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multikore · 7 months

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This is probably going to be the most out of pocket thing I send but here you go?

I present to you; my weird dreams part one.

this is gonna be fun (have the first line then everything cut off because it was way longer than I thought it’d be)

I accidentally fell asleep; my dream was me being Sans freaking Undertale apparently and I was singing with Outer!Sans in a giant broken down motel/hotel/event holder place thing? with stairs lining it in the middle in a spiral way since the middle was like a sort of hollow.

It had a ton of broken down decorations and other stuff which included a ship at the tallest we could go, where we thought (for some reason) it’d be funny to hang the charger of the phone, I think it was Outer’s or something but it wasn’t anything like the phone we see in the UT Game, more modern like now, connected to a battery pack I owned; Outer staying at the top holding it while standing by the side. I don’t own a battery pack but I think it was dark blue or black, or a light blue like Sans’s jacket just a bit different.

I’d like to add the top area had a bunch of holes, most likely caused by the ship or something since it seemed like it fell? It wasn’t huge it seemed like a small scale and simplified version of something as a decoration so yk not too much damage. And apparently I think I was waiting for someone? My head’s saying it was actually freaking Error but it might’ve been a paps?

The oddest bit was probably the fact for some reason me and Outer disregarded apparent zombies in the building, due to the fact most of the furniture blocked them off from us; them mainly being behind on balcony walkways also lining the inside where the stairs connected but whomever were there beforehand blocked it off using furniture was around. It was kinda like those tables near the edge usually with a few chairs maybe a vase with flowers or smth in the middle.

Anyways we hung the phone there, I held it and the charger was freakishly long, like long than height of where the highest we could reach in the building? So I go down the stairs swirling it around whatever greenery was standing in the middle of the column and whatever furniture was thrown in there having nature overtake it; meanwhile dodging zombies and any stray hands beyond the barricades.

(In my head I was half asleep mind you, so the entire time I was partially waking up and seeing my room and being in the dream- at this point I’m jotting down everything, every detail, every phrase, despite me already having bad memory and forgetting what people say within a minute.)

Anyways we have music being blasted and either my head made up a new song or it was something I had heard before but don’t remember at ALL, I think it was a break-up song? Guy’s perspective? I kinda forgot the lyrics and I can’t describe the tune but his voice kinda reminds me of My Chemical Romance (forgot the singer) but more of the Maria Count Me In singing voice I know.

Anyways I reached the bottom, hang out for a bit, Outer screaming the lyrics from the top as I scream them back up as well, complimenting the song too before Outer saying I should probably come back up after a few minutes or so. I agree since I’d rather stick with him in that place but then some zombies enter the bottom and I have to half-rush back up while carefully untangling the wire from stuff, I get to the top close off the entrance and almost trip into the hole where we hung the phone, we get it all back and Outer gives me my battery pack and even his phone and wire.

We talk a bit and make puns to ease me out as I catch my breath and then this bit is a bit blurry and a lot less logical in the actual world made.

I think Outer falls through where we hung the phone but he doesn’t die; I get a sort of phased out gaming screen when I know that’s not the premise where I am but it’s also kinda how it is where I’m physically located sleeping (but there’s no game or screen nearby it’s my ACTUAL VISION, I was in bed and still am right now)

He falls but I can still hear him talking pretty clearly and see his expression through that weird game thing? As if maybe he did die and he’s spectating but I KNOW his body is there, alive, hanging onto something I just don’t know what. (He did not die, do not worry)

Anyways a few Zombies bust through I enter the ship to hide and suddenly physics engine goes out the window and I sort of get glitched into a corner in the boat. Said corner had a hole, enough for me to fit at least and even a bit bigger I think (thinking over this again, this might’ve actually been Outer’s telekinesis thingie guiding me over there in the ship but my struggling confused the both of us)

I’m there panicking slightly as Outer laughs a little and seems worried yet trying to calm me a bit, the zombies come over from what I can hear.

Last thing I hear is Outer saying for me to jump and I think I try to, as I am right above the hole in the floor I use the weird telekinetic thing Sans has and fling the ship to where I heard the zombies and go through, seeing Outer’s hand ready to catch me as he’s standing on a floating star.

Dream ends, I wake up confused in my head was “was I sans Undertale in that” and then realise “oh hey outer was there cool” as well as “WHY WERE THERE ZOMBIES?? WHY WERE WE BLASTING MUSIC IN A BUILDING THAT FELT LIKE IT’S IN A FOREST??”

But yeah

My weird dreams and I love them unconditionally; have a nice day, night or evening, whatever time zone you’re in. Idk where you are and probably for a good reason but good whatever to you :)

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hardly-an-escape · 8 months

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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.

#my writing #the sandman #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #a needlessly complicated title for a truly simple little fic #I've already written this basic premise so many times AND I'LL DO IT AGAIN #the archaic English Hob uses in this fic is based on the most cursory googling #just tell yourself it's all over the place because historically English is.... all over the place #my unpopular opinion is that I think Blade Runner is overrated and yes I will project my opinions onto fictional characters #as usual this started in one place and went in another direction entirely #may post on AO3 tomorrow if the spirit so moves me

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