#and hob is stubborn

[samsalami66]

Another addition to the Dreamling Ancient Greece au I am working on with @im-not-corrupted , a short little drabble called Reed Beds in which Hob collects fresh reed in the biting cold to continue a woven bed boys in the agoge had to make by themselves during their first stage of training. Enjoy!!

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The Eurotas felt like a respite in Hob's weekly routine, an oasis in the cruel desert that was training in the agoge. The sun's sword still slashed through the lands, her attacks never seemed to seize in summer, but the soft stream of the Eurotas felt like a shield held before him, a protector that would envelop him in his entirety, soothing every ache in his bruised body.

It was a blessing, one the Spartans received from Eurotas himself ages ago.

Of course it couldn't last. Nothing ever did, after all.

During winter Hob's oasis would warp and twist into his very personal hell, growing fangs of frost and claws of ice, burning his bare feet until his skin would shed and his extremities turned an ugly grey. The sun could not do this, not anymore. Hob's body had become used to her heat, to the onslaught of her attacks, the brutality of them. His feet still burned when he stepped on raw stone, the heat an ever present companion with every step he took.

But the cold was different, as it did not simply burn the soles of his feet where they pressed against the rough surface of the ground. It seeped into Hob's legs, into his bloodstream, like roots crawling up his body to bind him to the ground. Never were they enough to make him stumble, to make Hob fall to the ground so they could catch onto his arms, like the chains that bound Prometheus in his endless torture.

No, Hob pushed on, shook off the chains and set one foot in front of the other. Still, he could not handle the dwindling feeling in his feet well, could not stop the horror that would grow in his throat when the colour of his skin started to change. Some of his friends had lost toes to the cold, and their screams as the doctors had treated them still gave him nightmares.

It was those nightmares replaying in his mind that truly had Hob shiver as he stepped foot into the freezing waters of the Eurotas, the fear of losing to the cold for the first time in his life pressing on his lungs as he waded through the shallow waters. The stream was lapping at Hob's chest as he pulled a small knife from a sheath on his belt.

The temperature of the river had his teeth clattering, but Hob merely clenched his teeth against it and waded further into the stream, further into the current that could so easily drag him beneath the surface.

It didn't.

Hob was steadfast, completely impenetrable in the torrential river. With his feet digging into the soft ground, bracing him against the forces trying to drag him under, Hob managed to reach the reed bed on the other side. He took his knife to the thick grasses, cutting off bundles of long stems, a concentrated frown breaking his young features into a soft grimace.

These would do for the next row of his bed, thick but bendable, perfect for weaving. Hob nodded to himself as he bound the grasses together with a rope he had made from the thinner ends of those he had collected about a week ago. Once he secured his finds for the day, Hob waded back to the edge of the river and climbed out of it, allowing the full body shiver to take over his consciousness for just a moment. His teeth clattered, his hands shook violently, and for a moment the black behind his eyelids turned into a blinding white.

When it was over, Hob set his jaw and started walking again, the sun waving mockingly at him from the distance as the roots of cold grabbed for his ankles every step back towards the city.

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Make sure to follow Eris for more wonderful content! You can find all of our drabbles and additions to the au under the tag dreamling ancient greece au, in case you want to have it all in one spot!

[luveline]

jadey you write poly marauders in such a special way it feels so realistic i love it so much 🥹 how do you think it would go if reader and one of them get into a fight/argument? like how would it affect the overall dynamic? (if this inspires anything pls go for it 💕💕💕)

thank you for requesting! fem

Remus lays with his head on your shoulder, but he’s not happy about it. James and Sirius aren’t subtle. They’d forced the two of you together and yes, Remus has missed you, but he doesn’t want to speak to you and he’s sure you’re feeling the same. 

You have put your hand atop his, not holding but resting there. He might be forgiven. He hopes he’s forgiven, but he doesn’t forgive you, so. 

James has made Remus’ favourite popcorn, freshly popped and doused in butter and caramel he made himself with sugar over the hob. Remus takes great grateful handfuls, given the added benefit of James’ smug smiling. Each piece he eats is like James’ receiving a job well done, and Potter’s can’t help but preen. 

Sirius sneaks bits of it over you. You don’t eat any, pointedly, your leg on Sirius’ knee and your foot wagging constantly. Restless. Annoyed. 

“Will you be angry with each other forever?” Sirius asks. 

“Sirius.”  

“What? I’m just asking.” 

“You’re being abrupt,” James says. 

Remus sighs until they both stop talking. He doesn’t know how long you’ll be angry with one another. For him it seems to come and go, and it doesn’t always help that James is neutral about it while Sirius’ loudly complains that you’re not yet over it after a frosty weekend. He wishes one of them would’ve backed him up, but then, he can’t imagine how that would feel for you. It’s not like he wants you to be upset. It’s just an unfortunate consequence of the whole thing. 

You’d cried when you argued but you’d been angry, too, quipping at him with a sharp tongue, not afraid to say what you’d felt, just overwhelmed enough to come to tears. They weren’t, you know, devastated tears or anything, but Remus had felt a pit open where his stomach was supposed to be as Sirius (Sirius, and not James, which felt important at the time) curled his arm around you and encouraged you to take a breather. 

James had stayed, giving Remus a good hug as he’d murmured, “That got too heated, huh? You okay?” 

Remus gets weird about James. About all of you, but James had been his first crush, so sometimes he feels rather daunted in the face of his affection. James likes that he can make Remus blush, but nobody’s acted very fond these last few days. It’s weird. It’s all off. The love is still there, but it’s like everyone’s afraid of showing it. 

You argued about something Remus said, and you misunderstood, and then something you said and Remus understood very well. Never the end of the world, but Remus is stubborn. He shouldn’t be. 

Remus turns his hand slowly under yours. To his relief, you let him do it, sliding your fingers between his. 

He lifts his head a touch. You don’t look at him. Sirius grins from the other side of you, and Remus ignores him. 

You slip further down into the sofa, Remus going with you, the whole group of you tired from a weekend on eggshells. 

Having seemed rather far away for the afternoon, you begin to relax. You force Remus’ head up to tuck yourself into his neck. When the movie ramps into a loud scene of gunshots and high speed car chase, you lift your lips to his ear and say, “I’m sorry, Lupin, but don’t you ever speak to me like that again.” 

He’d bristle if you didn’t sound teasing. Remus squeezes your hand, turns to see your face, and whispers back. “I’ll talk to you any way I like.” You huff a laugh. He’s so pleased to see a smile on your face that his resentment drains away completely. “I’m sorry, too,” he says. 

You nod at him. You accept his apology as he’d taken yours. An hour of being sat arm to arm and a half hour of hand-holding has reminded you both how much you really, really like the other. 

“Can we kiss and make up?” James asks. 

“I think that’s usually saved for the arguing parties,” Remus says. 

“We can argue, if you like,” you tell James. 

“Shall we?” James asks. 

Sirius argues with Remus once a week at least —nothing serious— and he knows the potency of a rough makeup kiss, sending him a knowing, inviting smile. “We can argue, Moony,” he says. 

Remus hugs you with one arm. “I’ve had enough arguing. I’m never doing it again.” 

“Good. I’m very tired, playing peacekeeper and all,” James says, slouching away from everyone. “Exhausted, even.” 

“What shall we do to make it up for him?” Remus asks you, having quickly descended into sickly sweetness, a murmur pressed into your cheek. 

“What does he want?” 

“What do you want, James?” 

James sits up. “Well, it wasn’t just me, you know. Sirius has been comic relief two days running. He’s not usually this funny otherwise.” 

“I resent that.” 

“Luckily for you both, there’s two of us,” Remus says.

You laugh, because you know what Sirius will say before he says it. “No!” you say, lifting a foot to kick at his leg. 

“Don’t be so rude,” Sirius says, grabbing you by the ankle. 

James decides you’ll celebrate with a takeaway and Sirius decides he’ll pick which one for being so diligently well-behaved this weekend, leaving you and Remus alone for the first time all day. Things feel a bit more raw, less soothed, but not bad. Remus peels away from you to look at you properly. 

“You okay?” you ask. 

“I was about to ask you the same thing.” 

“I’m okay if you are.” 

Remus taps your under the jaw, a little to the left, encouraging you to turn your head. He kisses you on the cheek. 

In the kitchen, James and Sirius giggle like school kids. Somebody gets a good whack in with a tea towel, and the other shrieks. “You thing!” Sirius says. 

Remus feels your side shake with laughter.

