#fishbowl rescue fic

[delta-pavonis]

Ooh, from the wip game: former mafia hob :D

I know I have posted bits and pieces of this in various places on Tumblr and Discord, but below is probably the largest segment of the WIP I have ever posted at once. And this is maybe about a quarter of it? It features an OC that I made up and then it turned out I was prescient because in my head Sandro looks pretty much exactly like Ethan from Maneskin. Also, to no one's surprise, this gets NSFW at the end. (WHAT?!? SMUT?!?!?! FROM MEEEE?!?!?!)

"And this guy, this Burgess, just had him locked in a giant glass sphere in his basement!"

"A human? Wouldn't he need air?"

Hob was in an ex-pat bar on the south end of Okinawa, doing a very good job of continuing to live completely off the grid just as he had for the past eight years.

The old man started up again and Hob strained to hear him across the length of the bar. "He just looked like a human. I worked there sixteen years and he didn't age a minute, hell he barely moved. I heard Burgess bragging once about how it was the God of Dreams that he caught! All I know for sure is what I heard directly, which is that Burgess kept asking him for things – magic, money, immortality – and the pale fucker just kept glaring at him. Never spoke a word. Just stared daggers with those unearthly blue eyes. I am telling you, if looks could kill, that old bastard would be dead thirty times over. Whenever that fairy King or whatever the fuck that shaved panther of a human-looking thing is gets out…" The guy whistled, leaning back from the bar and shaking his head. "The entire Burgess family tree is going to burn."

This man had Hob’s full attention now. He grabbed his drink and moved around to sit on the barstool next to him. 

"I am sorry, where did you say you are from?" Hob asked, trying for casual, sizing up the ex-military guy. He had a muddled accent, but with a heavy dose of south London. His salt-and-pepper hair had been kept buzzed even though he had clearly been out of the service for a long time. 

"What's it to you?" The man was immediately bristly, crossed his arms over his chest. He was defensive and closed off and Hob was going to need to work to get more information. Hob sighed. Or take the easy way out… just pay him for the information.

The Okinawan summer was too hot for this. Hob would give it one shot, try to explain, but if that didn't work it was Plan E for Easy. "I have an interest in the supernatural. And you certainly seem to have seen something. Could I ask you a few more questions?" The old-timer just stared at him, completely deadpan, unblinking. It made Hob take a sip of his whisky with its melted ice and then press the glass to his temple. "I can pay you for your time."

He perked up immediately after that.

> > > > > | | < < < < <

Two days later – and after an exchange of enough money to set that old-timer’s family up for generational wealth – Hob was settling into his Business Class seat on the long haul from Tokyo Haneda to Rome Fiumicino. He tapped out an email telling Gio his flight to Palermo was going to get in at 08:20 and would he be so kind as to send around a car? He needed to stop and see il Barone first (because his knee was bad enough as it was without getting kneecapped for failing to pay his respects) and then straight to the grotta. And make sure the shovel is in the car? Grazii.

It was his Stranger. It had to be. The description was uncanny. And the quick sketch Hob had drawn on a bar napkin had resulted in a rather emphatic positive identification.

And even if it wasn’t his Stranger, there was something being kept in that basement that probably needed rescue. There were paltry few things in the world, as Hob had learned over the centuries, that deserved to have their freedom completely taken from them.

Almost 22 hours after sending that email to Gio, Hob stepped out into the salty Mediterranean air of Palermo and sighed. His white linen three-piece suit with light blue shirt fit the aesthetic of the region as much as the weather. The smells, the breeze, the sounds – yeah, okay, Hob had missed it. But this was no time to linger. Focus, Hob! First, he had to give his regards to Salvatore and then he could go dig up his stash from his time in the Family Business. He put on his hat and dark sunglasses and walked out into the sunlight.

In the aftermath of 1889 Hob had, unsurprisingly, a lot of anger and frustration to work out. He ended up falling back on a reliable skill set he hadn't tapped in awhile: violence. 

