#and then i actually fainted from the hob again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

notallsandmen · 1 year

Note

for the WIP game: you know I'm obsessed with Hob titty fucking, I think everyone else should be too

It was a sveltering London summer day. Hob nearly passes out on the bus home, and he has to stand in the shower for half an hour to cool down.

It didn’t use to be this fucking hot. So much had changed in just a few centuries, and not for the better.

But something as petty as cataclysmic global warming was apparently not enough to stop Dream from popping by for a cheeky afternoon shag: only giving Hob a salutary little bow and a wry half-smile before practically tackling him into bed. Dream’s clothes had melted away with Hob’s remaining resolve; now, they were naked and panting into each other’s mouths. Dream’s damn smirk was somewhat undermined by the rosy-dawning blush spreading from his cheeks all the way down to his navel. Hob had tried to be pragmatic and suggest that they could take this to the Dreaming instead, but apparently Dream was barred due to similar overheating issues, so they were stuck here now. Quite literally — it feels heretical, the way Hob’s sweaty skin cloys for Dream’s sultrily temperate skin.

Hob presses his entire face into Dream’s cool chest and groans so loudly, he can feel it rattle through Dream’s ribcage.

“Are you well, little darling?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Hob can see the onyx-lacquered nail tracing orbits into the Hob’s furred thigh.

“I know I have had a penchant for hyperbole in the past. But I’m actually dying. The heat, Dream. The fucking heat.”

Dream nods slowly, as if Hob was just randomly listing the physical properties of their environment, like a rambling toddler losing the thread of the story they’re telling.

It would be condescending if it wasn’t so maddeningly arousing. Hob might have a problem.

“Would you prefer not to have sex, so as to not risk your body over-heating?”

“Would I…?”, Hob chuckles exasperatedly.

“No I would obviously not prefer that, because I’ve evidently lost every remaining survival instinct from disuse.”

He pauses to empty the glass of water on his bedside table.

“Oi, Pillow Prince of Stories — you could be on top, for once, seeing as you’re not as affected by the heat as I am.”

The way Dream solemnly nods, resigning himself to his tragic fate, to again be saddled with the crushing duty of “having to do any work in bed except for coming”, was frankly so adorably melodramatic that the end of Hob’s sentence trailed out into a sputter.

“Fine, fine, if you’re going to pout about it, I yield.”

Still straddling Dream, Hob closes his eyes and tries to estimate what he could realistically be able to perform without ruining the afterglow with fainting salts.

Only now does Hob register the way he was unconsciously dragging his cock over Dream’s blessedly cool chest.

Well, that’s a thought.

Hob can’t deny that he descends into a heart-eyed mess every time he witnesses Dream laying eyes on his own chest hair; making a content little hum as his nimble fingers card through the coarse pelt like a homecoming.

But the idea of doing this, to rut against Dream’s silky-smooth chest, to come all over —

”Hob? Are you having a heat-stroke? Should I consult a physician?”

Dream’s brows furrow in concern, and Hob feels a bit high-maintenance with his autonomic nervous system baggage and everything.

”Like this?”

It was meant to be suggestive, but Hob feels himself sheepishly flush when his voice comes out as a dry croak.

It was hardly the most energy-efficient position, given the heat.

But as a bead of sweat falls from Hob’s temple down onto Dream’s throat, trickling down his breastbone, Hob realizes that he wouldn’t be able to get it out of his head, now.

Right — it’s settled. Hob needs to fuck Dream’s tits.

Dream looks down at himself, and then back up at Hob in confusion, pressing two fingers against Hob’s wrist where they grasp his hips, not very discreetly checking his pulse. Dream’s concerns were evidently soothed enough to plummet him back into his ordinary state of perplexed feline imperiousness, scoffing:

”Why would you want that?”

“Why?”, Hob laughs, a little maniacally. As if it would be a hardship. As if he’s not already smearing a drop of pre into the tuft of hair on Dream’s chest.

”Let me show you why.”

Continue to read:

#thank you my darling #it is almost finished #time to release the slick seal into the wild #this wip has gotten away from me #dreamling #my dreamling writing #non-pen challenge

166 notes · View notes

wolfgirl-valentine · 11 months

Text

Dreamling Week 2023 Wednesday 7 - (Accidental)Fake Dating

Matthew found them in a little cafe near the campus Hob works at. Fortunately they were in the garden area, so he can land on their table without causing a ruckus.

“Sorry for interrupting your date Boss, but Lucienne said your presence is needed back”

Two very interesting things happened in that moment, one: Hob Gadling suddenly chocked in his coffee, Dream of the fucking Endless moved to give him a couple pats on the back with a concerned expression, and two: they started to talk over each other (once Hob cleaned his airways, tough they were probably burned)

“This is not…I…we aren’t!”

“This is not a date Matthew”

Matthew looked from one to the other, Hobs face red in mortification(or probably from breathing hot coffee) and the Boss pressing his hands together in a gesture that can be misinterpreted as distress.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN THIS ISN'T A DATE???!!!” Matthew is definitely in distress, as if the sky being blue stopped making sense “but! but! you have been seeing each other at least once a week!!”

“Matthew”

“...and you are always in such a good mood after them!!”

“Matthew…”

“...and Losh has said the weather has never been better!!”

“Matthew”

“...and you always put so much effort in getting ready for them! you even use an actual mirror instead of magicking everything!!!”

“Matthew!!”

The slightly rising in the Boss voice volume finally make him shut up, looking at them again he realizes that Hob is even redder than before, his expression one of shocked surprise, staring at Dream, who was looking at his hands as if they were the most fascinating thing in the universe.

"Return to the Dreaming Matthew, tell Lucienne I will return as soon as possible"

Then something clicked inside his not quite bird brain, and oh, these were not dates, but the Boss wished they were and the human didn't know.

Oh no, oh shit "Oh fuck!" He realizes he said the last bit out loud when the Lord of Nightmares gaze shifted to him and…yep that is his clue to flee "Okseeyoubackbossbye" and with that Matthew was flying back as if he had a hellhound on his tail.

Once in the Dreaming he found Lucienne at her desk, and landing(more like crashing) on the open book in front of her, starting her in the process "Matthew!!"

"I'm done Lucienne!!! It's over!!! I'm a dead bird!!!" He said, pacing back and forth over the desk

"What are you talking about?"

"I fucked up pretty bad! But I didn't know!!! How was I supposed to know?????? He never tells me anything!!!!"

"You aren't making sense!"

"I ruined everything Lucienne!!!!"

"Matthew!! You need to explain what you are talking about!" The harsh tone make him snap out of his spiral of despair.

"I may have implied that the Boss meetings with his human friend were dates, when I realized said human in question didn't know they were dates, instead of laughing it off as a joke I kinda confirmed that the Boss wanted them to be dates! In front of the guy!!!!" Can birds hyperventilate? Because Matthew is pretty sure he is hyperventilating.

"Oh Matthew…" Lucienne sighed heavily as she pinched her nose, Matthew doesn't think dramfolk can have headaches but he is sure she is having one right now.

"What do I do??? "

"I'm sure is not…"

"Matthew" the raven almost fell off the desk as Dream materializes directly in the library

"Boss!! I'm sorry!!! I swear I didn't know!!! I…" he stops as Dream rises a hand asking for silence

"I suggest you are more careful with your words in the future, while this time they had a beneficial effect, that would not always be the case"

"What?" Matthew looked at the Boss again, this time noticing a couple of things, his hair looked more disheveled than when he leave him in the Waking, the lapel oh his coat is slightly wrinkled, and is that a faint blush on his cheeks? Oh! Oh shit! "Oh fuck!!" A raised eyebrow make him close his beak again.

"That will be all Matthew, I'll call you if your assistance is required" and ok, he knows when he is being dismissed

"Sure thing Boss, glad I was of help"

"Thank you" and Matthew is sure what the thanks are for but he isn't that much of a fool to point it out, so he just gives a little nood and flees for the second time in a day.

(I was very exited to show this one!!! is the reason I’m even joined the activity, is the first one I wrote! Hope you enjoy it! Its also my first time writing Matthew!)

#dreamling week 2023 #dreamling week #dreamling #dream x hob #hope this makes sense

103 notes · View notes

dsudis · 10 months

Text

Which Betokeneth Concorde (Dreamling dancing fluff)

I was scrolling through my blog yesterday looking for a fic prompt that would catch my fancy, and instead I ran across this video of people dancing in public and decided to write about Dream and Hob encountering something similar.

Title is from "East Coker" by TS Eliot:

On a summer midnight, you can hear the music Of the weak pipe and the little drum And see them dancing around the bonfire The association of man and woman In daunsinge, signifying matrimonie— A dignified and commodiois sacrament. Two and two, necessarye coniunction, Holding eche other by the hand or the arm Whiche betokeneth concorde.

Dream had been dimly aware that one of the many things he would have to face, as the price of courting Hob Gadling, was his own refusal to dance.

Dancing was one of the most traditional of courting activities, after all. He had never seen Hob dance, but Dream was certain that he would be as enthusiastic for that pastime as he was for nearly every other he had ever attempted.

(Hob had a fixed dislike of rowing, even in circumstances others typically found romantic. Dream was thoroughly charmed by Hob's insistence that he would not trust his life to so small an amount of wood between himself and any body of water, however shallow and placid it might be.)

Still, Dream had not expected the question of dancing to arise on this, their fifth date, while they were crossing the campus of the university where Hob taught en route to a small bookstore Hob thought Dream would like. It was broad daylight, a sunny morning during the summer holiday when the campus was mostly empty.

Dream was focusing intently on not peeking into Hob's very noisy daydreams regarding the bookshop and what kisses or touches might be permissible in the privacy of its winding shelves. It was difficult, when they were holding hands and Hob was so eager, but Dream did like to be surprised, even if Hob had blithely given permission for Dream to "peek" at will.

Dream did not actually notice the thing on the ground until Hob had stopped short a few yards from it; even then what he noticed was the abrupt disappearance of all those intriguing daydreams, replaced by Hob's sudden and consuming interest in something materially present. After another moment, Dream took in the faint sound of music being played from a small speaker somewhere nearby, and a ring of some sort on the ground, and the words DANCE HERE in chalk beside it.

Ah.

Hob looked over at him with an expression of pure joy illuminating his features. "Shall we dance?"

Dream swallowed hard. He had refused Hob nothing within his power since they had begun courting; he did not want to look at Hob's bright, eager face and say no now.

Still, he was what he was, and he could not be otherwise, even for Hob. "I... do not dance."

Hob's excited expression softened--not turning unhappy, but thoughtful.

Dream braced himself to be coaxed, perhaps gently teased. He could endure that, from Hob. And these were early days; even being enticed to something he could not consent to do would be better than Calliope's resigned disappointment in the waning days of their marriage.

But Hob, as he so often did, surprised Dream. His expression brightened again as he said, "I probably should not. For all the time I've had, it's not a skill I've cultivated to any effect."

Despite his words Hob looked toward the circle again, and Dream knew that he did not want to just pass it by. And if he did not mind, if he would give in to Dream's refusal so easily...

