#hob saves dream au
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the urge to post part 4 of my hob saves dream au a couple hours early is getting to me. I could just post it now. I could.
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Thinking about a bingqiu Dreamling AU where Shen Yuan and Shang Qinghua are both bored deities, just sort of taking a brief sojourn through the mortal world to shoot the shit and see some interesting monster or other that Shen Yuan has heard about, when they come across a tea house and decide to take a break and do some people-watching instead.
Shen Yuan is well into something of a shut-in phase, which Shang Qinghua doesn't like, mostly because when Shen Yuan is in those phases he doesn't do particularly well either. Shen Yuan's a social butterfly, for however little he cares to actually acknowledge it about himself, and his critique of Shang Qinghua's literary masterpieces gets so much harsher when he's not getting enough enrichment.
So when they overhear one of the kitchen boys solemnly insisting that he is going to do everything in his power to never die, and Shen Yuan laments that the boy would probably regret such a wish if it came true, Shang Qinghua decides to bestow a rare bit of godly power onto this mortal and grant his wish.
He doesn't make him a god, of course, that wouldn't even be in his ability. At least, not without using up more time and effort than he's prepared to expend on this one random kid. But immortality on its own is not that difficult. The boy will still finish growing up, and will still be able to be harmed, to know hunger and pain and illness. It just won't ever kill him.
Shen Yuan sighs that it's a cruel thing to do to a mortal, especially one with such low odds of ever cultivating other skills to mitigate the potential torment of it all. But Shang Qinghua just shrugs and they place bets, that this boy will ask for the immortality to be revoked in a hundred years, or two hundred, or so on, or else he won't. Shen Qingqiu approaches the kitchen boy and flusters and bewilders him by telling him to meet him back here again in a hundred years time.
A hundred years later, the tea house is larger. The boy has grown to be a striking young man, who looks at Shen Yuan with wariness and something else, something almost like awe, as he asks what manner of creature he's made this bargain with. Shen Yuan assures him that he has no nefarious intentions, and instead asks Luo Binghe how the past century of his life has gone.
Horribly, at least at first. Binghe's mother had already died by the time they met, but afterwards he managed to earn enough money to travel to a nearby sect. Working in the tea house's kitchen was just a minor stopover along the way. Shen Yuan was wrong, it seems, about his odds of becoming a cultivator -- Luo Binghe earned entry as a disciple.
Yet, he had no success. The master who took him on was unaccountably cruel and mercurial, and Luo Binghe's attempts to cultivate failed. Looking back he sees now that there were many times when he should have died but didn't, but when it was all happening he just thought himself lucky. At least until an enemy sect attacked a cultivation conference, and he suffered mortal wounds that absolutely should have killed him (or anyone) but still didn't die. (No demon race or abyss in this AU, but there are still demonic and fantastical creatures.)
His cruel master, upon witnessing this, accused him of heretical practices and tried to kill him as well by flinging him off the edge of a gorge. The fall was terrible. Binghe lay at the bottom in a horrifying state, injured beyond reason and yet, still, he didn't die. Eventually his body recovered enough for him to drag himself out, and once he did the only thing on his mind was getting revenge. For the next several decades he managed to ingratiate himself to all manner of potential allies, forging alliances, accumulating blackmail, and convincing people that he had to be some powerful cultivator through his supernatural resilience, lack of visible aging, and a lot of bluffing. He got revenge on his old teacher, drove his first sect into ruin, and rose to prominence as a feared and respected leader of the cultivation world.
Shen Yuan listens with clear interest, asking plenty of questions and seemingly quite taken up with the story. At the conclusion, Luo Binghe admits that his actual cultivation is still mostly a matter of smoke and mirrors, and wonders if -- now that the hundred years have passed -- Shen Yuan means to strip his immortality from him.
Shen Yuan asks if Luo Binghe wants that. When Luo Binghe says no, he accepts the answer, and tells him to meet him back here again in another hundred years. Luo Binghe calls after him, but before he can ask anything more, Shen Yuan has disappeared again.
A hundred years later, Binghe arrives back at the tea house with an entourage befitting of an emperor. The tea house has also expanded. Luo Binghe orders a lavish feast from them, which everyone hastens to provide. He's spent the past several decades consolidating his power, forging alliances with key political players via several marriages, producing heirs, and crushing his enemies. As he brags about the state of his massive harem to Shen Yuan, the deity's eyes begin to glaze over. He doesn't seem impressed. He also doesn't seem to care much for the food, and eventually his attention is stolen away by a conversation at another table. The diners are discussing the exploits of a promising new poet and novelist. Try as he might, Luo Binghe fails to regain Shen Yuan's attention before the evening is done. Shen Yuan doesn't think it's a big deal -- after all, if Binghe is still riding on top of the world, he's probably not going to want his immortality gift revoked just yet!
Another hundred years go by. The tea house has returned to a more modest situation, the next time Shen Yuan sets foot in it. He waits an unusually long while for his guest to arrive, and when he does, he's almost stopped at the door by the tea house's servers. It's only when Shen Yuan bids them let him through that Luo Binghe is able to come to the table, almost collapsing against it and desperately falling onto the arrangement of snacks with obvious hunger.
Shen Yuan wonders if this, now, will be when the boy (no longer a boy) asks for the immortality to be revoked. Surprisingly, he finds himself resistant to the idea, even though it's also clear that the game has run too long. Maybe hundred year check-ins were too short? He doesn't like the implications of what's gone on, even if he's not really surprised about it either.
Between desperate mouthfuls of food, Luo Binghe explains that without mastering inedia, going hungry but never dying is a deeply unpleasant experience. Shen Yuan orders more food. Once Binghe has finally eaten his fill, he begins, haltingly, to explain his situation. His clothes are ragged, he is painfully thin, and his gaze is haunted.
Apparently, several of his wives conspired to assassinate him, despite his reputation as unkillable. Realizing that most poisons and such didn't kill him, but that he could still be incapacitated, they hatched a scheme to dose his food with a powerful sleeping agent, and then walled him up in a famous ancestral tomb. They went to great length to ensure that it was impossible to escape from. It took Binghe decades to do it anyway, digging away at the floors, and when he got out he found that his power base had collapsed. In-fighting and the incursion of his enemies had led to the deaths of all of his children, and what wives had survived had either fled or remarried. Not that he particularly wanted them back at that point, since the ones actually most loyal to him had also been killed early on after his own "death". His face marked him, to the eyes of his enemy, as a surviving descendant of himself. He was hunted down, chased across the continent and back again, until he managed to fall into enough obscurity that his pursuers abandoned the chase. Except that he has nothing, and any time he tries to regain something, he runs the risk of being hounded again. Those who might see some potential in him still remember the collapse of his recent "dynasty" and slam doors in his face, or else try and turn him over to those now in power in pursuit of a reward. Those who don't know that much see only a dirty beggar, and usually run him off on that basis instead.
Shen Yuan, almost hesitant, asks if Luo Binghe would like to have his immortality revoked.
Luo Binghe declines. How will he be able to take revenge on those who wronged him if he is dead? He has a hit list a mile long by now.
Which is definitely not the most noble of reasons to persist, but Shen Yuan finds himself reluctant to ask twice. Instead he orders more food, and then even reserves one of the traveler's rooms above the tea house for several days. By then the sky is turning grey, and Luo Binghe is losing his apparent battle with exhaustion. Shen Yuan presses the key into his hand, thinking it's probably not enough, but there are limits to how much gods are supposed to interfere and Shang Qinghua already stretched them to the breaking point with this entire scenario.
