#I projected onto fictional characters again

[lukashaa]

Patho fanart of varying quality

[hardly-an-escape]

Stormy Weather, or: Outside, the Wind (Inside, the Light) | Dream/Hob | 1600 words | Rated T

tags: I recently spent an evening without power therefore I must put the blorbos in a Situation, love confessions, first kiss, getting together, power outages, Hob Gadling throughout history, gratuitious use of mildly accurate Middle English

The wind tears around London like a living thing, a wild animal, a predator, intent on the hunt. It chases birds into their nests and people into their homes, moans around corners and rattles shutters, sending piles of leaves whirling into miniature hurricanes and whipping branches into a frenzy, sharpening its claws on roof tiles and telephone poles.

Except in Hob Gadling’s flat.

The New Inn, and the cozy home above it, is in one of those old buildings that’s actually been loved and maintained – thanks in no small part to Hob’s own care and attention. The walls are thick and strong, the roof is solid. The shutters may rattle, but the windows are double-pane; the curtains and carpets are warm and soft, and no drafts encroach on the sanctity of his living room, where Hob and Lord Morpheus, King of Dreams, are having a movie night.

It’s part of Hob’s concerted effort to introduce the Prince of Stories to the stories he’d missed during his imprisonment. Tonight it’s Blade Runner – the final cut, of course – which isn’t necessarily one of Hob’s personal favorites, but seemed to fit the stormy, rainy vibes of the weather. They’re installed on the couch, with hot chocolate and wine and snacks, which Dream has deigned to pick at. Harrison Ford is eating noodles and wandering through wet, moodily-lit streets. The wind is howling outside, but they’re safe and warm and surrounded by soft things and life is about as good, Hob thinks, as it ever gets these days.

And then his lights flicker. Once, twice; there is the impression of a sort of electrical last gasp, and the room is plunged into darkness.

The wind whips and the shutters rattle. A volley of rain spits itself against the windows.

“Bugger,” says Hob.

Dream says nothing, merely brings his wineglass – which had already been cradled in one elegant hand – to his lips.

“Hang on,” says Hob. “I’ve got some candles around here somewhere.”

He gropes his way to the kitchen. In one drawer he unearths some beeswax tapers and several tea lights, which he arranges on a plate. He rummages in one of the deeper cabinets and makes a triumphant noise as he discovers his prize behind disused mugs and a fondue set from the 1980s: a pair of old-fashioned brass candlesticks equipped with round reflectors, highly polished to catch the light and bounce it back out into the darkness.

“You are remarkably well-prepared for an event such as this,” says Dream, as Hob lights his various prizes and returns to the living room with his hands full of flickering flames.

“Well, you know,” Hob demurs. “When it comes down to it, I’ve lived a lot more of my life without electricity than with it.” He arranges the tea lights on the coffee table and sets the brass candlesticks on a nearby bookshelf. “You never really get out of the habit of preparing for the worst. Although I will say, these beeswax ones beat the hell out of the old tallow jobbies we had when I was young. Got ‘em from a local bloke who keeps bees not half a mile away, isn’t that cool? A beekeeper in the middle of London. There, now,” he says, and having arranged the lights to his satisfaction he plops himself back down on the sofa.

Outside, the wind wails. The lack of lamps on the empty street below and the gentle candlelight within make the night seem even darker, and turn Hob’s living room into something even softer and cozier than it already is.

Dream’s face, in the flickering candles, seems even more otherworldly than usual; and Hob, for his part, truly looks as though he belongs in another century. The very shape of his face has changed, somehow, into something older; taking on a new appearance in the candlelight the way a man’s tongue might curl differently around the syllables of another language.

“I miss it, sometimes,” he says lowly. “This kind of world. Before the wires and the phones and the cars. It was… quieter.”

“You speak often of your delight in change and progress. Do you truly long for your past lives?” asks Dream.