It was bare knuckle boxing first, which earned him enough money to leave for the States without disturbing his securities in the UK. He continued with underground boxing for a bit, because he was fucking good at it, until he got noticed. 

Hob got picked up by Giuseppe “the Clutch Hand” Morello and Ignazio “the Wolf” Lupo and the rest was history. 

First they took him in as a base-level associate, just another meatheaded guy who could fuck people up for them. And he made it to the Castellammarese War, which was as good a time as any to fake his own death. 

But, by pure happenstance and a whole lot of luck, Salvatore D’Aquila caught him in the act, pig's blood everywhere, mutilated body that clearly wasn't Hob at his feet and well. That had required a bit of explaining. Explaining lead to talking, talking lead to negotiating, and suddenly Hob was heading upstate to train with the best.

And so it was, with some excellent mentorship on handling firearms and his innate knack for getting himself out of trouble, Hob became one of the most feared associates in Cosa Nostra. 

In fact, he became The Associate. 

See, he was never going to be a made man; he didn't have the proof of a Sicilian, or even Italian, heritage that he needed to be a ranking Family member. But any capo worth his salt wasn't going to turn away this level of skill and finesse. 

And in return they had kept his secret. Mostly because they knew they had given him the means to kill them all if it was otherwise.

Well, it wasn’t like the entire Family knew. Just Salvatore and his immediate blood relations. Who he needed to stop and say hello to first, then to business.

Once the meeting was done, he headed to the coast. 

When Hob left the Family Business he had literally put all of his gear into an air-tight oak box and buried it. One of the things Hob had learned over the centuries was that, more often than not, symbolism mattered. So it wasn't a surprise to find that when Hob opened the wooden box with a crowbar it was like seeing good friends come back from the dead. His shotgun. His sabre. His pistols. 

He buried these along with his career in Cosa Nostra in 1998. It should have been earlier, but the six or so years after 1989 were a bit of an alcohol and cocaine tinted haze and it took him another three years after getting sober to work on his exit strategy. But once he was out he had abandoned it all and never looked back.

In fact, it was only in the past few months that Hob had let himself pick up a gun again to do some target shooting. Suddenly he was very glad of that coincidence.

After filling his duffle Hob stared down into the empty casket of his former life. He had never, ever expected to be in this position again, most certainly not less than a decade after abandoning it. 

Crouched amongst the sand and the rocks of the beachfront cave, he ran a hand through his sweaty hair and sighed. "The things I do for you, Stranger." He closed the lid. 

"Ti Umbra?" Sandro had been watching Hob silently up until now. Even as a little kid, Alessandro had called the thing that haunted Hob his Shadow. He was an eerily perceptive child, often ostracized from his peers because of it – which of course meant that when Hob had arrived in Sicily in the early 1980s they had become easy friends. Now in his early 30s, Sandro was mostly a driver, but knew his way around a weapon, as any son of a Don should. Hob had hoped he would leave, go to college, get out, but Hob never did convince him to. He was a good kid, he didn't deserve this kind of life. 

"Si." Hob put his hands on his knees and levered himself up. "I think that he needs my help." A sigh as he kept staring at the box. "Am I that obvious?"

"Only to me, Bettino." The nickname had come from the diminutive of the diminutive of Roberto, which Sandro’s family knew Hob as. It was an endearment used only between them. "Only He could bring you back to this, to the Family." Hob felt the other man's hand on his shoulder and laid his own over it. The feel of those fingers was achingly familiar. "Let me come with you. You should not go on the rampage you are about to embark on alone, my friend."

Hob picked up Sandro's hand, placed a kiss on the knuckles. "Not a chance. I won't put you in such danger. And I won't let you see me like that." Alessandro hadn’t even been born yet when the Associate was working hardest, in the heydays of Murder, Inc., and all that entailed, when Hob rarely had a night when he wasn’t washing the gunpowder from his hands.