He leaves, not seeing the hand that reaches after him just before he is out of the door and gone.
Another hundred years pass. This time, Shen Yuan arrives to find Luo Binghe already waiting for him. He isn't surprised to see that Binghe's situation has visibly improved -- maybe he was keeping closer tabs on him, just a little bit, for this past while. If only to be sure he wouldn't have to warn the tea house workers to expect an unorthodox visitor again! But no, Binghe has been doing well enough for himself. No more harems or thrones, though. He dresses more like a well-off merchant now, deliberately posing as his own mortal descendant rather than as a great immortal cultivator. The food at the table looks far more delicious than usual too (Binghe commandeered the tea house's kitchen himself this time). As they chat, Shen Yuan is regaled with the exploits of Luo Binghe's travels and adventures, how even though he initially set out to claim revenge on those who overthrew him, by the time he was in a position to actually do so they had already died of the usual causes (time, illness, their own schemes backfiring, etc). Subsequently, only their children and grandchildren were left with the scraps of power they had obtained, and when one of those children employed Luo Binghe as a bodyguard, his initial plan to assassinate them eventually fell by the wayside. After all, the wrongdoings weren't actually theirs. From that point, Binghe was able to restore himself to a more comfortable life, joining his new employer on their travels until he had set aside enough earnings to take his leave before his youthful good-looks earned him suspicion. He then began investing in travel and trade, specifically cargo ships, because never spending too long in the same place or around the same people helped disguise his immortality. He had found that, at least for now, this served him better than playing the part of a cultivator. It also gave him time to try and actually repair his ruined cultivation base somewhat, and fighting pirates proved very diverting.
Binghe is midway through recounting his adventures with a gigantic sea monster, while Shen Yuan hangs on every word, when they're interrupted by the arrival of a brash young mistress, clearly wealthy and trained in cultivation. The young lady declares that there is a rumor that a fallen god and a demon meet in this tea house once a century, that they wield strange powers, etc etc, and she intends to interrogate them both with the assistance of her hired muscle and her own spiritual weapon, and discover the truth of the matter. Then she whips out, well, a whip!
Before Shen Yuan can deal with the matter, Luo Binghe is already on his feet, disarming the goons and breaking a few arms in the process. Shen Yuan is so distracted that he almost misses the whip aimed right for him, but before Binghe can catch the barbed weapon with his bare hand (wtf, Binghe, no) Shen Yuan deflects it with a wave of his fan, and then efficiently knocks the troublesome young lady unconscious. The hired muscle flees, Shen Yuan arranges for their assailant to be placed in a room upstairs until she regains consciousness, and he and Binghe resume their meal and conversation in relative peace.
Even though it's clear that Luo Binghe has not yet reached the end of his tolerance for life, Shen Yuan nevertheless finds himself strangely reluctant to part ways at the end of the night. Still, he does, because that's what is expected of him, gently denying Luo Binghe's suggestions that they find some other establishment to continue their conversation at. He also has to investigate these "rumors" that the young lady mentioned. It's probably nothing (Shang Qinghua has a loose tongue when he's drunk, and a lot of imaginative storytellers have frequented this tea house over the years) but he doesn't like being caught unawares like that. Heavenly politics are... complicated, it's best not to court unwanted attention in any capacity.
Another hundred years go by. This time, when they meet at the tea house, Luo Binghe asks Shen Yuan why he keeps it up. Why did he pick Binghe? What is he really after? When Shen Yuan fails to give any kind of clear answer, Luo Binghe shoots his shot and makes a (very obvious) move on him.
Shen Yuan, flustered, gets up and flees. Ignoring Luo Binghe's calls after him. It just doesn't make any sense! Why would Binghe do that?! He's a man who once had a harem of wives in the triple digits! Clearly he's not gay, so what was that all about? Was he just messing with him?! How dare he! Etc, etc.
Another century passes. Luo Binghe waits at the tea house, which has fallen onto hard times again. With the construction of some new roadways, travelers no longer pass through as often. Binghe listens, worried, to the proprietor's laments that this old place will probably not be around in another hundred years. He listens because he has no one else to speak to, because Shen Yuan has not shown up. Not that morning, not during the day, not come evening, and not now that it is closing time. Binghe nevertheless charms and bribes the proprietor to let him stay even after the place has shuttered.
It seems damning, of course. He pressed too hard and now his mysterious benefactor wants nothing more to do with him. Except, no, he refuses to accept that. He's still immortal. And he has gleaned enough of Shen Yuan's character by now that he thinks that even if he was rejected, he would be let down more clearly and gently than this. The more he thinks about it, the less willing Luo Binghe is to believe that he has been deliberately stood up (also, since the tenor of his confession was different from Hob Gadling's, he never delivered an ultimatum about what it might imply when they met up again).
Over the centuries, Luo Binghe has built up a few contacts with similarly strange and supernatural stories. Cultivators, sure, but also others, fortune tellers and people of strange ancestry, questionable abilities, those who have interacted with powerful beings of mysterious provenance. He makes his way to a certain gambling den, frequented often by such people, and while he flashes around enough money to draw curiosity, he collects information. Shen Yuan wasn't the only person who started paying more attention to the kinds of rumors surrounding the two of them after their confrontation with the young cultivator a couple centuries ago. And in fact, Luo Binghe has been spending many, many years trying to find out more about his mystery man. Though, too many potential deities and immortals fit his description for him to have ever conclusively figured much out.
This is how Binghe gets wind of a rumor that an eccentric occultist has somehow captured a god in his basement...
#svsss#bingqiu#scum villain's self saving system#bingyuan#scum villain#long post#whoever the roderick burgess proxy is here he's got a big storm coming#going the classic dreamling fanfic route and having shen yuan get rescued instead of having to escape by himself#shang qinghua has definitely made other people immortal on various whims and impulses#he bestows his gift recklessly on a betrayed young prince at one point and the divine emperor is just like 'enough!'#'if you're doing to do this I'm going to make you babysit the results! you descend and work for that prince now!' so he's got his hands ful#dreamling might be the situation but shen yuan isn't much of a dream of the endless type#and luo binghe is nothing like hob gadling lol#'I want to live because I love life!' nope it's mostly about spite#the hardest part of this AU is imagining a universe where shen yuan would ignore luo binghe for long enough to let actual centuries pass
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Helllooo so, reading certain fun posts over at @gabessquishytum ‘s place got me thinking of one of my fave movies and like—
Dream spent years trapped by social expectations in an unhappy and unwanted marraige with Alex Burgess, ignored and withdrawn into his own little world. He has his greenhouse and his bizarre prize-winning hybrid roses, his unpublished forever-not-quite-finished manuscripts, and that’s enough, he thinks.
Until Alex kicks the proverbial bucket and Dream learns that the Burgess family fortune has been so badly mismanaged, he’s inherited nothing from his late husband but a drafty old mansion sitting on a pile of debt.
The creditors are closing in and Dream…hates the house. He always hated it. But dammit, spite is a hell of a drug. He hates his family as much as he ever hated Alex and Fawney Rig, and he refuses to be kicked out of his own home. He needs a source of income, asap.
