him!” 

“As I know you are aware, your brother was being badly abused by those charged with his care. Gault provided him a respite in his dreams and came to deeply care for him. She was not a nightmare to Jed. She was a source of comfort when he had little else. And I have since transformed her permanently into a dream.” 

Dream could feel Rose softening. She crossed her arms over her chest. 

“And what would happen if I say yes?” 

“Gault would meet Jed here in the Dreaming. Under your supervision if you prefer.” 

“And if I say no?” 

“Then I will ensure that she continues to keep her distance from both of you. She … is very skilled at being a dream. She has inspired many people since she was transformed.” 

Rose sighed and glanced at Unity who raised an eyebrow and shrugged. She turned back to Dream. “I’ll talk to Jed about it in the morning. Send Matthew to check with me tomorrow and I’ll tell him what I’ve decided.”

Dream inclined his head. “As you wish.” 

“But no matter what, she is never allowed to impersonate my mom again, do you understand?” She jabbed a finger at him. 

“I understand.” 

___

Gault waited in the middle of one of Fiddler’s Green’s meadows. Apparently Rose was comfortable here and trusted Gilbert to ensure that Gault did nothing nefarious or nightmare-ish. 

“They are coming.” 

Of course, Gilbert wouldn’t be the only one watching. But it wouldn’t do to mention that to Rose. 

And then Rose and Jed were walking towards her through the field, holding hands. Jed was taller than when she last saw him (a growth spurt undoubtedly fueled by getting proper nutrition for the first time in years) and he looked more grown up and mature. Gault felt her eyes fill with tears. They stopped a few yards in front of her. 

Jed’s head tipped a bit to the side as he studied her. “Did you always have wings?” 

Gault shook her head quickly. “No. I got them when I was transformed from a nightmare into a dream.” 

“Why did you pretend to be my mom? Did you know she was dead?” 

Gault sighed and sat down cross-legged in the grass in front of him. “I did not know your mother had died, Jed.” She looked up at Rose. “I am so sorry for that.” Gault turned back to Jed. “I just picked a shape that I thought would bring you comfort.” 

“Our mom wasn’t a ‘shape’.” Rose’s tone was bitter. 

Gault nodded and looked down at the grass. “I know. She was important. I’m sorry.” She swallowed and kept talking, still looking away from them. “I found you when I was running away. I felt abandoned by my - by the -“ Gault sighed. “I felt abandoned. And I didn’t know if I was more afraid of… things going back to the way they had been or continuing to be alone.” She looked up at Jed. “And when I found you … you felt a little like … what I had lost.” She knew now that it was his Endless blood. At the time she hadn’t needed a reason. “I knew that you were alone and hurting too. I wanted to help you. And I hoped that in helping you, I could help me too. Or at least I could try to be the kind of dream I wanted to be.”

Jed sat down in front of her. “What about the thing with the rats?”

Gault’s heart twisted at the memory but she kept her voice steady. She could do that for him. “The rat was climbing on you in the waking world, and you brought that into the dream. I tried to get you to shake it off and stay asleep but when it bit you, you had to wake up and then I couldn’t help anymore. I’m sorry.” 

“You say ‘sorry’ a lot,” Jed said, narrowing his eyes at her. “I don’t think you need to do that so much.” 

Gault chuckled. “Thanks, Jed.” 

“Why did you ask Morpheus if you could see him?” Rose, still standing, asked. 

“I missed him,” Gault told her, then turned back to Jed. “I wanted to hear what kind of adventures you’ve been having.” She winked at him. 

“I live with Rose and Lyta and the baby now!” Jed told her excitedly. “It’s so good! I can eat as much as I want!” He sobered a bit. “But Rose only keeps healthy food in the house. And she worries all the time.” 

“I’m sure your sister is working really hard to take care of you,” Gault said gently. 

“School sucks,” Jed said. “I’m behind in everything and the kids aren’t nice.”

Gault opened her mouth to ask if he was being bullied but he continued. 

“I miss dreaming with you. My dreams are all boring now.” 

Gault looked up at Rose. “Jed, do you think your sister and I could talk for a couple minutes?” 

Jed frowned. “But you’re my friend!” He paused, as a thought occurred. “You are my friend, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, of course I am, Jed,” she assured him. “But Rose is responsible for taking care of you. When I was in your dreams before, the people responsible for you were … well. But now that someone who loves you and is caring for you the right way is in charge, I can’t just show up in your dreams anymore. That’s why I need to talk to Rose.” 

From a little ways across the meadow, Fiddler’s Green’s human form appeared and waved. “Ah! Young master Walker! I am so glad you’re here! I wonder if you might tell me more about this … ‘mine craft’ you were describing on your last visit?” 

Gault realized that she and Rose were pressing their lips together in matching attempts to hide smiles. 

Jed jumped to his feet and waved back. “Hey, Gilbert!” He ran towards the figure. 

“That was kind of Fiddler’s Green,” Gault said. 

“Gilbert’s a good friend,” Rose said, and sat on the grass beside Gault, so that they could both watch Jed and Gilbert. She sighed. “He knows some of the dream vortex stuff, but he’s had so much going on that I haven’t wanted to drop all the supernatural stuff on him. I haven’t told him about my detente with Morpheus.” 

Gault nodded. “I figured as much. There is plenty of time for supernatural stuff when he’s had more time to recover.” She smiled at the sight of Jed gesticulating wildly and Gilbert throwing his head back to laugh, then turned to look at the side of Rose’s face. “You have had to make many difficult decisions. And I certainly understand your reticence with Lord Morpheus. Probably better than most.”

Rose turned to look at her. “You do?”

Gault nodded, looked down at the grass. “He… punished me. After he pulled me out of Jed’s dream. He’s since changed his mind,” she fluttered her wings, “but you’re not wrong to be cautious.” Gault knew the odds were good that Lord Morpheus was listening, and perhaps she should have sought another way to gain Rose’s trust. But she would not say anything false. 

“How do you punish a dream?” Rose asked. “Like he did with the Corinthian? He told me he ‘unmade’ him.” 

“From what I understand, he completely destroyed the Corinthian,” Gault said. “And good riddance. Lord Morpheus did something similar to me. He… sort of disassembled me and put me back into the dreamstuff, but I was still conscious… was still myself. I was just… hanging in the void.” 

“Like solitary confinement?” Rose asked. 

Gault considered this. “Something like that.” 

“That’s horrible! Was it because of what you did with Jed? You were helping him!” 

Gault found Rose’s righteous anger on behalf of a being she had so recently been wary of, incredibly endearing. 

“Lord Morpheus was angry that I didn’t return to the Dreaming once it was restored,” Gault told her, “but he was more angry that I wanted to be something different than what he made me. He created me as a nightmare and he was furious that I wanted to be a dream instead.” 

Gault half expected Rose to disappear from the Dreaming or for her to find herself in the throne room facing an angry dream lord. But nothing happened. She couldn’t even feel his presence particularly strongly. Perhaps he wasn’t watching after all, and she reminded herself that she only spoke the truth. 

“But he changed his mind?” Rose was looking at her intently. 

Gault nodded. “I think you may have helped with that. And Lucienne.” 

Rose gave a tentative smile. “Is being a dream like how you thought it would be?” 

Gault felt herself beaming as she nodded. “I had some experience with Jed, but I love it.” She gave another flap of her wings. “I teach people to fly!” 

Rose giggled. “That sounds really nice. Maybe you can teach me sometime.” 

“You’re Endless,” Gault told her, “not to mention a former vortex. You hardly need me to teach you. But I’d be happy to help you discover what your soul already knows.” 

Rose smiled at her then turned back to look at Jed, who was showing Gilbert a dance move. “Jed told me what you did for him,” she said quietly. “For years the only time he had any happiness was when he was asleep.” Rose faced Gault again. “I am grateful for that. Thank you.” 

Gault felt the pressure of tears in her eyes and she smiled warmly. “I was happy to do it. Jed is a wonderful child. He deserves so much better than he got. I’m so relieved that he’s back with you now.” 

“Me too,” Rose said. “Though I have no idea what I’m doing most of the time.” 

“From what I understand, that is a very common state for parents and others caring for children. What matters is that you love him, and you try to do what is best for him.” 

Rose looked at the grass, swallowed and nodded, then turned back to Gault. “Will you come dream with him again?” 

Gault knew her smile stretched from ear to ear. “Nothing could make me happier.” 

Rose smiled back and turned to Jed, calling, “Hey Jeddy, did you know Gault can teach you to fly?” 

A look of wonder spread over Jed’s face. “Really?!” 

Gault got to her feet as he ran back over to them. “Really.” She affected a serious expression. “But we’ll need to come up with a new hero name for you. ‘Sandman’ is taken.”

“Oh! I have some ideas!” Jed’s eyes were wide. 