Sandro laughed. "I have seen you every other way, why not this one?" His arms went around Hob's shoulders from behind and he moved his lips to the shell of Hob's ear before dropping into Sicilian. "One more go at it? For old time's sake? Last chance to use me as His stand-in." He laughed even more at Hob's sharp inhale. "You think I didn't know? Oh, Bettino." He nuzzled into the hair at Hob’s nape. "That's how I was able to pretend you really loved me."

"Sandro!" Hob pushed away and whirled around, looking over his former lover’s dark hair and olive-bronze skin, high cheekbones and pouting pink lips, wiry build and black-brown eyes. Not wanting to misspeak, he answered back in English. "I did – and still do – really love you, you know that."

"Yes, but not as you love Him." Sandro shook his head as he moved in to press their foreheads together, arms back around Hob's shoulders. "You would not come back to the Family for me. You would not go to war for me. And that is okay. I know my place. I made my peace with that years ago, when you left." He leaned in to speak against Hob's lips. "But I would ask if you would have me one last time." 

Hob let Sandro pull him to the ground amongst the rocks inside the small cave. Hob's shirt and vest were already discarded, his sleeves rolled up and his collar unbuttoned. He unbuttoned Sandro's shirt and pulled it down so it caught in his elbows, draped down his back low enough for Hob to run his lips over the huge tattoo of Santa Rusulia – Patron Saint of Palermo, invoked for protection in times of plague – wearing a crown of roses and standing amidst a copse of lilies outside a cave not so different from the one they are currently in, looking out to the sun setting over the sea, that covered his entire back. Hob drew that image, originally charcoal on paper, while they were sitting on the beach watching the sun set on Sandro's 19th birthday in the early ‘90s. He didn't know that Sandro had even saved the picture until a shootout a year later had Hob ripping off the young man’s shirt to stop the bleeding and found the image permanently inked into his skin. 

Sandro knew more about Hob than anyone living. They had spent four years as lovers in the mid-'90s. Hob had gotten sober for Sandro. He had left Cosa Nostra for Sandro, had begged for Sandro to come with him. But he was too scared of his father, Salvatore “the Baron,” to leave. He was worried about the fate of his mother, his sisters. Hob couldn’t begrudge him that. It still stung.

Hob shucked Sandro's pants down his thighs and moved his hand around to his ass, thinking that he would tease him dry before trying to find something slick back in the car. Instead, Hob's fingers found warm, flat silicone. He slumped forward with a moan and his forehead hit between Sandro's shoulder blades. "Oh fuck, Sandro. You have been full with this the entire time?"

"Ready for you, Bettino." He sighed, soft and sweet as candy. He let out a high-pitched cry as Hob slowly pulled the plug out and Christ it was huge Hob would be able to just…

There was a thmpt as the silicone object hit the dense sand a few feet away, flung aside as Hob frantically tried to get his slacks down as quickly as possible. As soon as his cock was free Sandro's hands were reaching back to grab it, lubricant that the horny little weasel must have been carrying in his bloody pocket smeared all over his fingers, readying Hob to just…

Sandro sat back and Hob slid into him to the hilt, all in one stroke, easy as breathing, smooth and perfect. 

They stayed that way for a long moment, readjusting to each other. The first movement was Hob's hands stroking from Sandro's thighs up to his chest then pressing them together. When they started rocking Sandro let his head fall back with a sob. 

"Did you keep your hair long for me, too?" Hob wrapped the waist-length ponytail around his fist and tugged. It made Sandro moan just as sweetly as it had all those years ago. "That's it, sing for me, bell'uccellino." He snapped his hips up and Sandro wailed; he always was such a vocal lover, his pretty bird.

[sic-vita]

The Sandman | favourite transitions

[tj-dragonblade]

Hi! I'd like to hear something about the fishbowl therapy fic, please!