"You need not refrain for my sake," Dream said carefully. "If you do not mind dancing without me."

Hob tilted his head and tugged at his ear, a different smile playing at his mouth. "What if I dance with you, even if you don't dance with me?"

Dream tilted his head in turn. "I will not deny you my companionship only because you choose to dance."

"Well then, let's do this," Hob said, catching Dream's hand and tugging him along. Dream stopped short of the chalked words, and Hob kept hold of his hand as he stepped decisively into the circle--which somehow made the music play more loudly.

Dream made himself perfectly still, his arm fully extended and exactly parallel to the ground, only his fingers flexing--and only his fingers were within the edge of the dancing circle.

Hob squeezed those fingers, beaming again with even more excitement than when he had first sighted the invitation to dance. The music was modern, bright and quick, calling for a very modern and energetic sort of dancing, and Dream was not uninterested in seeing what Hob might do in that area; that sort of dancing was close enough to sex to push the boundaries of what they had done thus far in their courtship, and Dream knew that they were both waiting to see who would grow impatient first with taking it slow.

The right kind of dancing might settle that question very decisively.

Hob knew that too; there was a moment when his dark eyes looked even darker, when their usual warmth for Dream gave way to outright heat.

Then he folded forward just far enough to brush his lips against Dream's extended fingertips before letting go altogether. Keeping his eyes on Dream's he spread his arms wide and walked backward in tiny steps. Just before his heel would have crossed the border of the circle, he whirled in place, making his loose jacket flare out like a cape. He stomped and then clapped his hands sharply, a half-beat behind--neither on any discernible beat of the song.

By the time he faced Dream again he was struggling not to smile, mirth glowing in his eyes. Dream kept his own expression as stern and frozen as his body as Hob returned to him in tiny mincing steps that should have been a promenade across the width of a ballroom.

Just before he would have reached the near side of the circle, Hob converted one tiny step to a vertical hop and clapped, once again entirely off the beat of the music and the two motions out of sync with each other.

Dream could not help it. He laughed, throwing his head back and letting the rough-edged ugly sound pour out.

Hob started laughing in startled reaction, and an instant later his arms were around Dream. He whirled them both away from the circle in something that was not quite a dance step as he muffled his own laughter against Dream's shoulder. Dream hushed himself by pressing kisses to Hob's hair and his throat, wrapping his arms tightly around him. They were both nearly staggering already when they collided with a bench, and Hob more or less fell onto it, hauling Dream down approximately into his lap.

"Maybe," Hob said, still holding Dream tight against him despite the awkwardness of their entanglement. "Maybe you should desert me, the next time I get it into my head to dance. For your safety."

"I am made of sterner stuff than you," Dream said, elbowing Hob just enough to make his point. "And I was just thinking that we should go somewhere with a bit more space for you to show off your... moves."

Hob giggled at that, wonderfully absurd daydreams bursting forth from him of breaking out the half-remembered steps of a peasant's festival day dance in a crowded club. Dream had to kiss him for that, and kiss him, and kiss him again while taking full advantage of the way he was partially wedged between Hob's legs.

"I win," Hob gasped, his thighs tightening strongly around Dream. "I win, you--take me home, Dream, we can't do this on the quad."

Dream lingered to kiss him one more time, and then did as his lover bid him.

[This fic is also on Ao3!]

#fic #fluff #dreamling #the sandman #dancing #and also not dancing #each according to his inclination

39 notes · View notes

writing-for-life · 7 months

Text

“Oblivion Is Not An Option”—A Musical Meta About Death’s “A Kind Word And A Friendly Face”

Send me asks about everything Sandman-related!

As some of you already know, my past life as a musician gives me a deep love for, and interest in, film music.

I already wrote a meta about the musical themes of Morpheus and Johanna Constantine, which you can find here.

In the spirit of actually creating the content we’d like to see, and also inspired by Sandtember Week 2023 prompt (Death) - The end of something, I’d like to talk about the musical leitmotif of Death today. And by the way, if you’d like me to cover any of the other Sandman musical themes: My ask box is always open (also for non-music related Sandman stuff. I’ve been sitting with this story for 30 years now, and I love to nerd out about it). I can’t promise how quickly I will be able to turn around these things since they need a bit of work and thought, but I definitely will get back to you.

First of all, let me start by saying that there are only four characters with a leitmotif (not every Sandman character has one) that doesn’t mirror, or even contain, Dream’s theme in some way:

Ethel Cripps

Hob Gadling

The Corinthian (video is time-stamped, which doesn’t always work on mobile. In that case, scroll to 0:55)

Death

youtube

Johanna’s and Calliope’s motifs are interesting in this context. I won’t go into Johanna’s again here, you can read about it via the link.

Calliope’s motif sounds different from Dream’s at first listen, so we might be tempted to put her in above group. But on closer listen, Calliope’s theme, like Johanna’s, references Dream’s (at the very end, it starts at 1:26). One step further: It is actually his motif (somewhat) in reverse. Which is really heartbreaking if you think of it, because it mirrors both their connection and deep affinity, but also a pull into different directions. However, I might write more about this another time, since this one is obviously about Death.

Affective Tonality—Musical Keys Make Us Feel

“A Kind Word and a Friendly Face” is set in the key of a minor. In affective tonality, a minor is the key of softness and tenderness of character (if this is something that interests you, have a look at Schubart’s or Charpentier’s works on the matter), but also of sadness and melancholy (Charpentier calls it “plaintive”). It’s more difficult to make an affective tonality assessment for Dream, since his leitmotif changes key several times throughout the series, depending on whom he interacts with (it also changes slightly overall, depending on context). For this purpose, the main theme (“The Kingdom of Dreams”) would probably be the best to use for comparison. It is set in B major, about which Schubart writes, “(it is) strongly coloured, announcing wild passions, (...) despair and every burden of the heart lies in its sphere”, while Charpentier calls it “solitary and melancholic”. I think you couldn’t give a more accurate description of character of these two via tonality if you tried.

Sound Effects That Hint At Deeper Meaning

Another aspect of Death’s theme I’d like to draw your attention to is the use of what we call backmasking. I recommend you listen to the beginning of “A Kind Word and a Friendly Face” at above video link with your headphones on. You will hear a faint sound effect in the background that is actually achieved by playing sounds in reverse. I was fairly sure it was her own leitmotif, but just to make sure I’m not telling you rubbish, I actually sent it through my sound processor, and it’s eerie how Death’s motif sounds almost the same played normally and in reverse (only that the background “noise” becomes the melody when you play it backwards). I think this is a wonderful, skilled musical hint at the interwoven nature of life and death: The moment you are born, you are essentially on a journey to die. But “oblivion is not an option”—there is a reversing of time in using this effect, an ethereal quality that is also mirrored in other aspects of the tune, e.g. in using flageolet in the string section. You create this effect by not fully pressing your finger down on the string, hence creating harmonics of the fundamental (the “original note”, so to speak). One could almost say it’s the sound of the cosmos: There is a long tradition, going back to Ancient Greece, to connect the relationships between musical notes and harmonic ratios to the universe (and ultimately life). All life is regarded as iterations of what could be called “cosmic music”. This isn’t really as woo as it might sound, but it would lead much too far in a meta like this. If you’re interested, you can make a start here:

Or a bit more in depth…

Melody Lines And Cadences Are Seldom Chosen At Random

Last but not least, I’d like to draw attention to the actual melody line. Despite being set in a minor key (which tends to evoke sadness in many listeners of western music), we have a hook largely based around an ascending pattern: 1-2-(m)3-1-(7)-1-1 (you can hear this right at the beginning of the video in linked above).

Compare this to Dream, who is mostly based around descending patterns: 1-(7)-(6)-(5)-(4) (I already explained this a bit more in-depth in the meta about Johanna).

As you can see, it’s not just the choice of key, it’s also the directionality. One lifts regularly and is inherently hopeful, the other descends quite frequently. However, people perceive music very differently, so this is rather food for thought than exact science.

I’d like to end this post with an interrupted cadence, just like Death’s motif:

When a piece of music ends, we want to hear a resolution. Usually, this means that we go back to the tonic (I) in some way, either via a perfect (V—I) or plagal (IV—I) cadence. It just sounds like a song is “done” or finished. In Death’s case, this would mean returning to the chord of a minor. However, we finish in F major, which leaves us hanging on the VI. It’s what’s called an interrupted cadence: There is no resolution, no end. And perhaps, that’s what Death hints at when she tells Harry now he’ll find out (video is time-stamped at around 1:28)…

youtube

29 notes · View notes

signiorbenedickofpadua · 4 months

Text

Last Line Game! Thank you for the tag, @kydrogendragon! <3

Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or however many you like).

As usual I can't keep myself from sharing more than one line, so here's the last few paragraphs from an upcoming fic which I'm hoping will turn out at less than 10k (but you never fucking know with me...)

“Very well.” Morpheus rose, pulling Hob to his feet as well by the hand. “Shall we?” “You’ve not finished your coffee,” Hob remarked, though he could not, in truth, care less about the fact that both of their cups were still half-full. He’d always preferred it to half-empty anyway. “Are you not aware? Too much caffeine and sugar can have a negatively impact on your sleep.” The joking call-back was delivered completely deadpan. Hob raised an eyebrow. “You know, I’m an academic, I’ll have to ask for a source on a claim like that.” “Amaranth, Morpheus. ‘A Remark on the Adverse Effects of Stimulants.’ 17 Nov. 2023, MUU. Casual conversation.” That startled a laugh out of Hob. “You’re citing Dr Amaranth, huh? Good choice, I hear he’s a prominent somnologist at a prestigious university, and quite the looker to boot.” He was mightily pleased to see two faint spots of pink appear on Morpheus’ cheeks, then realised that they had been standing by their table without making a move to actually leave for quite a bit by now, holding hands all the while. He reluctantly let go in order to pick up and shrug into his coat. (Morpheus had just unbuttoned his coat and kept it on, just like in the classroom.) “I appreciate you using proper MLA for your reference, by the way.” “I am trying to impress a lecturer of literature, am I not?” Hob grinned brightly and boldly took Morpheus’ hand again. “And you’re doing a bang-up job of it. Come on. My car is parked behind the A building.”

I'll go ahead and tag @hardly-an-escape, @pellaaearien, @aralezinspace, @acedragontype and @tryan-a-bex if you feel up for it ^_^

#tag game #my fic

15 notes · View notes

moorishflower · 1 year

Text

vibrating at the frequency of the sun

here y'all can have a snippet of uh what I'm doing for Requited Unrequited Love which is what I have labeled "Hallmark Dads" in my gdocs where Morpheus and Hob are the guys who get dumped in every Hallmark Christmas movie

"'Scuse me," someone says, "pardon me, sorry..."

There's a whumf of displaced air as the owner of the voice collapses heavily into the seat opposite Morpheus, apparently heedless of the aura of misery that has enshrouded him. He is considering asking them to find another seat -- he will be found extremely rude but, at the moment, he does not care -- when he raises his eyes and actually beholds his new travelling companion.

It is the man.