Gault put her hands on her hips and grinned. “Okay, let’s hear them.”

~~~

 I haven’t quite figured out how we get there yet, but eventually Jed decides that - given the wings - Gault is his fairy godmother. 

Thanks so much for reading! 

[rriavian]

Do you think Morpheus knows deep inside that Corinthian is his mirror? The reflection of his own darkness and desire?

Jessamy my beloved! I love getting asks from you! They are always the most interesting questions to really make me think about how to put my thoughts into words! <3 Sorry it took so long to answer this one (think I broke my record for time taken to answer an ask eek)!

I had this typed out nearly ready to post but got very distracted by Corintheus week! Can't believe it's February already, I hope you’re having a good New Year so far 😊

Does Morpheus know that the Corinthian is his mirror?

I think that Dream does, and that in some ways he holds himself responsible for the difficulty of it, because I think we can all agree that it’s a lot for any singular creation of his to embody. On the flipside of this you could argue that Fiddler’s Green is supposed to be a reflection of the light—the ‘heart’ of the Dreaming, a representation of pure life giving creation—with Gault as the fluid, transformative, link between all three of the major arcana. I think I’ve talked briefly about this before but it’s relevant again for this question.

Her place as a link between the two extremes, and her transformative powers, makes sense for why Gault would want to become a dream (and perhaps another reason why Dream agreed in the end) but it also suggests how complicated the facets of Dream’s identity are.

(I could probably make an entire separate post on this but! Moving on!)

All three major arcana reject him just as the rest of his creations do, are the last to return to the Dreaming and none of them do it by choice. Even Fiddler’s Green needs to first be tracked down. The Corinthian is found at the convention where Dream takes responsibility for making him the way he is, designating his rebellion as his own failure. The Corinthian was his masterpiece but I think Dream might now consider that as designing too ambitious a spec, the coding perfect but corrupted in the end. I think that assessment could be why he highlights the Corinthian’s purpose as being a dark mirror for humanity instead of one for himself, despite how closely those two things seem to be bound.

Not necessarily changing his mind, just changing the emphasis.

But, as I said, I also think Dream made the Corinthian for it. To be able to take it. Or at least hoped that he would—another reason why he might have said that he’d had so much hope for him, why Dream was so disappointed—not constructed to be given a burden, not supposed to be that at all. In many ways I think that’s why he’s a major arcana. But the Corinthian also has his own unique darkness, perhaps finding its origins in his creators but without its place in Dream’s larger puzzle it expresses differently, the exploration of what happens to a counterpoint to a dream that isn’t held internally.

The Corinthian is far more selfish with his darkness, lives out all that desire and need the way Dream can’t (and won’t), can embody it wholeheartedly because he’s not supposed to be balanced in the same way.

Yet in doing so he offers balance; can offer that to Dream, the same way he allows darker human impulses a chance to take center stage.

An outlet for it all.

All of Dream’s creations in some way seem to be that, a combination of the restriction of a role and the individuality of personality, might have a set purpose but have choices in how they carry out what they are. The same as Dream really. They are concepts personified, ideas and emotions that might originate in another, whether it be humanity or their creator, but they’ve been given their own voice.

It's no one way dictation…a dialogue with humanity because their function is to speak back.

So yes, I think that Dream knows that the Corinthian is his dark mirror far better than the Corinthian himself does. I think he knows how important he is in a way the Corinthian doesn’t see (the way the rest of his creations sometimes can’t see about themselves either).

I think the existence of a dark mirror (and other such representations) are a way in which Dream keeps emotionally healthy, just as they are a way for humans to keep emotionally healthy, and you could even argue that it’s how his creations keep themselves healthy too. Change and growth are certainly positive aspects of life, but like anything that’s not necessarily universal, because so is embracing what you are. Who you are. Without referencing my own neurodivergence too much, I think we can all understand circumstances where forcing oneself to change is far from a good and healthy thing.

Acceptance of the parts of oneself that we struggle with/have a tricky relationship with is a big part of what dreams and nightmares help humans to do.

It’s a big part of what a nightmare does.

Ok, this is getting long, so I’m going to make one final point. So I think that Dream could have spent centuries living vicariously through the Corinthian’s nightmarish nature and then finding that crucial mechanism corrupted, poisoned, when the Corinthian suddenly started killing dreamers in the Waking World. I don’t think that’s one of Dream’s desires at all, secret or otherwise, and I think it repulsed him to the point of potentially threatening to destabilise the rest of the system.

Perhaps Dream found his own darkness felt tainted by a reflection that (however intentional the rejection was) no longer wanted to mirror him.

In killing dreamer's the Corinthian was showing how he no longer wanted to mirror humanity (wanted to take from them instead, thought that a better match for what he was made for) and in doing so denied not only Dream, but his own identity too in no longer wanting to be what he was. For someone like Dream I think killing the dreamer’s would have been deeply offensive, an incredibly personal insult, a perversion of his function and an attack on what agency he has to fulfill it.

Whatever disgruntlement Dream may have with his role, he was then faced with the result of how instead of having a healthy outlet, those feelings could have been twisted/warped within the Corinthian's own unique mix of individuality and function. Perhaps in many ways it felt like being forced to kill his dreamers with his own hands.

And I think that was why when Dream found him in Berlin he was so quick to decide to unmake the Corinthian on the spot.

[gabessquishytum]

"maybe [Gilbert's] into that" well okay now i'm having Thoughts!! because yeah just imagine, dream feels it when hob falls asleep and enters the dreaming, normally hob comes to him but this time he doesn't, so dream goes off to find his lover instead.

turns out hob didn't make his way to the palace because he was... otherwise occupied. dream thinks hob's just sitting naked in the grass of fiddler's green when he first gets a look at him. hob's looking awfully flustered for that to be all he's doing, though.

when dream stands in front of him the ground shifts, mounds rising under the grass and moving to push hob's legs apart before smoothing out again to leave him good and exposed -- and to give dream a good view of the mess of slim vines playing between his legs. there are a few in his ass and in his cunt, stretching him wide around without filling him up. there's one buried deep in his little peehole, another wrapped tight around the base of his swollen clit.

there's one leading deep into his cunt, and dream isn't clear of that one's purpose at first, not until hob squirms under dream's gaze and dream watches that vine pull taut when hob even begins to lift his hips away from the vines. that one's pushed through hob's cervix, tiny where it's buried in that tight hole but ballooning wide inside his womb so any little movement hob makes tugs at his cervix. it keeps him very effectively in place without tying him down, but it's also a deeply humiliating way to be restrained -- which means hob's dripping wet and writhing as much as he can manage and begging dream to do something because his holes are stretched open so wide but he feels so empty and he's desperate for something to properly fuck him.

dream expect he'll take pity on hob. eventually. but dream's been very clear that his arcana have full rights to play with hob as they wish, hob's been equally clear that he's thrilled with that arrangement, and dream's hardly going to get in the way if fiddler's green is enjoying himself, is he?

-🐈‍⬛

Ooo yes I really do love the idea of Dream "sharing" Hob with the major arcana!!! It's kind of a new thing ever since Dream returned from his imprisonment; a way for him to reconnect with these parts of himself that have become distant. But as wholesome as all that is, of course it leads to debauched shenanigans.

And Hob has never been fucked by an entire landscape before, so he's having a great time. Fiddler's Green is so much more thorough than any lover Hob has ever had - maybe because he moves and manipulates Hob’s body in a totally way totally different to how a being with hands and genitals would. He delves inside Hob like he's searching for the perfect place to plant a seed, and fuck if that isn't incredibly arousing.

But Fiddler's Green does like to tease, and its beautiful agony for Hob. He gets stretched open and exposed without having the thick shaft of something inside him that he craves. Gilbert could definitely fuck him full with some kind of plant-based phallic instrument, but he simply chooses not to. He likes having Hob wide open and gaping. Perhaps a little pollen will slide into his cunt, or maybe Fiddler's Green will use a vine to plant a proper seed inside Hob’s desperate womb. If he's feeling generous that seed will germinate grow with tendrils that wriggle inside and make Hob wet with tears and slick.

Dream loves to lie down in the grass beside Hob and watch him being absolutely ravished by the surrounding foliage. Hob is so whiney and needy when he's being so thoroughly fucked. A proper pet slut for the dreaming. If he's lucky, Dream might just take pity and slide his finger down to play with one of Hob’s holes. Usually he's mean, and wiggles his finger into the poor overstretched peehole. But if he's been very, very good, Hob might to cum (yet again) with Dream's fingers in his pussy.

There are so many holes to choose from, and plenty to share. Perhaps the Corinthian and Gault might pop by to join in and see how Gilbert has reduced Hob to a drooling mess. And pick up some tips for the next time they get to play with him <3

[orionsangel86]

Watching The Sandman again for the hundreth time and I know everyone always loves to focus on Dreamling, but can we talk about Rose Walker for a moment?

