#sandmand

[justjams2003]

The Desire to be Loved-3

Summary: Love is Desire's first creation. As Cupid she shoots her arrows of love and rips them from people's hearts too. Occasionally, shooting a soulmate arrow. What does she do when her first Soulmate arrow in 100 years is between Cupid and Dream?

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x OFC Love/Cupid/Venus (you know how these beings have millions of names) (Also technically it could be an x reader because love is sort of anthropomorphic but in this story a she)

Warnings: Manipulation, threats, crying, cliffhanger, unedited, kind of like enemies to lovers, soulmate au, cursing, tell me if I miss any

Word count: 1,7k+

Dividers by: @hyelita

Tags: @intothesoul @briskesby coffeebeforewater

Masterlist

(I've moved next part to the bottom)

Love’s steps are usually much more graceful. Like a bird so carefully landing on a tree branch. So lightly that the branch doesn’t even move. It looks like nothing but the wind breezing through the careful sway of the tree.  

Or maybe her movements are more like a spider. Slicking up buildings, perching and waiting to shoot the arrow of love. She has wings but more often than not she doesn’t use them. She likes climbing things and sneaking around. Pretending that the human’s can see her and she needs to hide. Some childish game to distract her from the loneliness.  

Her loneliness of not being seen. Over a billion people on earth. And not a single one can see her. Maybe, sure, the ghosts can see her. But why would ghosts want to talk to her? Can ghosts even love? How would Cupid shoot them with love-arrows if they can’t be touched?  

Since life has been breathed into her lungs, Desire has been the only being she’d ever talked to. And when they did, he usually did most of the talking. Scheming, rather. Talking about every possible way, left and right, to take down his siblings. Or just something more to mess with the humans a bit. 

Cupid doesn’t like messing with the mortals. Or the thought of hurting the other Endless. She’s never really thought of hurting anything. She wasn’t made with the ability to think of harm. She liked watching the humans. They’re so social. Even the ones who claim they like to be alone, they always have another human close by.   

And those who don’t... they eventually die the same way she lives. But that’s her least favourite part. She doesn’t like thinking about it, it makes her feel weird... Her favourite is watching a couple with one of her arrows between them. The first shy looks between them, red cheeks that she’s never had. She tries to always be there for the first ‘I love yous.’  

But watching her now, is pathetic at the least. She looks exhausted, all her power is gone. Dream of the Endless has been out of action for 100 years. All dreams are gone, no dream of desire, no dream of love. No arrows showed up in her quiver. Desire stopped talking to her, after all there was no need to.  

And one day in utter frustration, she pulled too hard. What gave her power was the love and hope between people. It brought her power to see people happy together. More people in love, the stronger Love is. But in the last 100 years...almost nothing. All she’s done is pull out her arrows from people’s hearts. Weaker and weaker.  

And one day she just snapped. Seeing the human shatter and break, some new emotion she never felt before rised...frustration. She knew how fragile the humans are but her anger got the worst of her. It had been the 50th arrow that day that she had to take out. She had to watch how they’d wail and cry when their heart rip apart.  

She’d hacked the arrow along with the heart out. In the human world it just looked like a normal heart attack, but to her it was something much more horrific. The human heart beat in her hands and the blood poured and poured. She knew Desire would just laugh at her and there was only one other person who could even see her. 

But this, where she is now is even worse. The walls are blood red, the obvious realm of Desire of the Endless. She looks barely on the brink of life. Her everything looks grey and dull. “D-Desire?” She mutters hoping for some sort of life force grant from him. A loan until dreams reappear in people. Until love has some sort of meaning again.  

But when she finally limped her way to the throne she got the exact opposite response. “Hello, pet, could there ever possibly be something you want to say to me?” His tone is harsh like a bee sting. “I-I don’t feel so good.” He just scoffs and rolls his eyes.  

“You...you...sly minx! You’re like a fucking viper!” He has a cruel grin on his face. But Love has given up after years of psychological torture and isolation. She is just as quick to snap back. At him “The first words he spoke to me was a thank you. That’s more I’ve ever gotten from you!” Something seems to actualise up for Desire.  

“Oh, I see that’s how it is. You think he cares about you.” He grins and stands up from his throne. His sharp claw once again finds the sensitive skin under her chin. “I don’t understand why you hate him so much.” She mutters turning her face away. But he grabs her right by the cheeks and keeps her exactly in place.  

“I thought that you wanted your master to rule? I’ve been so so good to you haven’t I?” His mouth grazes across her jaw. Her breathing hitches. This is how he gets her. “He doesn’t care about you. He didn’t even know you existed before you stumbled your way into that fucking basement. And didn’t I tell you not to go back there?”  

“He didn’t hurt me like you told me would. Not once, he’s been nothing but soft and-” suddenly his hand wraps around her neck. She’s weak, and even before she only had a fraction of his power. She can‘t fight back. “’not once’? Not only did you free him from his cage you visited him more than twice?”  

His fingers become tighter around her neck. His claws draw blood and it drips down her chest. Her hands flail around his. Her breathing becomes raspy and painful. “I could make a million more of you if I wanted.” He whispers into her ear. But his other hand comes up and scrapes a line across her cheek.  

“But you’re oh so beautiful.” His pink tongue drags over the line of blood dripping from her cheek. Then he places a sloppy kiss on her cheek. “You were meant to be my perfect creation. But now look at you. Weak and fucking useless...” They let go of Love. 

When she crumbles on the floor he just coos. “Such a shame. Too sickly to fly, to teleport. I’m sure you couldn’t even pick up your bow if you tried.” He bends down to the girl struggling to get up. He grabs her by the hair, he can’t help but admire how beautiful he made her again. “I think I should try again, don’t you...?”  