The wine bottle makes another appearance, thunked down upon the table between them as the train shudders, and a voice over the tannoy mumbles about their upcoming destination. Next stop, London Paddington Railway Station.

"Sorry," the man says again, and Morpheus' eyes are drawn once again to his hands, laid flat upon the table, now. They are broad, well-lived hands, faint scars upon the knuckles and nicking along the prominent rise of tendons, yet the nails are neatly-kept, and the calluses, what few that he can see, are small and soft. These are hands once used to labour, but no longer. "Is it all right if I sit here?"

No, he should say. Let him be, with the ring in his pocket with no finger to place it on, with the ache in his heart that has been impossible to fill since a fiercely-bright Spring morning, years ago, lifetimes ago, in a waiting room with clear and sun-bright windows, blood from a nosebleed that would not cease dappling his palms like flower petals.

"I will be poor company," is what he says, and the man's eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles. It's a face designed for smiling, Morpheus thinks, in the way a greenhouse is designed for life, and for growing. It can be turned to some other use, for a time, but will always make its way back to its original purpose. To imagine this face without a subtle glow of joy as its backlight it feels anathema to its very architecture.

"Join the club," the man says, and nudges the bottle of wine forward. The train has begun to move, the vibration of the tracks rattling the glass at a nearly-unheard frequency. The man's cheeks are blushed red -- from the cold, perhaps, or from wine he has already partaken of. His eyes, still, are like the diffuse beauty of light through water, like the sun refracted through amber.

"Hob," the man says, and lays his hand upon the table. It's not so much an offer of a handshake as it appears to be an offer to hold his hand. "What's your name? I didn't catch it, when you helped me earlier."

Morpheus considers his options. He could get up and move. There are other seats, though they are few and far between, now. He may need to move to a different car. He could ask the man, Hob, to leave, but that seems worse than rude at this point -- it seems unconscionable. He could...

He could take the offered hand.

What does it matter? He's going home, and he's going to call Lucienne, and then maybe he will fill the tub with hot water, so hot it scalds, and maybe he will take his entire bottle of Xanax, one at a time so he can savour them, so he can feel the way his muscles ease and the way his brain quiets before he sleeps. And maybe he won't. Maybe Lucienne will ease him from the sharp and painful morass of his mind, and he will take a shower, and he will sleep in a different way. He hasn't decided yet. Trains, he thinks, are also liminal spaces. Until he sets foot in London, he is both dead and not dead, both married and once-divorced. A father. Bereaved. What does it matter what he does here, with this summer-warm man who radiates heat and the tart aroma of wine?

Morpheus puts his hand on the table, over Hob's. Their fingers briefly tangle together, almost a handshake, almost holding. His own hand is very pale, compared to Hob's -- he does not retain the sun well, and never has. His delicate English constitution, as Teleute has said.

"Morpheus," he says, and Hob tilts his head, and smiles. His smile, like the titular Jolene, is a breath of spring.

"Like the god of sleep? Your parents were fans of the classics, I take it."

"I...suppose. My family has. Interesting naming conventions." "I like it. It suits you." Their hands part. Morpheus flexes his fingers, and once again feels bereft. "So, what's the thing that makes you poor company, stranger?" Morpheus opens his mouth -- it is none of your business, my heart is broken, I am contemplating going home and committing suicide because I am clearly and patently not designed to be loved in any meaningful way -- but is interrupted by Hob's cheerful continuation, "Because I've just been dumped by my girlfriend of two years."

#the sandman #dreamling #dream/hob #the sandman bingo #hallmark AU #the sandman fanfiction #my fic

95 notes · View notes

kydrogendragon · 3 months

Text

Febuwhump - Solitary Confinement

Pairing: None Words: 435 Warning: Character Death Ao3 Link Here

How many days has it been? Christ... maybe it’s been years by now. Feels like it could be years. The worst of it all? Hob doesn’t even know why everyone left in the first place.

He knows they left. The place’s been abandoned, or at least whatever part of the building he’s in was. Now he’s just stuck here. Concrete walls and a one-way glass panel which, if he’s being honest, is the worst of it all. Means he can watch himself slowly deteriorate. At least back in the 1600’s, he could look away whenever he caught his reflection. Now? He gets to wake up to his own derelict face.

Maybe his Stranger’ll come find him. When it’s time for their meeting, that is. That’s gotta be soon, right? Unless he wasn’t actually planning to show up...

But he has to, right? Or at least, he’d probably know if Hob didn’t show up? Yeah… yeah, he just has to wait. Just a little bit longer…

It’s always around this time of day — noon or so, he supposes — that there’s a faint hint of sunlight that creeps under the door to his cage. He’s tried to escape from the door before. There’s nothing in the room to use as leverage or as a weapon save himself. He’d ripped all the fingernails from their beds trying to pry it open some time ago.

Same with the glass. It refuses to budge. He’s thrown himself against it time and time again. Broke some bones doing that. They healed. They always do. Sometimes he wishes they wouldn’t.

There are small chucks of the concrete walls that he’s chipped through. It’s far from food, but the crunch he can get from the few chips is the best sensation he’s felt in a long time. God, he’s hungry. And thirsty.

The lights went out of this place long ago, but there’s still just enough light from around the door to see. Not well, but well enough. Even better now that his eyes have adjusted to the low light for so long. How long will it take for someone to stumble across him here? Even if they did, would they not just cart him off to another research facility? Hopefully one that didn’t plan on getting abandoned anytime soon. They can dissect him and poke and prod him and as long as they feed him, he’d be okay with it.

No one’s coming, are they?

I’m just..... I’m so tired...

I’m sorry, old friend. Wherever you are.

I think I’m ready to die...

“Hello Hob. Let’s get you out of here, yeah?”

#ky writes #the sandman #hob gadling #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday2

3 notes · View notes

fishfingersandscarves · 1 year

Note

Because at this point I figured out I'll never get it done... Let me hand you the bits I started writing for the idea of:

What was captured was only the most human aspect of Dream of the Endless, because there is no way simple magic circle could fit the whole of what dream is. It changed dreams and way humans experience it, drove many of them mad, but it did not truly hold Dream. (Closer to lobotomy)

Hob was sure this dream was supposed to be a nightmare about Robyn's death. He could feel it on an instinctual level, even if it was also all wrong. The tavern was there, the same old building with worn wooden beams and formerly white walls darkened by years building has stood there. There were lights inside and noise, a vague suggestion of people inside, drinking and arguing.

But the unreality intensified in waves as he approached the building enough to see inside. Rather than people gathered inside to drink and play like he is certain there should be there were just vague blobs of shapes instead of people, pretending to sit around and a large one standing in the middle of space. The sound was still just distant incoherent noise that fails to form any words, getting louder but not any clearer. Only the smells of alcohol and sweat and general human unpleasantness are still the same. Then the shape of the middle blob shifts a bit and... oh, there is a splatter of blood, strangely stark and clear on the aged wood but with how unreal everything else looks it doesn't have the emotional impact it should. Hob knew what it represented, and it was hard not to, but he is also aware it was just a dream and not a realistic one. It wasn’t even a nightmare anymore.

Hob looked around, again wondering why there are no people in the dream that by all means should be full of them. Then he looked at his own hand, first just glancing down, then as there was something missing he lifted both his hands, trying to take a closer look, just to realize that he didn’t have hands at all.

Actually, his body felt like he isn't even human anymore. The edges of the dream frayed and dissolved while he was still there and watched it go.

And then he woke up. It was still somewhere in the middle of the night, but he could hear the neighbors' dog barking... since when they had a dog?

shapeless shadows clinging to the edges of the room seemingly deeper, with swaying movement for no discernable reason. Everything seems off, wrong in subtle ways, but enough to drive Hob to check his hands, just to see, to make sure he really has hands and it's not just another layer of that strange dream, but it was just a hand, normal. No need to think too hard about it. He drank some water and turned his pillow, determined to just go back to sleep. Hob rubbed the remains of sleep from his eyes, just as a desperate scream sounded out from the house on another side of the street.

Hob sat up on his bed with a groan, wondering what kind of insane night was it going to be. Clearly, something must be going on and he didn't want to have anything to do with it.

If anything important is happening he would hear about it in the morning, but probably it was nothing, he tried to convince himself. And yet, it felt like something behind him was watching him. But he knew it was just a wall there.

With the effect it had, Hob decided to put the dream he had just had firmly back into the nightmare category.

He grumbled to himself, burying himself into the warm sheets, determined to ignore the feeling and people who decided to be noisy in the middle of the night.

Barking continued.

(it is the neighbor, little bit carried up by dreams of being a dog)

Dream of the Endless swayed on his feet, corporeal form dissolving at the edges, flashes of clothes weaving in and out of existence as he followed the faint thread of power back home. He gave all he had in that one desperate effort and not much was left of his personification, just enough for the gravity of his greater self in the dreaming to pull rather than recreate.

And then his next approximation of step across the unreal space got pulled off course.

“Here in the darkness!” Whispers of voices were more suggestions than actual words at first.

“Here in the darkness!” Demanded attention, yanking another step.

“Here in the darkness!” Pulled Dream down, stumbling into corporality.

“Here in the Darkness!” His cloak was material, the air was cold and bones ached with the pain of wear.

The chants stopped and Dream couldn’t feel his self, just the faux blood rushing and thumping in his ears, the feeling of skin covering muscles, internal organs materializing and shifting inside. Disgustingly fleshy and painfully limited, human senses ringing and clawing at his self demanding attention in absence of eternal song of the minds. Wrong. Something so small and contained simply couldn’t be Dream of the Endless. And yet Dream was there, personified. It ached like a fresh wound, being cut away from himself. It was making him sick. It hurt.

He couldn’t get the incorporated vessel to move. There were muscles and he never before had needed to figure out how those functioned. There was skin and it was tight and uncomfortable. It felt like he was tied down in it. Flesh resisted.

The figures were gathered around, empty mindless dolls walking around. They were just lifeless existences, shifting as they moved away. The cloaks obscured features, but the faces didn’t matter either way. They were just dull things without dreams, without souls that Dream could sense.

Not worth any attention, even as one shaped as a child was pushed forward.

The thing took his dreamstone of anchoring and pulled the bag filled with grains of creation out of his fingers that refused to cooperate. The corporeality should be less stable without it, and yet the bones stayed aching underneath the mess of biological parts he rarely would bother to pay any mind to.

Even those things didn’t help lifeless things to fix their lacking souls, but it hurt even more for Dream to be separated with even those bits of self, like the things had some malicious intelligence guiding them to tear away even more bits of what Dream was.

He tried to abandon the corporation, to drift into the diffused self.

The void welcomed him instead.

Hob glanced over the pub casually and then froze. There was a *thing* standing in the doorway, something vaguely resembling human, but like the bad rendition put together from pieces that were decidedly not.

Someone else noticed the thing as the whimpering inhale suggested and after that first reaction everyone else did as well, the voices fell silent, and heads turned, everyone seemingly too frozen in fear to react. Bunch of bloody animals in face of predator no one could escape from. Not when thing stood blocking the exit.