Ah, this is probably my favorite year-old idea that I really want to write but haven't quite gotten around to. I like the concept, I like the visuals that I've got in head, but so much of the necessary conversations just fizzle when I try to flesh them out. I'm sure I can get it right if I focus on it long enough, though. The long rambly synopsis with a tiny snippet of drafting included:

Sometime after their 2022 reunion, with more frequent meetings etc, Dream finally tells Hob why he missed their 1989 meeting. And Hob is very much Not Okay about it. He has so many feelings - the horror of his friend having been held captive that long, rage on Dream's behalf, self-recrimination that he didn't know, he could have done something if he'd known, and a crushing guilt over every unkind thought he had after 1989 (never mind that he got over them, he still thought them in the first place and his friend was stuck in a glass cage while Hob was wallowing in self-pity and uncharitable assumptions).

But Hob stuffs all his feelings about this down inside, because what kind of friend would he be to make Dream's trauma-sharing all about his own reaction? So he tries very hard to keep his own feelings out of the conversation, aside from some commiserative vindication when Dream confirms that everyone who held him is either dead or dealt with.

But he is Extremely Upset about it all evening, and ends up dreaming about it. Dream catches awareness of his distress, visits the dream. He didn't give Hob specifics in their conversation, 'a glass cage' and 'basement' were the key details and Hob has dreamed up something akin to a zoo exhibit - the cage is rectangular, three glass walls attached to a fourth stone wall, roomy enough to pace about in, a proper semblance of a bed in one corner. Dream watches as Hob stands on the outside, talking to the dream-version of Dream inside the cell - a Dream who still has his clothes, he had not shared that detail with Hob either - and makes himself known after only a moment. Hob is apologetic, he's so sorry he's making this all about himself, but Dream is…pleased, by his distress. 'Pleased' is not quite the word, but it is comforting to know that someone is so upset on his behalf. He takes the place of his dream-self within the cell, urges Hob to continue, to tell him everything he's held back. It's easy to be detached from the memory when the setting is wrong, and he is warmed despite everything at how vehemently Hob insists he would have come, how sorry he is for thinking Dream had chosen to stay away, etc etc. Eventually they are talking about how Dream is coping with it, is he healing from his trauma, and of course he says it does not bother him, but Hob is like 'If I'd spent more than a hundred years cooped up in this -' gesturing at the spacious cage he's envisioned '- I'd be - I'd be something. I wouldn't just be okay about it.' And Dream, feeling peevish and daring, decides to push.

"It was not like this," he says. "You dream it too kind."

Hob blinks at him. "…What?"

"You dream it too kind," Dream repeats. "Shall I show you the truth of it?"

"I…okay," Hob agrees, foreboding and unease in his tone, and Dream shifts the basement around them. With less than a thought he is naked in the suspended glass orb again, the painted stars mocking him from above and the the binding circle a sickly glow beneath him, the dank reaches of the underbelly of Fawney Rig stretching into infinity in every direction. Hob stumbles back a step with a shocked cry, horror flooding his features; he nearly flails backwards into the moat and steps forward again, stumbles to his knees, staring up at Dream with tears flooding his eyes.

"What the fuck—god, Dream—!"

And while he's processing all over again the full depth of the horror that was done to his friend, Dream is feeling something akin to panic creeping over him now that he's here again. He is less okay than he thought he was, the memory is pressing in again, and he focuses on Hob's distress to mitigate his own. There's gotta be a moment of both of them pressing hands to the glass; they get to a point where Hob just sort of spirals into a frenzy of 'gotta get you out, gotta get you out' that feeds Dream's own latent panic that he's definitly not giving in to, never mind that he can't stop repeating 'Free me, Hob, free me' (?) over and over. Hob's scrabbling about for anything that might help him break the glass and shortly dreams up a crowbar; he scrambles to his feet and starts swinging. It's thick glass, and magical etc, and it takes Hob whaling on it quite a lot before it begins to crack, and plenty more hits before it shatters. Whereupon Dream drops to the floor, free, unbothered by the broken glass all around. Hob suddenly has a jacket so that he can take it off and wrap it around Dream, and somewhere in the surging relief of the re-enacted rescue Hob just flings his arms around Dream and kisses him. Dream is taken by surprise, but things are definitely falling into place for him and he kisses back. Hob jerks back, doing a full 'oh shit I kissed him my secret's out I've ruined everything' kind of take; Dream just grabs the front of his shirt and yanks him back down, kisses him again.