“Yes and no,” answers Hob. “Some things are better now, no question. Antibiotics, wouldn’t want to live without those again. Vaccines and X-rays and chemotherapy and antidepressants – almost all the medical stuff. Mass transportation. Cars and planes have never been safer. Honestly, I’ve never understood the people who moan about the olden days and oh, life was simpler back then. Don’t they know how many people died? How many kids? Because they caught a cold or fell out of a tree or had a case of the runs that lasted a little too long?”

He leans forward to adjust one of the candles, which is dripping unevenly, and when he sags back into the couch there is just the hint of a frown between his strong brows.

“And yet…” he says, staring into the flames, voice quiet. “Nights like this. I do sometimes think…”

Hob trails off for a long moment.

“There was a rhythm to life, back then,” he says finally. “You counted hours by the church bells and days by the tasks that needed done. And there was so much that needed to be done… cows milked and fields planted and clothes knitted or mended. And it was all so important, so… necessary. Regimented. But in the in between time – Christ! your time wast thine.” As he speaks, his voice has slipped into an older register: his Rs grown rounder, his vowels longer, curling from his mouth to mingle with the candlesmoke hovering over his coffee table. “I remember fair hours as a lad, even into my manhood, of which I spent lyende in th’ fields, watching ants in th’ grass. And later, too, we’d hie us to bed with the sonne, the fire banked in the hearth. An’ it happen that if we awakened before dawn, ’twas a simple thing to pass the time in simple ways, be it in prayer or in pleasure…”

The innuendo in his words is clear, but Hob is not looking at Dream; his eyes are unfocused as he stares into the middle distance, revisiting the past via candlelight. Until one of the wicks lets out a small pop, and flares, and he shakes himself, coming back to the present.

“God, sorry,” he says, voice back in the 21st century. “Woolgathering. I’ll go on for an age, me. More wine?”

But Dream’s eyes have also gone unfocused, his lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling with unnecessary breaths as he stares – no, gazes – at Hob. He, too, must shake himself into the present moment at Hob’s offer of more wine. He silently holds out his glass.

“May I ask you a personal question?” Dream says.

“Anything. You know that.”

Dream pauses. Sips. Outside, the sound of the wind has not abated; has grown, if anything, even more dramatic. There is the muffled sound of branches scraping against the side of the building.

“Why,” asks Dream finally, “do you pretend to yourself that you do not want me?”

Hob chokes. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Why do you pretend thus to me?” Dream pursues. “Who has known you longer than any being on this planet or any other; who can know your innermost dreams?”

“What do you mean, other planets?” Hob demands. And then: “Have you been peeking at my dreams?”

“I need not peek, as you put it, to see the truth of the matter. It is writ plain on your face and in your every word and deed. I merely wonder why this truth has hovered before us for over six hundred years and you have yet to press your suit. Do you doubt, after all this time, my affection for you? Do you find me – unworthy?”

Dream sounds, impossibly, almost uncertain. Even vulnerable. Hob sighs heavily and leans forward, elbows on his knees and face in his hands.

“I – God. Dream,” he stammers. “Yes, Christ, I am full of doubts. You stormed away from me when I implied you might be lonely, I… I have never, once, thought I had a suit to press at all. What on earth has brought this on? Now, of all times?”

“I do not know,” Dream murmurs. “Perhaps… this darkness is working on me, as well. Perhaps I am as susceptible to candlelight and nostalgia as the next anthropomorphic personification.”

He smiles, a little quirk of the mouth that contains worlds, and Hob leans over, listing helplessly into Dream’s space as the tapers flicker.

“Fuck,” he whispers, pressing their foreheads together, turning his head to butt his cheekbone against the sharp line of Dream’s nose. “Art thou rēal? Speak you treue?”

“Aye, my Hob,” answers Dream. “Min herte is treue and bilongeth to you.”

A sob catches in the back of Hob’s throat at the words. “Fuck,” he whispers again, “Dream, I’m yours. I am. I always have been. My Dream, min sweven, my leof. Alwei, allesweis…”

Their mouths find each other, then, finally, lip against lip and breath against breath. They kiss for a long, long moment, desperate and hungry and soft all at once, as outside the wind howls coldly around the corners of the New Inn, and inside the light cast by Hob’s candles bathes their whole little world in a cozy glow.