Feelings are such a conflicting thing. Something that the Dream of the Endless never thought that he’d be one to deal with. Black and white and no in between, right? Make dreams, make nightmares, deal with the things that shouldn’t be. Sure, once in a while one of his many siblings would irk him or send him one of this in between things to deal with.  

But now things are different. Now he’s been caged up for over a century. Now for some odd reason there is something more than the repeating thoughts of cruel revenge against the Burgesses. Seeing Alex stuck in an eternal nightmare did warm the soul but just not enough.  

When the sand made contact with his skin and he opened his eyes to see Lucien staring down at him, it made his heart sink. More so seeing the shambles his kingdom had come to. And as he sat on his throne, breathing in the dust of his castle there’s only thing he can think of.  

In his lap sits the arrow left by Love. The arrowhead is glowing bright red. He inspects it closely, there are as always names written on it. But, even in his authority as an Endless, only Cupid knows who this arrow belongs to. But why did she come to him with it...? 

She looked to be in utter disbelieve about the contents of the arrow. Like she feared it contents. Why did she keep coming back to him? Why did she leave the arrow with him and not take it with her? Doesn’t this arrow have a time and place to reach it’s target? Won’t the scales tip, the fates must know this.  

But in the sights he’s stuck in, he needs his powers now more than he needs Cupid. And there is always one person to ask, who would know where his own creation is. But what feels more cruel is the utter fear behind her eyes at the thought of Desire finding out where she is and who she’s talking to.  

It can wait...right?  

“My king, what is that you have?” Lucien asks, picking at her fingers. The deep vibration of his voice echos. “Lucien, what books do we have on Cupid?” The librarian’s brows furrow, “Desire’s first creature? Is that...?” She asks, holding out her hand to inspect the object. “It is...she was the first non-human to find me.”  

The creature isn’t sure what to say. She doesn’t know her master to be one with much sentiment. “Why didn’t she inform anyone?“ She asks, it would’ve helped to keep all creatures in the Dreaming. “She knows her place. She’s submissive, she was made that way.” Lucien goes to speak again but Dream interrupts her.  

“What confuses me more is why she went against him? And what will happen if Love itself has gone missing from the human world?” Lucien’s brows furrow. “My lord you have been gone for a century, don’t you wish to get your power back before we focus on different issues.”  

Suddenly his voice sounds stern and his eyes go dark. “Lucien. My devotion lies with the dreamers and if they have no love there are no dreams. If there are no dreams there is no love. Do not question me.” The woman looks taken back and seems to gulp. She keeps her head down and keeps out of the way. 

A pang of guilt hits him seeing Lucienne cower from him. He sighs and lets the arrow disappear again, somewhere easy for him to grab and hide again. “But-” he stops her from walking away. “-you’re right, Lucienne. If I go charging into Desire’s realm, without my tools, I’ll be captured again.”  

Dream stands up from his steps, his long black coat billowing behind him. “I need to find my tools.”  

If you want to be added to the taglist, just ask

Part 2~Part 4

[firemandeanbuck]

Delirium

Dream is fond of Delirium. He may not admit it out loud, but he adores his sister and her quirks. He loves her never stopping transformation, her wild eyes, her ever changing voice, her inhuman hair. Everything. Her messy mascara and misplaced eyelashes.

Del also loves her brother. She loves the way he smells like purple, how he walks 12 steps at once. She loves the little smile he gives her and only her. She loves that he came with her when she wanted to search for Destruction. She loves that he is better now and talks to Orpheus in his dreams.

Dream is busy these days. It has been 15 days and 8 nights since he last came to the gallery to talk to her. She is worried about her brother. It isn't unusual, but a gut feeling in her jacket's right sleeve tells her something is up with Dream.

What if he is on trouble? what if he needs her help?

He did say she is welcomed in the dreaming. She will find Lucienne to help her too. Lucienne loves her. Delirium loves Lucienne and how she looks like the sound of rain and smells like a blue star.

Delirium goes to the Dreaming; everyone lets her pass. She meets a lots and a lots of people and a lots and a lots of people. A raven, a pink haired dwarf, a bald pumpkin head.

She meets a small brown-haired woman, she asked her where her brother is,

"I don't know who your brother is", she said kindly,

"Um... Dream", Delirium for a moment forget his name.

"Oh, he is in the Sands of Creation",

"Okay", for some reason, she did not need to ask for directions. She fishes where going to the right direction, as if they knew where they were.

There, Dream was working on his super duper duper duper important project. He was creating Dreams and nightmares.

No one told Delirium about it. She just Knew.

Each of the Endless can tell when the others are creating. Destiny and Death can't CREATE, but they take of what's created.

Delirium loves loves loves Dream's Dreams, they are so kind and somehow all of them taste like rainbow.

"Delirium, sister, come", he held out his hand for her, she took it and held it while standing next to Dream.

"Um.." Delirium was smiling.

Dream was making copper butterflies. They were so pretty, a shade darker than intended due to the blackness of the place.

"I ask for your assistance, sister",

This surprises Delirium even more. Dream asking for HELP?? From HER??

"These butterflies aren't as shiny as yours", he Frowns.

She can see the flaws from months away, "Of course they aren't silly, you didn't feed them butter! AND their blood isn't yellow"

"Thank you sister." he hummed and made the nessesary modifications.

Delirium sat of the floor and was distracted by the flying black roacks, she made them frogs to play with, they sounded happy.

"Do you wish to eat, sister?"

"UM... Do you have those tiny chocolate people? You know the one with green hands and grey smell?"

"Of course"

Still holding her hand, Dream led her to the dinning table.

The butterflies were complete, absolutely silly, as they are meant to be.