And then it moved, taking what probably was supposed to be a step, but flesh flowed and oozed and flowed in air all at once in a sickening manner, for a moment splitting things "leg" into two. The movement of the body parts was disjointed and it slid forward out of sync with it. It was moving toward hob, black holes in its head glowing with distant supernovas.

Then it shifted and yet it felt like it didn't change at all, marble sculpture of perfectly white skin, raven feathers formed into a shock of black hair sticking from the head, and Hob felt his stomach sink with realization.

It was trying to look like his Stranger. Failing badly at this but as it came closer he could feel that there was something familiar in its aura.

Someone screamed in the background, the piercing noise of panic, that seemingly broke people out of their terrified stupor, to make them run.

But the thing... flared, for the lack of a better term. And people settled on their places, back to their discussions and drinks like they haven't seen anything. Like thing was not standing right there in front of the table with a humble professor on other side.

"HOB GADLING" thing rumbled in a voice that wasn't voice, cascading of sounds of nature somehow coalescing into meaningful words. And then it wasn't using even that anymore, just flashes of images and intent flowing into Hob's mind, popping right there but obviously separate. Greeting. Then shift to question about his time between meetings, but not giving nearly enough time for Hob to form the words as it moved on from a topic, right into question if he still wishes to live. Almost as if this thing was following some sort of programmed script.

Hob felt bitter thinking about how it must mean his stranger doesn't want to meet him again if he sent this thing... but then he remembered the date. It was years early. As he thought that the thing seemingly responded to his thought, responding with a sensation of time flowing weirdly, non-linear, and grand concept. Too much.

He found himself slumped on the table, alone. The pounding headache suggested he had far too much to drink. But he couldn't have just hallucinated the bizarre meeting. Whatever it really meant. Something must be wrong. Something about his Stranger, almost certainly.

And Dream sitting in the fishbowl, disconnected and unaware what the hell is going on. The impersonal Dreaming definitely would capture back quickly at least the sand, maybe grabbing ruby quickly as well. Because while it isn't a person at the moment, it is all animals and plants and planets and stars and all has instinct to try being whole. Probably without anything else actually changing on front of capture, since Hob lacks way to figure out stuff, and there are no hints to try looking for something captured. So Morpheus is mourning that he is forced to miss the meeting. And when one day he is free, one if the first things to do is to rush and apologize for not coming and Hob is all so confused because he kind of was there twice in last century? He didn't quite look well, but it felt like him?

And Morpheus makes decision to basically sit with hob and wait for rest of him to come and pick him up because he clearly can't find the way to even try going back.

ooooooooooooo i love this <3 the body horror of it all <3

#my asks #fishfingersandscarves #entrophy-mephit #the sandman

41 notes · View notes

ihatecoconut · 1 year

Text

Somebody calls you, you answer quite slowly [Chapter 5]

Also on AO3

Hob gasps, thrown out of the most vivid dream he had experienced in over a hundred years. The feeling stayed with him, even as he put on the light – everything being too much and not enough and the first time he had ever felt that way. The odd panic that set in was confusingly close to coming down from a drug high.

“Delirium?” He scrambled out of bed, ignoring the way the duvet pooled on the floor. “Delirium? Is that you?”

A faint memory came back to him as he rushed through the apartment, the necklace she always wore, no matter what else changed. Swirls of colour.

He found a loose sheet of paper and several coloured pens before he paused and actually asked himself what he was doing. It probably wouldn’t even work. He put all the pens on the paper together and attempted to draw a swirl.

“Delirium?”

“That isn’t going to work.”

He looked up to see her sitting opposite him, except, there was something different; her normally coloured hair was a pale blonde, her mismatched eyes were both blue this time and her funky, psychedelic clothing had been replaced by a pink dress.

“Why not?”

She wrinkled her nose up. “I’m not close enough to being Delirium right now.”

Hob nodded slowly, taking in the changes to her person. “So who are you?”

“Delight.” She sighed. “Like I used to be. Why did you call me?”

“I had a dream.” Hob replied, and then paused, realising how menial that sounded in comparison to whatever had happened to Delir- Del.

But she frowned, tilting her head in an invitation for him to go on.

“I haven’t dreamed for years, not properly anyway, they were just faded, like watered down memories mostly if I even dreamed at all, and then today – tonight – I just had a dream and it was like I was experiencing everything all at the same time. I don’t know, like I got all the dreams I should have had in the past hundred years all in one go.”

“Dream is back.” She said, a little surprised, a little wistful. “I wasn’t 100 percent certain, but he must be.”

“Dream?”

“My brother. He’s been missing or something for… well probably as long as you have been missing dreams."

"What happened to him?”

She sighed again, her expression down turning. “I don’t know. I think the others are trying to keep it from me.”

“Why?”

“Because they don’t think I can handle anything anymore. Not after changing to Delirium.” She paused, her eyes filling with tears slightly. “They’re scared of me, of what I could become and what they could become so they think the best solution is to keep me in the dark and tell me nothing.”

“I’m sorry.” Hob said, because that was all he could say.

She smiled at him. “It’s ok.” And then, “your dreams should settle down again once he gets a handle on everything.”

Hob nodded. “Thank you.”

“I have to go.” She told him. “I can’t stay like this for much longer.”

“Wait,”

She raised her eyes to meet his.

“Delight?”

“Yes?”

“What is that word for when being around someone makes you warm and happy?”

She smiled at the floor, obviously seeing straight through what he was doing. “Love?”

“Ah, yes. Delight?”

“Yes?”

He reached out a hand to squeeze her own. “I love you.”

She was at his side in an instant, wrapping her arms around him and burying her head in his shoulder. From that vantage point, he could see the colours seeping back into her hair, starting at the roots. “I love you too.”

And then she was gone, leaving the faint smell of bubble-gum and a sorrow Hob hadn’t known he could feel.

#delirium sandman #the sandman #sandman tv #sandman comics #hob gadling #delirium of the endless #delight of the endless #delight sandman #apparently i forgot to cross post this when i added it on a03?#writing #writer #write #writers #my writing

14 notes · View notes

chungledown-bimothy · 2 years

Text

If I Loved You Less, I Might Be Able To Talk About It More Part 4

The Goblin Court recognizes Hob, and Rue makes a decision.

Arranged Marriage Battlemaster of Ceremonies AU (Episode 3 Canon Divergence)

I promise, I wrote the Detect Magic -> Cure Wounds before yesterday's episode

Rating: G

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1500

Part Four: Resolutions

Part One Part Three AO3

Hob woke up the next morning to find an envelope tucked under his shoulder. He opened it and saw it was from Lord Blemish and Lady Boil.

Well done with the announcement yesterday, ensuring that the price for the Court of Wonder breaking the deal would be higher than even they can afford. Perhaps we have been too harsh and underestimated you.

Congratulations, Major Hob.

We trust you to continue doing as you should at the ball tonight; no need to report to us today.

Everything he ever wanted, and all it cost was being barely, agonizingly, out of reach from something he’d never dared to even imagine, let alone consider possible. Possible or not, the fantasy overwhelmed him as he took quill to parchment and wrote a letter of his own.

To the estimable Delloso de la Rue,

I see now that the battles you face daily are ones beyond my comprehension, and I apologize from every corner of my soul for having the audacity to assume that, between them and your duties here at the Bloom, my words or actions could have any significance for you. I know that I am so far beneath you to be unworthy of your notice, but if I may, I would like to repay your honesty with some of my own.

In doing me the honor of allowing me to see the splendor of your true form, you have bewitched me, body and soul. Seeing you as you truly are sparked something in me that I did not think I could ever be lucky enough to experience. The only thing that has changed about my vow to stay by your side for as long as you would have me there is an increase in both its intensity and the agony, worse than any battlefield injury I have suffered in my many years as a soldier, that I would feel if you sent me away.

I would not, however, burden you with my affections. I still ask for nothing but friendship. I will never speak of these sentiments again, and I will truly be content providing only whatever amount of support and companionship you desire.

Eternally yours, however you would have me,

Knickolas Pnackleless Hob

P.S., I know you said you didn’t want me to fight anyone for you, but if you did decide to show the Bloom your breathtaking, resplendent truth, I would happily gut anyone who so much as looked at you with anything but the utmost awe and respect. You deserve to be appreciated and honored as your true self.

Hob read the letter over again, and again, and again. I cannot send this. I have no right to, and nothing other than my pain and humiliation could possibly come from them reading it.

With a sigh, he tucked it away on top of dozens of other letters that would never be sent, albeit the first addressed to someone who could actually read.

He completed his daily calisthenics routine and, when he returned, was surprised to find a letter on the ground in front of his tent.

Captain Hob,

As I am sure you are aware, tonight is the ball. Please meet me in my quarters at your earliest convenience- in addition to ball attire coordination, I believe we need to discuss… well. I think you know, and I’d hate for that information to fall into the wrong hands.

Yours,

Delloso de la Rue

Doing his best to ignore how his heart was racing from the invitation to their personal, private quarters, he immediately headed their way.

He arrived quickly, and the sight that greeted him when Rue opened the door made him weak in the knees. Their iridescent robes practically floated behind them, reflecting the light in ways that made them seem to be glowing, and he heard a faint tinkling of bells instead of swishing as it moved.

“Captain, good morning! I- I apologize for my attire, I seem to have lost track of time. Please, come in and take a seat. It’ll only take me a minute to change.” They stepped back, opening the door wider, and he stepped through. As he walked past them, he briefly caught the scent of the same flowers from the maze, the flowers they had been wearing in their true form.

After the door was closed and he was sure no one else could hear, as Rue was walking deeper into their chambers, he muttered, “If you would feel more comfortable returning as your true self, there would certainly be no objections from me.”

“There would certainly be no objections from me.” Hob remained standing in place next to the chair they’d gestured for him to take, but his words followed Rue all the way back to the enormous room that was their closet. As they circled the room trying to decide what to wear, something else he said echoed in their mind.

“Delloso, I-” Delloso. Not Rue, not Delloso de la Rue, Delloso. They couldn’t remember the last time anyone had called them that. The thought occurred to them that it was entirely possible no one had.

With a deep breath, they dropped the glamor, got dressed, and headed back out to properly greet only the second person they had allowed to really see them in millennia.

Hob didn’t think Rue had even heard him suggest that they could drop the glamor, so when he saw them seemingly gliding across the floor towards him in all their true, radiant beauty, he collapsed onto the chair beside him.

“Hob! Are you alright?” Rue rushed to him, and the concern in their voice snapped him out of his stupor.

He cleared his throat and sat up as straight as he could. “My apologies, I am quite well.”

“With all due respect, Captain, you collapsed. Someone of your… physicality does not do that without great cause.” They knelt down next to him and took one of his hands in both of theirs. They quickly cast a Detect Magic that came up empty and a Cure Wounds that also didn’t feel like it did anything.

Hob gently lifted their chin with his free hand and made eye contact. “Rue, I appreciate the concern and the spells, but I assure you, I am fine. It simply has been quite a morning, and you doing me the honor of once again allowing me to behold you as you truly are proved to be a bit overwhelming. Again, I am so sorry for having caused you concern.”