[maraudersilver]

Sit on my face (Haymitch Abernathy x Fem!Reader)

Warnings: face riding, oral (f! receiving), mentions of past sa, slight spoilers for SOTR, porn with plot. MDNI A/N: I don't know what this is. I was thinking about Haymitch's nose and suddenly I was writing a whole smut one shot about it. I do not write much smut lately, so I'm sorry if it's not the toe curling type. English is not my first language and I wrote this during an hour brainrot. Wc: 2,8K

"I want to sit on your face."

Haymitch looked up from the book he was reading, one he had snatched from Plutarch's library a long time ago. It was nothing interesting, something about scientific theories of old regarding space. Sid would have loved it, he thought, more than him.

"What?"

"I want to sit on your face," you repeat, louder this time. "If you wanna, or course."

"Why wouldn't I want that?"

He blinked at you, deadpanned, book forgotten in his lap as he rearranged himself in the loveseat.

It had been a couple years since Snow was killed and a new government arose. It wasn't perfect, not by any means, but at least it was democratic and the districts had more freedom than they had known in seventy five years.

You had been a fellow victor, the survivor of the 60th Hunger Games. Survivor. Never winner. After the revolution, you had fled to district 12 with him, babbling about a life of peace away from people. You had no family left, and your friends had been killed during the bombing of the Capitol, all of them trained medics who lost their lives trying to save others.

He had been adamant on pushing you away, warning you that he didn't want, didn’t need, more company than he allowed. Good thing you were as stubborn as a mule.

After twenty-five years of solitude where he thought he would never love again, you had carved open his heart and wrote your name in neon colours. Having breakfast with him, making sure he was still alive by checking from time to time, accompanying him to feed his geese.

One time, you had followed him to Lenore Dove's resting place when you saw him going deep into the woods, fearing he would do something stupid. He had been infuriated with you, screaming about lacking any privacy and about you sticking your nose everywhere you weren't invited in. Instead of leaving, as he was used to people doing, you had kneeled beside him and shared his grief, silent as little by little every detail about his beloved Lenore Dove left his lips.

Even since, you made sure to gather the most beautiful and colourful flowers in the meadows for him to carry Lenore Dove to her grave, your sweet voice always mumbling something along the lines of 'tell her I said hi!' in a cheerful voice.

He didn't mean to. Not at all. But as Lenore Dove had told him once, the walls of a person's heart were not impregnable, not if they had ever known love. And love you he did. At first in silence, almost in denial. Then he started with acts of service, like fixing a broken door or walking you down to the Hob. But if you ever asked him, he would dismiss his efforts as ‘tryin’ to get you off my ass before you pestered me.’

It took him more than a year after the revolution to finally admit to himself that he was irrevocably, deeply, truly in love with you. In a way he thought he would never be able to again.

But how could he not, with how cute, sweet, intelligent and stubborn you were. His heart jumped at the sight of you whenever his eyes laid upon you, now not being the exception.

And when Lenore Dove gave him a thumbs up in dreams, he knew it was time to finally be happy after more than two decades of misery. His love was fine with him having another love, and when you confessed to also feeling your heart bleeding for him the same way he did for you, the gates of heaven opened for him again. 

“I don’t know. I mean, we’ve never even talked about it. Maybe it’s not something you’re okay with.” You shrugged your shoulders, biting your lip in the nervous tick he had learned to recognize. 

“It’s not as if we’ve shagged enough to bring it up, love.”

It was true. Intimacy had been brought up a few weeks before, and it had been slow paced for both your sakes. After all, both yours and Haymitch’s only experience came from the abuse suffered at the Capitol. And he had never made love to Lenore Dove, too innocent and pure back then to think of it. It was new, and it took a while to feel comfortable in such positions again. 

But he craved you. The more you shared with him, the more his selfish ass wanted to claim. The sweet sounds you made, how your body reacted to his touch, the plump flesh of your lips. And he had been wondering how you tasted for a while now, his cock painful against his pants at the thought of his tongue on you late at night. 

“Yeah, I know,” you sighed, looking up at him sheepishly. He found it funny, how fierce and sassy you were most of the time, and how shy you became at any mention of sex. “But maybe we should start putting on the table things we would like to try.”

“Okay, why not.” Haymitch nodded, lips pressing in a thin line. “I would like to taste you. So I’m in with you riding my face, love.”

“Oh,” you mumbled, not expecting him to agree so easily.

Haymitch smirked at your bashful expression, eyes straying to the geese outside the window, wandering around the meadows. 

“Anything else?” he pressed, reclining in his seat with a manspread that had you eyeing him hungrily with a mix of longing. 

“Um, not for the moment. And you?”

Haymitch shook his head, one of his hands rubbing his stubble absentmindedly. “Let’s start with that. We can add one at a time. Sounds good?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, your attention shifting back to the embroidery in your hands. 

It wasn’t until a week later that it happened. Haymitch and you had been invited to a small festival by the new District 12 town to celebrate an old festivity lost to Snow’s reign of terror. You had been wearing a tight red dress, so tight it left little to the imagination. 

You didn’t get to leave the house at all.

Before opening the door, Haymitch pressed your front against the wooden surface, hands roaming your hips and ass, squeezing for dear life. “Damn, love. Nice dress,” he whispered in your ear, nibbling at the lobe before licking his way down to your neck. 

“Put it on just so you could take it off,” you sighed, tilting your head to the right to give him more access to your skin, which he nipped and kissed while his hands grabbed your thighs. 

“Is that right? At least won’t feel bad when I tear it apart,” he chuckled, turning you around and kissing your lips harshly.

It was hungry, desperate. His lips pressed almost forcefully against yours, tongue already licking your lower lip for access. Your tongues intertwined, teeth clashing, breathing ragged through your noses while your hands found leverage on his shoulders. His stubble scratched pleasantly against your soft skin, tender to the touch afterwards. 

His hands clenched to your waist, pushing you harder against his chest, fisting your dress as much as he could, as if trying to melt the fabric with the warmth of his hands. 

You pulled apart to breathe, a thread of saliva still connecting your lips to his. His were plump, swollen and angry red, surely as his tip would be if you pulled down his pants at that very moment with how hard you felt him against your thigh. So handsome, so ethereal. 

“Dumbstruck already, sweet girl? Have barely touched you and you already look prettily fucked,” Haymitch teased, licking your lips playfully. It did nothing to hide his wrecked state. 

“Don’t get too cocky, old man. Let’s see if you can keep up tonight, huh?”

Haymitch’s chest rumbled with an animalistic growl. Suddenly, you were lifted in his arms bridal style. You squealed, grabbing his shoulders harder at the lack of stability, your boyfriend just snickering at you. 

If he didn’t look so breathtakingly hot, you would have slapped his chest. 

He kissed you again, as desperate as before, swallowing your pathetic whimpers as he brought you upstairs to your shared bedroom. He didn’t pull away until he lowered you on the floor, to which you arched a brow, breathless and hazy.

“No mattress?”

“How am I supposed to take this dress off if you’re laying your ass down on the bed, dumbass?” He snorted at your narrowed eyes, chuckling when you swatted his bicep. “Alright, alright, no need to get violent. C'mere.”

With one hand, he held your cheek as if you were the most precious thing his eyes had ever laid upon, lips grazing your jaw down to your neck again, sucking and leaving love bites in its wake. You gripped his forearms, feeling your knees weak. His other hand pulled down the zipper on your back slowly, savouring the way the clothing fell down from your shoulders to your chest, leaving the valley of your breasts in sight for him.

Haymitch licked his lips, already craving the feeling of your tits in his mouth and hands, wanting to feel the weight of them. In less than a second, your dress was ripped to the floor. You gasped, both for the aggressive rush and for the cold air of the room caressing your mostly naked skin. 

“So pretty,” Haymitch groaned, lips attaching to the visible skin of your right breast, his hands fighting against the hook clumsily. 

You couldn’t help but whine in need, grabbing his hair and guiding him down to your nipple once he successfully tossed your holder away somewhere in the room. His warm breath and hot tongue contrasted with the cooler ambience of the room, so sweet and pleasant on your skin. 

You tossed your head back, sighing at his ministrations. Haymitch now licked your other breast, hand playing with your right nipple and fondling the flesh. It was paradise, his touch almost reverent. The sting of his stubble grounding you to the moment.