Ever since then, they had been roaming the dreaming.

for auntie @mathomhouse-e my beloved. happiest of birthdays <3

[dazerla]

Why was this scene delete?!

In the spirit of the holidays, we have a gift for the best fans in the world: more Death & Dream.

This deleted scene from The Sandman episode "The Sound of Her Wings" gives us a little more insight into why Death is the way she is. We hope you enjoy it.

- Neil, Allan & David

[multi-fandom-disaster]

Thought the hellsite would like this one

[writeshite]

Hi

So I was wondering if you are up for it if you could write a agents. For morpheus x reader. Where the reader died of a sickness and morpheus is all upset. The corinthian was best freinds whith reader and when he died the corinthian blamed morpheus.

When the corinthian trys and gets rose on his side he tells her that morpheus killed his lover. And when rose confronts him in the dreaming morpheus explained what happend and he kinda just brakes down . ( you can make up the end )

Anyway if you feel uncomfortable writing this then that is ok .

Bye ! ( btw male reader pls )

Hit Close To Home

Summary:

“Are you going to tell Lord Morpheus?” The blood on his chin was dry now, his gaze downcast as you glanced between him and the corpse.  You sigh, coming down to his height, and you wipe away at the blood; you say nothing, instead gathering him in your arms, and the others glare enviously at him - your favored little horror, they often called him. Lord Morpheus says nothing when you return, but Corinthian isn’t allowed to return to Earth.

Pairings:

Morpheus x Male Reader

Tags:

Forest Spirit Reader | Dead Reader | Angst | This Author regrets Nothing 🙂

Words: 1556

Author's Note:

Someone woke up and chose angst, damn, not that I'm complaining, I love putting you all through emotional torture.

“Oh, hello.”

The Dreaming was vast and monotone, with your personal terrace the only break between the sand and dreams; the Corinthian remembers stumbling across it the first time - even among his fellow nightmares, he was considered a monster. His memories of the Dreaming were less than pleasant, but you were perhaps the only shining light among them.

“You must be the new nightmare, then.”

“Go away,” he hissed; he wiped his eyes furiously, wincing as they bit at his hands. His form is tiny - unstable, at best - like that of the waking children he’s heard the other nightmares speak of. He’d run off from them, form flicking about like a shadow, and hidden in the first room he could find. Lord Morpheus would no doubt be looking for him, the dreams and nightmares of the Dreaming heeded to their master, and as the newest, he would need to catch up to his fellow manifestations. 

He didn’t turn to glance at whoever had spoken to him, instead drawing himself further away, “You can’t hide in there forever, little nightmare.”

“I said go away!” he hissed again, face contorting as he turned to the other person. It always worked with everyone else; they’d run off at the sight of him, but not you. You huffed; you didn’t scream, instead shrugging and leaving him to his hidey-hole. 

You’d let him stay there for hours, undisturbed as he minded his own until boredom overtook, and he peeked out to glance at you. You certainly weren’t under Morpheus’ domain - not with that smile - your clothing looked like it was crafted from the branches and leaves of the Waking. 

“Who are you?” he asks.

You chuckle, “Well, that depends. Will you be joining me here, or do you plan to converse from your hideout?”

Your terrace had been a private abode, untouched by sand; it was filled to the brim with plants, paint, and various other trinkets from the Waking World. You’d been one of the few to forgo Morpheus’ orders, treating him and any manifestation like your own, and the Corinthian had spent many a day in your company. On the rare occasions, you’d allow him and a few others to tag along to Earth - the forest you inhabited required little upkeep, but you went for the humans. Strange creatures, really. He never understood why you cared for them; personally, he preferred them with a side of sauce.

“Are you going to tell Lord Morpheus?” The blood on his chin was dry now, his gaze downcast as you glanced between him and the corpse. 

You sigh, coming down to his height, and you wipe away at the blood; you say nothing, instead gathering him in your arms, and the others glare enviously at him - your favored little horror, they often called him. Lord Morpheus says nothing when you return, but Corinthian isn’t allowed to return to Earth.

He doesn’t tell Rose all of this, far too personal to share; he says what he can bear, “He was my friend, and Morpheus killed him.”

Morpheus had always been weak to your requests; treating the nightmares like children hadn’t been something he’d ever done. They’d been more so his creations, his associates at best, but you’d gathered them around you, and they’d willingly flocked, nurturing them with care. The Corinthian had been perhaps the most attached to you, digging the sands of the Dreaming for any wayward thoughts that would make wonderous decors for your terrace. 

“You coddle him,” Morpheus spoke lowly; he overlooks the balcony over your shoulder; the nightmares trudge along without disturbance, the little nightmare you’d befriended shifted through the sands below, having promised to find you something worthwhile.

“I coddle them all,” you remind him.

“He is a nightmare, not a child,” he reminds you. 

“Yes, yes, dear,” you jest, patting his cheek fondly. The little nightmare turns up towards you, holding something up proudly, you gesture him towards you, and he runs into the castle joyfully. He goes to protest, but you silence him with a peck, “I know, I know, but it won’t do much harm.”

Now thinking of the nightmare, he barely glimpsed the wisp that clung to you so desperately. He’d hate to think of the devastation that would befall you if you saw them now, “Don’t turn him away when I’m gone,” Morpheus had withdrawn, remaining by your side far long after your passing, leaving the Corinthian to his own murderous grieving process. The nightmare had made his way through the remnants of your Earthly forest, then to Rose - Rose, who stared at him with contempt and uncertainty. 

“Why?” she asks.

Morpheus almost laughs; he’s not sure what she’s asking - why did he sit by and watch you wither? Why didn’t he plunge humanity into waste to save you? Why didn’t he petition your fellow spirits for aid? - the answer was simple. He couldn’t.

“Morpheus….please, let’s not spend my last days arguing.”