Luckily his gardener Matthew has pot plants growing in the hedges and more optimism than sense. Win win!
Pretty soon there’s A Lot More than prizewinning roses growing in Dream’s greenhouse. A lot more. Dream must have some sort of eldrich gardening powers, because this stuff is insanely potent and is also growing out of control. They need to find some way to unload this crop, and fast. Dream needs money. The authorities are getting suspicious. Matthew doesn’t want to go to prison. The whole town knows. So off they head towards the big city to try to find a buyer.
And find a buyer they do!
Hob Gadling isn’t…exactly a crime lord. He’d never describe himself that way. He’s just a creatively savvy businessman. And he’s never been more entertained by ANYONE more than he is by this gorgeous and charmingly awkward lunatic who’s somehow wandered into his little seedy underworld with a gardener and the weirdest story that he’s ever heard. He’s head over heels, instantly. And he’s determined to keep Dream out of trouble, if not just because Dream’s wildly delicious, than at least because Hob firmly believes that no one should go to jail for objectively funny crimes.
…I’m just trying to decide who it is in this version of the story that ends up on the floor, stoned out of their mind, eating cereal out of the box and wearing googly-eye glasses. Please watch this movie, for that scene ALONE.
…The gardener in the film’s actually named Matthew and I tend to envision my Sandman-verse human!Matthew based on the Matthew from this flick. Though Grace’s gardener!Matthew was actually Scottish. (The trying-pot-for-the-first-time scene works just as well with Dream looking at Matthew, blurting out “…you’re American!” and then laughing like a lunatic.)
…After the Whole Incident At The End That No One In Town Can Remember, Dream and Hob rename Fawney Rig to Fiddler’s Green, Dream publishes his novels, and of course they rebuild the greenhouse. Bigger this time. And everyone lives happily ever after.
#Dreamling#the sandman netflix#dreamling au#Saving Grace#hob gadling#dream of the endless#wild au speculation#I need to replace my dvd of this flick#before I can even attempt to write this
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Update: You create me against your lips Chapter 20
banner artwork by the superlative @teejaystumbles
Read on AO3: Chapter 20 you can be my shame
Dreamling (Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling) || Rated E || In Progress Hellknight!Hob, Hellknight Hob, Alternate Universe, Dream is a little dark (as a treat), D/s, dom/sub, dom!Dream, sub!Hob, BDSM, anal sex, anal fingering, oral sex, deep throating, come swallowing, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, bathing, bath sex, biting, bite kink, painplay, breathplay, impact play, bloodplay, restraint, rimming, face fucking, subspace, breeding kink, discussion of mpreg, aftercare, eldritch Dream, Nightmare, Nightmare/Hob/Dream, spoilers for Seasons of Mists, spoilers for Brief Lives, spoilers for The Song of Orpheus, happy ending (eventually), a totally different take on Hob as a knight, additional warnings in author’s notes for each chapter
They round on the end of the path, just a few steps and they will be over the hill and the temple will come into sight. Dream stops, takes a deep breath before continuing on.
And yet, nothing – absolutely nothing – could have prepared Dream for what he and Delirium see when they crest that hill.
#Hellknight!Hob#Hellknight Hob#Dreamling#The Sandman AU#Hob Gadling#Dream of the Endless#Pavonis writes#OH MY GOD IT IS ALMOST OVER#SECOND TO LAST CHAPTER#MY BABY IS ALL GROWING UP#AND SAVING CHINA
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It’s driving me up a wall you guys.
Imagine being literally just some guy who randomly happens to be an eldritch horrors best friend, and you have so much sexual tension with this guy over a period of 10 min of screen time that you get permanently fannnoned as his bf. To the point that in any other Dream pairing you are immediately written as the bad guy/stalker/kidnapper basically a yandere. ALSO REMEMBER THAT WHILE YOU MAY BE HIS BEST FRIEND HE IS NOT YOUR BEST FRIEND. HES JUST SOME WEIRDO YOU HAVE DINNER WITH EVERY HUNDRED YEARS HES THE SIDE CHARACTER OF ALL SIDE CHARACTERS IN YOUR LIFE.
It’s driving me mad yall HOB IS NOT OBSESSED WITH DREAM. Dream obsessed with Hob? Sure. But permanently fannoning Hob as Dreams bf to the point where ppl feel like they have to get him out of the way by making him dead or evil before writing a different Dream pairing is just insanity.
#the sandman#Dreamling#corinthius#dream of the endless#hob gadling#GUYS it’s driving me wild.#writing wildly ooc Hob to be the villain of every goddamned Corinthius fic is so tiring#hob and dream can just be#ya know#FRIENDS#just putting that out there#and don’t get me wrong#i love Dreamling#but this is just madness#if I read one more uwu human au Dream needs to be saved by the Corinthian from obsessive stalker Hob I will pass away#Consider that there are other better villains#Consider that Thessaly is right there#consider that some one else could be evil for once and consider that HOB GADLING IS JUST SOME GUY OMFG
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The Last Unicorn AU anyone??
I saw a post that I can’t find anymore (and I did search my blog and favs but no luck, please let me know and I’ll link it) where Dream was compared to the Lady Amalthea and I couldn't shake it since.
I guess it can be a fairy tale setting or more like an apocalyptic modern AU but essentially I imagine it like this:
Roderick Burgess has captured all the Endless and Dream is the only one left. He hasn’t realized it at first because he and his family are not close, but the dreams of the sleepers have turned disturbed, people can’t die and madness and desire run rampage in the Waking World, destruction on their heels. Just imagine succumbing to delirium and then despair and trying to kill yourself but you can’t. It’s not nice. It’s hell. Dreams are the only refuge and even there, the madness is creeping in.
When Dream realizes that something is Wrong, getting no answers from his gallery, he sets out into the Waking World to find his siblings.
He reluctantly teams up with Johanna Constantine and her friend Rachel.
They tell him that Roderick Burgess seems to be blissfully spared by all the terror and madness and is making a fortune off of other’s troubles. All who live at his mansion seem to be safe, but he does not share this safety willingly with many.
When Burgess attempts another ritual to capture the last of the Endless, Johanna, in a desperate attempt at saving Dream, uses a rare spell she found once and saved for a particularly nasty demon. She turns Dream into a human, and it is Not Good.
Dream is beside himself with anguish and terror, he can no longer feel the dreamers, his connection to his realm cut, but he knows it is crumbling more and more the longer he stays in this mortal body, only making everything worse for all humans, now that not even dreams are a safe place.
Johanna is convinced that disguised as a human he can now infiltrate Roderick’s mansion and free his siblings. She is also convinced she can turn him back. (She is in fact not entirely convinced but would sooner die than tell Dream.)
Dream hopes desperately that she is right, because he can already feel his mind slipping, being now influenced by the absence of the Endless like any other human. He goes along with Johanna’s plan because what else can he do, now? At least once they’re in the mansion they won’t have to worry about the side effects any longer.
Roderick Burgess invites them in when he sees Dream, almost as spellbound by his appearance as by the rare book Johanna presents him as a gift to get them inside. They take up lodgings at Fawny Rig and while Johanna shares her knowledge of the supernatural with old Burgess to keep him occupied and distract him from the otherworldlyness her friend is exuding despite being human, Dream searches the halls for any hint of his siblings.