Trying to feel his skin, you started unbuttoning his shirt, which had so nicely stuck to his sexy dad bod. Haymitch was a forty-three year old alcoholic, in no way shaped like you had seen him on his games more than two decades before. But, if you had to be honest, he looked better than ever in your eyes. 

His shirt joined your discarded clothing, along with your panties not too long after, and your hands roamed over his hairy chest and liquor belly, wanting nothing more than to lick it. However, Haymitch had grabbed your hair and leaned to kiss you once more, walking you backwards until your knees hit the bed.

He laid you both down, turning so you were on top of him. To say you were confused was an understatement, but you didn’t waste time to pepper his neck and chest in kisses and bites.

“Wait, love,” Haymitch breathed, pulling you up to face him by your forearms. At your lustful eyes, pupils wide and consuming your beautiful irises, he hissed; heart hammering in his chest when you tilted your head in confusion again. “I want you to sit on my face.”

You almost choked on your breath, a moan leaving your parted lips in an unwilling display of desire. “Really?”

Haymitch grasped both your cheeks softly, pecking your lips over and over again. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Ride my face, pretty thing.”

He helped you up, worshipping your body on your way to the head of the bed. You could feel your hands sweating and your lungs constricting in nervousness. What if he didn’t like your taste? What if you smelled? You were definitely not depilated like the women back at the Capitol, and for the first time in your life you feared your hair. Maybe he didn’t like it.

But all fears disappeared when you heard his groan as you straddled his head. You could barely see his eyes, but the grey of them was focused entirely on your wet entrance, clenching around nothing and waiting for his mouth to alleviate the ache. 

“You’re so fucking perfect, sweet girl. Need your pussy on me, darling. Need to taste you.” His voice was hoarse in lust, deeper than you had ever heard him speak. 

That was all you needed to lower yourself to his awaiting mouth with the aid of his hands on your hips, and your core immediately had his tongue licking a stripe up to the hood of your clit. You spasmed, moaning loudly and placing your hands on the headboard to support your point of gravity. 

He groaned, clenching his hands around the flesh of your hips. “For fuck’s sake, you taste  so fucking good,” he moaned. Haymitch. Moaned. Haymitch had moaned! It only fueled you farther, moving slowly up and down his mouth, his stubble pinching the inner of your thighs and your rear in a painful, pleasant scratch. Tomorrow your skin would be sore for sure. 

His thumbs came up to lift the hood of your clit, his tongue twirling around it and sucking it into his mouth. Jolts of pleasure cursed down your spine, your nails holding to the headboard for dear life, your things and knees trembling as a finger entered you and pumped in and out of you in rhythm with his hot mouth on your clit.

"Haymitch! P-please, don't —ah!—, don't stop!"

When you thought it couldn’t get any better, he pulled away slightly to blow cold air on your core, which had you screaming and squirming in his grasp. He just chuckled, the rumbling of his lips a blessing as his tongue returned to your entrance, replacing his finger.

In a swift motion, you rubbed your clit against his nose. Your eyes rolled back, hips moving faster, riding his face as he had basically pleaded. Oh, how much you had dreamed of that crooked and big nose of him on you. It continued rubbing your bundle of nerves, tongue switching between thrusting in and out and licking your juices. His hands now squeezing your ass, fondling the tender flesh.

It didn’t take long for the familiar knot at the pit of your stomach to form, coiling deliciously. You could feel your throat going sore from how loud Haymitch’s mouth was making you moan. One of your hands came down to grab his locks, and Haymitch groaned again against your pussy, tongue as deep in you as he could master. 

A slap to your ass and his nose rubbing circles to your clit was enough for black spots to form in your sight, pleasure cursing from the very inside of your core to the tip of your fingertips, your orgasm crashing you like a wave to the rocks. Your thighs clenched so hard around his head you feared you were going to crush his skull. One of his hands came up to fondle your left breast, thumb and index finger twirling your nipple.

“Cum for me, sweet girl. Cum in my mouth,” Haymitch begged, nose still stimulating the place you needed him most, his tongue following to lap at your juices as you came hard in his mouth. Your body spasmed on top of him, toes curled and thighs pressed against his ears painfully. 

You could barely keep your hips moving without collapsing, and when his licking became too much for your overstimulated pussy, you pulled away and sat on the pillow next to Haymitch’s head, both of you trying to regain your breathings and composure. You looked down at him, and you moaned at the sight. His eyes were lustful, and his chin was covered in your cum and spit, hair sprayed over the pillow. His forehead was furrowed in strain, the fine lines carved in his face over the years painting the picture in brighter colours.

It was an image you would keep safely guarded in your memories for the rest of your life, how beautiful your man looked with his face ridden. Overwhelmed with affection, you leaned down to kiss his lips, tasting yourself on his lips and swallowing his grateful whimper.

“How was it?” he succeeded in asking, breathing still ragged.

“Amazing,” you admitted, laying down next to him, hands coming up to clean his chin tenderly, to which he smirked triumphantly. “I mean it! Best orgasm ever.”

He huffed a laugh, chest going up and down rapidly. “Good to know, because I want you on my face again.”

You chuckled until you noticed the serious look in his grey eyes, and your smile dropped immediately. “Like, right now?”

He nodded, smiling mischievously at you. Hell, he was going to kill you of overstimulation. 

No need to say, Haymitch became addicted to you riding his face every working day.

[s0urw00lf]

𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐧’ 𝐲𝐨𝐮

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐏𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐝𝐠𝐞, 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐦

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝐀𝐍: 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 @fandom-princess-forevermore 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚. 𝐈 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐦 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐠𝐢𝐜 𝐛𝐜 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐢 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭. 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐢𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦.

Masterlist

“Come on buck, i promise you’ll like it its one of my favorite books” you pleaded to him for the third time this week. Bucky had regrettably let it slip that he’d read the hobbit before and ever since then you’d been begging him to read Harry Potter.

You knew it’d take a lot of convincing to get Bucky to actually read something you recommended, but you hadn’t been prepared for how stubborn he’d be about it. Bucky glanced at the book you were holding out to him, not showing any kind of interest in it. Bucky looked at you still not convinced, “doll I’m not gonna read a book about a magic school, it’s not even realistic.” He said.

You gave him a look “you literally fought along side gods, aliens, wizards, and a crime fighting bug; two actually, but a school for magic is unbelievable?” You ask incredibly. You had a good point, Bucky knew that but he’d already said ‘no’ and he didn’t feel like seeing your smug smile when he read it and actually enjoyed it. But his expression told you he was still not budging.

You threw your head back with a groan, “oh come on buck, i swear it’s almost as good as the hob-“ you cut yourself off as an idea popped into your head. And Bucky saw it, the look and blew for you could even say anything “nope” he shook his head, you gave him an offended look “you didn’t even hear what i was gonna say” you defended.

He shook his head again “doesn’t matter answered no” he stood from the couch grabbing his mug and walking into the kitchen to pour himself some more coffee, you followed after “babe just hear me out please” you pleaded, at this point ready to fall to your knees. He poured the still warm coffee into his cup and turned towards tou looking defeated. “Fine tell me” he said. A smile spread on your face “what if… what if i read i to you-“ “no doll” he cut yourself off now walking back out of the kitchen. You threw your head back “oh come on buck now you’re just being stubborn” you said before following him.

“Im being just as stubborn as you honey” he defended lightly. You rolled your eyes with a sigh. “Why dont i just read you the first chapter, you can sit still long enough. And if you like it I’ll keep reading.” You tried again. “If i dont?” He asked. You sighed “if you don’t ill stop asking”

Bucky went quiet for a moment, as if weighing hour his options before he answered “okay first chapter and we’ll see from there” he finally gave in. You stood excitedly rushing to your shared bedroom to grab the first book, Bucky watched with hidden amusement at how excited mundane things such as reading to him made you. You returned with the book and a huge smile on your face, plopping down next to him before opening the book. “Okay. Chapter one, the boy who lived”-

Bucky listened to the soothing sound of your voice, imitating how you think the characters sound and it somehow made his heart clench. He never thought he’d be able to do things like this after leaving hydra. But god was he grateful he could especially with you. He watched hoe a smile spread on your face as you read your favorite parts or how you’d frown whenever dursleys were mentioned.

Before he knew it the first chapter was over and you were looking at him with an expectant look, wondering how he felt about it. He rolled his eyes playfully “i liked it” he said. You smiled widely “so i can keep going?” You asked hopefully. ‘Please do’ was what he wanted to say but he settled for a simple “yeah doll”. You smiled even wider and repositioned yourself so that your head was in his lap, and kept reading. He knew he was in for it when the book was over and he actually admitted he’d want to read the next book as long as you read to him. But he didn’t care, he wanted to make more memories like these.