The Sandman is often applauded (and complained about) for being an extremely gay show, but I particularly love how even the characters who aren’t canonically gay come across as extremely gay.

Take Rose Walker. The main character of The Doll’s House story. Neither the show nor the comics ever give Rose a sexuality, but there are some very glaring factors that heavily support her being queer.

The first time we see Rose is in episode 5 24/7. Judy, the lesbian at the diner who has had a fight with her girlfriend Donna, calls Rose and asks if Rose knows where Donna is. We know that Rose considers both Judy and Donna close friends and has a picture of Judy in her apartment.

Rose’s only other friend that we know of besides Lyta Hall (who she got to know via proximity since they were neighbours) is her friend Carl who she clearly is close enough with to let him house sit for her (even though he has sex with The Corinthian on her bed!).

So her closest friends are a lesbian couple and a gay man. I know I know straight people can be friends with queer people but statistically speaking queers flock together. Its more likely that Lyta is the token straight in the friend group than Rose AND Lyta both being straight.

I also question her choice of seeking out accomodation in Cape Kennedy. Isn’t it interesting how she ends up in a very strange B&B also managed by a gay drag artist and filled with colourful characters including Chantal and Zelda (I know their relationship is supposed to remain ambiguous but imo the show also leans more into them being lesbians due to Chantal’s dream where she calls them “soul sisters” and “gothic brides” and I dunno I just think the fact she refers to them as brides is pretty telling!)

Of all your accomodation choices in Florida, this in particular seems like the kind of place one would go to if they were specifically looking for somewhere advertised as “LGBT friendly”. All the characters staying at the B&B are either canonically queer or heavily queer coded.

Gilbert/Fiddlers Green isn’t technically human, but his whole aura is distinguished older gay man - he’s played by Stephen Fry after all!

Also I could go on about Barbie (who I theorise found the accomodation for her and Ken) but without revealing any comic spoilers, she also later surrounds herself with basically all queer people. I know in the comics she is strictly heterosexual, but nah she dreams like a queer theatre kid on speed or something lmao. That girl is a bisexual disaster all the way and yeah I may be projecting on her as a fellow blonde overly dramatic dreamer and disaster bisexual but I claim her for my own okay just let me have this.

So yeah, the queer friendship groups, the specific seeking out of an LGBTQ friendly b&b in Florida, and the fact that she literally wears rainbows in her hair and I think its clear enough that that girl is a baby queer if ever I saw one.

Due to the merging of Rose and Lyta’s stories in the Netflix show, we should actually get to see more of Rose in future seasons. In the comics, after the Dolls House book, she doesn’t appear again (unless she turns up in the Wake since I haven’t read that far ahead), but by making her Lyta’s companion in the show, we know she will appear again since Lyta and the baby (Daniel not that he has been named yet in the show) are reoccuring characters throughout the entire Sandman comic run.

Maybe I just crave more lesbian and bisexual women rep in my fave shows, but sitting here watching this show again it just tickles me that in the entirety of season 1, it is so easy to view practically every major female or female presenting character as queer. Joanna Constantine and Rachel, Judy and Bette, Lucifer and Mazikeen (bring on the make out scene in season 2!), Chantal and Zelda, and in my opinion, Rose Walker, Barbie, Lucienne, and Gault are all queer coded WLW.

(Lucienne and Gault is just a ship I love okay but you can’t deny there was some flirting in episode 10!)

It’s been such a crappy year for lesbian rep with lesbian shows getting cancelled left right and centre. I just think lesbians should therefore claim the Sandman as theirs. if nothing else, claim it out of spite. It’s a fantasy show with a pathetic wet cat emo boy as a main character who literally surrounds himself with lesbians, is probably in love with his best friend, and considers a slutty gay serial killer with teeth for eyes his greatest ever creation. It just seems to me like the kind of show that should appeal heavily to WLW okay! Plus there are more lesbians coming in season 2! Encourage your lesbian and bisexual friends to go watch The Sandman now!

[aralezinspace]

hi, i was hoping to request a morpheus x reader from you! i had an idea of reader being a former resident of the dreaming who left during morpheus' imprisonment and eventually forgot their original identity throughout that whole century? morphie in the mean time had come to realize how much he cherished reader and once he breaks free, has reuniting w them at the top of his list. of course angst happens since he doesn't know that they forgot everything, but id love for it to end happy

Remember Me

A/N: I'm soft for the reader character in this one, like I may work on developing the concept for a longer fic. Thank you for sending this, I enjoyed writing it! Hope you enjoy reading it! (I'm working on making a master list and cross-posting all these request fics to AO3)

~~Requests for Morpheus and the Doctor (9-13) are open!!~~

Memories are funny, fickle things. So much of our perception of life is based in memory, recollections that may or may not be accurate. And unless one is Time, one cannot go back to be sure, to see that day again.

Your memory was fuzzy in some places, some details were missing. The empty spaces niggled at the back of your mind, the itch to find the missing pieces ever present. While comfortable and happy in your current residence, you had no idea how you got there, nor could you remember your parents or any of your childhood.

You thought some memories may resurface in your dreams, but no dreams came, just quiet blackness. The more you dwelled on the empty spaces of your life, the more frustrated you became.

You went about your life as best you could, trying not to dwell on the past; it was lost, and in the past. Fretting over it wouldn’t solve anything. It was time to focus on the future.

~~

A century away from anyone’s job would leave quite a bit of work piled up, their space a decrepit mess. Such sentiment held true for Morpheus, but with much higher stakes: a realm in shambles had more of a ripple effect than a messy office.

Once his tools had been found and the realm was in the process of recovering and rebuilding, he turned his focus to bringing back the missing dreams and nightmares. He sat on the stairs leading up to the throne with a heavy sigh. He closed his eyes for a moment to center himself before calling for Lucienne.

His unshakeable librarian showed herself into the throne room, a large, leather-bound book in her arms- the latest census of the Dreaming. “Where do we stand, Lucienne?” he asked softly. Lucienne thought he sounded tired- and he was- but she knew he wouldn’t rest until the Dreaming had been restored to its former glory.

“More dreams and nightmares return every day. However, there are four dreams whose continued absence I find concerning.” Morpheus nodded for her to go on. The librarian sighed and consulted her book. “Gault, the Corinthian, Fiddler’s Green, and Echo have yet to return from the waking world.”

Dream’s eyebrows flew into his hair, each name she spoke more surprising than the last. Especially Echo- he had been particularly fond of them since their creation. Several of his dreams and nightmares had the power to choose a specific memory, or several, to occupy a person’s sleeping hours, rather than prompting unique dreams. Echo was by far the strongest of these. The fact that they had not only left during his imprisonment, but had yet to return, spawned a nervous ache in his chest.

“That is concerning,” he finally murmured, rubbing his chin in thought. “Echo most of all. Their absence cannot continue if the Dreaming is to be stable again.” He hoisted himself to his feet, his long coat gathering itself around him. “It seems I must return to the waking world yet again.” Lucienne looked decidedly nervous. “I will bring them back,” he assured her firmly.

Lucienne nodded; she knew there was nothing she could do or say to dissuade him. “Good luck, my lord.”

~~

Once Morpheus was back in the waking world, he immediately sought a relatively quiet spot to concentrate on picking out your essence from amongst the millions of humans. It was faint; diluted by distance and the amount of time you had spent in the waking world, but he could sense it. You were very dear to Dream; he could sense you anywhere if you were in the same realm, and your absence had left an aching gap in the Dreaming.

A gust of sand brought him closer, your aura was stronger. He could tell your dream abilities had diminished, hidden deeper and deeper inside you as the years went on. The realization gave him pause: if your powers had faded, had you as well? Were you still Echo of the Dreaming? He found himself almost nervous at the prospect of facing you. The nerves were quickly replaced with anger, both at you for leaving, and once again at Burgess for tearing him away from his realm- and you- for a century.

The park he found himself in was pleasantly bustling: families played together, dogs barked, ducks demanded food. His eyes scanned the vista for you, not entirely sure what he was looking for. When you lived in the Dreaming, your eyes had been pure quicksilver, smoke swirling under your skin, just barely visible. Would you appear the same as you did then?

He followed the pull of your aura like a homing beacon, until his eyes found you, and he froze. You looked exactly as he remembered, as if he had just seen you yesterday. The only difference was your eyes: your skin somehow still had a misty, vaporous quality, but your eyes had changed to a light blue, the first hint of blue sky after the sunrise.

You could feel his stare piercing your spine. You’d know it anywhere. A cold lump of dread settled into your stomach; why was he here? You knew him, in your bones you knew him, but couldn’t remember. What could he possibly want with you?

You kept absolutely still as he approached, resisting the urge to fall to your knees at his feet. Lord Morpheus, that was his name.

“It’s time for you to return home,” he declared without preamble once in front of you, hands clasped behind his back. His posture was regal, commanding. Your eyes lowered to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, “But I have no idea what you mean.”

It wasn’t often the Dream Lord was caught off guard, but your response took him by surprise. You not knowing who you were was not something he had anticipated. He swallowed hard. “Tell me what you do remember.”