Also living at Fawny Rig is one Robert “please call me Hob” Gadling, who has bought his way into Burgess’ favor with rare antiques and special services (he’s a bit of a mobster and mercenary). He is supposed to keep an eye on newcomers and when he spots pale, blue-eyed Dream, he has every intention of doing just that.
Very thoroughly.
From preferably as close as possible.
#add to that existential angst over being in a human body#troubles with Burgess: why can I not see myself in your eyes??#desperate love letter writing on Hob's part and Rachel as his wingwoman#and in the end Dream of the Endless saving one Hob Gadling who did everything to help him#and I absolutely love the last unicorn OK guys#so I'm not one bit sorry for this#dreamling#dreamling AU#hob gadling#dream of the endless#The sandman fanfiction#the last unicorn#the last unicorn au
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second to last ch!! thanks for ur patience :)
#the sandman#the sandman fic#dreamling#dream of the endless#hob gadling#the knight before christmas au#netflix’s the knight before christmas au#hoo-wee I gotta write me a SPEECH next#saving the sappy reunion and bonus scene for the epilogue/last ch#home stretch!!
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*aggressively puts Dream in Sophie’s spot for HMC AUs*
#look#just#Dream & his family are naturally magical people from a naturally magical land#hob knows what Football and Rugby are#in the AU in my head Night & Time are the king and queen but Destiny is the o n l y child they acknowledge#and Time has some kind of bargain with Death about the family getting an allowance as long as they tell no one#(eventually Destruction gets fed up and ruins it)#(and this leads to finding trades for Desire and Despair)#(and selling the hat(?) shop once Dream is cursed cuz she can’t afford it anymore)#it would hurt me to make Eleanor or Robyn or someone else witch of the waste adjacent but it would be so good#like if Eleanor is Miss Angorian (did I remember that right?)#hob expecting that Dream’s jealousy will save the day and keep her out#would be hilarious af
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modern human au dreamling where dream and hob get married for "tax purposes" yup 100% that's definitely the only reason no other reason
dream is actually from generational wealth because of his weird family but he lives like a starving artist out of spite. hob is in academia so you already know. dream is like everything is so expensive we should live together to split expenses and maybe get married for Tax Benefits ("wow i am such a genius now i get hob to myself" one second later: "shit now i get hob to myself. perhaps this was a mistake")
hob, hopelessly in love with his friend: haha (panicking) sounds great dream (actually needs to save the money though) sure (panicking again)
dream: (i've made a mistake) great :) (dying inside)
dream, digging himself in deeper: we should get a one bedroom apartment To Save Money and also what if someone comes and figures out we're married for Tax Purposes
hob: who is going to come dream
dream: the tax.... police
hob: the who
dream: you know.
hob:
anyway so they get a one bedroom apartment and awkwardly share a bed while dying inside for like 5 years until one day hob runs into desire or something and desire is like why the fuck is dream sharing a shitty apartment with you? he could buy that whole building. and hob is like what. and desire is like we're rich dude.
so hob goes home and is like married for tax purposes dream? FOR TAX PURPOSES? you're literally rich, apparently!
dream, sweating: yeah and you know what rich people are really passionate about. PAYING LESS TAXES (nailed it)
hob is supremely unimpressed.
dream: anyway so i've technically been paying both our rent for five years and just stuck yours in my family's investment account to save it for you later do you want your fifty grand.
hob: my fucking WHAT
dream: it's actually worth like a hundred now
hob:
dream:...............courting gift?
#dream while actively committing financial fraud: hob what if the tax police come to our apartment#sorry too much insanity today#dream of the endless#hob gadling#dreamling#stupid ideas
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Ughhhh writing is. Hard. Part 6 of my hob saves dream fic just isn’t working at all and I think the problem is somewhere in part 5? So to anybody who follows me for this fic, I might be a couple days updating part 5, because it’s just not working
#hob saves dream au#dreamling fic#okay usually I can write easily#but these two chapters are just not it#I’ll figure it out but by god is it frustrating
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AU where Hob gets into an accident that causes him to lose his memories, so Dream has to explain their relationship. Except, because it’s Dream, he explains it really poorly.
This starts with Hob waking up on his second day in hospital, very confused to find a lanky goth perched on the end of his bed (who’s quite possibly an angel, he’s not sure). And the goth just goes ‘Hello, Hob Gadling’ which sounds infinitely better than what the nurses have been calling him (Bob Galden). Hob feels right. Especially when this stranger says it. The only problem is, he doesn’t recognise this cute goth, and cute goth is just sat there staring at him like he’s waiting for Bob - Rob - Robert - Hob to explain what’s going on, which is insane, because how is Hob supposed to know that when he’s the one in the hospital bed with amnesia. The nurses told him he has amnesia, anyway, so he relays that. The stranger looks stricken by such news. Hob apologises for not remembering the strangers name, and asks if they’re friends or something, which is apparently the wrong thing to do, because suddenly the stranger is standing up - there might even be tears in his eyes, it’s hard to tell in this light. But the prospect of this stranger leaving makes something horrible and scared twist in his gut, so he begs him to stay. This is the only person that’s visited the hospital in search of Hob. The only person that knows him - knows Hob Gadling. And Hob Gadling very much needs someone who knows Hob Gadling right now, because he sure as hell doesn’t.
Now flipping back over to dream, he’s catastrophically reeling from the fact his human doesn’t remember him, and unpacking whatever feelings he might have about that sounds mortifying. So, he’s opting to just abort himself from the situation altogether to save himself the grief (disclaimer: it would not save him from the grief). Except, he can’t leave, because Hob is begging him to stay, looking lost and terrified, and there are Certain Thing’s he needs to know. So, Dream sits back down. He explains that Hob is immortal. He explains they met in 1389. He explains their shared curiosity of life brought them together. He explains they attend centenary dates because they’re bound in an arrangement that’ll last until the end of time unless Hob decides otherwise. (‘As in, Til Death Do Us Part?’ Hob asks, sounding vaguely horrified, vaguely awed, and Dream doesn’t think that’s an inaccurate assessment, so he nods). And it’s not that Dream is rambling, because Dream of the Endless does not ramble, but he can’t seem to Stop Talking all of a sudden - like part of him hopes his words might guide Hob’s memories back into the light. So, he keeps going until there’s nothing left to say, and once he’s finished Hob’s staring at him with wide eyes.
“So, we’re married.” Is what Hob takes from all that.
Dream’s too stunned to correct him.
What’s worse, is Hob just accepts that as reality. He spends a solid minute - a minute - fumbling over the initial shock as he processes that information, before taking the lead on Dream’s silence. He launches into a rant about anything and everything his two-day old memory has to offer, smiling again, and then dares to ask questions about their life.
And Dream just sits there internally screaming about the whole thing.
#do they not just act and sound like an old married couple already#The Sandman#dream#dreamling#hob gadling#dream of the endless#morpheus#hob x dream#hob x morpheus#netflix
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AU mermaid!Dream. Dream is an injured mermaid who is saved by Hob, a marine biologist. In this AU, mermaids can turn tails into legs when they are on land.
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🎩 🐇🎩🐇🎩
It took a really long time to realize that Robin was magic.
When Robin was with his da, his magic didn't really work - he could be playing alone having his stuffies dance and sing with him, then daddy would come by and teddy wouldn't dance anymore. It was weird, but also not, since it was always the case. Robin didn't even think too hard on it.