Here at home, on his couch drinking coffee with the love of his life in his lap reading to him about a boy in a magic school.

[densewentz]

Animal Features Day 6 is me using Hob and Dream to play with a new style. Also I just think they're both stubborn old goats in love, so.

[gabessquishytum]

King Hob's late father (King Pious the 2nd , may he rot) was a horrible King, universally hated by his subjects.

But King Pious made a deal with something he called The Entity for protection and prosperity (for himself, if not specifically for his kingdom). And lest you think the deal or this entity contributed to making the dead king horrible - nope. King P needed the deal to prevent anyone from putting an arrow in his face.

The reason that you need to know this now, is because the king negotiated his deal so that the consequences would be due to be paid by his descendants ~ first born son this, male issue that.... and well King Hob is the one in line to bear the weight of the consequences. Hob still tries to be a good king, but he is so very tired of paying the price for Pious's a$$hole-ry.

Hob has spent so much of his life researching the deal and The Entity, that he thinks he's finally found where The Entity might "live". Leaving trusted advisors in charge of the kingdom, Hob sets off to see if he can convince the entity at the heart of his family's curse to stop it.

***

Dream has stopped caring about mortals or the concerns of men; they are all greedy and grabby and only come to him when they want something. He's even stopped entertaining them when they want to make "deals" - mortals whine sooo much when it's time to pay their price (deal with consequences of their greed).

So he's surprised when someone marches up to his (hard to reach) home requesting an audience.

Hob is amazed that he found the Entity after all this time.....and he's not leaving until he gets this curse (not of his own making) removed!

This is a great idea!!! It would be particularly funny if Hob goes to all this trouble searching Dream in order to negotiate his way out of the curse. Only to find out that Dream completely forgot about the deal, doesn't care about it at all, and wasn't going to do anything to Hob because it would be way too much hassle. He is actually quite impressed by Hob’s tenacity. And Hob is facepalming because all of his effort was for nothing.

...well not nothing exactly. Turns out the entity is kind of super gorgeous, and Hob is rapidly falling in love with the pale face and starry eyes. As Dream attempts to get Hob to leave him in peace, Hob becomes more interested in staying put. He's been studying Dream for so long, and now he can't just bring himself to walk away from the real thing.

To make him go away Dream is like "Well then I DO curse you. I curse you to live forever and never to be free of your heartache." And Hob is like "...that's not really a curse, I would love to love you forever." Poor Dream is lost for words. What's an Entity to do with such a stubborn human?!

Well. He could always fall in love with Hob and help him to run his kingdom in peace and prosperity. That's always an option. Dream might do it out of spite, actually - it would serve Hob right! or something......

[cuubism]

i was reading about mules recently (how they're stubborn and good at self-preservation) and now i'm convinced equestrian au dream & hob also rescue donkeys/mules. one of them gets named matthew, to groom!matthew's chagrin. they are excellent for doing cross-country stuff.

I think Dream would absolutely love mules and bring home the most ornery untrainable one in the world, and Hob would just fall to his knees in despair like, "Dream for ONCE can you get an animal that doesn't want to kick me in the head?" (All of Dream's ponies try to bite Hob all the time). In any case, the mule is Dream's problem now. He can teach it how to bite Roderick. It looks like this I think, very shiny with the classic huge ears

Hob's like well if you've gotten a new horse, it's only fair if I get one too. I want an Andalusian

Dream: I got this mule for £100 at a livestock fair, you want a £20,000 Andalusian from Spain?

Hob: yeah

Dream: what the hell are you going to do with that?

Hob: remember when we went to the renaissance faire and you said I would look hot doing the horseback sword fighting?

Dream:.... what color do you want your Andalusian

[retrowitchy]

haymitch takes everlark & co. (meaning the geese) to visit lenore dove's grave

ever wondered what it might look like if the mockingjay epilogue was extended just a little bit to include a whole random bit where haymitch takes two kids and nine geese into the woods by the lake to show them a bunch of dead people's graves? well wonder no more!!!

*✴︎+ take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die on ao3

It’s been about a year since we all came back to 12. In that year, I feel like I have grown old so much faster than I ever have before. It’s easy to remember some parts of it all, and hard to recall others. Peeta’s doctor says that’s how trauma works. Sometimes you forget, because remembering is just too hard. And sometimes, I don’t want to remember any of it.

Time has passed, but the three of us, Haymitch, Peeta and I, have settled into a routine with each other unlike anything we ever had before the second Quarter Quell. Honestly, it’s more out of necessity than anything- the nightmares are too hard for any of us to bear in an empty house. We tried living separately for a while, but it felt stupid, each of us alone while we all lived next door to each other. I insisted on staying with Haymitch almost immediately after they came back. I might have been too stubborn to admit the comfort I found in his company before, but it would be ridiculous to deny that now. He and I mean a lot to other. I guess we always have, or we have since this all started.

It took a little while, and a lot of convincing, but after he felt like the risk of hurting me was gone, Peeta moved in too. He was terrified that he’d relapse, have some shutdown that resulted in him strangling me again, but I didn’t care. I missed him more than almost anything. All the time I had spent, hiding in vents and crying to Haymitch and Gale and my mother and Prim when he was being held hostage in the Capitol, it shouldn’t be for nothing, I had said. I needed him to come home. And he did, eventually.

It’s good for us all. Peeta and I stay upstairs, and Haymitch is down the hall. Most mornings we eat together, something Peeta made and I hunted, and then we spend our days doing whatever we feel like. A couple months ago, we got Haymitch some goose eggs, so now he has something to do with his time instead of sitting around in the house all day. They’re rebuilding the Hob, too. And the Meadow is starting to grow back.

One day, when spring has started to seep into the ground, and gets to the point where you can smell it in the breeze, Peeta comes into the fireside room, where Haymitch is asleep clutching a bottle of his white liquor and I am busy working on a letter to Annie.

I don’t look up from my writing. “What, Peeta?”

He chuckles, and then comes to sit down, on the couch next to me.

“What are you working on?”

I don’t like my scratchy penmanship, especially compared to Peeta’s neat cursive, but I hand over the letter.

“I’m trying to be better about writing people. Annie asked us to send more, and you’re always the one who does them, so…” I trail off, getting mumbly and feeling kind of dumb. He’s looking it over.

“This is sweet, Katniss,” he says, scanning it with a little smile at the corner of his mouth. I snatch it back.

“Okay, time’s up. I don’t want you to read the whole thing,” I say, feeling my cheeks going pink. He laughs.

“Okay, okay. I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

I fold the paper in half and tuck it aside. I’ll finish it later.

“What did you come in here to say?” I ask, as I put away my pens.

“Does there really have to be a reason?” he asks.

“Yes. You never stand in the doorway like that unless you have something you’re trying to pitch to us,” I say, glancing at Haymitch, who is snoring slightly across the room.

“Not a pitch,” he says, smiling. “Just wanted to see if you guys were up for a picnic.”

Haymitch opens one eye lazily. Guess he wasn’t as dead to the world as I thought.

“And why would we do that when we’re having a perfectly enjoyable time right now?” he asks, not moving from his armchair. I look to Peeta.

“Because it’s nice out,” Peeta says calmly.

“Nice inside too,” counters Haymitch.

“The geese could get some exercise?” Peeta offers. Haymitch closes his eyes and lets out a ridiculous long grumble.

“Fine,” he says. “But I’m not contributing a damn thing. I’ll bring the kids and that’s it.”

“Katniss?” Peeta looks to me for confirmation I will go along with this plan.

“Sure,” I say. “Anything to get Haymitch out of that armchair.”

“You’re on thin ice, girl, you’d better watch out,” he says threateningly, as he stands up with a grunt and heads toward the kitchen with his bottle.

“Or what?” I call after him, getting no response, and rolling my eyes with a half smile. I kiss Peeta’s forehead quickly and stand up, clutching my letter. “I’ll get a basket.”

“Sounds good,” he says with a smile.

The basket is not for picnic food, which we both know. Whenever we take trips out to the Meadow, Peeta likes to collect some of the flowers and bring them back for the house. I like it too, because it means I can hunt for plant life that we might have missed for the nature book. It’s a rarer occurrence these days, since we’ve almost filled up the entire thing, but you never know.