“I- I see.” They let go of his hand and stood up. “My apologies for having distressed you so. Momentous morning, you say? May I ask what has happened?” Hob stood up as well and tried to make eye contact again, but they refused to meet his gaze.

“Let me be clear, Rue. I was shaken not out of distress but of awe. If I may be so bold, you, like this as you are, are beautiful. More so than anyone I have ever met. I am aware that this is overstepping the line of the friendship you have so graciously offered, but as we are to spend the rest of our lives together, I will not have you believe for another minute that I think anything less of you. You needn’t ever feel ashamed of who you are. I will not pressure you in any way to bless the realms with the privilege of you sharing your truth with them, but if or when you do, know that I will proudly stand beside you every step of the way.”

“Captain, I-”

“Major, actually. That was the momentous news this morning; our announcement yesterday was apparently so successful that the Lord Blemish and Lady Boil saw fit to promote me. Sorry for interrupting, it’s just that you’d asked what happened and I didn’t actually answer but then you called me Captain again, and I just-”

Rue finally looked at him, no longer up like when they met but down ever so slightly, and smiled. “Congratulations, Major Hob. You deserve such recognition from your court. And you didn’t overstep. Your words mean more to me than I can express.

To be entirely honest, since the rumor is that this is to be the last Bloom, I’d been considering coming out, as it were. When I was informed of our engagement, I had changed my mind, out of fear that it would, I don’t know, cause your court to break the deal and bring so much dishonor onto both my name and my court’s.

But hearing you, the honorable, trustworthy gentleman I know you to be, say all of that… I’m ready. I hate to ask you to be in the spotlight once again, but what say you to making a bit of an entrance at the ball tonight?”

He smiled and bowed deeply. “As you wish. It is your moment, and I am happy to be entirely at your disposal.”

#acofaf #a court of fey and flowers #ruehob #kp hob #delloso de la rue #battlemaster of ceremonies #acofaf fanfiction #dimension 20 fanfic #dimension 20 #i write sometimes

25 notes · View notes

arialerendeair · 1 year

Text

I posted 2,570 times in 2022

That's 1,012 more posts than 2021!

106 posts created (4%)

2,464 posts reblogged (96%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@cenedrariva

@cuubism

@theawkwardterrier

@murderturtles

@thuriweaver

I tagged 1,173 of my posts in 2022

#dreamling - 618 posts

#dream of the endless - 245 posts

#the sandman - 183 posts

#aria posts - 146 posts

#hob gadling - 127 posts

#sandman - 83 posts

#yes - 58 posts

#malec - 50 posts

#i love this - 45 posts

#my heart - 30 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#but i really do believe people need to understand it’s not loving the source media as much as it is loving the relatability of the media

My Top Posts in 2022:

Challenge Mode

50,000 words.

48 Hours.

Starting now.

Wish me luck!

65 notes - Posted November 19, 2022

I’ve seen so much meta and so many posts about Nightmare as Dream’s other form, but I am obsessed with the other side of Nightmare’s coin.

What about Daydream? What about Dream when he’s in the fresh blush if love that’s like the first days the flowers bloom in spring? What about Dream when he had a wife and son and his son’s music echoed across the Dreaming?

What about two parents who were so tied to creation, teaching their son to sing, and to play music, and the Dreams that must have been created before it turned to sorrow. What about the happy side of the coin?

I’m just having a lot of emotions about Dream’s other aspects. I just. I love Nightmare. I love writing Nightmare (and Torment, who is a step beyond Nightmare in my mind), and their opposites. Who are Dream, and… well. Daydream.

66 notes - Posted November 14, 2022

Alec Lightwood Birthday Bash - Prompt Fill

From @to-the-stars-writing

I've seen a thousand amnesia fics, one or the other forgetting who they are, but what about a dual-amnesia fic where something happens on a mission or because of a spell and the others come in to find Magnus and Alec both temporarily forgot who they are, but they're still flirting like crazy with one another

~!~!~!~!~

When Alec woke up, there were three problems immediately apparent.

Number one, he was chained to the wall.

Number two, he no longer had his stele, his bow, or seraph blades.

Number three, there was someone else across the cell and he looked like he was in even worse shape, if that was somehow even possible. Which meant that he was going to be rescuing not just himself, but someone else too.

"Hey," Alec hissed, glancing toward the ominous looking door. "Hey, open your eyes. I can't do this alone, and need your help."

No movement, which meant that the other man was truly unconscious. Alec frowned as he took the other man in properly - pants that, angels below, were they painted on? A shirt that was... less fabric than it was supposed to be based on the slashes he could see, and a faint sheen of glitter on his eyes and hair could only mean one thing. He was trapped in this cell with a warlock, for angels knew whatever reason.

Alec looked around the cell again and tugged at his chains. He had a little bit of give, which was more of a blessing than he would have expected, and his feet weren't chained to the ground. Another quick check confirmed that he still had his boots, and even though the small knife he kept in the holster was gone (dammit, Jace was going to pout about that for hours, that had been a present), what he actually needed was not.

Taking a second, Alec took a deep breath and focused - most of his runes had expired, but he could still hear the sound of guards much further down from their cell. The only breathing he could hear belonged to him and the warlock nearby. Which meant if he made a little bit of noise it wasn't going to bring anyone running. He looked down at his boots and took a deep breath, testing all of his weight on the chains for a long moment.

"Why do I get the feeling that you're about to do something devastatingly ridiculous that only shadowhunters know how to do?"

Alec looked up at the quiet voice and saw that the warlock was awake, relaxing. At least he wouldn't have to be running around with an unconscious body. That would have made things frustrating and unreasonably difficult. "You have a better idea? Magic, maybe?" he hissed back.

The warlock hummed and shook his head. "Unfortunately, however we ended up here and based on the..." he wrinkled his nose and licked his lips. "Memory loss drought I can still taste the after effects of, my magic has either been drained, or I spent all of it. I'm not without some skills, but nowhere near your own, I imagine."

"I'll stand for you being able to walk," Alec muttered, ignoring the way that sparkling gold nail polish on his fingers shone on the faint light of the cell. "You injured anywhere?"

"Thankfully no." A faint rustle. "I am, however, not standing on the ground, so all of my weight has been on my shoulders and arms."

Alec winced in sympathy. That was going to mean he'd be able to walk but not do much in the way of fighting while his arms got their feeling back. "I should be able to get us out of here," he reassured and looked up at his hands again. "This might take me a couple of tries."

He took a deep breath and lifted his legs carefully out in front of him. Breathe in deep, and then move. Shifting slowly with his grip against the chains, Alec brought his legs up further, bending himself almost in half to fumble with the secret latch on the side of his boots.

"Darling, yoga instructors would envy that flexibility," the warlock praised. "Not to mention that it does give one a wide variety of IDEAS, the nature of which is entirely inappropriate for our current predicament."

Alec fought down the urge to snort, his arms starting to burn before he'd worked the lock pick half out of his boot. He dropped his legs back down and breathed through the burning of his arms. "Fuck, I need at least one more round."

The warlock chuckled. "Please feel free to do that as many times as you like. I am quite enjoying the view. I might enjoy a more practical demonstration later."

Alec snorted. "Pretty sure this is not the place to be flirting."

"On the contrary, it's the perfect place to be flirting," the warlock correct. "My name is Magnus, and I will be happy to take you out to dinner after this is over."

"Your wife wouldn't like that," Alec said, his eyes drifting to the ring on Magnus' finger. He took another deep breath and forced himself to relax, waiting for the burning to subside.

Magnus looked at the ring on his finger, blinking in surprise. "I've never had a wife, or a husband, mind you I am as equal opportunity as it comes. Where did..." he flinched, his head aching. "Ah, memory loss potion, right."

Alec gave him a rueful grin. "If it's any consolation at all, I would have said yes if you weren't attached." He'd never met someone as beautiful as Magnus in all of his life. If he'd had the chance, he probably never would have let someone like the warlock go. "All right, let's try this again."

Alec swung his legs up in an easy, determined motion and waited, breathing hard, for his fingers to bump against the lock pick. It took three more tugs, but at last it was free in his fingertips and he could drop his feet again with a groan. His whole body was sore and he was going to pay for doing that without runes tomorrow, that was for sure. "All right, now to see if I remember how to do this..."

Magnus hummed. "Where did a shadowhunter learn the art of lockpicking, I might wonder," he said, watching as the shadowhunter bit his lip in concentration, his eyes drawn back to the delicious sight of those lips reddening.

"My siblings," Alec said, and that was enough explanation, apparently, for Magnus, who said nothing further as he finished getting himself completely unlocked, carefully resting the chains against the wall.

See the full post

67 notes - Posted September 17, 2022

What it says on the tin - and I love it.

95 notes - Posted October 8, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

A Knight’s Favor

Okay hear me out.

Renaissance Fair - Hob drags Dream along for the fun of it all, mostly for an excuse to wear some of his oldest clothing, and his replica claymore (with dulled edges), attracting attention from everyone as he and Dream move together.

They watch performances by the dozen, and take in the tournament matches, when, after it’s all over, the master of ceremonies steps forward and says that he’s going to need everyone’s help to coax someone to do an exhibition match.

Hob’s eyes are widening and he’s cursing as Evan looks up at him, smirking wide and he’s nearly scrambling out of his seat when Evan gets the crowd shouting his name in a chant, demanding he come down and put on an exhibition.

Dream, of course, is watching all of this in amusement, and Hob’s just, embarrassed (in a proud way) and sighing. He explains that it’d disappoint people if he didn’t, so he steals a quick kiss (which gets all of the AWWWs from the audience) and heads down to the arena. He and Evan are kitted up, and have their weapons of choice (longsword vs. claymore was always an interesting one, since neither of them bother with shields).

Hob is just settling into position, when a ROAR goes up from the crowd and he sees Evan laughing and gesturing behind him. His breath catches at the sight of Dream standing there, holding out a ruby, a clear replica of HIS ruby, on a shimmering golden chain, a faint smile on his lips. He’s approaching before he realizes it.

“I believe it is custom to bestow a favor on the knight one wishes to win,” Dream says, his voice soft as he bends down and drapes the chain over Hob’s head, settling it against his chest before tucking it into his leather jerkin. “Do attempt to win for me, valiant sir knight.”

Hob’s flushed (and it has nothing to do with the light armor he’s wearing), and staring at Dream, who has the smuggest smirk on his face that he’s going to kiss off as soon as he’s done winning the battle. But he nods, because of course he will win this fight for Dream and he turns back to Evan.

Evan is smirking and Hob resolves to wipe that smirk off his face, and settles into a stance he hasn’t used in far too long. He doesn’t hold back, not for a second. He’s not going for a killing blow, only disarmament, but he can see the surprise on Evan’s face as he twists and wields the claymore in a way that only masters of it can.

The fight is quick, brutal, and the crowd is roaring their approval.

Hob can feel the heat of the ruby against his chest as Evan tries to push him back, forcing him into tighter combat. A quick twist of his hips, faking dropping to one knee and Hob was able to toss Evan over his shoulder, sword and all, before spinning to point the claymore at his throat, grinning.

Evan will laugh of course, and as the crowd cheers, he hugs Hob and thanks him for the match, and Hob turns to Dream who is...