You hesitated, but slowly, the words came out. “I- I remember you, kind of. Feels like I’ve always known you, but don’t remember meeting you. I vaguely remember a stone palace behind massive gates, but couldn’t tell you where I saw it.”

Morpheus nodded; you were describing the Dreaming, the memories were there, just forgotten, like an old book covered with dust and cobwebs. “I see,” he rasped, holding out a hand. “Come with me, and I will restore the memories you have lost.”

You hesitated again. Was it really the best idea to go who knows where with a dark, handsome man you just met but feel like you’ve known for decades? You looked up from the ground. His face was stern, but soft around the edges. Even still, you could tell his words weren’t a request.

Your hand trembled and shook, but none the less you placed it in his open palm. He gave a small nod before a vortex of sand engulfed you both. Moments later, it disappeared, and you were no longer in the park: instead of families and pets and ducks, your field of vision was filled by two massive marble gates, carved with images of mythical creatures and reaching to the heavens.

“The Gates…” you breathed in overwhelming wonder. “I’ve been here before, but…” you turned to Morpheus, who had been watching you closely. “How?”

“Because this is your home,” he replied, voice firm with conviction. “You know who I am: Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, king of the Dreaming and Nightmare realms. And you, are a dream.” Your brow scrunched in confusion, but Dream went on before you could stammer out any questions:

“I created you. You are called Echo, a dream of memory. You are one of my oldest, most powerful, most… treasured, creations. You let humans relive memories in their dreams, let them see old events in new light. Much of the history of my realm resides within your memory. The Dreaming and waking world both need you to resume your duties. Will you?”

You dropped to your knees and sat, eyes glassy with disbelief. There was a cacophony of thoughts raging in your head as you forced yourself to breathe. The most insistent: he was right.

Your hands began to tingle lightly, and your eyes darted to them: your skin had turned MISTY, still firm, still the same color, but with tendrils of smoke swirling gently just beneath the surface.

“I left,” you gasped, memories of the last century slowly reawakening. “You disappeared, and I just, stayed in the waking… and I forgot.” The irony was not lost on you: a dream of memory, forgetting who they were.

The weight of the realization almost made you crumble. You had abandoned your creator and sovereign, abandoned your duty, your home. He had every right to unmake you then and there. “Lord Morpheus, I’m so sorry,” you choked softly, tears burning the back of your eyes. “Wh- what would you do with me?”

For the second time that day, Dream offered you his hand. “I would have you resume your duties in the Dreaming. The realm needs you back… I need you back.”

Now that was unexpected for the both of you, Dream stating that he needed someone. But, after a few tense, heart-clenching seconds, you took his hand and pulled yourself to your feet. Strength returned to your limbs and power filled your entire being at his touch- more than you thought your body could hope to contain.

A tiny but proud smile touched his face. “Your dreaming abilities that faded have been restored. Echo, Y/N…” Your hand was still loosely caged in his, and he gave it a gentle squeeze before placing a firm kiss on your knuckles. “Your dreamers are waiting.”  

[mxliv-oftheendless]

Y’all I’m supposed to be working on homework right now but my mind cannot stop thinking about Unity staying in the Dreaming and befriending all the residents like

Unity having tea with Cain and Abel and Goldie being stoked that he has another lap to sit on

Bonus points if she puts Cain in a good enough mood that he actually doesn’t kill Abel the days she comes over

She explores Fiddler’s Green and Fiddler’s Green becomes Gilbert for a while so they can talk about books together

Nightmares love that Unity isn’t put off by them (I mean this woman called Dream of the Endless a dumbass TO HIS FACE)

Unity brings Lucienne tea in the library and sits and talks with her when she has a break

And if Lucienne hasn’t taken a break that day, Unity makes her take one 

Gault giving Unity updates on how Jed and Rose are doing (because Gault stayed friends with Jed you can fight me on that) and Unity committing these updates and stories to memory

Lucienne knows Unity frequently reads Rose and Jed’s dream books but doesn’t anything about it

Matthew also gives Unity updates on Jed and Rose and also tells her about stuff that went on while she was asleep 

Unity (after talking with Lucienne) figuring out the kind of family she technically married into and deciding she wants to get to know Dream as a person, because he’s technically her brother-in-law and she never really got the chance during the whole vortex debacle

Dream of course resists and avoids at first because the situation that made them technically in-laws was messy (put delicately), but Unity goes “I’m sorry this wasn’t an option pal” and now they have tea together once a week (Dream sulks about it at first but now looks forward to it)

Unity being able to sort out all her feelings when she learns the truth about her golden-eyed man and move on, and the process is scary and painful, but it’s okay because everyone she’s befriended in the Dreaming supports her the entire way

[tryan-a-bex]

Fireflies and a Missing Person

For the #sandmanniversary2023! Read it on AO3 Prompts: for Aug 4-6, stargazing, hunt, raven Gen, 1172 words, broken bone, missing person

Lucienne sighed deeply as Gault caressed her bald head and pointy ear tips. There was really nothing so lovely as lying on the grass in Fiddler’s Green, with her head in her love’s lap, watching the stars swirl above them. Gault always joined her in stargazing initially, but was quicker to be distracted, or maybe just slower to lie down on the grass when her neck got tired of craning at the sky. They quietly rehashed their days, each taking comfort in the other’s interest in the minutiae of her life.

Today, Gault was celebrating another trans person who, through the shapeshifting dreams she brought, had realized that he could, if he wanted to, take steps toward having the shape he really wanted on the outside as well as the inside. Gault found him as a she and left him as a he, and it was one of the greatest privileges of her life.

For Lucienne, today’s annoyance had been Mervyn Pumpkinhead. Or rather, the lack of Mervyn. Usually he was around, even ubiquitously, whenever Lucienne needed him to do any little thing. Today, she’d started keeping a list when he hadn’t appeared for a few hours. It happened occasionally that he forgot to tell her about some big project he was taking on, and she wouldn’t see him for a few days.

“Awwwk! Hey Lucienne! Hi Gault! Have you seen Mervyn?” Matthew flapped over to them across the dark field, landing beside Lucienne’s knees.

“I haven’t seen him all day,” Lucienne complained as Gault shook her head in agreement.

“He was going to play poker with us tonight, and he never showed up!”

“Sometimes he gets involved in a big project and doesn’t come around the castle for a few days. But I’ve never heard of him not knocking off at quitting time,” Lucienne admitted.

Matthew hopped sideways and shook his head.

“I have to say, I’m getting a bit worried about him. I’ve been looking all over.”

“Really?” Gault asked. “You haven’t found him? Do you need our help?”

“Would you? Could you help me hunt for him?”

“Of course! Where have you already looked?” Lucienne jumped up and stretched out the magical raven wings Dream had given her, giving Gault a hand as she rose and fluttered her glowing wings as well, and together they leaped into the air after Matthew.

It was quickly apparent that the new moon which had made stargazing so delightful wasn’t helping with an aerial search. They needed more light. Lucienne’s eyes drifted to Gault as she pondered the problem, and the gorgeous glowing lines of her body suddenly gave Lucienne the answer she was looking for. 

“Fireflies!”

“Fireflies?” Matthew asked.

“Ahhhhh!” Gault nodded.

Lucienne, as Steward of the Dreaming, had some authority to ask dreams for help, so it was no big thing for her to summon a dream of fireflies and request that they sweep along the ground before the three friends. With the fireflies lighting the terrain, it was quickly clear that they had not yet found Mervyn. 

As they covered ground, the fireflies flowing over trees and dipping into little streambeds sunken in the landscape, Lucienne also searched her mind for any hints Mervyn might have left, or any parts of the Dreaming he might have found difficult to leave. Wait, hadn’t he been complaining about a tree? And a little stream? 

“He was muttering yesterday about a Tree of Wisdom dream, where the Tree is located at the end of a long, deep ravine, its fruit only accessible after a difficult quest, but he has to go periodically to check that the little stream that waters it has not become blocked by leaves.”

“Oh, I know where that is!” Gault exclaimed, leading them in a more westerly direction.

—

The ravine was deep and dark as they glided along above it, the depths twinkling with the lights of the fireflies. They were nearly to the end when the fireflies started to gather at a certain point, and Matthew, Gault and Lucienne flew closer to see what had caught their interest.

“Took you long enough to get here!” Mervyn’s vociferous complaining reached them before they could see his head. 

“I’ve had the worst day! Had to hike all the way out here, didn’t I? Muck about clearing decaying leaves from that damn little stream. Then the path crumbled on my way back up, dumping me back down here on my ass. And this hell-forsaken rock went and cracked my leg, so do you think I could get back up? No! And you lot! Not even coming for me until after dark! No one cares about the working man.”

Lucienne put an arm around him to help him up, while Gault gathered the pieces of his broken leg. Matthew hopped around, his worried chattering a counterpoint to Mervyn’s ongoing grumbling. 

“How are we going to get him up the hill? His leg is broken and it’s not even flesh, will it heal? Does it hurt? That path looks dangerous even if it wasn’t dark. We can’t fly him home. This is terrible!”

“Maybe the roc?” Gault suggested to Lucienne. Lucienne considered. The open space in the middle of the ravine was barely big enough for the humongous mythical bird to land, but she thought they could make it happen. 

“Yes,” she agreed, “Over there.” She requested the roc’s aid as they began to help Mervyn over the uneven ground to the centre of the ravine. The fireflies continued to light their way.