I grab an empty basket from the top of the pantry, stopping only to pop a few tomatoes into my mouth, and then start digging around in the cabinets for the nature book. Usually, it stays upstairs with me and Peeta, because I like to look at it before going to sleep sometimes, but we were working on it in the kitchen yesterday and I am pretty sure it’s here.

“Hey, bring the memory book while you’re at it,” Haymitch says, making me jump. I turn around, getting hair stuck in my mouth, and spit it out.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because. Never know when you’ll come across a good piece of information for that thing,” he says, vaguely. He’s acting kind of weird and I’m trying to place why, but I’m coming up short. I don’t think I said anything to really set him off this morning. Whatever, I think.

“Okay.” I grab the journal from its place on the kitchen bookshelf, and the nature book is right next to it, so I grab that too, and stick them both in my basket.

After helping Peeta pack some food, we head out.

There’s a few spots we gravitate to in the Meadow, but Haymitch has the geese, so we let him take the lead. It’s amazing how attached he’s gotten to them in the last couple of months- and even more amazing how attached they’ve gotten to him. Once, when it was snowing, I caught him nursing one of them in his arms by the fire inside. He got pretty angry with me, growling curses and insults, but I could tell he was trying not to disturb the gosling because he kept his volume low. I know the geese are important to him not just because he secretly has a heart, but also because of his old girlfriend, somebody Snow killed after his Games.

When he told me and Peeta about Lenore Dove, it was a surprise. We hadn’t been working on the book at all. It was a late night in November, and we were all trying to figure out the central heating system in the house- something I maintain is a ridiculous luxury, although nice- and then when we had all found the switch that controls it, he said, “I never actually told you about her, did I?”.

“Who, Haymitch?” Peeta had asked, while fiddling with the switch.

“My girl.”

Haymitch had mentioned her to me once before, in 13, but Peeta had never even heard of her until then. He told us about her, how she belonged to a people called the Covey, who didn’t even exist in 12 by the time Peeta and I were kids. After he won his Games, defying the Capitol in every possible way he could while doing so, Snow had her and his family murdered. Apparently, she used to herd geese. That’s why we got him the eggs.

The goslings huddle and quack around Haymitch like he’s their mother or something. It always makes Peeta laugh, and he points at one of them that keeps falling behind and trying to catch up, and then hitting Haymitch’s boot when it does.

“Poor guy,” Peeta says, as the baby hits his foot again, and Haymitch shakes his leg slightly to ward him off.

“They need to learn to make friends with each other, not with him,” I say. The geese are desperate for Haymitch’s attention.

“Or we could set them up with Buttercup,” Peeta suggests jokingly.

“Yeah. And he’d eat them all,” I respond. I am not kidding. More than once, I have caught him trying to sneak inside their pen.

“He’s gotten more friendly with them, though, right?” Peeta protests, grinning at my stubborn refusal to say anything nice about that cat.

“Maybe. So he can trick them into trusting him,” I say. He laughs at me, and despite myself, I crack a smile, swinging the basket as we walk.

We reach the edge of our usual tree, but Haymitch isn’t stopping.

“Are we going to the lake?” I call to him.

“Something like that,” he replies, not bothering to turn around. I didn’t know he knew about the lake, but there’s a lot I’m finding out about Haymitch that I didn’t know.

But we don’t stop at the lake- we follow him around it, to the bank across the way. I can tell Peeta needs a breather- his prosthetic leg doesn’t do great with long distances.

“Haymitch, we have to stop a minute,” I tell him, signaling to Peeta to stop.

“Almost there,” is all he says in response, and that gets an eye roll from me.

“I’m fine, Katniss, it’s okay,” says Peeta.

“No, you’re not, you have to rest,” I say, and it comes out slightly more forcefully than I meant it. I clear my throat. “Sorry. I just mean I don’t want your leg acting up. Haymitch, seriously-”

But Haymitch is already leading his gaggle of geese into the humid patch of mossy wood next to the bank.

“Fine,” I yell to him, since he’s a pretty good distance away already. “We’re staying here!”

“Fine!” he yells back, and disappears into the woods. Good riddance.

“Sit, Peeta,” I say, and crouch down along the muddy bank next to him. We rest, letting our boots squelch in the sticky mud around our feet and trailing our fingers through it absentmindedly. Peeta is proud when he finds some katniss root, and I rinse it off and put it in our collecting basket.

When I stand, there something white and flowering at the edge of the trees that catches my eye.

“Stay here a minute,” I tell Peeta. “I’m just collecting something for the book.”

“Okay,” he agrees, because he’s happy digging for katniss, and even though Peeta alone in the woods makes me anxious, I don’t feel too bad leaving him for a second here.

I stomp through the muddy grass to where the tree line starts and am disappointed to find that the white flower is just a clematis vine- something we definitely already have in the nature book. I squat down next to it to pick off some of the blossoms for Peeta, when I hear the honking of the geese not too far away.

“Haymitch?” I call, but there’s no response except the continued honking. I glance back at Peeta on the bank, but he’s okay, so I decide to find Haymitch.

Curious, I wander through the forest, following a trail that is marked out only by the muddy boot indents in the grass he made minutes ago, and otherwise untouched. It doesn’t take me very far to reach a clearing, surrounded by tall water birch trees and shaded so well I know they must have grown here hundreds of years ago. In the center of the clearing, there is a small graveyard.

Haymitch sits on a boulder a respectful distance away from the graves, surrounded by his geese, and just looks up mildly.

“Followed my footprints, did you?” he asks, but there’s not as much snark dripping from that sentence as there normally might be.

“What is this place?” I ask, trying to process how serene he looks with nine white birds nested and clucking around him peacefully.

“Covey graveyard,” is all he says.

Covey graveyard. This is something I did not expect. I look closer at the headstones and see that they are all engraved.

“Go ahead,” he says, gesturing, inviting me to investigate. Obediently, I go over to the different stones and start to read. As I take in each one, I am quickly picking up that they all reference a different song, and the rock is as close a color match as possible to the name of the Covey member buried there. Some seem like they were erected in the last 50 years, and others feel like they might have been here for centuries, so grown over with moss you can barely read them.

“You’re related to them, you know,” Haymitch comments from his boulder. I quickly turn to him.

“What?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Your dad. He was a distant relative, so you got Covey in your blood. Figures how you got those pipes.”

This is something I have never considered before in my life. My father, related to the Covey? Meaning that I too, am connected to this legacy. I stare at him, gaping.

“I always wondered how she could sing like that.”

Haymitch and I both start, and Peeta is standing at the opening of the clearing, looking a little apologetic.

“Sorry,” he says, both in reference to startling us and the fact that I told him to stay. “Haymitch, is Lenore Dove buried here?”

Why didn’t I think of this? I am an idiot. Of course this is why we are here. Haymitch just nods his head to a stone by my foot.

“Read that one,” he says. Peeta comes over to me and crouches down in front of the stone, examining it.

“’But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, and the only word there spoken was the whispered word, ‘Lenore?’ This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!” Merely this and nothing more’,” he reads, solemnly and slowly and much better than I could have.

There’s a silence in the breeze, and for a moment, it feels like the forest has stopped moving, the world has stopped working, in respect for Lenore Dove and her lyrical epitaph. I look over and I see Haymitch, absentmindedly stroking the head of one of the geese with a faint smile on his face and watching Peeta with a vaguely misty expression.

“Is this why you wanted us to come here?” I ask. “To visit her grave?”

“I just thought you…might like to meet her. Or…see this place, I guess,” he says, his voice gruff. “It’s sorta your birthright, in a way.”

“Katniss.” Peeta’s voice is soft and quiet at my feet. “The book.”

Realizing quickly what he’s saying, I push the basket towards him with my foot, and he pulls out our memory book, flipping to a blank page.

“Do you know anyone else buried here?” I ask Haymitch, wondering just how many of the Covey he could have hung around.

“Nah,” he says. “Well, technically, yes. Tam Amber, that yellowish stone in the back corner there, he was one of Lenore Dove’s uncles. Not by blood, but he raised her. Along with Clerk Carmine, who you saw playing at Finnick and Annie’s wedding.”

“Wait, there are Covey still alive?” This is shocking to me. And I know that fiddle player, even from before 13. I used to see him inside the Hob, playing while I traded my hunting loot on the weekends.

“Just him. He’s the last one,” Haymitch amends. I can hear the scratching of charcoal that I know to mean Peeta is marking out a sketch. I understand now why Haymitch asked me to bring the book. “He lives in the rebuilt part of town, now, actually. Him and I don’t exactly get along on the best of terms, but he is here.”