“Take me to bed,” murmurs Dream against Hob’s mouth. “Make me your lover. Show me how you pass the time by candlelight, and in darkness.”

“Oh, darling. Dearheart,” Hob answers. “Nothing in this world or any world past could make me happier.”

And he suits his actions to his words.

[lazzarella]

Could be off base, but I was thinking about Fang (again! Surprise!) and, with a couple of things he says, I don't think it's the hugest stretch that he might see himself as difficult to love at times? Which makes it lovelier that, not only is he loved so easily, but he also accepts that love so easily. Like, he knows that Tan likes him before Tan asks him out, but he never pushes him away, he never doubts it, like other characters might. And, I don't know, I just think it's nice. I really like the way his character is written

[moonyswarmsweaters]

Marauders era characters as my self deprecating thoughts

cause I’m not doing well lol

James: Do people really like me ore do they just like the version of myself I decide to show them?

Sirius: If i will be dramatic enough when It’s not that bad people would normalize my real breakdowns

Remus: Keep a smile on, maybe this time “fake it till you make it “ will work. People don’t need to see when you struggle, it will make them sad and sorry for you

Peter: I don’t do enough for others, I’m not enough for others. Why can’t I be like the Others?

Mary : I worked SO hard not to be a people pleaser i think I became such a bitch people hate me

Regulus: God, I corrected them again I didn’t mean to be mean she is my friend she must hate me now, god that’s why nobody likes a know it all

Even: my friends told me they are a bit scared of me again, am I bad person for not completely hating it or am I just overprotective of myself after so long, I won’t hurt my friends, but maybe they wouldn’t hurt me again. I don’t want them to be scared of me, not really, I love them. How do I even have friends?

Barty: I got a good score on the test WHY DID I GET A GOOD SCORE ON THE TEST I didn’t study enough., it must be a mistake, just pure dumb luck I’m not smart enough everyone think i smart when i feel so fucking stupid

on a sirius note- if you need help, please get help. You matter and can rant to me any time 💕- edit written AFTER the breakdown lol

[partiallypearl]

how many parties do we think the tv!btr boys threw in minnesota pre moving to la

[ant-agonist24]

[lohstandfound]

hm.... exploring jake as nonbinary/agender who very much performs the act of masculinity because that is what is expected of him and coming to terms that he doesn't have to be, maybe he doesn't have to force himself into that mould

[wrenwinchester]

So. We know Dean watched Finding Nemo and Frozen. So obviously we’re all on the same page about Dean being a Disney adult. Now this post is specifically about Dean and Brother Bear.

It came out the same year as Finding Nemo, 2003, you know. While Sam was at college.

Obviously we can all agree Dean cried watching Finding Nemo. It just makes sense. But the entire time he was watching Brother Bear he was sobbing he kept seeing his baby brother in Kenai and himself in Denahi. (And honestly in every sibling relationship. Like Sitka and Denahi, and Sitka and Kenai, and also maybe most obviously Kenai and Koda) And he just sobbed at the end because the whole story just echoed how he felt about Sam going to college, sure he felt lost and alone, but he also wanted what was best for his brother, and Sam didn’t need him anymore.

After the movie was done he called Sam, and that was the last time they talked before the pilot episode.

[theenemyod]

Magisterium characters agere headcannons (because I'm really stressed rn and have been regressing then not regressing then regressing again since like 1 am last night)

If you're going to see this as sexual just don't read it. SFW. NOT SEXUAL.