Nature spirits were perhaps the least fortunate of divine beings, lives heavily intertwined with their domains; your forest had been the target of some human development - each tree torn down saw a lapse in your health. It had started small, a slight cough of petals, before escalating to weak muscles and bedridden days. Your fellow spirits had died quicker; living in the Dreaming slowed the damage, but it wasn’t enough. Your arms had grown stiff, skin twisting to resemble branches, leaves had begun to sprout from you, accompanied by flowers, and your blood had turned dark like tar. The branches had come from your back as well, and tearing into the sheets, each movement you made had been painful, staining the bed with your obsidian blood.

“Your brother’s river is dry.” Morpheus had found the man’s husk of a body by the banks, drier than a desert; it had crumbled at the touch of the wind, and the Gods had fallen into panic at the death rate, but no solution had been found. He’d grown frustrated at their excuses, ‘we’re trying’ - were they? He’s brought back to the moment by a touch to his cheek; your thumb swipes at a stray tear; your face was more bark than flesh now, a slight wince in your expression as you reach out to him. 

He moved closer to you, head against yours, and the tears didn’t stop, “I’m sorry —I don’t —I,” you shushed him as he wept, fingers loosely interlaced with his.

“I didn't kill him,” Morpheus corrects, “you did. Your kind tore down the forests, polluted the air, and ran rivers dry until he and his brethren were all but gone.”

“What?” Confusion laces her voice. Morpheus turns away, the dreaming shifting with his thoughts, and the sand rises to a height, morphing to form you. Not sickly, but the way you had been before. “He’s….” Breathtaking. Handsome. No words could come close to describing how Morpheus felt about you.

“He was kind,” Morpheus begins, more sand shifts as more imitations rise, “the nightmares adored him, the Corinthian more so than the rest.” Most residents of the Dreaming wouldn’t even think to defy him, much less stick their tongue childishly, but the Corinthian had picked many of your habits. The craving for human flesh had come from neither of you - the nightmare had loved the soft taste of eyes and often asked for them, much to both your displeasures.

“They’re hurting him; why won’t you kill them?!” 

No amount of words could convey the fragile peace among the endless - if one of them killed, the others would follow suit - that’s not even to say what the other celestial beings would do. But that hadn’t been enough for the Corinthian.

“What good is your power if you do nothing useful?!”

Morpheus shook his head, a watery laugh in his throat, “What would you have me do?” he asked, “put humanity down like a dog?” 

“YES!” The Corinthian replied - he’d come to spend every hour by your bedside and pestering Morpheus to act. 

But you’d made him promise, “You’re going to be angry, and you’re going to be sad, but please, Morpheus,” you pleaded, “don’t seek vengeance, not in my name.”

“But—”

“Please,” you’d leaned forward, snapping some of the bark along your spine. Morpheus nodded somberly, guiding you back to the pillows.

When you’d passed, your body had fully turned to flora, the bed now intertwined into the tree you’d become; he’d left the room as is, allowing the dreams and nightmares to mourn. The Corinthian had screamed, cried, and then blamed - blamed humanity, blamed the gods, the endless - he blamed everyone, but Morpheus bore the brunt of it all. The Dreaming’s collapse had turned what was left of you to dust, Lucienne’s bark snippet being the last piece of you he had. The bark sat in an inner pocket of his coat, threaded with your favorite color of thread.

“I’m sorry,” Rose spoke. Morpheus half scoffed; the sand imitation of you stood on its own, grainy hand in his; he felt close to crying again. When the sand fell again, he said nothing more; the little Corinthian stood far off, mouths frowning at him - unlike the peaceful fall of your imitation, his snapped at the heat of his emotion into glass. “Are you going to kill him?”

Morpheus doesn’t answer.

End Note:

Sorry about changing the relationship between the Corinthian and Reader; I felt like the request worked a little better if Reader treated him and the other nightmares and dreams like his kids. Stay Hydrated.

[galahadwilder]

Hob Gadling in the year 2089 goes to their bar. The new one, the one he'd directed his Stranger to, his friend, after the old one shut down. He waits to meet his Stranger there, to tell him all about the seventy years that have passed since they last met.

The Stranger who comes to meet him is not his Stranger.

The unnatural pallor of his face is the same, yes, as are the expressions on it, but the face itself is different. Younger, perhaps. His hair is white, as are his clothes, instead of Hob's Stranger's preferred black. And yet this new stranger greets Hob the same way the old one did, the same words, the same tones, the same inflections--except that his greeting is nakedly warm, where the old Stranger kept his emotions, his affection, carefully guarded. This new man shows knowledge of Hob's life. Acts like he and Hob have known each other since time immemorial.

And then, most damningly, this new stranger introduces himself.

"My name," he says, "is Daniel."

Hob listens in shock as Daniel tells him that his Stranger, his friend, was Morpheus, King of Dreams. That Morpheus had given up his title, and his life, to a younger successor. That Daniel, the new Dream, still possesses Morpheus' memories, his bonds, his affection for Hob, but Daniel is not Morpheus.

Hob feels a pit of grief in him unlike he has ever known, settling right next to the now-dulled but still painful ache of the death of his son, as he realizes that the one constant in his life, the one friend who could never leave him, has indeed left. That his Stranger is gone... and is never coming back.

[teamlighthouse]

Sometimes I feel like I'm... too anti-romance for fandoms. Cause you know, in the source material you have something where to characters are friends - and say that they are friends.

Then you go to Fandom spaces and suddenly everything is filled with these two being in a relationship? Why can't they stay friends? Why does everything have to be a romantic relationship??