By the time they got there, the roc was circling above. 

“Do you think you can manage?” Lucienne shouted up to it as it examined the terrain and the broken Pumpkinhead. It dipped its head in acquiescence. As Gault held Mervyn’s head aloft and Lucienne supported his body, the roc dove down to grab him, head in one claw and body in the other, against Mervyn’s increasingly loud protests. Lucienne was pretty sure they were token protests. Anyway, she couldn’t think of any other way to get him out of the ravine. The three rescuers rose into the air after them, Gault with the broken leg once more in her hands. 

—

The poker game was not only later but louder than usual. Lucienne had decided to provide hot chocolate drinks, on the theory that warm chocolate was soothing to people who had fallen into ravines or participated in daring rescues. Mervyn didn’t seem too interested in his. He’d patched up his leg with his tools, brought to him by Matthew, and was proudly regaling the poker group with the (only slightly exaggerated) tale of his adventure. It looked like they were letting him win, possibly. Lucienne wasn’t all that familiar with poker, but he seemed happy about how it was going. Gault brought her cup of hot chocolate and cuddled next to Lucienne on the loveseat.

“Looks like he’s going to survive then,” she remarked. Lucienne leaned on her shoulder.

“All is right in the Dreaming once more,” she agreed.

Thank you to @best-wishes for the great beta read!

Previous Next

Now with art by @ibrithir-was-here!

[kydrogendragon]

Bar Fight

Rating: General Word Count: 1295 Ship: Dreamling (Hob x Morpheus) Warnings: None Additional Tags: Mentions of Alcohol, Someone's Drunk and gets kicked out, Punches are thrown Summary: Hob learned a great number of things about his stranger, his friend. He also learned that he wasn't one for crowds or being touched by those he didn't care for. So when Hob spotted a particularly troublesome guest who he'd cut off just minutes before grabbing Dream by the collar of his coat, Hob raced from behind the counter to the corner table. Square D2. This is a part of the Dreamling Bingo put together by @dreamlingbingo! You can find my masterpost here for my completed squares. AO3 Link: Bar Fight - KydrogenDragon - The Sandman (TV 2022) [Archive of Our Own]

It had been just shy of ten years now since his stranger reappeared in his life thirty-three years late. In that time, the pair had gotten close, at least Hob liked to think so. He finally learned his damn name. Turns out the man's got a few of them. Dream of the Endless is how he'd introduced himself. Morpheus, apparently, is another, as was the King of Dreams and Nightmares, Shaper of Forms, Lord of the Dreaming. Hob had hoped to learn one name; instead, he's learned a book worth of them.

Dream, however, was the name he called his friend most often. Your Highness, when he was feeling cheeky, or Morpheus, when he was being serious or whispering the name against his friend's pale skin as they sank into one another, limbs tangled in Hob's plush bed.

Like he said, they'd gotten rather close over the past few years.

Hob had learned what his friend was and the nature of him. Not a devil, like he previously thought, neither faerie nor God, but something greater than those. If Hob's being honest, he's still trying to grasp exactly what Dream was, but he understands it enough.

Hob learned of Dream's kingdom, of the Dreaming. He'd met Lucienne and Matthew, Mervyn and Cain and Abel. He'd met the newly reborn Corinthian, Gault, and Fiddler's Green. (To meet a place and have it speak back to you on the whispers of the wind was a new one, it took Hob a bit to process that one.) He had learned that his friend once was married (to a muse of all things!) and that they'd had a son. A famous one, one known for his love and also for his failure. A son whose name is remembered even in modern history. A son immortalized in a tale nearly as commonplace as Romeo and Juliet.

Hob had learned why his friend was late all those years ago. He learned of the cruelty of mankind through Dream's words; he learned of loneliness, of isolation, and broken pride. He learned that his friend was healing and changing for the better, and in a sense, his captivity was part of the reason Dream could sit with him and call him a friend.

Hob had learned that his friend enjoyed overly sweet hot chocolate but would deny that fact if ever asked. Hob learned that his friend enjoyed the sun's warmth on his face in whichever form he took that day. Hob learned that his friend found comfort in oversized jumpers Hob should have thrown out years ago, ones with holes and fraying ends. Hob learned a great number of things about his stranger, his friend. He also learned that he wasn't one for crowds or being touched by those he didn't care for. So when Hob spotted a particularly troublesome guest who he'd cut off just minutes before grabbing Dream by the collar, Hob raced from behind the counter to the corner table.

"–ou lookin' at, huh? Ya bloody prick, ya got somethin' t'say?" The right brute of a drunkard swayed as he stumbled through his words. The man, Jack, came here often enough for Hob to recognize him. Always seemed to come and get downright wasted to drown out the sorrows of whatever gamble it was he lost this week.

Hob grabbed the man's shoulder and tugged, forcing him away from Dream, only to be met with a solid fist to his jaw. Hob stumbled back, his right-hand lifting to the side of his face.

"Ow!" he said in the way someone might repeat back their friend's drunk statement in astonishment at their own stupidity and less in a cry of pain.

Jack's swing caused the man to stumble backward into the table Dream had been sitting at. He flailed his arms behind him to no avail and crashed to the floor with the grace of a newborn cow, bringing the table along with him.

Dream stood from his seat. Hob could see his friend's eyes lose their grip on human form, unveiling the galaxy that lies beneath. Twin stars glared daggers into the fumbling drunkard, who was slowly getting back on his feet.

Hob could feel the eyes of the other patrons on the three of them, curious as to how this would all end. He was good at spinning a tale and a lie. It came with living for as long as he had and weaving so many different lives, but even Hob wasn't sure how he'd explain away whatever Dream might do to the man. Crossing the few steps back to Jack, Hob grabbed the man by his lapels and started dragging him towards the front door to the New Inn.

"That's it, Jack. You're done here," Hob said as the man attempted another swing. Thankfully, this time Hob managed to dodge its original trajectory of his face again, but it still hurt as the man's fist landed on his shoulder. It was the first of many blows, each getting weaker with each throw.

Sniffling a groan, Hob kicked the front door open. The cool night air of London in autumn burst through the barrier of warmth in the New Inn like a knife. Then, as the man kicks and screams about how "that daft punk was trying to start something" and how "his wife was gonna hang him for losing his paycheck," Hob quite literally tossed the man out the door. 

Hob grabbed the door knob and began to close it as he said, "Go home, Jack. Before you get yourself hurt." As the door shut, a round of applause and cheers cried throughout the New Inn. Hob shook his head and smiled at the rest of his patrons.

"Let's not start any more fights tonight, please?" He chimed over the cacophony of noise. A roar of laughter and a well-timed "No promises, Rob!" was met in response. With a sigh, Hob returned to the broken table and to the concerned look on Dream's face. Before he could say anything, Dream's hand was resting on his cheek. The cool of his palm felt good against the growing warmth. Hob was definitely gonna bruise there. He just knew it.

"You were injured," Dream whispered.

"Just a scratch."

"Because you chose to defend me," Dream continued. Hob looked into his still black eyes, the stars flickering in the vast expanse.

"Better me than you, my friend," Hob whispered in turn. Another thing Hob had learned was that Dream didn't need to breathe, so when he heard him exhale, he knew the action was intentional.

Hob lifted his hands to rest on Dream's waist, his thumbs rubbing circular patterns against the soft fabric of one of his borrowed shirts. "Did you really think I'd just sit and watch him try to rough you up? In my own bar? You know me better than that."

Dream hummed in response. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Hob's own. "You need not come to my defense," Dream mused, drawing a chuckle from the immortal man.

"You've said that before," Hob smirked as he drew his hands closer, pulling Dream nearer still.

"And yet you still do not listen when I say it."

"Guess I'm just stubborn that way."

Dream hummed again, pulling back so that he could see Hob's face and the grin that rested upon his lips.

"Such insolence." The corner of Dream's lips tugged upwards. Hob's smile grew.

"You love it." Dream's eyes narrowed as the slight grin morphed into a smirk. 

"What will I do with you?"

"Kiss me, hopefully. Seems a fitting reward for rescuing my King from harm, no?" A warm chuckle resonated through Dream's chest as he leaned in.

"A kiss, then, for my brave knight."

[ao3feed-corintheus]

In the Spotlight

In the Spotlight by sgdf Despite the common misconception, the creation of Gault wasn't the toughest task Morpheus had ever undertaken. Sure, finding the spell that would allow her to change her image wasn't easy, but with a few successful bargains and a couple of threads that needed to be pulled, the desirable parchment was in his hands. The rest was elementary: forming her body, breathing life into this vessel—the motions were deft, skillful, making the experience in this field obvious. It was far from his first attempt at creating a new life. The spell itself wasn't hard to perform, and so there she was. A shapeshifter, not the first of her kind, but one of the best, brought to this world artificially. He was proud of this work. Not as proud as of the Corinthian, though. Words: 10774, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: The Sandman (TV 2022), The Sandman (Comics) Rating: Mature Warnings: Major Character Death Categories: F/F, M/M Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, The Corinthian (Sandman), Gault (The Sandman), Lucien | Lucienne (The Sandman), Fiddler's Green | Gilbert, Matthew the Raven, Abel (The Sandman), Gregory the Gargoyle Relationships: The Corinthian/Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Gault/Lucien | Lucienne (The Sandman), The Corinthian & Gault (The Sandman) Additional Tags: Dark Magic, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Circus, Body Horror, Blood and Gore, but not really, it's more of a graphic depiction of making a more or less human body, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, but physical too, there are even some bits of fluff here n there, Canonical Character Death, to be honest its just a weird blend of frankenstein sort-of-steampunk and circus aesthetics, its actually pretty dark but i promise Gault and Lucienne won't suffer i love them too much, well maybe the tiniest bit of blaming oneself but these girls will manage, almost all the suffering will be done by the corinthian thank you for your attention, i'm almost sure i forgot some of the tags so mb i'll add them later