Then Robin became best friends with Orpheus and showed him his magic. And Orpheus thought it was cool! Even better Orpheus's father was magic too and he offered to talk to Robin's da and teach him with his dad's okay.
🎩🐇🎩🐇🎩
Hob was a little confused as to why his kitchen was filled to its little brim with his son, his son's best friend and best friend's hot goth father (what Hob's not blind) talking about magic & magic lessons.
Hob is as open minded as the next person, but magic isn't real. And not to be mean about it, but it doesn't seem like they're talking about pulling rabbits out of hats and neither Robin or Morpheus (smoking hot goth) seem to be able to do any "spells" or magic in the kitchen.
Hob (eyebrow raised): performance anxiety?!
Dream (extremely puzzled): I don't,,, this has never happened before...
After "testing," turns out that Hob is the issue -- magic doesn't work around him. That was probably what saved him from being bonked in the head by various toys when Robin was younger.
I LOVE the idea of magic!Dream and anti-magic!Hob (not to go off on a tangent but I would loooove some kind of Black Clover au for dreamling) - just the idea of literal opposites attracting is so delicious.
Morpheus immediately feels so disappointed when he finds out that Hob is so fucking mundane he seems to suppress all forms of magic whenever he's around. Because Hob is kind of sexy, but Morpheus can't be with a man like that. All of Morpheus’s exes were just as magical as him, if not more so.
But as he tutors Robin (with Hob in the next room, helping Orpheus with homework or just chilling) Morpheus grows more and more attached to perfectly normal, ordinary (boring) Hob. The way he makes tea without magic. His gentle smile. His cute butt in his worn out jeans...
Sometime Morpheus thinks that maybe the reason all his relationships have failed, is because magic got in the way. Maybe dating a completely normal man would be different? Well, there's only one way to find out.
(Robin would totally try to help get them together, but his efforts to make his dad trip and fall into Morpheus’s arms with magic totally fail every time. Its just as well that Hob is clumsy enough to manage that by himself!)
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A cursory glance at the current makeup of Dreamling fics coming out this day shows a preponderance of AUs that range pretty far from the source material, human AUs or stories where otherwise Dream and Hob aren’t “Dream of the Endless, eldritch being” and “Hob Gadling, immortal medieval peasant”.
That sort of AU is not really the sort of thing I personally enjoy reading (except in rare circumstances, like by a particular author), I’m more of a “slight canon divergence at most” person. But I completely understand that a year out from the show’s release this is sort of the natural evolution of where fandom tends to go with a ship in search of fresh material to explore.
But I’m a perverse and contrary creature, especially as a fandom writer. I see a popular trope and can’t resist trying to do the opposite or turn the assumptions involved on their head somehow, especially if they begin to calcify as sort of “accepted fanon”.
So skimming over some of the latest summaries enough to get a sense of these trends really makes me want to return to the source material and then some. I’ve been fascinated by the idea of trying to pull a bit more of Dream and Hob’s rougher, more stoic energy from the comic into my fics. I want to give the sense of physicality of a Hob who knew life as a medieval soldier and bandit. I want some of the forbidding otherworldliness of a Dream who is truly the god-king of a shadow realm of nightmares, his power over mortals unquestioned save by his own scruples and certain unknowable cosmic laws. And for them to be insanely into each other because of this, not necessarily in spite of.
Don’t get me wrong, I love the softness and fluff as much as anyone and I read the heck out of it. But I think for my own part because I gravitate towards writing softness and affection between them even in spite of my intentions to write a more historically and eldritchly informed characterization, it will be an interesting challenge to mentally set the bar a little further back into their rougher more forbidding comic selves as a starting point from which to get there.
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Make perfect the present (Dream/Hob Western A/B/O AU) Chapter 1 is up!
Make perfect the present || Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling || Explicit || 1/17
Alternate Universe - Western, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Western, Cowboys & Cowgirls, Historical References, Probably inaccurate horseback riding, Poetry, References to Oscar Wilde, Period-Typical Sexism, Victorian Attitudes, Gender Identity, Gender Issues, Attempted Sexual Assault, Gun Violence, Blood and Violence, Rap Battles, Bandits & Outlaws, Masturbation, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Pining, BAMF Hob Gadling, Hob Gadling Saves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus from Roderick Burgess, POV Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Kidnapping, Period-Typical Racism
In the summer of 1895, Morpheus Sanfin – poet, omega, and disappointment to his wealthy father – flees England on the heels of Oscar Wilde's imprisonment for gross indecency out of fear that he will be condemned for the same unnatural urges.
Seeking a new life in America away from the stifling hand of his father and the expectations of his sex, Morpheus sets out for California with Hob Gadling, a mustang driver who agrees to guide him, not knowing that along the way they will encounter natural wonders, the ghosts of their pasts, and perils that will force Morpheus to reconcile with both his sex and his feelings for his new companion.
Chapter 1 is up on AO3!
The fantastic header is from art done by @fishfingersandscarves. Thank you so much darlin for letting me use it <3
#the sandman#dreamling#dream of the endless#hob gadling#my fic#dream/hob#dream of the endless/hob gadling#alpha/beta/omega verse#western AU#cowboy AU
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[FLUFFBRUARY FIC] A Sweet Romance Beginning In a Queue
Rated: T
Word Count: 4551
Tags: Fluffbruary, Fluffbruary 2024, fluff, human AU, rain, writer!Dream, professor!Hob, song-based meet-cute, clumsy metaphors
Notes: This is springboarding entirely from Bus Stop by The Hollies; shoutout to @valeriianz for suggesting this song would make a great Dreamling fic many many months ago. I thought Fluffbruary Day 3 would be a good opportunity to bang it out real quick but uh. It didn't want to flow, so I've just been rolling additional days into it all month. Also went a wee bit off-script from the song but. I'm pleased enough with what it's turned out to be. Prompts listed at the end.
Summary: Bus stop, wet day, he's there, I say, 'Please share my umbrella'
On AO3
It's the first day of the new term and the sky is overcast, threatening rain as Hob steps off the bus at his connecting stop. He's got his umbrella and his overcoat and his bag is water-resistant; his stop on the other end is very near the college and he's feeling well-prepared should the weather follow through on its threat.
Which of course it does, not half a minute later, and Hob deploys his umbrella with a sigh. There are a handful of other people waiting at the stop who do the same.
And one who does not.
He's pale and pretty, and tall, and dark—dark trousers, dark peacoat, dark hair, which is well on its way to getting thoroughly soaked as the skies open up in earnest. He appears to be lacking an umbrella entirely. Hob, who these days makes conscious effort to be a Good Samaritan whenever he can, and who also maybe thinks that attractively-pale men dressed in black who forget their umbrellas are worth at least a 'hello', moves quickly.
"Share my umbrella? Please." He's holding it over the guy as he speaks, but they'll have to squish up a bit to get maximum benefit for either of them.
"…Thank you," the guy says, shuffling closer; their shoulders touch. He is stiff, awkward, and yeah okay Hob can understand; courtesy in rainy weather or not, they're still complete strangers.
"Hell of a day to forget your umbrella, yeah?" Hob rolls his shoulders and shifts, putting himself more or less back-to-back with the guy so they fit better.
"Quite," comes the answer. His voice is low and rumbly, pleasantly dark without being bass-deep; it's oddly appealing.