There is a little more conversation here in the dream as heat and realization build; then Dream, 'weary of this wretched basement' and wanting Hob to remember all of this, ends the dream and manifests in Hob's bed as Hob wakes. There is sex and conversation to finish it out, Dream finally voicing out loud how much it means that there is someone who would have come for him, who will come to his defense no matter how unnecessary, who thinks he's worth the effort of rescuing.

Like I said, I stumble over the conversations somewhat and that makes it easy to let this one languish in the depths of the wip file. All that Hob-pov exposition at the beginning isn't really part of it either, since this will be Dream's pov, but I've got to convey all that via Hob talking to dream-Dream and then actual-Dream in the dream itself. I'll get it all ironed out one day. Hopefully.

[signiorbenedickofpadua]

This Dream Is Over (Another Has Begun) - Read on AO3

Pairing: Dreamling

Rating: Explicit (Explicit content is skippable)

Finished length: 113-114k

Chapters: 23/23

Tags: Fishbowl Rescue, Retired Dream/Morpheus, Unity Kincaid is the new Dream of the Endless, Getting Together, Learning to be human

Summary:

The last person Dream expects to see in Burgess' basement is Hob Gadling, who has apparently been asked to consult on the restoration of the historic manor. He is pleased when his old acquaintance helps free him without a second thought, despite their past squabble, but he is horrified to realise that breaking the binding circle does nothing to return his powers to him, and that he cannot return to the Dreaming after having been released from his cage. Weak, confused, and distressingly human, he consents to being taken back to Hob's home to be cared for until he can regain his strength. When he falls asleep that night (which he should never have had need for), he finally finds his way back to his palace, only to find someone else sitting on his throne, wearing his ruby, and claiming his name as her own — Dream of the Endless.

[the-dreaming-library]

I’m looking for a sort-of fishbowl rescue where Alex ends up painting the orb completely black and it ends up getting sold in an estate sale and bought by Hob and his boyfriend of the time.

It is a specific one, but I’m also happy with any recs for fics with a similar premise, where Hob somehow comes into possession of Dream either unknowingly or with the intent of freeing him

I haven't been able to find this exact fic, maybe another Dreamer has? But I can absolutely recommend accidental Dream rescue/acquisitions! Please mind the tags on these ones, they can get heavy and have some triggering themes. They're worth reading, but look after yourselves!

The first is the fic your ask reminded me of instantly. It doesn't have Alex painting the cage black, but it does feature an estate sale, a Hob rescue and the cage being altered:

The End Of All Things by Ranchdiip Words: 13,149 (WIP)

Graphic depictions of violence

There’s not much use thinking about those times, anymore. He will always be Hob Gadling, but the biggest part of what that used to entail had stormed away on a rainy night like this one hundred and thirty years ago, and hadn’t come back.

Hob remembers the ache in his chest in 1989. He remembers the glow of the pub, so much warmer than the pale light cutting across the alley now. He remembers staring at that empty chair for hours—first with anxiety, then with concern, and eventually with bitterness.

“You dare suggest one such as I might need your companionship.”

Hob had dared, and he’d paid for it.

He’d walked out of that pub in 1989 and not looked back.

It's 2020, and Hob Gadling is old, tired, and bitter, dancing the waltz of London's underground black market. Word has spread about something from the Burgess Estate going to auction, and who is Hob to deny himself and his team the opportunity to get their hands on it?