His eyes are almost as hot as the ruby burning against his chest, the ruby that stands out against the white linen shirt he’s wearing under his armor, and Hob is grinning, triumphant and victorious as he strides towards Dream and reaches out for his hand, bowing low over it in a courtly bow before yanking his Dream into a kiss. There’s another roar around them, but Hob forgets all of them as Dream kisses him hard enough to have him forgetting his name, let alone any silly old tournament.

202 notes - Posted October 3, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #My year in review should literally be #“Aria did nothing relevant for the rest of the year”#“But then spent 2.5 months reblogging Dreamling NONSTOP”#“And that is all the info we have on her - thanks”

7 notes · View notes

imnotwolverine · 4 years

Text

The Witcher way

Henry Cavill x OC Lisa - multi-chapter fic

Author’s note: Smutty smut, fluffy fluff and a few skipping heartbeats. Lisa and Henry get back to work, but life - as usual - offers them a challenge or two.

Word count: 1.572

Disclaimer: fluff and smut

This is part 18 of the Tea for Two story.

You can find the Masterlist here.

< Go back to part 17

‘Pizza!’

Henry cheered as we heard a faint knock on the door of the small cottage, the floorboards creaking under his weight as he sprinted down the hallway to open up. I chuckled softly and half-listened in on the conversation between the delivery boy - obviously a fan - and Henry as I moved to the small kitchen to get some paper towels and cutlery.

It was Sunday evening and tomorrow morning working life was starting again. The Witcher production was beginning its first month of pre-production in the Scottish highlands, which offered not only beautifully picturesque landscapes..but also a complete lack of supermarkets that were opened on Sundays.

A challenge, surely, but one that was easily overcome by Henry whom had taken it upon himself to figure out if we could order in. We could; Pizza... Pizza... And more pizza.

And that was really all we needed right now, our bodies quite travel worn from the long trip from our - did I mention I officially moved in? - London home to this cute little cottage in the Scottish highlands.

The rural style kitchen of the cottage was simple at best. A small hob with an oven, an even smaller fridge, a porcelain sink and an old oak dinner table that stood below the paned window, an empty vase and some candles placed on top to spruce the room up ever so slightly.

I leaned on the rough wood of the table as I peeked out of the window, the delivery boy now climbing back on his scooter, while laughing at something Henry said, his hand revving the engine back to roaring life.

Wandering back into the hallway I was met by a giddy-with-excitement Henry, the boxes with pizzas and some drinks stacked carefully in his arms.

‘Smells good!’ I hummed, appreciatively sniffing in the savoury smells.

‘Sure does.’ He agreed, his eyes moving to the living room. ‘Couch?’

‘Yes pur-lease.’ I smiled, curtsying slightly as Henry offered me first entry to the living room.

As Henry started to investigate the pizzas I turned on the television, happily surprised to find it offered the functionality to log in to Netflix.

‘Netflix and chill?’ I purred, looking over at Henry who had already dug into one of the pizzas, his teeth biting into an oozing hot slice of pepperoni pizza. He nodded, slightly embarrassed by his manners and moved up a hand to hide the mess of cheese strings that were hanging from the corner of his mouth. I laughed, poking him in the arm and reached for the box to also take a slice, my other hand scrolling through the new additions.

Some cooking shows, some mildly interesting documentaries, some Netflix originals that did not look promising in the slightest..and then..the Witcher season 3.

‘Hey. Have you seen the new season yet?’ I quirked up an eyebrow, looking at Henry as he was once again mid bite. He shrugged and quickly swallowed his bite. ‘Only the first episode…Premiere nights you know.’ He winked. ‘Want to maybe..continue? Call it work research before we start shooting the next season?’ I tried, Henry already grabbing a new slice of the pizza. ‘Sure. I’ll try to not hate seeing myself.’ He said casually.

‘Bear!’ I sighed, giving him a exasperated yet comforting smile. ‘You know I don’t want you to feel that way. If you don’t like it, we’ll watch something else.’ I said before finally taking a bite, humming in satisfaction as the hot cheesy goodness oozed down my tongue. ‘So gooooood.’ I groaned, barely noticing Henry’s hand reaching for the remote, clicking on “ok”.

The episode started and we ate and ate, Henry occasionally making comments on scenes he had fond..or not so fond memories of. Especially nude scenes got him all quiet and awkward.

I smiled, laying against his chest, enjoying the series without much of a thought. No thought other then; Holy fuck, Geralt is so hot.

To realise that the very man was now being my personal pillow, was more then a little arousing.

I looked at him during a sex scene between Yennefer and Geralt, seeing him once more stare in utter silence.

Hmm…

I Moved my hand to his chest and wrapped my leg over his lap, crawling on top of him just like Yennefer had gotten onto Geralt. Our eyes met, his blue orbs looking at me with confusion, before realising what I was onto, my lips slowly inching down to his mouth. He moved back a little, leaning into the soft pillows of the fluffy brown couch before letting out a pent up sigh, his eyes quickly darkening. ‘Don’t be shy now…Geralt.’ I said playfully, kissing him more entrancingly. His hunger was now fully awakened, a hunger that sparkled in his eyes as his lips curled up ever so slightly. ‘Hmmmpf.’ He growled.

Geralt is in the house.

In one fell swoop he pushed the pizza box behind me off the couch and pushed himself down onto me, my back now flat on the pillows. His jaw clenched as his nostrils flared - with annoyance or lust.. I did not know.

‘That scent…’ He rumbled in Geralt’s low, raspy voice, roughly moving his hand through my hair. I bit my lip, expectantly, feeling him move his nose down my neck, sniffing me like a touch-deprived animal, his hands starting to tug at my pyjama pants. He looked down at me, embalming me with his wanton gaze, his arms moving to quickly take of his shirt.

‘What’s taking you so long?’ I said in Yennefer’s cocky voice, making him growl even lower, his large body quickly climbing back on top of me, rubbing himself against my groin. He was ..very..excited.

His heavy erection already pressing eagerly through the fabric that separated us, making me shiver in anticipation. I forced myself to breath in deeply, closing my eyes as I felt his coarse fingers near the trim of my lacy underwear, the fabric being pulled away with ease before the silky skin of his erection pressed against my core.

I gasped at the sensation, my eyes shooting open at him as he pressed higher, my clit awakening in an instant. ‘Hmmm…you’re quite ready.’ He said gruffly, before penetrating me in one smooth motion, making us both groan. Still half clothed, it felt ever as hasty and passionate as Geralt and Yennefer on screen, our bodies a tumble of passion.

The series already continued with some grave fight scene, but we didn’t care. We ravaged each other, our hair wild, our hands grasping at each other, searching for skin until we finally found our release, our bodies crashing back onto the couch.

His love making had been so rough I could only shiver and shake when he was done, my legs splayed out as he got up slightly, cupping my cheek, demanding me to look at him. ‘Hey..you okay?’ I looked at him, still shaking. ‘Wew…’ I panted. An exhausted, slightly pained smile played on my lips.

‘Oh my..’ I continued, still panting and shivering. He pulled up his pants and pulled me onto his lap, kissing me sweetly on my temple. I snuggled away in his chest, still a bit shaky, but smiling.

I looked back at the screen. The episode had ended, credits rolling as a loomy soundtrack played.

‘Okay, roleplaying at own risk.’ I finally said, sniffling, then rolling up further in his arms, putting my head against his chest. My innards were on fire and electricity kept shooting through my nerves every few seconds or so.

I guess this is what one would call “fucked out”.

He wrapped me more gently in his arms, like a babe, kissing my forehead, sighing. ‘I’m sorry.’ He whispered. I smiled and shook my head. ‘Superman..super sex.’ I shrugged, feeling another spike shoot through my body, making me stiffen. He kissed my head again, sniffling softly as he kept me snug against his chest. We sat there for a moment while my body slowly quieted down.

‘Oh..I’m leaking…’ I said a bit embarrassed, feeling it go through my panties.

Without question he stood up, keeping me snug in his arms as he walked through the small hallway to the quaint bathroom. I sniggered.

‘I CAN walk you know.’

‘Mhm.’ He smiled, hoisting me up further, placing a pillowy kiss on my lips. ‘I know.’ He said smugly, still not lowering me down.

He turned on the shower and walked us into it, our clothes quickly soaking in the hot water. He huddled over me, shielding me from direct water in my face, his lips caressing me with the sweetest of kisses.

‘A bit of romcom romance to wash off my sin.’ He whispered, cheekily grinning at me. I smiled, relaxing more into his strong arms as the hot water relaxed me to the point that I felt like putty in his arms. He kissed me one more time before lowering me down slowly.

Our clothes were now heavy with water, our hair falling like curtains around our faces.

‘Maybe that’s a roleplaying more to my liking.’ I said, biting his lip playfully. He laughed, then started to pull off his socks, pants and trunks. I in turn pulled off my panties and shirt. We giggled, throwing the soaked clothes in a corner of the shower, before giving each other another lingering kiss. ‘Hmm.’ He hummed, enveloping me once more in his arms as I soaped up his hair. ‘My sweet Geralt.’ I smiled.

—

The next morning I was the first to leave for work. But I didn’t feel all too well. Actually not well at all. I rushed to the toilet, throwing up, feeling my lower back all cramped as I clamped onto the toilet.

‘Mmmpff.’ I groaned, taking a few deep breaths. My stomach was pretty upset.

I could hear Kal’s nails ticking on the floor behind me, a wet nose pushing against me, asking me what I was up to.

I sat up a bit, feeling nauseous from just breathing. Kal whined softly, pushing his face through my arm and licking my face.

‘Pfff.. I hope it wasn’t the pizza, or Henry will be next.’ I mumbled, giving him a stroke through his thick fur.

‘Hey boy.’

I forced myself to get up, feeling weak in the legs. This was not like me…I took a deep breath through my nose, keeping my mouth fell shut but immediately feeling another wave come over me. I crouched down again, throwing up once more. Though it mostly was dry heaving now. I flushed and groaned in dismay. NO. I can’t be sick on my first day back at work. Get it together girl. Rawr!

I spritzed my face with some cold water from the sink and saw Kal looking at me with a confused look. Had he ever seen a human vomit? I pulled myself back up and looked into the mirror. I looked normal, I guess. Not pale, or sweaty. I felt my cheeks. They were fine. Yea..maybe just some bad food. I washed my mouth, then opened the drawer and popped some pain killers in my mouth.

Kissing a sleeping Henry goodbye I went off to work.

—

Throughout the day I started feeling a bit better. It was quite calm at work with a few meetings and some prep work, leaving me with a lot of spare moments to give way to a certain nervousness. Was there some other reason I had felt sick this morning? Did I maybe not take my pill at the right times during our holiday?

I was sitting in the back of the set, waiting for others to move around some set pieces and looked around. Nobody was watching. Quietly I squeezed one of my breasts. Painful. Oh gods. Could it be…? I started rummaging through my bag, looking at my pill strip. I was only 3 quarters through. It was too early. I felt my breath quicken, my head a little light. ‘Okey..calm down girl. Let’s..Let’s not overreact.’