I do not know what to do with any of this information but let it settle in my brain and watch Peeta’s pencil move across the page. Suddenly, I have an idea.

I kneel down next to Peeta and the basket, and I pull out the clematis I picked earlier. Glancing at Haymitch to make sure I’m not crossing some kind of invisible boundary, I slowly set down the blossoms in front of Lenore Dove’s grave. Peeta, head down and focused on his sketch, nods his approval.

I look up to Haymitch, and he nods too, and I think there might be tears in his eyes, but I can’t completely tell.

“Is that okay?” I ask, worried for a split second.

“Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “She would have liked that. She used to grow those flowers up the side of her window.”

I swallow.

“Good.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says.

[the-kr8tor]

I have a request(if you do them. if you don’t that’s okay :] ). It’s for like Cowboy! And Dad!Hobie. So like you know how Dogs get really clingy to their owners when they’re pregnant, so like what if Hobie’s horse was like really clingy to R when she’s pregnant. Like Hobie had to go do something with the horse(forgot the name mb😭), and like it wouldn’t leave R.

-🪷

Ahhhh I missed cowboy! Hobie dearly!! Thank you for the adorable request! ❤️❤️❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, mum! Reader, pregnancy talk, cowboy! Hobie, dad! Hobie, set after OPIN, twin au, parent au, fluff!

Our Place in the Middle of Nowhere Masterlist

Bucky seems to have taken you as his hostage, leaving Cherry all alone to graze the field. She seems to not mind the peace and quiet free from him, but a certain someone definitely minds that he's clinging to you more than he should to you.

“Right!” Hobie drops the hay bale in front of Bucky, whose head is laying right on your lap and sighing like a lovelorn schoolboy. He plopped himself as you were minding your own business while gardening. “Get back to your own wife, Buckeye.” He points at Cherry, who immediately trots away. You can't help but grin at the word.

Hobie's stubborn horse just neighs at him, lips waving before he drops his head atop your lap again while his eyes softly gaze at you. He reminds you of a certain cowboy.

“C’mon! Up you get, you big lump of—”

“He's just clingy.” You say, hand beckoning Hobie over right next to you on the grass as the orange sunset paints your little farm into a pretty scene. “I think he knows about the…” gesturing around your stomach, you see Hobie's annoyed expression turn into a gentle one.

He sighs, fixing his denim jeans, surrendering as he sits down behind you and carefully pulling you down to lay against his chest. “You can say it, y'know, he can't understand you.” Looking down at you fondly, his hand slides down to your stomach to cradle the small bump. “Unless you're conversin' with them like always.”

You crane your head up, smiling sweetly at him whilst you place your hand atop his own, feeling his warmth against the rough leather gloves. “I always talk to them. Riri says I'm doing it right since they're intelligent creatures.”

“Jus' be careful, you might give birth to a centaur if you hang around ‘em too much.” He flicks the brim of your gardening hat up to see your face fully.

Your giggles gather Cherry's attention, making her look at the three of you with curiosity. Bucky snorts on your lap, probably annoyed that your attention is halved now that his rider is here to take it.

“That's a terrifying thought, Hobs.” You stretch your neck to kiss his chin, and he meets you halfway. Soft lips meeting your own as the breeze passes by, blowing away your gardening hat. “Oh!” Laughing, you pull away from the kiss briefly, hand placed atop your head before pecking his lips once more when you've accepted that it's gone into the tall grass.

Hobie chuckles at your hat that's now running away from the farm. So to shield you away from the sun, he puts his own hat atop your head with a smile.

“There, can't have you sweatin’ under the sun now, hm?” Nudging his nose against your own, you hum against his warmth, heart feeling full as your hand rubs gently at Bucky's mane when you feel him stir.

“Can't have your son sweating inside too.”

Hobie smiles atop your lips before leaving a chaste kiss. “Could be a daughter. Or two.” Ripping off his gloves, he takes your face gently before kissing every space on your face.

“Another scary thought!” You say, unbeknownst to the two bundles that you're about to meet in nine months.

[adventures-in-a-world-of-fiction]

Dreamling fic idea

While Dream is stuck in the fishbowl, Destiny wants to help him but can't directly interfere, at least not without an excuse. But Dream has made a bargain with a lesser being, promising to meet him every hundred years on a specific day. If Dream doesn't show up, he's broken this bargain and is in breach of some ancient rule or other.

Which means Destiny has an excuse to summon him to answer for this "crime" - if the lesser being who the bargain was made with raises a formal complaint.

So Hob is waiting at the White Horse all day and night, just in case Dream shows up, but then one second after midnight, he gets whisked away to Destiny's garden. Hob is accused of breaking a bargain with an Endless and threatened with horrific punishments, because Destiny needs Hob to defend himself and say that it was Dream who stood him up. Hob has not got the memo and is worried that if he says it's Dream's fault Dream will be the one who gets horribly punished, so Hob is all "Do your worst," while Destiny is getting increasingly frustrated and peeking ahead in his book to see if he can get away with just telling Hob what he needs him to say so that he can rescue his baby brother already.

Destiny eventually manipulates Hob into admitting that he was waiting and it was Dream who didn't show up, and Destiny zaps Dream out of the fishbowl to join them to "face the accusation". Dream realises it's all just subterfuge and his pride is hurt that his brother felt it necessary to rescue him, so he's angry with what he sees as Destiny and Hob conspiring against him when he had everything in hand and would have got himself out of there any decade now.

But Destiny sees that Hob isn't cowed by an angry Dream and has seen how much Hob cares for him, and he's annoyed by Dream being too stubborn to say thank you for the rescue, so he decides that Dream needs to be "punished". He announces that since Dream is being punished for abandoning Hob, the punishment will be a magic bond that ties them together and that means that Dream has to visit him frequently. Not enough to interfere with Dream's job, but meaning that Dream has to spend at least an hour a day with Hob or visit him once a week or something.

Dream is angry because he thinks Hob orchestrated this and he doesn't have time to hang out with a human - he has tools to find and the Dreaming to repair. Meanwhile Hob is thoroughly confused because no one has actually explained to him what the hell is going on.

[valiantstarlights]

Ahhhh so many good options!! Can I ask for Fostering Abused Omegas? Thanks 💕

@embroiderling

Of course! 🥰

CW: human trafficking, abuse, depression

So, okay, in this AU, omegas are very rare. Like maybe 10% of the population. Because of this, they are treated differently. In some countries, they're treated like treasures. In some, they're treated like animals. Most countries treat them normally.

The Endless are from Greece, which treats their omegas like they're gifts from the gods. Unfortunately, Dream is kidnapped by Burgess, who wants a pet omega of his own. (Burgess also does a little omega trafficking on the side to line his pockets.)

Dream and the other omegas in Fawney Rig are rescued a couple of years later. Most of the omegas are sent back home, but Dream refuses to go back. The truth comes out that we was sold by his parents, actually, and not kidnapped. Burgess relished telling him about it, and showing him the contract his parents signed. (Dream was sold a day before his 18th birthday, making the contract 'legal.')

So he is assigned to a carer: Hob.

Hob is a beta who has been 'fostering' omegas for close to 10 years now. He's like, the go-to person for difficult cases. Dream comes to him battered and bruised, bone-thin and wary of everything. He seems to have accepted that he's going to die soon. But of course, Hob isn't having it.

--

"Why do you waste your time caring for me?" Dream asks. He sounds so tired, like it takes all of his energy to even speak. He leans his head against the window pane, passively staring at the sunset sky outside. "I am going to die. That is a certainty."

"Well," Hob says, as lightly as he could. "I'm known for being very stubborn."

Dream sighs. His breath fogs the glass for a moment, but he makes no move to wipe it, or to look away from the clouds. "You will not succeed with me." And it's the way he says it, not sad or challenging, but like he was stating a fact, that had Hob discreetly hold the tray filled with food tighter, his anger for Burgess a bright beacon on a dark night. "It's better for you to devote your time caring for someone else."

"My time," Hob says, voice gentle and even only through great difficulty. He is reminded of every omega he cared for before. They always come to him hopeless and lost, wondering why they're still alive and struggling to find a purpose to live. Hob should be used to it, but he's not. It hurts him every time. "My choice to make."

--

Ask about my WIPs

[samsalami66]

Hiii Ssammyy! @embroiderling here!