Rated M, Dream/Hob

Let Your Morning Fall Upon Me by Mywayornorway Words: 20886

Graphic Depictions of Violence, Heavy Angst, Please mind the tags

Utterly enraged by Dream's refusal to grant him his wishes, Roderick Burgess finds new joy in torturing his unwilling guest. If he can't get the Endless to talk, perhaps he can make it scream instead.

That is, until his patience comes to an end and he gifts Dream to the next best person who comes along: Hob Gadling.

Rated E, Dream/Hob

And a more light-hearted but no less brilliant fic than the previous two recs:

A Lucky Break(out) by Cuubism Words: 9892

Hob acquires a familiar ruby at an antiquities sale. Said ruby summons something else into his home as well.

Rated T, Dream/Hob

[roosterbox]

Fic Rec Friday 11/24/23

Title: Sing Me To Sleep

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022)

Relationship: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling

Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Jessamy the Raven

Additional Tags: Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Traumatized Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Touch-Starved Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, BAMF Hob Gadling, Married Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling, Protective Hob Gadling, They're married but they don't know it yet, Fluff, Love Confessions, Happy Ending

Summary: Jessamy enlists the help of Hob Gadling to free Dream of the Endless.

———

Who doesn’t love a good ol’ Fishbowl Rescue story?

I think I gravitate to this particular subgenre of Dreamling fics for a few reasons. One: it seems plausible with the canon of the show. Even if their relationship is 100% platonic, you get the sense that if Hob had known where Dream was, he would have been all up in the Burgess’ business. Two: Hob getting to be even more of the BAMF we all know he is. Three: I just love a good rescue story, lol.

Also, an unexpected bonus to Hob rescuing Dream early is that, occasionally, it means that Jessamy gets to live. Which I always love to see.

The emotions are what really get me. The fact that Hob springs into action (practically literally) when he hears what has happened. The way they get all touchy-feely with each other when Dream is freed. Especially Dream, damn. And you will never, ever, hear me complain about a good old fashioned bridal carry. I’m quite predictable in that way.

In the end, these two silly immortal jerks have me in quite the stranglehold. And this particular flavor of AU is a very big reason why.

———

Next Week: how about something new? New for the recs, anyway.

Thanzag!

One of the rare canon queer ships, lol. Though this particular story is a very delightful AU, set in the modern ‘normal’ world. A sweet little slow burn that will have you feeling alllllll the warm and fuzzy feelings.

See y’all next Friday!

[marbienl13]

The Beast of Judgement These scenes have been on my mind... talking about anti-life, the beast of judgement and the dark at the end of everything... The shadow behind Dream is way too defined to be coincidence... and then a similar one appearing in the Oldest Game. Interesting...

[eidetictelekinetic]

Hmm...

Something, something, dream-beings and daemons

Oh shit the ravens used to be humans, their daemons...

Oh fuck ok wow I might have some worldbuilding to do, huh?

[currently-evil]

Yes I love our dear old "Hob rescue Dream from fishbowl, but Dream is weak after confinement so Hob needs to nurse him back to help, fluff, friends (strangers) to lovers, 200k words fics"

But have you considered the alternative?

Hob rescues Dream from the fishbowl, and the moment glass shatters, the moment the circle is destroyed, Dream releases all his power, all his anger at his capturers.

The ruby? The sand? The helm? That's just  tools, just toys.

The fact that Dream was cut from Dreaming? That his power was weakened? But he is still Endless. The Endless.

He is the power. The Magic. The dreams.... The Nightmares in human form.

And he is furious.

Ready to act on his righteous anger. Ready to let go of his powers, ready to show his worst side, ready to do inhuman things, to everybody in the mansion.

And there is only one person safe from all that, one person standing in the middle of the storm, unharmed and never in any kind of danger.

Hob Gadling finally facing the true nature of his Stranger.

Hob Gadling, watching it all with awe.