Hob shrugs. "We've all been there. And hey, I'm glad to share."
"Again. Thank you." There's a touch more warmth this time, and Hob smiles to himself.
They pass a moment in silence, save for the drumming of rain against the umbrella and the splashing of cars in the street, and then the bus is pulling up to the stop. The guy steps toward it, first in line, and Hob follows with the umbrella, then lets the other three people board ahead of him.
Which means, once he's boarded and tapped in, the only open seat is serendipitously next to his slightly-soggy goth stranger. Who makes eye contact and holds it as Hob approaches, scoots just that little bit closer to the window to make clear he doesn't mind Hob taking the seat beside him, and Hob is quietly thrilled at the subtle welcome.
"Are you a conversationalist, or a ride-in-silence enthusiast?" he asks, as the bus lurches into motion.
"Ordinarily, the latter," the guy admits, glancing briefly at Hob. "But, as I stormed out with neither book nor earbuds, and I find myself with a chivalrous seat partner, perhaps I could be persuaded to the former just this once."
"Very kind, thank you," Hob says, with a smile. "'Stormed out' doesn't sound promising; feel like unburdening to a friendly ear? I'd be happy to listen, if so. Or find something else entirely to talk about if not."
His stranger turns to the window, watching the rivulets of rain trailing over the glass; there is a brief lull before he speaks. "I find myself creatively blocked, and my sister's attempts to be helpful. Were not." He sighs. "I left the house to clear my head, before saying anything truly unkind."
"Smart," Hob agrees. He could listen to this guy talk all day, his rumbly words and his dark-velvety voice.
"'Smart' would have been making certain to grab more than just my phone and wallet." There's a pretty little scowl accompanying the words, that rosy mouth plumped out in the faintest pout visible in his reflection in the window, and Hob is smitten.
"That may be, but then I'd hardly have had reason to say hello, and we'd both be sitting here reading our books politely ignoring one another. Silver lining?"
"Perhaps," the guy says, but it sounds agreeable enough. Hob likes to think he's a decent judge of unspoken communication and that he could tell if he was being a bother. Currently his stranger is glancing over Hob's bag and his attire with a curious and observant eye, posture reserved but not closed off, and Hob figures he's doing alright.
"Where are you headed, then—work?" the guy asks.
"Yeah, I teach at the college, medieval history, now and then a class in medieval lit too."
The guy's attention goes from merely polite to genuinely interested. "Oh?"
"Yep!" Hob's heart rate bumps up a notch at the light in those (gorgeous) blue eyes; the sudden intensity of this stranger's focus is heady.
He's turned in his seat, angled to somewhat face Hob, gaze bright, expression open. "I imagine that is a difficult sell to many students."
"Oh my friend, you have no idea!" Delighted with his good fortune, Hob launches into tales of his most recalcitrant classes and the victories he's won in inciting and maintaining student interest. He's good at talking, and enjoys doing it, and this pretty stranger is paying genuine attention to him, and so Hob prattles on enthusiastically as the bus trundles steadily through the rain.
~
"This is me," Hob says, as the bus pulls up to the college stop. "It was delightful chatting with you, and I hope your day improves from here!"
"It already has, thank you."
The tiny smile that the stranger offers in parting buoys Hob's spirits all the way to his office.
~
Tuesday is miserably wet again and Hob checks for his stranger at the bus stop, hopeful (yes alright, perhaps he's got a bit of a crush), but there's no sign of him. It's earlier than it was yesterday though, on account of his 8 a.m. lecture this morning, so there's no reason to think he'd be there again. Plus he'd talked about 'storming out' and 'clearing his head'; it wasn't like this stop was a daily transfer point the way it was for Hob.
Chances were good they'd never cross paths again.
~
Wednesday it's less a downpour and more a light shower, but it's still enough that an umbrella is practical.
And Hob is absolutely delighted as he steps off his first bus to see that Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Emo is there again, and again without an umbrella, hunched ineffectually into the collar of his coat and resembling nothing so much as a disgruntled wet cat. He perks up distinctly as Hob approaches with his umbrella angled forward in offering.
"You gallantly come to my rescue yet again." He tilts his head and glances up through lush black lashes, just this side of coy. "I thank you, sincerely, Mr…?"
"Hob, I'm Hob. Just Hob. You can call me Hob." Not his most suave, certainly, but this blatantly-flirtatious greeting atop his own delight has somewhat stolen his functioning brain cells.
"Hob," the guy repeats, unhurried, like he's savoring the taste of the name in his mouth, and smiles just a little bit. "You may call me Dream."
"Pleased to run into you again, Dream." Hob dimples brightly, delighted with the turn his day has taken, delighted that they've made proper introductions. "How was the head-clearing, the other day?"
"Effective." The guy—Dream—crowds close under the umbrella (Hob's largest, which he had pulled out yesterday just in case) and smooths the clinging water from his hair with one hand. His (damp) shoulder is firmly pressed against Hob's and his profile is absolutely beautiful, this close. Hob tries not to stare.
"Got your creativity flowing again, did it?"
"I managed to finish a very troublesome chapter Monday evening, yes."
Hob perks up at this new tidbit of information. "You're a writer, then?"
He gives a short nod, staring out into the rain, then glances sideways at Hob. "I have you to thank for my progress, also."
"Me?"
"The stories you shared…you inspired a direction for the scene that was plaguing me. I came out yesterday, with intent to thank you, but you were not here…?"
His voice lilts up just a touch on the end of his sentence, curiosity expressed without actually voicing the question, and Hob just smiles. "Yeah, Tuesday's my early-morning class. Sorry I missed you."
"No matter. I have now left the house three days in a row and my sister is distressingly pleased about it. She says it is good for my mental health."
"And what do you think?"
He sighs, heavily. "She is not incorrect." He glances sideways at Hob again, eyes narrowed prettily. "But I am not going to admit it to her."
Hob laughs; he can't help it. "You are so completely valid for that," he says, and when Dream smiles in return his spirits soar.
~
"Remembered your umbrella this time, I see!" Hob ignores the little pang of disappointment; just because he doesn't need to share his umbrella with Dream this time doesn't mean they can't still have a conversation.
"My sister reminded me, yes," Dream answers, and then to Hob's great surprise he lowers and closes the umbrella. "But I would prefer to share yours, if you're amenable." His eyes flick up, just a hint of hopeful uncertainty showing there.
"Of course." Hob moves close, brings his umbrella over Dream's head, heart thudding in his chest with delight. He hopes the great spreading grin on his face doesn't put Dream off; he can't quite get it under control.
If Dream notices, he gives no indication. "This routine is working well for me," he says, and it takes Hob a second to cotton on to what he means.
"What, catching the bus in the rain every morning?"
"Yes," Dream says serenely. "The company is. Refreshing." The corners of his mouth tilt up the smallest bit.
"Nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," Hob says, making a valiant effort to sound normal while something warm blooms in the vicinity of his heart. He shifts the umbrella, making sure they're both still sheltered.
"Writing flows more easily when I return home after our morning conversations," Dream says, as if this is something they've been doing for weeks instead of just days. "I shall have to credit you in my author's notes."
Hob laughs, absolutely delighted. "That is extremely flattering, my friend, but wholly unnecessary. But if I'm at all helpful? I'm glad."