[xony]

i had too many feels about GO2 and I had to make a playlist since that's the only way I have to express deep emotion!!!

enjoy!! (or suffer deeply idk)

[4typercent]

I'm listening to Pale Empty Shere by Hypocrisy, and this hit all of my feels.

Dream, Orpheus, and the Constellation Lyra

One of my favorite Sandman headcanons involves the constellation Lyra, and I'll explain why.

-- Also, fair warning: this is a SANDMAN COMICS SPOILERS ZONE from here on out. --

Lyra is a small constellation located in the Northern Celestial Hemisphere. It is mostly seen in the northern sky from June through October, and while it is considered a relatively dim constellation, contains Vega, one of the brightest stars in the night sky.

Lyra, also known as The Lyre, is often associated with the myth of the Greek musician and poet Orpheus. Specifically, it was his lyre: the one he brought to the Underworld to get Eurydice back. According to legend, after Orpheus was mutilated and killed by the maenads, a deity (often thought to be Zeus), took his lyre and hung it in the heavens.

Now, of course I'm not saying that the stars in the constellation Lyra ONLY appeared after Orpheus' death. What I AM saying is that constellations are, more often than not, effigies of stories: markers of tales that are immortalized, set in stone, thought to live forever. Because what is more Endless than the stars that shine in the night sky? (The illusion of permanence, Destruction had waxed poetically.) And though one does not control the placement and (seeming) permanence of the stars, one CAN control the stories assigned to a particular asterism. Used in memoriam. And there is only one anthropomorphic personification who has both the motive and the power to do so.

Dream, after all, is the Prince of Stories.

He is also often mistaken to be the Greek God Apollo - Orpheus' father who, legend says, gave Orpheus his lyre.

He is, in fact, Orpheus' father.

And just... the implication of Dream figuratively hanging his son's lyre in the heavens by immortalizing the myths and tales that spurned from it is soo compelling and incredibly heartbreaking for me. Even more so if you actually think about when he might have done it -- if he had started to immortalize the story behind the asterism right after he said his goodbyes to Orpheus, told him he would never see him again. That he wasn't his father anymore. The action tells such a secret, heart-rending pain and ache, showing that perhaps Dream wasn't as unaffected by the falling apart as he appeared to be. That there is still a bitter kind of love in there, somewhere. That Dream, too, wished that things had been otherwise, no matter how much he tries to deny it.

What's even better is that this does not seem to be Dream's first time putting up memorials to preserve stories that MEAN something to him. In the Netflix show, the Gates of Horn and Ivory contain bas-relief sculptures of what looked like him and a girl. Anyone who has read Overture, of course, would immediately know that the bas-relief is HIS AND ALIANORA'S LOVE STORY. Unto the Gates of Horn and Ivory Dream has carved the story of a girl of light who saved him, and who - like most of his lovers - eventually felt abandoned and forsaken by him.

There's just SO MUCH to unpack in this if he has done the memorial bit more than once. Why does he do it? Is it to remind him of his shortcomings? To torture himself for all the mistakes he has done, to remember to keep everyone at arm's length lest his love shatters and ruins them? A stark, solid admonishment to continue pushing his feelings down, to never mourn or grieve, or feel, lest it destroys the collective unconscious entirely? Perhaps we'll never find out. All we'll know is that those stars will continue to shine and that Orpheus' tale will probably last, as permanent as the lyre his father has lovingly crafted, then hung in the heavens. A tale of pride, love, regret, and tragedy.

We'll tell it again. And again. And again.

And in that way, he lives.

[changedmyminditsnicehere]

My first attempt at writing and posting anything here! This is my first piece of fiction writing in literally six years, thank you Neil Gaiman and the Sandmand communituy for being so amazingly inspiring! This piece in particular was inspired by some soft prompts for Dreamling I saw going around and have since lost entirely, woops

(Ao3 link here)

---

Hob Gadling had never touched his stranger. Not once in 600 years. Perhaps to outsiders, that wouldn’t seem strange. Even in centuries more forgiving of homosocial tactility between men, his stranger had always looked so above it all. Untouchable in the same way one didn’t touch a sculpture in a museum. His stranger was marble and ebony, beautiful and foreboding. Not suitable for touching, certainly not by hands as rough as Hob’s.

Stood in the doorway to the kitchen, a new bottle of wine under his arm, Hob could barely believe the situation he found himself in. His stranger, his Dream, sat on his couch, listing slightly to the side as he agreeably joined Hob in a gentle inebriation. They were celebrating… something. Had Hob had a bad week, or a good one? Had Dream? Hob could barely remember. All he could think about was that little curl of hair, normally artfully tousled now just dropping over his left eye. Hob’s side. He could just reach out, brush it away.

Even Hob struggled to believe Dream had got to a point where he would do anything agreeably with Hob. 600 years of stoney silences and a heart-wrenching departure, and yet here he was, barely five years after his late arrival at the New Inn, on Hob’s sofa, drinking red wine Hob had pilfered from downstairs, looking so much less the foreboding majesty he normally projected.  Dream hiccuped slightly, leaning further against the left arm of the chair he was so majestically sprawled in. He leant, ever so slightly, towards Hob’s arm, which had somehow crept forwards without his noticing, along with his whole body. His traitorous right arm twitched. 

For the first time ever, Hob brushed against his stranger. His hair, normally totally defiant of gravity, was silky soft. Hob meant to pull back. Maybe if he continued as if it had never happened, Dream wouldn’t take umbrage. Maybe he could play it off with a friendly ruffle - no, no matter how drunk Dream seemed, Hob couldn’t imagine that going over well. Frozen with indecision, Hob realised, not everything was still. Dream’s velvety hair was brushing, slowly, meditatively, against the back of his hand. No matter how traitorous his arm might be, he knew even it wouldn’t dare to stroke his stranger.