[lemonmintcoughdrops]

my favorite thing about every "hob rescues dream from the fishbowl" fic is that one of hob's immediate thoughts after the rescue isn't just "okay get him some clothes" it's "okay get him some BLACK clothes" because if nothing else hob knows with absolute certainty that his stupid idiot stranger is a dramatic emo goth

[xen-xa]

This is for the Dreamling fandom with Hob rescuing Dream from the fishbowl fics.

I’m the second one.

[cuubism]

more dreamling fic tropes that hit so good every time:

dream thinking he has to repay hob somehow for saving him. hob being like bitch what the fuck. we are friends

hob encountering dream in eldritch nightmare form and instead of being afraid he just like. pets the eldritch creature on the head.

(alternatively. dream is like 'you won't like my Nightmare form.' hob's like 'jokes on you i'm into that shit')

dream just. appearing in hob's living room. or in his bedroom. or on his bed.

the absolutely feral rage of hob when he sees dream in the fishbowl.

dream yelling at desire because how dare they make him have feelings for hob???? desire just like ?????????????

Desire trying to seduce hob. Dream being like I will punt you to the other end of the earth do not test me

hob's students being deeply deeply confused by hob's cryptid goth boyfriend like what the fuck is this relationship actually?

hob and death becoming bffs. perhaps through their combined power they can get dream to practice basic self care.

hob built the new inn for dream. (i frequently forget this isn't explicitly canon).

relatedly - the new inn as a temple.

hob as dream's knight in the dreaming. the king & his loyal knight dynamic generally speaking.

hob calling dream 'my king,' 'my lord' or some variation thereof and dream just bluescreening.

hob defending dream from some innocuous threat he definitely didn't need help with. dream deeply charmed by hob coming to his defense.

on the flip side. someone saying something mean to hob and dream yeets them into outer space. ("that was a bit of an overreaction." "it was not")

Hob doesn't get nightmares anymore because the nightmares are afraid of being unmade by Dream

meowpheus. in all incarnations

Hob making Dream finally eat something ("you didn't eat for like a hundred ten years." "Ughhhhhhhh")

Hob beating the crap out of people at the Burgess manor

That moment at the new inn reunion when oh my god. Their hands. TOUCHED

Hob wrapping his coat around Dream's shoulders after rescuing him.

Pressing their hands together through the glass.

Hob's friends/coworkers etc seeing him making heart eyes at this random goth and being like ????🤔😳??🤔??😳

The Dreaming residents seeing Dream mooning over this incredibly average guy and being like !!!!😑😑🙃🙃???🤨🤨??

"So then I went to hell." "Oh ok-- hang on hell is REAL?"

Hob: oh hey cool raven. Matthew: thanks. Hob: oh it talks too hahaha *dies*

Hob making friends with all the dreaming residents. dream's feeling a little personally attacked by the way they all gang up on him now

Dream just Chillin in Hob's classroom while he teaches. Hob definitely not Sweating at all

Hob giving Dream some of his clothes. But making sure they're black

[avelera]

Concept: Hob-rescues-Dream fic where Burgess insists that Hob take stimulants if he’s going to be around Dream so he doesn’t fall asleep, and that’s how Hob discovered he’s had undiagnosed ADHD for over 500 years when he’s suddenly very sleepy and very very focused on getting Dream out of that fishbowl

[just-j-really]

While I'm on the subject of Dreamling-does-tropes-wrong:

Hanahaki au where Hob's the one with hanahaki. Because I think however you set it up Hob refuses to play by the rules of the genre and the potential there is like catnip to me.

"The cure is confessing your love" variant? Hob's just like "Well fuck this actually" and tells Dream he loves him the moment he starts coughing up flowers. And there's so much potential there!

-Poor Hob tries to confess to Dream every time they interact and something keeps getting in his way- he falls in love in 1689, in 1789 they get interrupted, in 1889 he gets halfway through a confession and Dream YOU DAREs him, in 1989 he gets stood up. In 2022 Dream shows up at his table in the New Inn and Hob just blurts out "I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU" before Dream has the chance to actually say anything.

