#but also not inaccurate ahaha 😅

[tj-dragonblade]

For the title ask game - I'd really love to read more of the 1889 rain kiss fic 🥰🥹 I'm so weak for all the anguish and drama 1889 entails

Ah, then let me share with you from closer to the beginning of this thing, where the anguish and drama are strongest!

He centers his attention on this nightmare, to feel out the shape of what frightens Hob so, what about him frightens Hob so. For it is about him, that much is plain to tell; there are few dreamers to whom he is known such that he could be dreamed about, and it tickles at his awareness when they do. It is but the smallest effort to find Hob and step into his Dream, a mere gesture to dismiss the diligent nightmare, his faithful subject, who was directing the dreamscape. It is no effort at all to slip himself into his own shade within the dream, to face the reality that Hob fears him, some part of him, no matter his own feelings on such a revelation. It is not unexpected, after all; he is a creature to be feared, respected, admired perhaps, but not befriended, not sought after for his companionship. It was inevitable that Hob should see this, particularly now that Dream has given him a name, the briefest explanation of function, greater frequency of meetings in which he can observe and discover Dream's faults. (He does not delude himself. He had not expected it to happen so swiftly; Hob is kind, and forgiving, and welcoming in ways that make Dream yearn—but no. Hob was always going to see.) (He was always going to lose Hob's regard.) He is in the New Inn, standing at their table, turning away as Hob rises to follow. "Dream, wait, please don't go—" There is fear in Hob's voice, reedy terror and trembling desperation. Dream does not stop. Dream continues to storm angrily from the pub, as expected of him, as sewn into the fabric of this nightmare. Hob grows ever more distraught as he calls behind him. "I'm sorry, forgive me, I beg you don't go don't leave me—Dream, please!" The last is very much a sob. Enough. He stops, turns. Hob blinks at him from a tear-stained face. Dream plucks at the threads of the scene around them, searching for the words or actions that had transpired before his arrival, but there is nothing. "And for what should I forgive you, Hob Gadling," he intones, improvising while he feels out the shape of this nightmare. The question takes Hob off guard and his brow furrows, his lovely wet eyes blinking several times. "I…I…I did something wrong? I offended you, I made. I made you leave." It is hazy, non-specific in the manner of dreams, but that in itself is very telling. Dream has changed the prescribed course of the dream and Hob's mind is unsure what to do with the shift. Hob is so very different, here, in the grip of his nightmare; he is physically smaller, his usual confidence nowhere in evidence. He is anxious, terrified, wide-eyed and uncertain and trembling, and while Dream had stepped in with the resigned expectation that he would find Hob cowering from the full horror of understanding what Dream is, the true shape of Hob's fear shines startling and unexpected before him as he reaches for it. Hob does not fear Dream. Hob fears losing Dream.

(Previously-shared snippets can be found in the tag!

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