I've just seen you posted that long list of prompts. Can I ask for a fake marriage/relationship dreamling, with the prompt "kiss me while everyone's looking."?

🫶

Hey there @embroiderling! Have this little fic I definitely didn't write just after I got that prompt... <33

Read here or on ao3!

Dream wasn’t entirely sure what led him to the situation he was currently in; running down the streets of Los Angeles like he was chased by the devil. Perhaps it had all started when he met Hob Gadling on the set of his latest show, witty and charismatic and throwing him smiles that would light up the entire room. Or it had been when Dream found himself smiling back, accepting the easy friendship Hob proposed for them and meeting him outside of filming for drinks and movie night and sleepovers at his home spent trading stories and a glass of wine.

But actually, it had probably been the moment Dream agreed to Hob’s insane plan of marrying him. 

Yeah, they probably skipped a few rather important steps right there, between friendship and marriage, but that was not really the problem they were facing. No, the fact that they were two of the most well-known actors in the industry that married for something as crude as a green card was not really the problem. The fact that they had both been married before, that Hob was a widower and Dream divorced, was also not it. 

The problem was that being married to Hob was easy. Too easy. Marriage with Calliope had been… harder. They had both been characters, stubborn and intense and with a temper to match. For Dream, marriage had always been about damage control, about preventing some inevitable argument or other. But eventually they would always end up yelling or crying or hurting each other, before doing it all over again the next day. 

Marriage with someone Dream had never intended to marry, had not even found himself interested in at first, should have been worse. 

Instead, marriage with Hob Gadling was heavenly. They lived together. Shared a bed. Hob did not mind Dream cuddling up to him to steal some of his body heat. They would read together on the couch, then talk about their current books while they made dinner. When Dream complained about the laundry needing to get done, Hob would do it and not allow him to help. He would come back with a pot of tea and the offer of a massage should Dream’s feet or back or neck hurt from acting all day. 

Dream found himself searching Hob’s touch whenever he could and never being denied. When out on his own he would see something and bring it back home for Hob and receive the world’s biggest smile in return. So he did it again. And again. Their living room was overloaded with antiquities and books and little trinkets, all lovingly displayed. 

And they never fought. Over a year of living together, of sharing a house, a room, a bed, a life, and they did not fight once. How could life with Hob be so good, when Dream’s entire life before hadn’t been? 

Well, the answer should have been clear. But for some reason, Dream hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t noticed, and now Hob was gone. Not gone gone, just. Gone. His friend, his husband, was gone from their home and Dream did not know where he had disappeared to after their… disagreement. It hadn't been a fight. Because in a fight, both parties got angry. In a fight, partners tried to hurt each other after they had been hurt first. But Dream hadn’t been hurt by Hob. Hob would never hurt him, not in a million lifetimes. Instead, he hurt his friend for no reason but his own stupidity and insecurity. 

And now… now he was running. Not away. He was running towards Hob. Or at least he hoped so. Finding his husband was a much harder matter than Dream had hoped for when he started running. But he was getting closer, he was sure of it. Their bench. That would be where Hob was. Sitting on the right side, peas in hand, feeding the pigeons. It had been one of Dream’s favourite rituals. Whenever a role got to him too much, twisted his stomach into knots and left his heart aching, he would sit on that bench and feed the pigeons. 

And now, as Dream turned the corner, he saw his husband sitting in the spot he had claimed when he had first joined Dream in this little ritual of his. Those beautiful brown eyes were staring off into the middle distance, while one of his hands threw peas to a flock of birds and the other turned his wedding ring around between his fingers. 

The sight made Dream’s heart ache, his best friend reduced to nothing but numbness. He had done that, and he would make it right again. 

“Hob,” he called once he was close enough to be heard, and his husband’s eyes immediately snapped towards him. There was surprise there, possibly at the sheen of sweat that plastered Dream’s hair to his face, proof that he ran all the way here. Not that he stopped just because he found Hob. No, he ran straight into his husband’s arms, which wrapped around him all too willingly. 

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong, love? Are you alright?” The words ached, because Dream was not worth this level of care after how he had hurt Hob. But now that he wasn’t running anymore he couldn’t breathe, and so he allowed his husband to hold him for a moment, just until he could form an actual response. 

“I am sorry, Hob. For what I said.” There was no answer and Dream supposed that none could be given anyway, and so he continued. “I had not realised how… deep your affections for me were. I. I expected some catch, for I had not known marriage could be so wonderful.” 

There was pain in Hob’s eyes and Dream suspected it was not because of him, but rather for him. 

“And here I was, thinking I’ve been rather bloody obvious.” 

Dream huffed a laugh and took Hob’s hand in his, so that their wedding bands were resting against each other. “Looking back, I wonder how you ever became an actor.” That, at least, got him a grin. “I do not want to leave you. Not when the five years are over, not ever. You’re it, Hob.” Silence, stunned, but there was also a bud of hope that was threatening to spill into a smile so bright it would break Dream clean in two. 

“So kiss me now, husband mine, while everyone in this blasted park is looking.” 

[maysrinn]

Hi I have another question but who is president in the other universe where Coriolanus stayed with Lucy gray in district 12, and if snows a peacekeeper in this au dose that mean Lenore dove gets into more trouble cause her uncle busts her out.

Hi welcome back!

1. I never really thought about who would have become president if Coriolanus had stayed in District 12 with Lucy Gray. One thing’s for sure: I wouldn’t pick any of the characters we already know, or even one of his classmates. Snow was uniquely sharp, but not uniquely evil, in my opinion. Anyone could have been just as cruel and power-hungry if given the chance. Maybe Dr. Gaul would have found another protégé after Coriolanus failed his little district test and never returned to the Capitol. The new president would likely be someone we don’t know, just as ruthless toward the districts, but without Snow’s sharp mind.

__________

2. By the time Lenore Dove is born and raised by the remnants of the Covey, Coriolanus isn’t just a Peacekeeper anymore, he’s the commander of District 12. And Lenore Dove? She’s a constant headache. She always manages to get herself into trouble, because really, what’s he going to do? Scold her? Put her in time-out? He tries, lecturing her endlessly and keeping her stuck in his office for hours, forcing her to listen to another one of his “valuable life lessons” about freedom, discipline, and responsibility.

But deep down, he’s exhausted. Lenore Dove reminds him so much of Clementine Auburn, wild and stubborn, and he had been genuinely relieved when his own daughter eventually grew out of that rebellious phase. Now it’s happening all over again, and Coriolanus knows he’s far too old and tired for this kind of nonsense. Half the Peacekeeper unit probably knows Lenore Dove by name and exactly where to find her when she’s once again caused some kind of chaos. Some of them have even made a game of it, betting on how long she can stay out of trouble before someone has to drag her back to the commander’s office.

Coriolanus: Tell me, Lenore Dove, what great threat to district society did you commit this time?

Lenore Dove: I sang a song. Technically, that’s called culture. Covey culture.

Coriolanus: You sang The Hanging Tree in front of the mayor. During the remembrance ceremony. In front of children. I thought we talked about this-

Lenore Dove: Children singing! Oh no! Next thing you know, they’ll be thinking too.

Coriolanus: Freedom without order leads to chaos. Chaos leads to rebellion…

Lenore Dove: here we go again…

Coriolanus: …Rebellion leads to ruin. I was there, You know this. We have spent decades building a fragile peace on the ashes of war… and you choose to sing it anyaway?

Lenore Dove: hmm It’s a good song. Catchy. Real earworm.

Coriolanus: The foundations of civilization are built on respect. Discipline. Stability. Not nostalgia for anarchy and bloodshed!

Lenore Dove: … we had a hanging last week… Sooo… no requests for The Hanging Tree at the Hob? Got it.

Coriolanus: This is not a joke!

Lenore Dove: you’re right, it’s a balled.

Coriolanus: I’ll inform your aunt-

Lenore Dove: so she can rip u a new one? Like last time?

Coriolanus: oh yes, perhaps I’m really into that-

Lenore Dove: whoah! to many information, I’m not trying to mentally picture something…

Coriolanus: *sigh* …One day. Just one day without paperwork because of you. That’s all I ask-

Lenore Dove: …admit it I keep u young, and in that case I’m here all week!’Commander’

Later that night he’s ranting and venting to Lucy Gray about everything while Lenore dove is sleeping safe and sound in her bed 🪿

[five-and-dimes]

Had a very angsty thought about Dream that I thought you in particular would enjoy, so here it is:

Maybe this would be a human au, but I think it could work in universe as well.

