landwriter
Fandoms
- The Sandman (TV 2022) (12)
- Original Work (1)
- The Sandman (Comics) (1)
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[Art] Excerpts from 'Field Guide to Woodgeists' (Interlibrary Loan) by landwriter for Kantayra
Fandoms: Original Work
07 Dec 2025
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Forest Spirit via pottery and a field guide that definitely, totally, actually exists.
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It's raining. The perfect weather for a romantic gesture.
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It had started because Hob had a bit of a thing. That was reasonable, he thought. You couldn’t live for six greedy centuries and counting without accumulating a few things. Exhibitionism (fourteenth through seventeenth centuries, naturally); corsets and heels (eighteenth century); goths (late twentieth century). And so on. Perfectly normal.
But this, this was the oldest Thing. His ancient Stonehenge of a Thing. His perfectly-preserved bog body of a Thing. If he was the oldest human, then this was the longest-lived Thing. It was dry-aged, cask-aged, new-aged. It was underpainted with mysterious fluids and had provenance papers that would make the men at Sotheby’s blush and adjust themselves at their desks. It was worn as soft as the Shroud of Turin, and as wrinkled and delicious as a new Judean date from a resurrected 2,000-year-old seed. It was the leitmotif of all his lust and desire. If the British Museum ever did an exhibition on the history of Things, they would steal it and put it on display.
Or, a short and silly story about husbands: one newly human, and one with a very old kink.
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A man, supine and utterly still, in what might have seemed like a deep sleep, draws in a long slow breath and opens his eyes. He smiles up at the sky, for he knows not much at all, but he knows this:
Hob Gadling is a man of good fortune.
A story about refusing to leave. A story about a quest that spans lifetimes. A story about losing someone, and bringing them back with love.
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Hob saw two things immediately, obvious as anything, in what he felt distantly sure must be the wrong order.
The stranger was surpassing handsome: tall as he was, but lean where Hob was broad, with pale skin, black hair as long as a maiden’s, eyes as sharp and bright as the bite of water in winter, and a mouth that made him think, suddenly and irrationally, of wild roses; and more was the pity for all of it, because the other thing, the thing Hob ought to have noticed first, was that he was staring at Hob like he meant to kill him.
In which Hob and Dream make poor first impressions, become fuck buddies, and, somewhere along the way, start trying to save one another. Out of friendship, of course. A love story.
Recent bookmarks
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“Do you know some people say you are as John the Baptist to him? Make straight the way of the Lord.”
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Bookmarked by landwriter
02 Jan 2025
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In one hand he’s got a knife--the kind all the students keep to sharpen their nibs and carve their names wherever it’s the most pain in the ass to sand them out--but that’s not what’s got everybody frozen, because in his other hand the poor mad kid is holding all his beads.
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Bookmarked by landwriter
26 Oct 2024
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When an accomplished courtesan falls in love at first sight with a tall, serious swordswoman from a Taoist sect of spiritual cultivators, the obvious next step is to bind up her hair, leave her entertainment house, and join the sect.
Bookmarked by landwriter
26 Oct 2024
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“Ah. Here is a young man transfixed. Do you like Hunt, sir?"
"Do I like him?" Phil tore his eyes from the painting before him and marvelled at the stranger at his elbow. Like him? One might as well ask do you like Michaelangelo? Do you like Homer? Do you like the Alps?
An art enthusiast with a talent for meteorology meets (arguably) the Finest Painter in England. But impressing your idol can be damned hard work, especially when he's all pride and prejudice, and you're all sensibility and no sense. Heavy weather ahead...- Language:
- English
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Bookmarked by landwriter
16 Sep 2024
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The Dr. Geiszler Hermann had found in the publications — printed pages worn with constant handling and tucked into his briefcase for easy access — was an eloquent scientist whose work functioned at a level far above almost anyone else Hermann had ever encountered in the field, and yet he neither patronized his readers nor expressed himself in the inexplicable jargon which so infected much academic work. He was singular in his intelligence. Hermann thought this was a man he could understand — and who could understand him in turn.
More fool he.
Bookmarked by landwriter
12 Apr 2024