One day maybe he'll ask if he can see Dream's writing, when they've been acquainted for more than a week; one day further, perhaps, he'll ask him on a date. It certainly seems he'd be amenable, but Hob knows himself and his tendency to rush in full-tilt and tells himself there's no harm in just. Seeing what happens, for a little while.
~
"Share my umbrella?"
Dream looks askance at him, hair fluttering prettily across his forehead in the breeze. "It is not raining, Hob."
"Well no, but. Bit windy, isn't it? Wouldn't want you to suffer any windburn. Umbrella makes a decent wind-break." He has oh-so-smoothly said 'wind' three times in ten seconds, and it is the flimsiest of excuses to begin with, but Dream only smiles as if he's said something profoundly wise.
"Indeed. Truly, I am fortunate to receive your continued chivalry." He crowds in close to Hob, who angles the umbrella behind them to keep the wind off, and smiles.
~
The other patrons at the bus stop are giving Hob weird looks as he opens his umbrella, but there's only one person here whose opinion matters.
Dream tilts one eyebrow up, amused. "The sun is shining today, Hob Gadling. Yet still you offer your umbrella?"
"It's tradition, at this point. And besides—got a very fair complexion, haven't you? Bit of shade will do you good."
"…As you say." His smile is radiant as the sunshine, and Hob's heart thumps happily. "Thank you."
~
It's been about a month since that first meeting when Hob leaves campus for the afternoon and finds Dream waiting at the college bus stop. The morning's rain has cleared throughout the day but now rises again as a light drizzly mist; Dream is huddled into the meager shelter offered over the bench while pulling out his umbrella. Hob hurries over with his own already deployed, playing into their established pattern.
"Fancy meeting you here?" he greets, smiling. He's delighted to run into Dream outside their developed routine, and the way that Dream kind of blooms to see him is very satisfying.
"Hob. At last," Dream smiles, ducking under Hob's broad umbrella.
"Been waiting long?"
"…Somewhat. You see. I have. A question, I would like to ask you. An important one." The gravity in his tone is clear, and Hob might be worried if it wasn't so plainly obvious that Dream was nervous. "But I do not know your schedule, beyond your morning commute, and so…"
"Have you just been hanging around half the day waiting for me to show up?" Hob is equal parts appalled and delighted.
Dream meets his eyes briefly, glance flicking away again too quickly to interpret as anything other than confirmation. "Perhaps."
Hob laughs, aware he should possibly be alarmed by what any normal person would read as stalking behavior but utterly charmed by it instead. "Your patience has its reward, then. What was it you wanted to ask me?"
"I…ah." Dream colors prettily, the faintest pink flush across his cheeks as he stumbles over actually speaking his question, and Hob is rapidly escalating from 'charmed' to 'enamoured'. "I am not. Good, at—at—"
"Obviously it was important enough to identify my most likely location and wait hours for me to show up, right?" Hob cuts in gently. "Go ahead. I promise I won't judge you." He can hear the fondness seeping into his own voice, and apparently so can Dream. He lifts wide eyes to Hob, lips pressed together resolutely, and heaves a fortifying breath out through his nose.
"I wish to ask. Would you like to have dinner sometime. Or. Or coffee, perhaps."
The bus pulls up at that exact moment, disgorging a single passenger; Hob barely hesitates before waving the driver on.
"That was our bus?" Dream states, lilting up in such a way that it's clear he means Why did we not board, why are we still standing here?
"Well, yes," Hob agrees, very aware of the size of the dopey grin on his face. "But you see, a very dear friend of mine has just asked if I might like a bite to eat with him, and I know the most amazing little spot right around the corner."
"That. That is 'yes', then? Now?" Dream seems delightedly flummoxed, and it ratchets Hob straight up to 'besotted'. How could Dream think he'd ever say anything else? Although it occurs to him belatedly Dream might have other obligations for the evening.
"Well 'now' is certainly 'sometime', yes? If you're free, that is. If you've something else you have to do—"
"No. Nothing else," Dream cuts him off, and the warm smile spreading over his face makes Hob's heart skip a beat. "There is nowhere I should like to be more, just now."
Of course not, not when he'd dedicated the bulk of his day to waiting for Hob just to ask him out. "Wonderful. Shall we?" He offers his arm, angling the umbrella to keep the misty sprinkle off them still.
Dream tucks a hand into his elbow and falls into step beside him.
~
"Wanna try mine?" Hob offers, plucking a crispy slab of cheese from his plate with a bit of everything on it and holding it out, other hand cupped underneath. They are talking over plates of halloumi fries; Hob had gone for his favorite—smothered in pomegranate molasses and za'atar yoghurt with pomegranate arils and fresh mint garnish—and Dream had taken his drizzled in honey and sprinkled with sesame seeds.
"Thank you, I am fine," Dream says, rote politeness in his voice but curiosity in his eyes, and Hob arches a brow.
"Worried you'll have to spend a month stuck with me for each pomegranate seed?"
"That would hardly dissuade me," Dream replies, with a sweet little smile that hits Hob straight in the gut. "Very well, since you offer so generously." He leans forward, grasps Hob's wrist instead of the proffered food, and bites through the warm-crusted cheese while Hob's still holding it, lips brushing Hob's fingers as he pulls back.
He chews, making a contemplative face, and gently plucks the rest of it from Hob's hand while Hob is still scrambling to reboot his poor blue-screening brain and not make a fool of himself.
"Do you know," Hob blurts, grasping for anything, "whatever Persephone might have eaten in the underworld, it would've bound her there the same? It wasn't just because it was a pomegranate?"
"I did know that, yes," Dream replies, and Hob feels the flush of having said something fairly stupid rising into his face. "The pomegranate is a tidy choice for enumerating the months she stays below, I think, with the countable seeds." He plucks one of the ruby-red arils from the cheese that Hob had given him between two delicate fingertips and places it in his mouth, eyes on Hob in a way that makes him lose his brain again.
"Yes that's. Good point," Hob tries, and thankfully Dream pops the rest of the halloumi fry into his mouth without any fanfare or continued eye contact.
"I can see why you like this," Dream says, once his mouth is empty. "It is a wonderful blend of flavors. But the honey-sesame remains my favorite." He takes a bite from his own plate, and Hob tries not to fixate on the casual way he licks the honey off his rose-petal lips.
"I wrote an alternate version of Persephone's story, once," Dream says then, eyes not exactly meeting Hob's or even on his face, darting between his shoulder and his sternum and dropping back to his plate. "I made it her choice; they met and fell in love long before the abduction, which was closer to an elopement. She ate the pomegranate seeds deliberately so as not to be taken away from the partner she had chosen. In my version, it was the pomegranate specifically that would bind her."
"That sounds brilliant," Hob says, feeling a little starry-eyed; Dream has never really talked specifics about his writing before. "I'd love to read it sometime."
"It. Was many many years ago, before I ever considered publication," Dream admits, barely glancing up at Hob, still a little skittish. "I thought it a unique idea at the time, but there are dozens of Persephone remixes to be had and I have never felt it warranted the effort of reworking it from my current skill level or attempting to publish."
"Well for what it's worth, your version is the remix I'd be most interested in reading," Hob says, utterly sincere, smiling from ear to ear. "If you ever wanted to share, that is." He bites into another halloumi fry and speaks around it. "I would never pressure you to let me read your stuff if you don't want to. But I'm always interested."