During my lunch break I borrowed a car from a colleague to buy some pregnancy tests, my heart beating wildly in my chest.

Should I tell him? Should I tell him?

Should I?

I came home, good smells coming from the kitchen. I plopped down my bag, was greeted by an overly excited Kal and walked into the kitchen.

A very sexy, domestic Henry was wearing a fitted t-shirt, jeans and apron. ‘Hey..what’s cooking good-lookin’?’ I quipped, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before looking over his shoulder at the cut vegetables on the wooden board.

‘Hello dear.’ He gave me a playful pat on the butt. ‘Something simple. Vegetarian pasta.’ He shrugged. ‘Well..it smells a-ma-zing.’ I said, smiling as his knife continued to cut up vegetables. ‘How was your day?’ He asked. I stole a bit of cheese from his cutting board and moved to the table, plopping down on one of the chairs.

‘Not great. Felt very ill this morning. Maybe I ate something bad..’ I frowned. ‘Did you have any stomach pains by any chance?’

He shook his head. ‘Not really.’

I touched my breast again, my lips forming a thin, unsure line. ‘I think we need to…check..if this is not something else..’ I said, hesitatingly. He looked up and over his shoulder, his face a bit confused, first looking at my face, then at the hand on my breast. His lips parted as his eyes darted back to mine.

‘Wh..’ He breathed, turning fully towards me, one of his arms ghosting over the stove to push a pan with some frying onions off the stove before they’d burn.

His eyes widened and within the blink of an eye he was kneeling before me, a hand cupping my cheek while the other folded around the hand on my lap. I looked down at our hands on my lap, my throat suddenly feeling dry as sandpaper. ‘I got some pregnancy tests on the way back home.’ I said softly, my breath hitching.

‘OH.’ He gasped, his mouth slightly agape as he pulled me in for a hug. I could almost feel the joy radiate from him. His long cherished dream.

‘So…do you have to…pee?’ He looked at me, curiously. I sniffled. ‘I believe it’s best in the morning.. But I still have to read the wrapper.’ I sighed, laying my head against his shoulder. He nodded, then wrapped me more tightly in his arms. ‘Oh my.’ He sighed, finally letting out the breath he had been holding.

‘I’m scared.’ I said in hushed tone.

He cupped my cheek again, keeping his other arm safely wrapped around me as he searched for words.

‘I don’t know if I’m ready.’ I said, looking up into his eyes. They became a shade sadder.

‘Let’s…give it a moment. And…see what it is first?’ He said, raising his eyebrows in an expression mixed between joy and confusion, before deciding it was best to just fully wrap me in his arms, his fingers gently coaxing me to lean into him as he laid his head in my neck.

—

The next morning we both awoke anxiously. We did not even yawn or stretch, just ..straight to the bathroom. I peed on one of the sticks, while Henry petted Kal nervously, waiting on the door step with the door opened. Our eyes met, both our faces etched with tense nerves as I put the stick on the edge of the sink. I didn’t feel terribly sick this morning, but my stomach sure was turning. I finished peeing, flushed, and looked at the stick. No signs yet. ‘A few minutes,’ Henry whispered, eyeing the stick as it lay there balancing on the white porcelain.

I sighed, then walked up to Henry, hugging him. ‘Let’s…get breakfast.’ I said, hoping it would take our mind of the matter just long enough to calm our nerves. He nodded.

Well..we never munched down our breakfast so fast, quietly shoving it into our mouths.

Before re-entering the bathroom, he grasped my arm. ‘No matter what happens. We’re in it together. I support you and love you.’ He said, looking at me intensely before pressing a kiss on my lips. I nodded, then walked to the sink, my eyes immediately sinking down to the little stick as it lay there, forlorn.

Negative.

I released a breath I didn’t know I was holding, the spinning world suddenly coming to a halt.

I could feel Henry’s arms as they tentatively wrapped around me, his hands curling over my belly. He was quiet. His breath slow and warm in my neck. And I wasn’t sure what to do. After a long exhale I finally looked up, our eyes looking at one another through the mirror.

‘Gods.’ I breathed.

His face was a touch pained, his jaw clenching. A sight that made me hurt beyond words. I knew he was trying to keep it together, to be calm and supportive, to give me space. But what about him?

I turned around, looking at him directly, wrapping my arms around him. ‘How are you feeling?’ I asked gently.

He drew in a deep, sharp breath, his deep blue eyes meeting my green ones. ‘Okay.’ He nodded, slowly accepting the reality as it was. ‘..A bit of a rollercoaster of emotions.’ He sighed again, looking over my shoulder to see the negative result once more, burning the image of the offensive piece of plastic in his mind.

I pulled his face towards me, laying a most gentle kiss on his lips. ‘I love you bear. And please know, that it will come. Just…not yet. We know each other for a little over half a year. Besides parenthood still feels kind of daunting to me…pregnancy especially. I guess I need to get used to the idea first before we…’ I looked back in his eyes, losing my trail of thoughts.

‘I know. And I understand.’ He was obviously a bit sad, his blue eyes blazing with emotions unspoken.

I smiled feebly.

‘I love you I love you I love you.’ I whispered, squeezing him into the hardest, most snug hug I could manage. He hummed quietly, also pulling his arms more tightly around me. ‘I love you too my dearest.’

Part 19 >

#henry cavill fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #henry cavill #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill smut #geralt smut #witcher #teafortwo #scotland #henry cavill x oc #pregnancytest #smut

75 notes · View notes

whorror-jpeg · 4 years

Text

Eternum//iii

Pairing: Geralt x Reader

Summary: After being turned into a wolf, Geralt struggles to find his way back to his body, unable to talk or do basic human things. In his journey, he meets a young woman, who hopes to help him.

Warnings: violence, adult language

Author’s Note: To save you the trouble, Amphipter’s aren’t in Witcher lore, and I have combined elements of both the game and Netflix version! Translation(*)- ”A man that does not express is more of a beast than a wolf. For a wolf knows the pain of life and the love of another. Find him in you, and you shall be free.”

Previous, Next

It was like he was standing on water, and although he wasn’t physically drowning, it still felt like it. Waves sludge crashed over top of him as he struggled to breathe, each one taking the breath from his lungs after the next. He was in his body, yes, but why was his brain telling him it was wrong? He was so confused, but as his thought left so did his breath again with another wave

And then it was dark. Still standing on the black water it was now calm, no waves to attack him. He looked down, now in his wolf form. Confused, he looked around. It was just dark everywhere. He walked, searching.

As if whispering to him, he could hear a faint voice, “An dh'oine que does neén dice ess more y an d'yaebl than que y an bleidd, aep bleidd know pain y life, an minne y another. Darganfod him aen taedh an taedh shall ess free.”(*)

Geralt tried to find the voice, but the volume stayed the same, or maybe he was running in place. Elder speech was not his strong suit, only catching pieces of the sentences. Something of a beast? Pain and love? Fuck, he could feel his heart. The roar of a wave behind him rang through his ears, and try as he might, running was not working. It crashed onto him, once again knocking the breath out of his ches-

Geralt woke with a start, jumping from the touch of what was in front of him.

Bogdan stood in front of him, a worried expression on the Hob’s face.

“Bogdan saw Master Witcher having a bad dream. Does Master Witcher wish for Miss to see him?” He whispers.

Geralt stared at him for a second before standing. Bogdan put a hand on the wolf’s shoulder, guiding him to (Y/N)’s chambers. He knocked lightly on the door, and within a few seconds she had opened the door tiredly, “Bogdan, it’s nearly three in the morning- oh.”

“Bogdan saw Master Witcher sleep running, Master Witcher was having a very bad dream, Miss, will Miss help Master Witcher?” He asks. (Y/N) smiles and nods with a ‘thank you’ before allowing Geralt to enter, closing the door behind him.

Sleep running. Geralt would roll his eyes if he could. He must’ve looked rabid- or like an idiot, whichever.

“I wish I could ask about your dream.” (Y/N) says softly, returning to her bed, sitting on it and wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. She pats the bed, “You can sleep up here if you’d like, I don’t mind.”

Geralt hops up on the bed. He wished he could tell her the mere importance of the dream, but it would have to wait until Dima was there to translate to her. He lays beside the young woman, letting her lay some of the blanket over him and run her hand through his fur.

“Is this okay? I’d hate to disrespect or offend.” She asks him, he responds by laying his head on her thigh.

No different than playing with someone’s hair, Geralt thinks.

She sighs, continuing to pet him for a bit, a steady quietness in the room.

“I feel I’ve heard of you before.” She says finally, thinking. Geralt looks up to her, “The White Wolf. Butcher of Blaviken.”

Geralt sits up, giving a small whine to tell her yes, that’s me!

She nods, “I’ve heard the things said about you.”

Shit.

“And I don’t think you’re a monster.”

But I am. And you should hate me for it. You should be scared, like everyone else.

His eyes cast down, “I think you’re brave. Sometimes that means doing things that damage you, knowing they will, and being okay with the hard choice.”

In the month that Geralt had been a wolf, he’d not once had a dream that he remembered. It was too… prophetically done, to be an actual dream. It had to have been a message from whoever had turned him. At least now, he somewhat knew something about them; they spoke Elder. That narrowed it down some, but not enough.

But with that dream came his memories, trickling back to life. Little things would remind him of where he was before and what he was doing.

He remembered being in Temeria and on contract for an Amphipter; a giant, winged, serpent of a monster, not unlike a dragon, but not quite one. A cousin, if anything. It had been terrorizing a village, as most of his contracts go. That’s where he needed to start.

Through Dima, he had told (Y/N) this.

“I’m glad you’re regaining your memory, but…” she paused, “don’t you think it’d be dangerous? Doing this in the form you’re in?”

So be it.

“Then I’m coming with you.” She states.

Geralt growls, no, and he hated the way pain spread across her face.

“Geralt, I am not leaving you defenseless.”

And I am not risking your life.

She huffs, obviously upset.

“It’s for the better, Miss.” Dima breaks from his translating, putting in his two cents.

She shakes her head, leaving the table and walking outside. Geralt looks at Dima, then follows the young woman outside.

He barks, wait, getting her attention, “Leave me alone, Geralt, I need time to myself.” She says sternly. He trots to her, meeting her pace, and noses her hand. She clenches it and folds her arms, “you better go back, people will be upset if they see you again.”

He bites the skirting of her dress and she stops, yet refuses to look at him. He walks in front of her and sits looking up to see tears in her eyes. Geralt paws at her leg and she smiles sadly before lowering to her knees, placing her hands to cup his face.

“I don’t want to not know what happened to you. She says, shaking her head, “and I can’t stand the thought of not being there, or to have to hear from someone else that you’ve gone…”

(Y/N) wraps her arms around his neck, hugging him. In turn, Geralt lays his head on her shoulder.

“Promise you’ll come back to me, Geralt.” She whispers to him, choking on her tears.

Of course, I will.