Dream, because of the fact that he's not great with people, tends to be rather prideful, and is well aware of his own strengths, has been accused of being arrogant his whole life. Mainly by his siblings (Desire, I'm looking at you).

At some point, Dream being desperately tired of being told bad things about him, and desperate to have people around him who love him, decides that he must be the problem and so resolves that he will change himself.

How does he go about this? Well naturally he assumes that because he's been accused of arrogance, he can't trust his own judgement of himself. So whatever he thinks about himself, he believes that the reality of who he is must be worse. Which leads to a vicious cycle of self hatred.

Hob, who had become friends with Dream at some point, and had long since fallen for his friend, somehow finds out about this thought process of Dream's and is absolutely devastated. Which of course leads to Hob doing his absolute best to convince Dream he's not the worst person alive. Dream is very stubborn though, it takes a lot of work, but eventually Hob manages to help Dream see how unfair he is to himself and just how wrong his thought process is

Anyway, but I hope you enjoy this concept I thought of, it seemed like the exact sort of angst and hurt/comfort you enjoy, so I had to share

Bro you know me so Goddamn well.

(Vibing human au just cause I’ve been in human au mode for the fic I’m working on lol)

Cause like. Here’s the thing. Pride in and of itself is not a bad thing. There’s plenty of things Dream has every right to be proud of! But he grows up with parents constantly neglecting him and calling him selfish when he wants their attention/love/support, and siblings who call him arrogant when he speaks highly of himself. His siblings try to tear him down and he fights back by overcompensating, doubling down on his pride until it does in fact tip into arrogance, but he’s just so desperate not to let them make him feel worthless (even if it doesn’t really work). And when Desire or Despair are cruel to him and he fights back the only way he knows how, HE’S the one his older siblings scold and are disappointed in. 

And time passes, and he’s not naturally good with social interactions, and then on top of that you have the trauma of his family life exacerbating the struggle. He starts having romantic relationships that start strong and then nosedive, and suddenly he’s being criticized and beaten down from all sides, no one willing to give him the benefit of the doubt or any compassion when he messes up. So he starts to figure… well, surely if EVERYONE says all these bad things about him they can’t ALL be wrong. Surely he’s the one who’s wrong.

So he enters university with this mindset that he can’t trust his own feelings unless they're negative. He’s not someone who struggles, he’s just a bad person. He’s not talented or successful, he’s just arrogant. 

And that’s who Hob meets. Dream still has a haughty demeanor- a little part of him wants people to see right away what a “bad person” he is so that he can get it over with (plus, deceiving them would just make him a worse person, right?)- but Hob is obsessed with him immediately. Privately, Hob thinks of Dream like a stray cat, hissing and scratching out of fear and distrust, but it takes some time for him to realize just how accurate that assessment is. They become closer, and he starts to notice some things, like how Dream doesn’t tell him about the galleys he gets accepted into, or the stories that gets published, or the tests he aces. When he prods Dream about it, he shrugs it off, saying it doesn’t matter, it’s nothing, he wasn’t going to burden Hob with something so insignificant.

Hob tells Dream he should be proud of himself for his accomplishments and Dream is literally speechless.

No one has ever told Dream he should be proud. His pride was what made him unlovable, right?

Oops, did he say that out loud?

It’s like pulling teeth getting Dream to explain to Hob- How he’s always been wrong before, how he’s never gotten it right, so obviously he can’t trust his own perception of himself. Maybe he was excited, or felt a little spark of joy and pride at his successes, but he knows now that he actually has no reason to be proud of anything ever because he’s just a burden and a bad person. 

Hob is going to cry.

It’s a hard battle getting Dream out of this mindset. Hob kind of just has to go all in, because it’s not like Dream talks openly about his thought process, Hob just happened to notice and drag it out of him. So even if it might seem like Dream is just chilling on the couch watching a show, odds are he’s actually deconstructing every single thing he’s said and done that day and twisting them into proof for why he’s unlovable. But it’s not like it’s a chore for Hob- all he’s really doing is giving Dream the validation and approval that he never got growing up, and showing him a bit of grace when he stumbles. To Hob it's nothing, but to Dream it's everything.

(It’s also very cute to see how red Dream gets when Hob compliments him or shows up to his gallery exhibitions or tapes his A+ essays onto the fridge.)

There’s ups and downs, and there will continue to be ups and downs for a while. But when Hob finally kisses him, Dream thinks to himself… If someone as good as Hob can love him? Then maybe- just maybe- he’s not so bad himself.

[dizscreams]

hi! could you write a hobie x gn!reader where reader is his civilian s/o and he's taking care of then after they got caught up in some fight he was having with a villian?

CARETAKER

— Hobie Brown ★

PAIRING: HOBIE BROWN X GN!READER

A/N: this is the cutest thing ever because I stand by that hobie would be a great caretaker ☹️🫶

Hobie watched as you fell to the concrete ground with a yell. You weren’t supposed to be here and you weren’t supposed to get hurt. Hobie told you to stay inside but you were too stubborn to listen to him.

You saw him take a beating and rushed out to help him which only led to you getting hurt. Hobie finished off his fight with the villain and quickly alerted police to capture the criminal before he rushed over to you. “Y/n?,” he shook you slightly, “Please tell me you’re alright.” After a moment of unbearable silence you coughed and nodded your head. Hobie let out a breath of relief and picked you up before swinging to your apartment. He climbed through the window with you still in his arms. It was moments like this he was grateful for his strength.

He led you both to the bathroom before putting you back in the ground. “Here, sit,” he said tapping the sink countertop. You climbed on it with a wince and watched as Hobie quickly got the first aid supplies.

He looked like a nervous wreck.

You put your head against the wall and listened to Hobie’s almost inaudible mutters from the other room about how ‘he told you to stay put’ and that ‘you’re too stubborn.’ Which you thought was slightly hypocritical coming from him but you didn’t say anything.

You could only imagine how scared he probably was. And you knew how he always wanted to keep you as far away from his job as possible. He came back in the bathroom with the Medkit supplies and wasted no time in getting to work. He got disinfectant on a rag and lifted up your shirt. “It may sting,” he warned softly.

He watched you nod and he began to slowly wipe at the blood that was on your gash. Luckily it wasn’t too deep. You observed how his eyebrows furrowed in concentration and you listened to his low humming that took over the comfortable silence.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, “I just wanted to help you.” He looked up at you for a moment and shook his head as he wiped more of the blood off. “I know. T’s alright I was just worried about you is all.” You winced when he put a little too much pressure and he apologized.

You smiled to yourself at how loving and caring Hobie could be when he wanted to be. “You’re a cute nurse.” He gave you a playful scoff, “Always gotta tease me huh?” You giggled and watched how his somewhat stoic expression turned to a soft one with a gentle smile on his lips.

Hobie grabbed a large bandage and carefully put it on you. “There you go,” he patted your back, “All done.” He gave you a featherlight kiss to the bandage and then kissed your lips. You pulled away and hugged him. “Thank you, Hobs.”

“Of course, love. Just take it easy, yeah? Get some rest.” “Ohh giving me orders now, doc?” He shook his head as he rolled his eyes and gently lifted you up off of the counter making sure not to hurt you.

[bazzybelle]

I Loved You Once Upon A Dream

Title: I Loved You Once Upon A Dream

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Word Count: 41K (ish)

Summary:

It's 1916 and Hob Gadling, while serving with the Canadian Infantry, ends up on the wrong end of a rather vicious curse. One that will cause flowers to grow inside his lungs unless he obtains a confession of love from his most beloved. Too bad the last time he saw that person was in 1889, when his Stranger walked out into the rain. And that had been because Hob had dared to call them friends. Hob's certain he'll be alright though. He's resilient, smart, and stupidly stubborn. He'll figure out a way out of this mess. (Even if he has to use a bit of magic to do so). OR Hob takes a very long nap after becoming too invested in Horticulture. OR Hanahaki (Maleficent's Version).

Notes will follow the 'Keep Reading' break.

Here is my very late entry for @mr-sadman's Dreamling Week 2024. I started working on this fic last year, and used the prompts to help me organize my chapters. Each chapter (with the exception of the Epilogue) focuses on a prompt for that day.

Special thank you to my amazing betas @im-not-corrupted and @seiya-starsniper. You have both helped me comb out the word tangles in this fic. Thank you also to the Chaotic Sprinters from the Mr. Sadman Discord Server. You guys are amazing and I appreciate all of you lovely humans!