And yet, sticking his courage and looking down, there was Dream, nodding his head into Hob’s grasp. Feeling, no doubt, Hob’s gaze boring down, Dream looked up. Without pulling away. Hob felt his palm curl, so gently, around Dream’s cheek. If Dream looked like marble, his skin felt like softest silk. His skin was warm, not with an inner heat, but with the reflection of the room, the warmth of Hob’s sitting room, just the two of them. Dream looked at him, inquiring. Slowly, almost sleepily, a smile crept like dawn across Dream’s face. He looked up at Hob, and rubbed his face once more against Hob’s palm.

Hob could feel his own smile creeping up on him. The skin around Dream’s eyes crinkled. His lips parted, pearly teeth opening ever so slightly. His tongue crept out, rose petal pink, to lick his lips. Without moving away from Hob’s hand, he spoke.

“Hob.”

“Mmm?”

“Do you think, you might be willing. To come down here.”

Hob’s knees buckled under him. Hand still on Dream’s cheek, he gazed into his eyes. Dream hadn’t stopped smiling. He leant forward, so gently. Hob wasn’t sure he had taken a breath since the first moment he felt Dream against him. And then, lips, against his. Soft, warm, ever so slightly wet. Hob was still frozen. Dream pulled back, smile shuttering in concern and Hob felt his brain finally kicking into action in response. He slips his hand forwards, once more into Dream’s hair, curling so delicately in its gossamer strands and pulled Dream back, back into his lips and properly into his arms. 

[justjams2003]

The Desire to be Loved: 2

Summary: Love is Desire's first creation. As Cupid she shoots her arrows of love and rips them from people's hearts too. Occasionally, shooting a soulmate arrow. What does she do when her first Soulmate arrow in 100 years is between Cupid and Dream?

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x OFC Love/Cupid/Venus (you know how these beings have millions of names) (Also technically it could be an x reader because love is sort of anthropomorphic but in this story a she)

Warnings: Manipulation, threats, crying, cliffhanger, unedited, kind of like enemies to lovers, soulmate au, cursing, tell me if I miss any

Word count: 1,8k+

Dividers by: @hyelita

Tags: intothesoul

Masterlist

(I've moved the next part to the bottom)

What a cruel but beautiful creature. To look at me with such entrancing brown eyes that makes something warm flutter in my gut but leave me here. Her aura is that of a setting sun, but her hair is like that of the sun itself. A dear shocked by the presence of a different creature in her woods. Or perhaps shock that I could see her?  

But with the beauty she carries is also something vicious. Another immortal creature who seems to have some recognition behind those doe eyes. And yet knowing who I am and what importance I hold for the mortal world she leaves me here. Without a single second thought she disappeared into a different realm.  

I do not know who she is. Or rather what it is. The human’s son who captured me could not see her. He looked at me with utter confusion, but that is saying so little since they always look at me with fear of the unknown. As they should.  

Clearly something supernatural, but not something powerful enough for me to have known of them before. But in my 50 more years of confinement in this my glass prison I couldn’t help but keep myself busy with the thought of her.  

One of these days, almost on cue, that perfect pink aura suddenly appears in front of the glass bulb. She looks dishevelled. Her braid is messy, several front pieces have fallen out and covers her face. Where last time she wore shoes that made her quite a bit taller than the human Alex. Now, just a few inches.  

But more than that there’s blood all over her hands. Her eyes look glassy with tears but are wide with fear and shock. She’s down on her knees on front of this cage. A shudder pours through her body. Air doesn’t seem to making it into her lungs. Does she have to breathe or is the shock shaking her soul?  

She looks up at me and this seems to make it worse. The dam breaks and tears roll off her cheek. Her chest heaves as she tries to breathe. “I-I-” She mutters trying to comprehend and it seems as if she knows even less than I do now. “I don’t know what I did.” Her voice is just barely above a whisper.  

“He-he said I had to.” She mutters over and over, who is this he? What did she have to do? I wish this damn barrier wasn’t here so that I could see what is this situation. “And-and- I was so mad at him for making me-” another bout of tears overcomes her.  

She then stops and looks at her hands again. “Look at what I’ve done.” I can see how her mind is starting to break.  

That can’t be good. She must play some role in this the human world. Even if only slightly important, it could very well be the beginning or end of this earth. Should I care? Of course I should care. I was made by the first humans subconscious to help the humans. I can’t let all that effort go to waist now...  

But how could I help now? Stripped from all power, locked up and unable to be heard in this glass bubble of mine. I do all that I can think of. My hand slowly slides over the glass to where she sits kneeling in front of me.  

My movement catches her eye almost instantly. Her head snaps up, her ragged breathing stops. Her eyes seem to twinkle like gold dug up from deep in the core of the earth. Time seems to stop and I just can’t seem to understand what is going on. Is she a siren or witch of some sort? Putting a spell on me?  

Her hand, smaller than mine, reaches up and touches the glass where mine is. The blood smears against the glass into a red aura around her hand. The glass makes her fuzzy. Like a halo of red surrounding her as if she’s one of the angles.  

“What the fuck?!” One of the guards exclaim, interrupting this stopped moment in time. This moment, a red haze of ardency. From the human’s point of view, Dream of the Endless somehow just spawned a bloody handprint on the outside of his glass cage.  

The guard stands up from his seat, pistol in hand. “What the fuck did you just do? How the fuck did you just do that?” He says, his pistol raised at the cage. To the humans this seems entirely impossible. Some sort of witchcraft that they fear with their soul.  

The creature who has taken all wisdom from me’s head snaps in a neck-aching turn. Her breathing becomes rapid again after just having calmed her down. She sees the way he approaches my cage and then she turns to me again. “I have to go again. I don’t want him to find out about this this time.”  