[seiya-starsniper]

hi!! for the flower prompts, can i ask for coreopsis and lucienne/calliope? and could i ask that lucienne is the one being comforted? i feel like that's much rarer to see in fics involving her. thank you so much! <3 (and i promise i'm working on your prompt fill too--i'm a slow-ass writer and i got more requests than i expected 😅)

Okay so this is embarrassing, but yesterday I wrote a whole gault and lucienne thing before I re-read your ask and realized you had asked for calliope and lucienne LMAO. But fear not, the other story will pop up at some point for femslash weekend 😅😅😅

Enjoy the feels trip my friend, I really enjoyed writing this!

Flower Prompt Game!

-------------------------------------------

When Calliope falls to sleep one night, she cannot help the little gasp that escapes her lips as she finds herself walking through the stacks of the Library in the Dreaming.

Calliope has not been here since she was married to Oneiros thousands of years ago. He had barred her from the realm when she left him, and in turn, she was content to never dream, had preferred the dull gray sleep that kept her from dreaming of their once happy life.

She had missed dreaming dearly when she was held prisoner.

Now they are both free, and it seems her former husband has lifted his sanction on her presence. Calliope had known that imprisonment had greatly changed her former husband, had made him kinder, more open, more. As she stares at the beauty of these priceless volumes, and their infinitely high shelves, she finds herself growing emotional at the beauty and wonder of what her old paramour has built. 

Perhaps one day, when they are ready to discuss their sorrow, they will walk through here to ease the pain. Perhaps they could even be friends. But for now she is content to wander by herself and refamiliarize herself with what was perhaps her favorite part of the Dreaming other than Fiddler’s Green.

Calliope is running her fingers along the spines of unpublished stories, trying to decide what she would like to read, when she suddenly hears a high pitched noise that sounds like a hiccup or a sob. As she stills her breathing to better listen for the noise, she realizes it is indeed the sound of someone crying, and trying not to be so loud. For even how soft the sound, it still echoes throughout the Library.   

Calliope walks towards the direction of the crying, careful to keep her footsteps light and quiet so as not to startle the other occupant of the Library. It does not take long for the source of the noise to reveal itself. 

In a large, violet armchair with a high back sits Lucienne, who is bent over a rather large book and weeping openly over it. 

Calliope has never seen Lucienne cry before. They had interacted some when she was still married to Oneiros, but the other woman had always kept her at arm’s length, preferring to stay polite and cordial rather than try to win her favor or pursue a deeper relationship with her. Her coldness had stung Calliope at the time, but after the marriage fell apart, Calliope realized that Lucienne must have seen Oneiros through many a lover, and perhaps may have been avoiding a friendship with her to protect her own heart from despair when things inevitably ended.

She thinks now that she has been given the perfect opportunity to rectify the situation. 

“What troubles you, my dear?” Calliope asks, making her way slowly towards the chair where Lucienne is sitting. Lucienne jerks as if struck, and when she sees Calliope, she immediately pulls out a small handkerchief from her breast pocket to wipe away her tears. 

“Lady Calliope!” Lucienne exclaims in surprise as she continues to dab at her face furiously. “My apologies for having you witness something so unsightly.”

Calliope smiles and gently reaches out to still Lucienne’s hand. Up close, she can see that Lucienne is still as stunning and lovely as she remembers, even in the throes of despair. Her amber eyes are shining not just with sadness, but also awe and disbelief. She most likely was not aware that Oneiros had lifted his ban on her presence.

“It is quite all right Lucienne,” Calliope replies gently, offering what she hopes is a reassuring smile. “One should not be ashamed of their emotions. It is quite all right to cry, especially in front of others.”

“Thank you,” Lucienne says. She turns her palms to grip Calliope’s own, and Calliope is struck by warm the librarian’s hands are. “I appreciate your honesty and thoughtfulness on the matter,” Lucienne adds, a small smile beginning to peak at her own face. 

“Would you be willing to tell me what has created such a response?” Calliope asks. “For how long I was married to Oneiros, I had not once seen you cry. Perhaps I could offer you some comfort, if that is something you’d desire.”

Lucienne nods eagerly and closes her eyes. A soft glow envelops the chair she is sitting in and within moments it has expanded into a sofa. Calliope accepts the invitation and sits down, only mourning a little bit that that action requires her to withdraw her hands from Lucienne’s. She misses the warmth already. 

“This book,” Lucienne starts, gesturing to the volume in her lap, “is the unfinished novel of a woman whose husband murdered her in a fit of rage.”

Calliope curses under her breath. “Writing was her only escape from her way of life,” she replies, understanding dawning on her. How many women had Calliope herself influenced with the gift of creativity, a pitiful consolation for their terrible misfortune to marry men who did not appreciate them?

“That’s right,” Lucienne confirms. “Her writing is…well it is marvelous and raw and I found myself quite caught up in the story of the heroine. But then I reached the last page and it was—unfinished. I had known it would be and yet I was still not prepared. And now no one will ever be able to read and appreciate her story.”

Calliope nods sympathetically. “She did not deserve her fate, and it is only right that you mourn the loss of her talent along with her life,” she says. “May I?” she adds, reaching to take the novel from Lucienne’s lap. 

Lucienne nods her assent, and they sit there peacefully for a time as Calliope begins to read. 

When she reaches the unfinished pages, Calliope too, finds herself in tears. 

“Thank you,” she says, turning to Lucienne and taking the other woman’s face in her hands. “For sharing this with me. It is, as you said, a great loss to the Waking that this will never be published. But now it lives on here, in your quarter, along with the stories of billions of other women whose stories have been lost. The dreamers who visit you need only read these books in sleep to be able to carry them back over to the Waking World.”

Lucienne inhales sharply and closes her eyes, her whole body trembling with emotion. When she reopens them, her eyes shine with tears once more, but there is now a new determination in them that takes Calliope’s breath away. 

“I had not previously looked at it that way,” Lucienne says, “I had always believed these stories would remain lost, forevermore, with only me to appreciate them.”

Calliope smiles. “And now?” she asks.

“Now,” Lucienne says, returning a smile so radiant Calliope thinks she may go blind. “Now I feel even more invigorated to invite the dreamers to spend their time here.”

“I am glad,” Calliope says, and moments later she wakes up. 

Calliope sighs as the morning light streams through her windows, feeling more rested now than she has felt in months. She brings her hands to her face, wondering if the warmth of Lucienne’s hands had carried through to the Waking World. 

She sits up eventually and stretches, then moves to start getting ready to go about her day. She thinks she will visit the women’s college today, and sit in on a creative writing lecture. She could feel that it was going to be a good day for inspiration.

[h3rmitsunited]

Can we talk about Gault for a minute?

Like I just wanna talk about Gault.

Right, like okay, so 1912, Dream gets captured and this severely fucks the Dreaming. Some of the dreams/nightmares/staff whatever go looking for Dream (according to Lucienne), but then however long passes and most have gone. Where? I don't know, I haven't read the comics, I'm just going off the show, but this is what Lucienne says. The Dreaming is decaying and falling apart by the time that Dream returns. What I take this to mean is that most of the dreams and nightmares people have are gone too.

Dream and Lucienne work to get them back and fill the Dreaming back up again and then it's just the three still missing. The Corinthian, Fiddler's Green.

And Gault.

We know that the Corinthian has been fucking and fucking things up in the waking world. We know that Fiddler's Green has been Gilberting it up.

And Gault.

Gault carved out a secret corner in the Dreaming. Her own dream where she didn't have to be a nightmare. Because she found this scared and abused little boy that needed to escape from the nightmare he was living in the waking world, and she did what she could to give him somewhere to play, where he had power, where he could fight back, where he could control things that he was afraid of, where he could be with his mom.

She gave him a costume, a name, the name of the man that had created her, that had, for all they knew, abandoned them, and made that the hero of these stories that she helped Jed live out.

And she hoped.

She hoped that these respites from Jed's waking life could be enough to keep him going, and she hoped that if she was found out, that she could be understood, that she could plead her case to Dream.

But she knew who he was. She knew when he stood in front of her in the palace how he would see this despite trying to convince him otherwise. And it is so interesting that she would give Jed the Sandman name, that she would help him fight nightmares with that moniker, like she hoped that that is what the Dreaming could be, that they could give hope and joy and power in Dreams because bringing fear in sleep wasn't what she wanted to do anymore.