Aaron:

Regresses to 2-5 normally

Age dreams a lot as well

Cg is Call

Really likes oversized clothes n just stuff that's too big for him when he's regressed

Favourite little activity is colouring

Mostly voluntary

Can be clingy

Prefers outside to inside

Doesn't hide his regression but doesn't really tell many people about it either

Only people who actually know he regresses and isn't acting like a little kid for no reason are Call, Tamara and Jasper

Got a bit of gear, not that much (a paci and a sippy I'd say)

Alex:

Regresses to 0-6

No cg

Told Kimiya about it once, she didn't say much and just mostly acted like he didn't say anything

For years had no clue it had a name, just thought he's weird

Involuntary

Normally regresses when thinking about too dark things

Also adding on that he really likes horror stuff so he's thinking about too dark things all the time

Most commonly regresses when plotting murder or watching horror movies, also quite frequently in experiments

But hides it when it happens in experiments because Call's there and he thinks he'll be judged (he's right, Call is okay with it when it's Aaron because Aaron is his boyfriend best friend, but definitely not Alex)

Not open at all

Air magic illusions to comfort himself

No gear

Wants to play with dolls a lot

Doesn't have dolls, unfortunately

Jericho:

Regresses to 0-2

Regresses when tired mostly

Sometimes does it voluntarily, sometimes doesn't

Sleepy all the time

Has like 27376372 stuffies

Also completely hogs gear (no one needs that many paci's, even if the designs are good. Save some for the rest of us)

Cg is Constantine

Needs cuddles 24/7

Also blankets. Blankets are a requirement

Extremely clingy

Constantine:

Regresses to 8-9

Flip/switch (I can't remember what it's called, when you're both a cg and a regressor)

Jericho's cg

Very hyperactive

Before leaving the Magisterium Alastair was cg, after leaving he technically didn't have one he just made himself Master Joseph's problem

Only time he allows himself to act stupid is when he's regressed

Looking after Jericho while they're both regressed is "mum said I have to play with my little brother" energy.

Threw a small tantrum when he realised him and Jericho aren't the same age when regressed

Didn't actually realise he was regressing for ages (since it's not that much younger than his big age, especially compared to the rest of the ones I headcannon)

Also the only time he allows himself to be messy.

Again, if you're going to take this as sexual, leave.

DO NOT INTERACT IF YOU'RE GOING TO BE MEAN AND/OR SEXUAL ABOUT THIS

[icewindandboringhorror]

Apparently I can meet my goal of roughly 400,000 words in 6 months if I just somehow write at least 2,200 words a day ghbjh... Almost 2,500 today... huzzah...

[natestars-corner-of-curiosities]

At first I was like “what if I made 11 sibling OCs for the March Hare from Alice in Wonderland and named them all after months of the year” as a joke. But bro, I don’t think it’s a joke anymore.

[karliahs]

going through my old bnha drafts and there's like 5k of bullying-related hurt/comfort that's maybe 80% finished? and I'm annoyed bc I want. To read the end. Who would be so cruel as to abandon this without a conclusion. 25 year old me you have a lot to answer for

[brytnoter]

terzo x omega but only because of the one thing where terzo gets dragged off stage and omega starts to rush towards him. and omega thinking that he had plenty of time to just enjoy everyone's company as a band before having his beloved ripped away without ever having confessed his love and every "encounter" (drawing) they have is either a desperately replayed memory or fantasy with the heavyness that they can't be together any more, OR an actual occurance because they met in the afterlife and got together and are safe, and being able to go all in because

and that if terzo had never gotten dragged off stage no one would ever have said anything to the other

[ithilien-writes]

just rewatched the ramon & eddie scene in 5x17 and it just makes 7x10 so much more obnoxious, like. where was that ramon??? that was such an incredibly powerful scene and then they did literally nothing with it afterwards. like why wasn't this storyline about the diaz parents actually showing up for eddie for once??? can we pls just let me live in a fantasy world where parents can decide to not suck anymore and actually make amends with their adult kids???

[vague-bisexual-crimes]

So which of The Ark had a David Bowie phase that fundamentally altered them as a person?

[nyxdimandis]

with the full disclaimer that i might be missing some context or significant piece of information & am fully welcoming anyone to inform me, i feel like. it really just doesn't seem like a huge deal that one of the "poison" storyboard artists is into "dark" kink. like this really feels like a non-issue to me