With that, she’s gone again.  

For the next 14600 days I could not be there when sun would set and the dreamers were supposed to enter my realm. My dreamers would instead be either stuck awake forever or asleep forever. 40 years of restless, dreamless sleep all because of the Burgess’s. 

I had seen with my own eyes how Alex killed his father by accident or not after a fight about my confinement. He had begged just as his father had. Not for the same thing, but in the same breath for fear of Death. My sister shouldn’t be feared but perhaps he worries about how I might inact my revenge.  

He grows old now, I’m sure, but he has not come to beg again. Humans become frail with age. All entertainment I have is my mind and my plots. Vengeance swirls around in my mind. That and guilt. Guilt of Lucien having to run the Dreaming in my absence. And all of those Dreamers doomed.  

My days and nights are one. I only know the difference from the change of guards. I can’t help but watch their lazy lives. Having to sit and watch me all day. They chit chat of their lives all while the years pass by in front of me. No interruption. No difference.  

And then, there she is again. One second an empty space covered in sand and the next, a dishevelled creature. No heels this time. A pair of these “sweatpants” as I’ve heard the mortals call it. Her hair is no longer in a braid. Golden silk in long mixed wavy and straight hangs on the floor.  

Her eyes are red and look dry and irritated. She appeared standing, but not for long. Her legs seem to give in on her. She sits down on the floor. She pulls her legs up to her chest and just hides her head. I move closer to the edge of my cage. I can see it puts the guards on edge.  

She slowly lifts her head again and rest her chin on her knees. Then suddenly a quiver, assumingly her quiver, appears strapped to her back. She pulls out a single arrow, the only arrow in this quiver. It has a red heart at the very tip. She seems to be inspecting it carefully.  

The creature seems to give a dry scoff. “This is the only soulmate arrow I’ve received in over 100 years.” She twirls it in her fingers and then suddenly it all begins to make sense. A soulmate arrow? And she has them ready to shoot? The humans have so many names for her. Cupid, Venus, Aphrodite, Freya. But I do remember Desire naming her Love.  

Her head falls back on her knees. “I feel so tired...” Her eyes seem to droop. The pink aura she had before is completely gone. The golden sparkle in her eyes is dead. She closes her eyes for a second and lets out a heavy hearted sigh. All soul seems to have left her.  

Then her eyes open again. Again her dead eyes drag over the arrow. “I fear the day I found you here because it has only caused my demise. If I didn't let my own mind wander into the realms of desire and curiosity I would not be weak as I am now. He calls himself Desire but he and his twin are one in the same because now Despair is all I know.” The words begin spilling out of her from a speed unparalled.  

“Something above him, maybe even you, is punishing me for doing as I am told and I cannot take it any longer. All I've done this last century is rip the love from people's hearts. I fear I might have lost the ability to knock an arrow in my bow because I can't even remember how to grant love. Only how to take it.” 

“My soul is kind, I promise.” Her eyes look up at me, her brows pulling together in the middle as if she’s pleading for me to believe her. “If I was not kind I would not be in the state I am in, right?” Again she begs. What for I’m not sure? I do not know of any sins. Could Love ever even be able of causing harm? Is she able of concocting the concept of harming others?  

“There's no love left on this earth. Only this shell Desire has made me and therefore I don't want to live with myself anymore. Him unmaking me would be easier to stand than the hurt I have caused.” It looks painful when she starts to stand up.  

The way she walks, it looks almost deliberate when the salt under her shoes breaks the several circles surrounding my cage. It’s confirmed when she looks back at the now broken salt circles and looks satisfied by this. Then her eyes look back at me.  

The world looks so heavy on her shoulders. Like her head weighs too much for her neck. Her hand comes up on my glass confinement. She steadies herself and then she tells me what sounds like final words: “I will not beg for your forgiveness for not freeing you sooner.”

Her eyes land once more on the arrow glowing in her hand. She takes a big gulp, then she seems to make time stop again. “If you must kill me, I will beg you do it before Desire punishes me.” With what seems like her last bit of energy, life force, she raises her arrow and stabs the glass.  

A large crack breaks through this glass bubble. But she stops before she can repeat the action. Her eyes raise as if she’s listening to something from above. “It seems he was watching me.” Her dried body takes a step back but I catch her before she leaves me once more.  

“Thank you, Cupid. I will find you.”  

If you want to be added or removed from the taglist, just ask!

Part 1~Part 3

[little1too1dramatic]

Rue Keller; Shopping Heaven for Alt Kids and Geeks?

 Hi! (＾▽＾)

Rue Keller is known for it´s alternative stores, pleasing not only darkly inclined, but also those who prefer anime and Japanese culture. When you ask for those specific recommendations, this street often pops up. But is it deserved?

It´s not hard to get to rue Keller. It´s in nice neighborhood in the city center, more or less only 20 minute walk from Notre Dame and Centre Pompidou. That is, if you don´t keep walking in the wrong direction, which happened to me. I would like to say be careful, but most of you are not as dumb as me.

Only one-half of the street is actually filled with anything your dark heart would desire – if you come from the other, with café and elementary school, you might be quite surprised. Never mind, just confidently scroll through it, until you get through all the coutures and gallanteries to Manga Dori. You won´t be surprised with majority of their sortiment being mangas, but they also sell katanas, some magazines and of course, figurines. Staff is always nice and it´s probably the only shop where I was never the sole customer. They have decent amount of publications, neatly sorted out by name in the case of well-known authors and genres. They even have a BL corner, I need to actually go through it next time! You can occasionally find a piece in English, and as you walk around the aisles even non-Manga section! They have some publications (I still hope to see Fruits or Kera one day), from Japanese comics in less orthodox art styles to a Pusheen book. I have that in Czech and I feel the need the get French version for… scientific purposes. I found some publications with lolita characters, but I will have to report on their quality. 