Taglist: @alwayshave-faith @fabiola-betancourt @justanothergirlwithdemons @ayamenimthiriel @burningcoffeetimetravel

#geralt imagine #geralt x y/n #geralt z rivii #geralt fanfic #geralt x you #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia #the witcher #witcher netflix #witcher 3 #witcher

164 notes · View notes

craftypeaceturtle · 3 years

Text

My True Identity

Summary: Thomas has started university. His lessons haven’t started yet but he agreed to help out and do a YouTube channel about the student experience. And like the true student, he’s already having an identity crisis.

Note: Not written to be overly shippy but read either way! This series is a little weird, no idea if it’ll translate well. The idea is just Sanders Sides retold. Feedback would be GREATLY appreciated!

Next Episode!

The kitchen was silent. Thomas was completely engulfed in darkness with only the faint glow from the streetlights outside. The floors were already speckled with dirt and the hob was decorated in fine splatters, he noted already knowing he couldn’t be bothered to clean it. They had only all moved in a week ago! But then again four teenagers trying to live independently would always be messy. He groaned loudly before burying his head in his arms. “Oh woah! Oh, Thomas! What are you doing!” Logan’s voice interrupted the stressed silence.

“Hey...” Thomas muttered back and, without looking, wiggled his laptop mousepad. The screen blasted a harsh blue light against his defeated lump sitting on top of the kitchen stall. Logan paused at the door before actually walking up to him.

“That does not answer my question,” Logan sighed as he leaned against the work surface. Their quest for a glass of water for bed promptly forgotten.

“I have no idea who I even am...”

“Yes. Not many people do. The concept of identity is an ongoing struggle. To expect you to have all the answers at the age of 18 for the rest of your life is ridiculous.” They answered with a quiet smile, their shoulders drooped with tiredness but they already knew they were going to do whatever it takes to Thomas through this, “Why, can I ask, is this bothering you?”

“This stupid YouTube thing I said I’d do,” Thomas actually sat up and explained once he saw Logan’s confusion, “The uni encourages students to creatively express their experience here and essentially promote the university by doing YouTube videos. I thought ‘hey that sounds fun’ and here I am! God, I don’t even know! I thought it’d be a fun idea to do a video about who I am and why I wanted to go to uni. And now I realise I’m not even sure I have a personality.”

“Ah. Well I’d love to help you. That’s a complicated topic when you truly delve into it and well... Believe it or not, I was quite the nerd in school and it’d be fun to help!” Logan smiled and sat themself next to Thomas’ dramatic form.

“I’m sure that’s a surprise to no one,” Thomas muttered, sounding more harsh than he wanted to. But they were both too tired to really mention it. As he untangled himself and actually sat properly, another of his roommates burst through the kitchen door.

“Greetings wonderful citizens and you nerds!” Roman winked as he fingergunned Logan, to their immense confusion.

Despite how open and chatty Roman was, they were all still fairly new to each other and some awkward tension flooded the kitchen as well. Already Thomas felt a little squirmy at Logan helping him but this was so much more embarrassing with the actual stereotypical jock flouncing around the kitchen. Not that Roman was bad or anything! Just... Thomas was a true introvert at heart.

“Hi!” Logan squeaked while Thomas gave a weak salute.

“Now what are we muttering about at 1 in the morning! You’re disturbing my beauty sleep!”

“Oh sorry! We were um... it’s just the YouTube thing again... It’s not important, I’m so sorry!”

“Hey it’s okay! We’re students, what makes you think I was getting any sleep anyway!”

“Well that just seems unhealthy, why would you del-”

“What’s going on kiddos!” Patton smiled with a giggle as he rose up from the other side of the table. Now, Logan and Roman positively shrieked while Thomas totally remained totally calm thank you very much. Patton was the only one that he had properly warmed up to. The kiddo thing got annoying but he knew that Patton didn’t mean it insultingly. He was the first to move in and so the first one to meet him. He immediately helped him unpack and sat with him when his parents finally left. While he wasn’t sure they had any real shared interest, Thomas was already clinging on to Patton.

“I’m just trying to get a video done! It’s just a general about me thing and why I chose uni. I just need to have a sit down with myself, figure myself out and maybe come to a better understanding that we could all learn from,” Thomas said strongly, puffing out his chest with a plastic smile.

“Well maybe they would know you if you’d post YouTube videos more often,” Roman snickered while Patton whooped, Thomas deflated with an embarrassed smile.

“Hey I have posted! I’ve got two videos so far! That’s not bad for something I only started like two weeks ago.”

“Yeah but you’ve been stressing about it for every second of those two weeks. Plus, people don’t watch uni channels for the person. They just want to avoid going to the open days and find out about the campus,” Roman said while Logan frowned.

“Wait, if all you’re looking to answer is general information about yourself then that’s easy! You just start with the basics. Introduce yourself,” Logan prompted.

“Well... I am Thomas Sanders. I go by he/him pronouns and am proudly gay. I’m taking English literature...” He trailed off. Feeling that same sense of dread and nothing slowly grip him again. Great, met these roommates only a week ago and he’s having a breakdown in front of them.

“That’s a promising start! Topics like gender and romance can be a challenge in of themselves to figure out. You could try and answer some light hearted meaningless questions as well. Like... um, something like what’s your greatest fears?” Logan smiled as he twiddled his hands.

“Oh! Rejection!” Roman gasped and clutched his chest while slowly sinking to his knees.

“Spiders!” Patton shuddered.

“I always get nervous about the idea of what exactly is at the bottom of the ocean...”

“Nope! Not doing that! I’m perfectly aware of my greatest fears. I know that’s fun and all, but I want to keep it fairly serious. Like, what are my flaws?” Thomas shrugged them all off, his shoulders tensing again.

Logan now lit up completely. Pulling a notepad from nowhere (his pyjamas?), he flipped to a previous scribbled page and pointed out a checklist with a pen. “Oh we’re talking flaws. Well, I’ve noticed you procrastinate a lot! I mean, it’s only your first week... Lectures haven’t even started and you’re already behind. I mean why else would you be planning a video at one in the morning!” Logan panted as they spoke all in one breath but the determined shine in their eye refused to let them go without saying this.

“Do you just... list all our flaws like that... or...” Roman mumbled.

“You can be pretty selfish with your food...” Patton looked away but his mischievous smile remained firm.

“Really Patton? I’m like 90% sure that milk was expired!” Thomas huffed and threw his head back, his already scruffy hair whipping wildly.

“Didn’t stop you from drinking from it...” Patton muttered again with his hands held out. As if Thomas couldn’t be sucking any more at university, it was only his first week and lessons hadn’t started yet! But here he was with flatmate drama, a breakdown at 1 in the morning and a growingly filthy flat.

“You aren’t very adventurous either...” Roman interrupted before any room mate war was launched. He was hoping to at least get past the month mark before any wars. Not that that was saying much for him.

“Okay, maybe this was a bad idea!” Thomas sighed and slumped back into his ball on top of the kitchen stall. Legs drawn up to his chest and head buried firmly.

At that, all of the roommates froze. The kitchen seemed so much harsher without any of its lights on. If someone had closed the curtains then the only light would be the oven timer that was flashing the wrong time. They could all hear the faint slamming of doors and whoops from students outside. All of which were actually enjoying their fresher’s week and having fun outside. Patton felt a little mean for joking so much with him. Thomas was still a very new friend and he just criticised him when he clearly wasn’t doing good. Roman looked awkwardly around before busying himself by going to make toast while Logan kept fiddling away. Patton wished, not for the first time, that his parents were here.

“Well, everyone has flaws. That’s what makes us human,” Patton smiled, hoping his tone made up for the weak childish message.

“Of course. As long as you’re aware of them and working through them, then I’d even say that flaws are what keeps us improving and doing our best,” Logan happily took over.

“Yeah! Plus, you have a lot of good in you.”

“You value your friends above all else,” Roman butted in. It was awkward, but the eye contact and his gentle tone did a lot. Thomas found himself smiling on instinct.

“You see the good in everyone!” Patton chirped, seemingly bursting from happiness before sending an expecting glance at Logan. Not that they needed it.

“You’re extremely passionate and stick through every project. I mean, look at this YouTube channel. You’ve committed to a project that you understood is difficult. You’re still powering through despite the adversity.”

“Well, that’s very nice, you guys,” Thomas replied, eyeing the clock as it ticked to half past.

Thomas heaved a deep breath. The blank word document no longer seemed as intimidating but he could feel his standards tutting at the weak script he was thinking through. Yeah, this was all good stuff to talk about but how on earth was this going to connect with people. How was this going to even connect to university?

“Oh but you should also talk more about why you are filming for the channel!” Patton squeaked, Thomas uncurled and looked on with a sceptical look, “I’m guessing you want this to be a bit more than an intro video. If you talk about why you’re running the channel then people will understand you and your content a lot better. Like, what positive impact did you hope to inevitably bring with this channel?”

“Woah... Patton that was genuinely deep and exactly what I was lo-”

“Hey! We have the same glasses!” Patton suddenly lurched forward, pointing an accusing finger. Logan blinked sleepily.

“Yep...”

“Okay well,” Thomas cleared his throat, “Being able to put out silly light hearted content into the world is kind of a good start, it makes me really happy to do that!”

“Wait! This is supposed to be happy!” Roman gasped with the bread popping from the toaster soon after. Thomas wilted again under his withering gaze.

“Just because the topic is serious, doesn’t mean the video has to be serious. I think I would’ve liked to watch a light hearted joking channel when I was looking at unis. Identity is a serious topic but I want to joke about it,” Thomas explained to the table, slowly drawing out of the crumbs a smiley face. Roman melted and turned back to his toast.

“That’s easy! You don’t even need answers to make that video then. No one watching your videos knows who they are and if you’re making fun of yourself for not knowing, it shows that it’s kinda okay. Y’know to be unsure and stuff.”

“Self deprecating humour is very popular at the moment,” Logan reported.

“Just as long as you don’t go too far with it! Make sure to keep it light hearted!”

“Yeah...” Thomas had immediately perked up and starting clicking away at the keys.

They all sat there for a couple of minutes. All of them taking pride in how quickly Thomas pulled himself together again. The words quickly filled the screen and Roman finally clicked on the light, despite all of them hissing tiredly.

“See, you’ve got this,” Patton smiled once Thomas took another careful to pause to proof read. “You may not entirely know yourself yet but that’s okay. You know who you are at this moment, even if you just know you’re confused.”

“Yeah, I guess I do know myself better than I think,” Thomas laughed off.

“Right, Tony?” Patton gasped with Roman and Logan whipping round.

“Not my name.” Thomas didn’t flinch.

“Then what is it!” Patton collapsed on top of the table with a gritted guilt expression.

“Thomas! I said it earlier in this conversation!”

“It’s really late!” Patton winced, feeling extra guilty.

“He does have a decent point, at the very least, I am going to sleep. Please try not to make much noise,” Logan waved before disappearing from the kitchen.

Patton joined them shortly after while Roman and Thomas talked quietly. The project also sinking into his mind before he even realised. And now he has to make sure that Thomas even knows about proper lighting and ideal times of the day to record himself! Roman was already stealing his laptop to make amendments to the script while Thomas awkwardly laughed it off.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #character thomas #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #fanfic #My writing #fluffy

7 notes · View notes