And it's so interesting that there is this dichotomy of Dream's creations, like I have such a fascination with the concept of his nightmares and dreams, because there is purpose to having both, putting meaning into waking existence by processing them through your subconscious and like the chicken and the egg sort of situation, like what power does Dream have over what people think of, does he create the nightmares or does the subconscious create them and he only puts them into shape in order to put them into the dreams for the subconscious to interpret in a more physical way. Like if he didn't put a specific concept into a dream, would people just not dream of it? Like he was in the Burgess mansion for a hundred years, so people just had no dreams or did they have dreams that were just stuck in 1912. How much are dreams and nightmares capable of changing on their own?

And that goes back to Gault, who dreamed of being more than a nightmare, of bringing hope and power and control to a little boy and was destroyed for it, and then brought back as a dream. Does that change who she was? Did she come back with her conscious the same as when she was destroyed, or did Dream change her when he formed her into a Dream?

I think I may be thinking too hard about this. Do the comics go into these sorts of things? Like the logistics of the Dreaming? Like I enjoy the Dream being a disaster and causing his own problems by being Dream plotlines, but I'd also just love to get an understanding of what the literal existence of these seven Endless means and what they actually control and maintain and do with their jobs. It's so interesting

[rriavian]

Because I know what it's like to have way too many ideas and feel that some may never make it to paper:

☔

Thank you so much! I have so many concepts on my list that it feels like either I'm going to be making my way through them forever (at least I'll have ideas for season 2!) or they're never making it out of my head. So—

Dream and flower crowns.

I saw an amazing piece of fanart that inspired this idea and every time I see it I'm reminded of it again. At the moment I don't have a plot but...I really just want to write about Dream wearing a flower crown.

(These are the moments I wish I could draw!)

Did he make it himself? Sit somewhere in the Dreaming and quietly weave flowers together? Perhaps they are chosen for their significance, not necessary an associated meaning, more things like how one day Lucienne had softly commented on her love of daisies. Death might like orchids, Destiny might like lilies...Matthew might have specifically picked a cherry blossom tree to rest in during a walk through the Dreaming. The Corinthian had once trailed his hand along the petals of a poppy, smile a gleaming thing, content.

Perhaps Calliope had loved roses. Perhaps Orpheus had shown a fondness for wildflowers.

Perhaps Jessamy had adored violets.

Or maybe someone makes one for Dream? His creations newly returned perhaps combining their efforts; Lucienne who never left leading the way, an idea that might be someone else's for all she takes charge, and though his new raven can't weave Matthew can definitely pick the flowers. Fiddler's Green offers his forest. Gault tries to find a flower the colour of her wings. The Corinthian who has rebelled and yet still yearns might find one the colour of Dream's eyes.

And others join in too, maybe someone goes to them and suggests they add their own to the crown, Dream's siblings who undoubtably love him but will show it in their own uniquely Endless ways.

This perhaps a way to make it clear, a way for him to know—

And so when Dream is handed the finished crown he smiles, small and soft as is his custom, eyes starlit but also filled with a delicate sort of wonder. Perhaps he places it gently on his head, careful not to crush any of the flowers, threads power into it to ensure it won't wilt. Perhaps he wears it to the Endless family reunion, wears it and speaks not a word about his imprisonment, perhaps now certain that he'd been missed.

Perhaps making peace with it in his own uniquely Endless way.

Desire insults the crown with a mocking, delighted smirk (their own addition sits proudly on the left side, entwined with the rest). Death rolls her eyes, while Despair doesn't take her own off the crown. Destiny greets him with a solemn 'Brother Dream'. After a moment Delirium frowns and pouts at what she considers a disappointing lack different colours.

Perhaps Dream smiles then though he does not speak. Perhaps thanks can remain unspoken, sitting somewhere alongside how love can be shown without words.

Perhaps he does not need to answer.

Perhaps even unspoken forgiveness is enough.

[serenailith]

yesterday’s gone (we’ll make it through)—xxxi

on ao3 here

previous

okay, so. i know this took forever to get posted, and i'm sorry about that. truly. unfortunately, it was a pretty-much-can't-ignore forced break from writing/posting. the truth is i had a baby just last week, so i've been in hospital (3 days) and adjusting to having a newborn again. so... you get this chapter far later than i'd hoped.

yes, this is (unfortunately, again) the end of this fic. i've had such a wonderful time writing it, and i can't believe so many of you have liked reading it! the comments alone made it all so worth the time and effort i've put into writing it. thank you for being such wonderful, amazing readers. 🖤

remember: you can always find me in the dreamling discord server!

_______________

Dream smiles to himself as he strides through the corridors. The Corinthian has been remade, different and so much better than what he’d been, and Gault is thrilled with her new position. The Vortex is gone. Fiddler’s Green has come home. Even Matthew has become a trusted ally, if a bit impudent at times.

All is right within the Dreaming once more.

Even more, all–or nearly so–is right within the Waking, as well. Dreamers sleep and wake as they should. The only matter of concern is Lyta Hall. She may hold anger in her heart for Dream, but it cannot be helped. Her child is of the fabric of the Dreaming itself; he belongs to the Dreaming and—by default—Dream, should the day come. Dream, for his part, only hopes that Rose Walker can convince her friend to not seek revenge.

There is very little that can bind an Endless, but he knows too well that the grimoire is still around. Someone has it, and anyone determined enough will find and use it. He isn’t naïve enough to believe otherwise, not after the proof he’d been given for over a hundred years.

The most precious thing to him, however, the thing he carries closest to his heart, is his time spent with Hob Gadling. Now that everything has become steady once more, Dream has left the Dreaming in Lucienne’s capable hands and spent those hours in the Waking. More often than not in Hob’s bed, his arms. It is the better way Dream has ever spent his existence.

Unfortunately, even Hob cannot remove the worries from Dream’s mind. Desire has plotted against him, and he knows they will never stop. Not until they get what they want–but what exactly is that? He very nearly spilled family blood because of them, when they were fully aware that the Fates would retaliate for his breaking the oldest laws. Dream is no closer to an answer.

If he is to be honest, he can hardly pinpoint the moment his favourite sibling became his least. Or why.

Forcing himself to dislodge the thoughts, Dream steps from one realm to the next, fighting a smile when he sees Hob through the window of the New Inn. A young woman just outside the door beams at the sight of Dream. He remembers her. Rena, who dreams of escaping her toxic home and making something of herself as a pilot. She has been kind to Dream whenever they encounter each other.

She doesn’t mind the fact he is horrible at communicating with people who aren’t Hob.

“Hey! How are you today?”

“I am well,” he replies, though his focus is on the man just inside. Almost belatedly, he tacks on, “And yourself?”

Her grin grows as she pulls up the sleeve of her jumper. Embedded in her skin is ink, swirls of colours surrounding a black semicolon. The stark contrast of black against rainbow brings a smile to Dream’s face. He understands what the symbol means for mental health; it has been on the minds of many a dreamer since the conception of the idea. That Rena has tattooed it into her skin bodes well for her survival.

“Got it last week. Mum and Dad hate it, but who cares, right? As long as I love it. And I do. Anyway! You’re looking at a pilot-in-training, by the way.”

“That is wonderful news.”

Rena giggles as she yanks her sleeve back down. “Mr G is covering for Ernie, but I’m sure he’ll be so glad to see you. He bought a new wine he thinks you might enjoy.”

“Thank you.” Dream dips his chin in a farewell. “I wish you well in your endeavours, Rena.”

“Thanks!”

She doesn’t mind that she doesn’t know his name. She still treats him as a friend. He moves past her and lets out a soft sigh when his fingers wrap around the door handle. The cool metal feels like a piece of home, though the Waking will never be where he fully belongs. But Hob. . . Hob is.

At the jingling of the bell, Hob glances up from where he is clearing tables of dirty dishes, and Dream relaxes at the wide smile splitting his love’s face. Raising his index finger in a ‘Just a moment’ gesture, Hob hurries to place the plates and glasses in a bin. He disappears behind the doors to the kitchen and reappears a minute later with a dishtowel in hand. He jerks his chin toward their booth, the one they always sit in whenever Dream deigns to remain in the New Inn instead of heading upstairs to Hob’s flat.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you today” is the first thing Hob says once they’ve sat.

“The Dreaming is much more stable now, so Lucienne is caring for it in my absence.”

Hob’s lips twitch, a hand stretching across the table. Dream cares little for others’ opinions as he allows Hob to take his hand. “I’m sure she appreciates the vote of confidence.”

“It was unacceptable,” Dream starts slowly; the words come forth as molasses in the winter, “for me to return after so long and pretend everything is as it was. Lucienne has been most loyal for over a hundred years. She deserves the respect I can easily afford to give.” It doesn’t escape his notice that Hob merely stares at him with a soft, sweet smile on his face. “Hob?”

“Sorry. It’s just. . . It’s nice to see how you’ve changed. I knew it logically. After all, look at where we are. But it’s still good to see proof of it sometimes. Makes me realise this isn’t just all in my head.”

“It very well could be,” Dream says with a small smile of his own. “However, this is as real as anything else in the Waking.”

“So you were gone for a few days. Anything I should be worried about?”

“No, the danger has passed.”

Hob raises a brow, clearly unimpressed with Dream’s answer, so Dream explains about Rose Walker and her friend’s situation. How there is a child borne of the Dreaming existing where he should not. About the Corinthian and Gault and Jed Walker’s unfortunate fate for so long. Hob’s expression darkens at the mention of the abuse the child endured. To Dream’s surprise, Hob commends the Corinthian for removing Jed from his personal Hell.