You can go to Pop Culture next, they represent western geek culture from next side of road. Aside from comics and another round of figurines, they have vinyls! The owner of this place is a nice, chatty guy eager to help, and he didn´t mind me coming and looking for some vampires or Sandmand in the sales. The atmosphere here is nice, probably best out of all those stores, and if you need any other recommendation, our office manager buys his Star Wars figures here. His collection is enormous.

And now my favourite. L´indien Boutique. If you are into goth, punk, rock or even just some spooky things, come here. Even if you are on budget – they sell patches for 4 euros, buttons and pins for less and they even have a 1 euro section. You can buy postcards with some musicians here, but be warned. They have an unreasonable amount of Morrissey, and even weirder of half-naked Morrissey. I will forever treasure my card with Husker Du, the only piece of merch I was able to find anywhere. They some plainer clothing in the front, also hats, from crochet e-kids ones to band caps. And jewelry. A lot of jewelry, like this amazing coffing ring that I will need to get if I will have any money once I´m done in Paris. In the back, they have more interesting clothes. I have to say, in terms of price and what you get, L´indien is my favorite in entire Paris so far. It´s not ovepriced, the selection is nice and you get the feeling that (very nice) owners know what they are doing. Also, I never met a shopkeeper that wasn´t very nice here. They carry things from brands like Killstar and Banned, but also more whimsical pieces. For example corsets, Lots of corsets around 35 euro, over and under. I feel like anyone could pick one, from the most Victorian goth to cyber punk. You can also get band tees for 20 euros here, another thing I want to get by the end of my stay.

Now there´s New Rock. You probably know their shoes, super sturdy, super high, super cool. I want to buy them when I will actually start making money. Should you go in if you don´t have disposable 200 euro? Sure, they also sell hair colours. I saw Revolution and Manic Panic here, but they have much more that I don´t remember. Prices are always under 10 euros.

You won´t have to walk too far to Black Sugar. If you want cheap cosplay and Harajuku inspired dress, come here. If there´s anything to get excited about, it´s their bags. Sanrio, Sailor Moon and a lot more, on every shelf around the store. As for their clothing, it´s cheap. As in, you pay more than Aliexpress for the same quality. You can see some lolita dresses and blouses that would probably need a lot of restoration to be salvaged, but also some not so terrible pieces. Their pants look good and would suit both 90s ravers and Visual Kei enthusiast. Some of their boleros are actually cool too. They also have some better quality lolita clothing, in different rack. They probably realized how much the comparison would hurt them. They had really cute black and white dress for 55 euros and some blouses that actually made me think.

Other than that, they have some good figurines, for example Naruto ones for 5 euros, which is great. Any emo or scene kid should be aware of their accessories. Armwarmers, striped socks, chokers, etc. The price isn´t terrible either, but quality leaves something to be desired. There´s supposed to be another store of the same type next to Black Sugar, but it´s always closed. I only got in once, and it was worse than its neighbor, both in selection and quality. I can´t find it on Google Maps and I don´t remember the name, so behold the suprise, I guess.

If you will stay up until night, you can go to Dr. Feelgood, a really nice rock bar. Sometimes they have parties, so stay tuned if you are around!

If you go straight to Kilo Kawaii Shop in le Marais from this point, you will go around a cheap cosplay shop My Bootik, that also carries some alternative goods. The price is not high, but quality reflects it.

All in all, this place looks pretty good on paper, but once you get there, it´s not so much. You can go through all the shops in half an hour, feeling both over and underwhelmed. There is almost nothing original, the prices are only slightly better than on cons and you will sense that this place might be dying a little bit. At least you will get to see some cool people – this  place is never crowded and if you do meet someone there, they are either an otaku or a member of some subculture. And it´s near to our next spot, secondhands on Rue de la Verrerie.

[reaja]

I need to make dinner but the sandmand says nay my beautiful daughrer instead u can have a small little nap and who am I to say no to that, I am fadingg as I type

[sailaweigh]

May I suggest checking with Does the Dog Die https://www.doesthedogdie.com if you are unsure. The website answers all kinds of questions for various triggers.

I love the sandman, both the comics and the Netflix series, but i have a bone to pick with you. Why did you show the kittens being drowned in the series when you didn't make it that clear in the comics? There's no content warning it anything. That was traumatizing to watch! I'm not exaggerating i had a panic attack.

With the greatest respect, how is this different from the version on screen other than the version on the screen moved and had sound? And what exactly did you think had happened in the comic?

[maguro13-2]

Natsuki : *whistling* I can't try out my new sweet hot rod. I wonder if that Shizuru or Monika person can do a ride with me? Hmm?

*Car bumps into Natsuski's rod*

Natsuki : My Rod! Oh that does it! You are so dead a-hole! Come on out and fight me!

*Mr. Sandman comes out of the car*

Mr. Sandman : Oh yeah? Well say that to my fists why don't ya!!

Natsuki : AAAH! *Panic* L-L-Like a good neighbor State Farm is there!

*State Farm guy appear*

State Farm Guy : With State Farm agency--

Natsuki : PEACE, SUCKER! *pushes man into Mr.Sandman*

State Farm Guy : Eh, W-What?

*drives off*

Mr. Sandmand : *growls angrily*

State Farm Guy : *gulps*

*Blows Landing*

Mr. Sandman : You messed with the wrong guy!

[arietisart]

Theoretical question: If you could pay for a YCH (your character here) where it would be a "commission" of a couple and let you choose anyone for a fee… what canon would you like to be able to match with anyone (oc, self insertion, other canon, canon from another series(cross), etc; fem, masc, non-binary, etc)?