"…Thank you." Dream covers his awkwardness with another dainty bite from his own plate, a hint of pink dusting across his cheekbones. When his mouth is empty again, he offers, "Mostly I have written. Romance."
"Oh?"
"Not under my own name. But yes."
"See it's fascinating that pseudonyms are so prevalent through the ages, and for so many reasons," Hob starts, and as the conversation turns in this new direction Hob does not miss how Dream relaxes to have the focus shifted from the vulnerable personal glimpse of himself he'd offered.
And Hob maybe falls a little bit deeper.
~
It's still lightly raining three hours later; they've talked about so many things, they've had dessert and then had coffee since neither of them were ready to leave yet. It's dark by the time they finally head back to the bus stop; Dream presses up against Hob's side beneath the umbrella and Hob thrills at the warmth, the closeness, the graceful slide of Dream's hand into his and the way he doesn't let go until the bus shows up.
~
It's raining again the first time Hob kisses Dream, pulling him close beneath the umbrella outside the theater, one finger tipped beneath Dream's chin; the kiss is tentative, but Dream's mouth is warm and the way he lists gently forward has Hob coming back again, soft and sweet and smiling helplessly.
~
Three straight days of rain are clearing on the afternoon that Dream takes Hob to the bookstore and leads him to the romance section, points him to a shelf in the 'M's where there are a dozen or so titles by Morpheus, mononymous. Hob doesn't make the connection for a second, and then he does.
"Is this you?" he asks, reaching for one of the hardbacks, and sure enough there's Dream's photo inside the dust jacket, solemn and styled and somehow less authentic than the Dream standing nervously next to him.
"Yes," Dream confirms, and soft warmth floods Hob's chest. Dream has been very reserved about his writing—"It is one thing to publish for strangers, but I find it…much more difficult to share, when it is someone whose opinon matters to me personally," he'd said once, and being trusted, opened up to like this—Hob is not oblivious to the privilege of it.
"You've certainly written a lot," he says, warmth and fondness curling in his chest. "And you're okay with me reading any of these?"
"Yes; however—" he reaches into the messenger bag slung over his hip, withdraws a large clear envelope with what looks like a manuscript inside. "If you wish to read my writing, I would have you begin with this." He hands it to Hob.
Hades and Persephone: The Morpheus Remix the paper proclaims through the plastic, and Hob looks up at Dream, delighted. "Is this—?"
"It needs a proper title." Dream shrugs, hunches into his coat a little bit. "I would like—perhaps you might help me come up with one, as it was you who inspired me to revisit and update it."
Hob cannot for the life of him stop the broad smile that overtakes his face, is not even trying. "I would be honored."
~
It is raining buckets the night that Dream comes home with Hob, and even the umbrella is not enough to prevent their getting a bit wet. But that's alright, Hob thinks, with Dream's eager mouth warm and hungry on his as they move in the direction of his bedroom, it's not like their clothes were staying on anyway.
He lays Dream gently in his bed, covers him with his own body, makes love to him with slow and ardent urgency while the rain lashes against his window. Later, after, when the winds have calmed and thunder rumbles soothingly in the distance, he holds Dream curled against him, asleep, and he thinks. He thinks about umbrellas, and shielding, and guardedness, and how Dream has slowly gifted so many of his vulnerabilities to Hob; he thinks about the duality of potential in that realization, the power it gives him to either harm or protect, and vows to himself that he will always be Dream's metaphorical umbrella when it's within his capabilities.
~
It's sprinkling just a little when Hob realizes that he's going to marry Dream.
It's early Autumn and they're at the park; Dream is under his own umbrella (look, sometimes sharing just isn't practical, as much as Hob still loves faithfully carrying on their schtick), scattering peas and grapes for the ducks and Hob is hanging back, watching him with an aching fondness in his heart.
Dream is beautiful, and thoughtful, and engaging. He is guarded and private, but so warm and emotional and giving once he has let you in. He is smart, and witty, with the driest sense of humor and the most endearingly terrible laugh and Hob has fallen desperately in love with him along the way.
He watches as a particularly bold duck comes close and snaps up the pea that had fallen directly at the toe of Dream's boot; watches the soft delight that steals over Dream's face, and he knows.
~
It is the following Spring before he asks. They are at the bus stop where they first met and it's a bright sunny day; Hob's got the umbrella up and they're shoulder-to-shoulder beneath it.
Dream is animated, excited, talking about his editor's latest feedback on his Persephone remix (The Seeds of Fate, they had decided to call it), and Hob is listening, very much interested but so so nervous. The little velvet box on his pocket is weighty, not physically of course but he can't stop touching it, hoping Dream will say yes, believing Dream will say yes.
At last, Dream turns to him, a little wrinkle of concern between his brows. "You feel…distracted; is everything alright?"
Hob smiles at him, entirely and wholeheartedly in love. He hooks the hand holding the umbrella with Dream's so their fingers are tangled together around it; he leans his forehead against Dream's, closes his eyes. "I have a question, I'd like to ask you. An important one." It's a deliberate echo of how Dream had asked him out more than a year ago; Hob can picture the way Dream smiles to recognize it, can feel one eyebrow lifting against his own.
He takes a deep breath, pulls the little box from his pocket and clicks the lid open. "Will you marry me?"
It's a quiet request, pitched low so the other couple people at the bus stop don't overhear, so that if Dream does wish to say no, he won't be under the public pressure of strangers to say yes for appearances' sake. Not that Hob expects him to say no.
He hopes he doesn't say no.
Dream pulls back and Hob opens his eyes, meeting the surprise and delight and disbelief in Dream's. Dream looks down at the ring in the open box in Hob's hand, touches a fingertip to the velvet-covered lid delicately, looks back up at Hob with joy blossoming in his face.
"Do you mean it? Truly?"
Hob swallows down the nervous lump in his throat, squeezes gently where his hand is tangled with Dream's around the handle of the umbrella. "More than anything," he murmurs, entranced by the gathering shine of happy tears in Dream's eyes. "Marry me. Please."
Dream makes a joyful little noise, wrenches his hand free and throws both arms around Hob's neck, kissing him soundly. Hob manages to snap the ring box closed and swing the umbrella low, wraps both arms around Dream's waist and kisses him back.
"Yes," Dream breathes wetly when they part a moment later. "Yes, of course yes, a thousand times, yes."
~
They marry in the park in August, the clouds high and the breeze warm. Hob puts up the umbrella when they reach the crux of the ceremony; he holds its history over them while they say their vows, while they slip rings on one another's fingers, and then they seal their marriage with a tender heartfelt kiss beneath its promise of care and protection.
=
Started: 2/3/24
Drafted: 2/24/24
Posted: 2/25/24
Fluffbruary 2024 Prompts
Day 3: umbrella seashore mist
Day 4: camera lush beau
Day 5: rescue inertia lullaby
Day 6: tie embarrassment* dessert
Day 7: potatoes blue glass
Day 8: shower blessed layer
Day 9: urgency kneel rural
Day 10: flush angel owl
Day 11: reflection water apology
Day 12: graceful volcano blanket
Day 18: suave cologne gradual*
Day 19: teacakes flood feature
Day 20: smooth glitters queen
Day 23: rhythm chalk humor
Day 24: spring fuzzy silky
*The word did not get used but the concept is very much in there
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Sequel: Love Rain Down On Me
✨✨✨
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