“I’m not saying he was good, but he certainly did a good thing by getting the kid away from that.”

“He took him to a gathering of serial killers,” Dream reminds him.

“Okay, so there’s that.”

Dream huffs out what would be a sharp exhale for anyone else but is as true a laugh from him as anything. He continues with the tale of Calliope and Richard Madoc, and Dream falls in love with Hob more at the anger–no, rage–on the man’s face. He assures Hob that Madoc has been properly dealt with. He will no longer be capable of capturing anyone else.

He can no longer do much of anything.

With no warning, Dream laces his fingers with Hob’s, squeezing gently, then rises to his feet. “I shall not keep you from your duties.”

“Don’t go far.”

“I will be upstairs, where I will await your presence.”

Hob’s answering grin sends something fluttering in Dream’s chest, and isn’t that just curious. He yearns, for a split second, for the companionship he had with Calliope, but he has it here with Hob Gadling. It isn’t the same; it never will be. But it’s enough. It is more than enough.

It is everything Dream will never deserve.

As he sits in Hob’s flat, Dream ruminates on everything that has happened since his escape from Fawney Rig. So much has occurred–he was nearly mortal for too long, his Sister returned him to his realm. Hob and Matthew, that impossibly likeable raven, had helped Dream retrieve his tools. He fell in love for the first time since the beautiful Muse who had birthed him a son.

Death always said he needed to mingle with humans more, try harder to understand them. Desire claimed he felt himself better than everyone, including his siblings. Dream is loath to admit that perhaps, only perhaps, they were both correct. Hob has opened his eyes to the wonders of humanity, the reality that comes with living. Dreams were well and good, but sometimes, seeing it yourself is what works most to change a mind.

Dream lets out a slow, unnecessary breath and runs a fingertip along a seam in the couch cushion. The fabric is soft with use, the foam padding sagging beneath the cover, and the remote sits on the far end where Hob most likely tossed it on his way to bed the night before. It’s worn in with love. Dream imagines his heart is the same way.

Hob slips through the door two hours later. Two hours during which Dream read and listened to the stereo. Etta James was a soothing voice, something he needed desperately. He was never nervous by any measure; he was the collective subconscious. There was nothing he couldn’t do, nothing he couldn’t bend to his will with the slightest effort. But this. . . This isn’t the same as warping the Dreaming or even what he can in the Waking.

Before Hob can say more than a “Hello, love”, Dream advances on him. The kiss is graceless in a way Dream doesn’t expect. It punches a quiet noise from Hob’s throat, but he kisses back just as enthusiastically. He smells of industrial cleaner and cedar, and Dream has never breathed a scent in so deeply. His head spins, another too-human response but one he relishes anyway.

He steers the two of them toward the bedroom, pulling away only to peel Hob’s shirt off and over his head. Hob’s lips move against his, but Dream only kisses away the words. They don’t need to speak. Not here, not now. He allows Hob to push him onto the bed, melts under the steady weight blanketing him. His fingers press to the mat of hair covering Hob’s chest.

Hob burns a path along Dream’s throat, whispering into the skin, “I love you, did you know that?”

“And I you,” Dream whispers back. “Until all universes cease to exist.”

Hob’s smile sparks a fire within Dream’s bones, and he pushes at Hob until he sprawls on his back. Dream straddles his thighs, leaving bruising kisses to Hob’s lips before moving across his jaw. His teeth worry at the junction of jaw to neck, and Hob reacts beautifully. His hips jerk upwards as his breath comes out in a rough exhale.

Dream loses patience with pretenses: He rushes through undressing Hob then himself before straddling his love once more. Hob grasps his hips, holds him steady, as Dream lowers himself onto his cock. There is no need to need the preparation, to act as a human would, not with Hob. He’s shown he doesn’t mind Dream’s inhuman, Endless existence.

Hob’s groan is the most wondrous music Dream has heard in centuries.

As much as he wants to drag this out, he can’t. He plants his hands against Hob’s chest and pushes his hips down to meet with the gentle thrusting. A strangled sound fills the air, and Dream glances down to see the sharp nails digging into Hob’s skin. He goes to move, but Hob shakes his head vehemently.

“No, leave them.”

“I do not wish to harm you.”

“It’s worth it,” Hob replies; his hands wrap around Dream’s wrists, pinning his palms where they are. “Doesn’t hurt much, anyway.”

“You are a true marvel, Hob Gadling.”

“Clearly not, if you’re still speaking perfectly fine.”

Dream lets out a soft chuckle and decides to give Hob what he’s silently asking for. Hob’s smile stutters, fades, as Dream moves more quickly. Jaw dropping open, Hob stares up at Dream like he’s some sort of masterpiece hanging in the most prestigious museum; Dream is intimately familiar with the thought.

Hob is more precious, more valuable, just more.

Once they are both spent and have caught their breath, Dream doesn’t hesitate before curling into Hob’s side. It should feel pathetic, as if he is weak for seeking out comfort, but Dream believes he has earned the right to this. To this happiness, this ecstasy, this security and safety.

Wouldn’t Desire be thrilled to see how their brother has fallen?

At no one else’s feet would Dream have ever imagined prostrating himself.

He follows Hob into the Dreaming, the Library where Lucienne is putting away books. She smiles widely when she sees Hob and ducks her head demurely in Dream’s direction. He wonders when his most loyal and his love became so close. Perhaps it has happened over the days that Dream was dealing with the Vortex and Unity Kincaid. Hob has proven himself a quick learner. There is no doubt in Dream’s mind that Hob will have entered the Dreaming proper whenever he wanted.

The thought warms Dream from the inside out.

They leave Lucienne minutes later, Hob promising to be back for a lively conversation over Saint Thomas Aquinas and Michel Foucault. Dream smiles at how the promise visibly delights her. The corridors are empty as he and Hob amble across the stone floor. They don’t speak–there is no need, for there is enough they’ve said many times over. Even their silence says it all again.

Fiddler’s Green is as expansive and breathtaking as ever. Hob immediately finds a spot beside the river lazily burbling by. Birds fly overhead, and branches sway gently in the breeze. Dream can feel the contentment rolling off of Fiddler’s Green in waves. His lips curve upward at the sensation, the soft tendrils of warmth and peacefulness.

Before, he would have found it impudent, out of line, but now. . . Now he recognises it for what it is: True loyalty to their Lord and a desire to see him happy. Of all things, happy. And happy he is, all thanks to Hob.

Hob slides his hand through the water, smiling at the tiny fish that swim up to nibble at his fingers. They dart away just as quickly, but he doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, he grins even brighter. His eyes shine, gleam honey-gold, in the sunlight when he looks up at Dream.

Dream can no longer keep the words to himself.

“I have told you I love you.”

“Many times, my love,” Hob agrees with a quick nod. His smile hasn’t dimmed.

“And I mean those words far more deeply than you can ever know. I warned you that love with an Endless only ever spells doom.” Dream holds up a hand when Hob opens his mouth. “Please, allow me to finish. I have been considering what you claimed, that you were no mortal. Perhaps you were correct.

“However, even if you were wrong, I. . . I would cherish the opportunity to have your love for as long as I possibly can. Even if it ends in unbearable agony, your love for me—you are worth everything that may come.

“You came to my aid when I escaped my captivity. When we entered Hell for my helm, you stepped forward to defend me without hesitation. Without my asking it of you. Hob Gadling, there is no universe in which I could not love you were you to exist there.”

“Dream. . .”

He reaches for Hob’s hand, gesturing with his other. The band rests there in his palm, and he carefully slides it onto Hob’s finger. The gem, a shard of the ruby which held his power not so long ago, glitters against the black, and Dream nods slowly at the sight. It suits Hob perfectly.

“You are aware that I rarely make promises I cannot keep.” At Hob’s nod, the quick glance between ring and Dream, he continues, “So believe me when I vow to love you as you deserve until I physically cease to exist. I will do all I can to make your life, both in the Dreaming and Waking, all that you dream of.”

Hob lets out a quiet laugh and shrugs. “Perhaps not the nightmares.”

“No, not the nightmares,” Dream concedes, though it is no hardship.

“Dream, I—I don’t know what to say. You know I love you and have for as long as I can remember. Centuries ago, I realised I needed to know more about my mysterious Stranger. That desire became love somewhere along the way, even when I knew I didn’t deserve to want such a thing. I wish to make you happy.”

Dream clutches at Hob’s hand, tight and unrelenting. Hob must know: Dream has not held such joy to live since Calliope, since Nada, since Killala. Those ended in tragedy, but this? This will be different. Hob has given him reason to live, much like he’d said Dream had given him reason to die.

At the assurances, Hob launches forward, dropping Dream’s hands, and kisses him soundly. Dream lets himself fall backwards to lie in the sweet-smelling grass. Sunshine beats down on the meadow, warm and relaxing and perfect as only the Dreaming can be. Hob rests over him, still kissing him, still sending sparks through Dream with every second of contact.

Abruptly—far too soon—Hob pulls back and frowns. “Wait, are we married?”

“Of course not,” Dream murmurs as he reaches up to brush hair behind Hob’s ear. “We are nothing so temporary.”

Hob stares at Dream, unblinking, before shaking his head. “So what are we?”

“We are bound, dear heart, until eternity meets its end.”

Hob beams, hands coming up to cradle Dream’s cheeks. The kiss he graces Dream with is soft, sweet, tender, and Dream cannot care that Fiddler’s Green is witness to this. With a wave of his hand, sand swirls around them, and then he and Hob are blessedly alone in his chambers.

He takes his forever love to bed.