-Modern day, post-reunion, Dream doesn't want to intrude on Hob's life but he does want to see him more so he decides to go for the totally rational move of using his Dream-powers to spy on Hob- which means he gets a front-row seat to Hob slowly succumbing to hanahaki the second their meeting ends. All of Hob's friends/coworkers/acquaintances are REAL worried for him, but he's just like "it's seriously nbd I'll just tell him next time I see him." Dream is also REAL worried while spying from afar, but eventually goes to Hob in person to beg him to confess to whoever he's in love with. (Could be very serious and emotional, could play like that one "just tell them you love them" "alright. hey, I love you." "yes, like that!" meme.)

-Hob blurts out a love confession at... literally any of their canonical meetings, and the rest of the fic is dealing with the fallout. I think the simplest way to do this is 1889, with the confession standing in for "I think you're lonely." I think the most interesting way to do this is 1489, because so much would change. I think the FUNNIEST way to do this is 1589, yes Hob is still married.

But then you can also do the "the cure is having your love requited" variant, where Hob suffers through several centuries with an incurable lung disease. One of his most treasured dreams is that someone will come up with a cure (but for Plot reasons it keeps just not happening, like someone does come up with a cure but the side effects just aren't worth it if you can technically survive having flowers in your lungs. And/or he's never found a doctor he trusted not to freak out if he died and came back on the operating table).

And then you've got options such as:

-Dream falls in love in 1689, and either they start up a relationship right then, or they spend several centuries where Hob thinks they're in a relationship (his feelings were returned, of course they are!) and Dream thinks he's pining hopelessly for Hob, who could never love him

-Dream Does Not realize that Hob is in love with him (and in fact thinks Hob just keeps getting hanahaki, over and over, for different people, and wonders why Death saddled him with the world's Messiest human). And then he falls in love with Hob.

-Dream DOES realize Hob is in love with him. Unfortunately, he falls in love with Hob (or more realizes that what he was feeling WAS love) while fishbowled. Fortunately, Hob notices the lack of flowers, gets worried about what that means (because if his Stranger returns his feelings then why isn't he here? the flowers can't be gone because he's dead, Hob refuses to believe it). Cue a fishbowl rescue!

-Dream falls in love with Hob post-fishbowl, but is in denial about his ow feelings and assumes Hob found a workable cure sometime while he was fishbowled, or got over him. He's VERY SAD about this and can't figure out why. Hob is busy googling 'how to ask out a guy who i empirically know likes me back but only looks at me mournfully when i try to flirt'

Like I want to write this fic so bad but there are so many directions i want to go with it...

[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.

[irondadfics]

Hi! Do you do fic recs? If so, can you rec me some really good really whumpy fics? Like, Peter almost dies but comes back kinda whump and Tony is just the best dad ever!

here are some recommendations for you

Reviving Peter Parker by YellowDistress

Spider-Man was murdered five years ago, on a beach, at the hands of Adrian Toomes. Peter Parker never came home. Spider-Man was murdered five years ago. Today Peter Parker took his first breath.

If You Should Die Before Me (Reserve Me A Place In Heaven) by Aurealis

Peter is locked in a flooding cave in and Tony tries to rescue him.

Identity Theft by KitCat992

It's been months since the events of Civil War, and the Avengers are doing their best to remain a team, having promised to forgive and forget. Unfortunately for them, Tony Stark's latest invention has been stolen and recovering it causes tension to reappear. Meanwhile, in Queens, Peter Parker has two main priorities on his plate — complete his midterm finals, and track down a fishbowl wearing criminal that may or may not lead him right into the hands of the Avengers. Somehow between all of this, Spider-Man's identity is revealed to the Avengers, Steve and Tony's friendship may permanently be damaged due to continued hidden secrets, and Happy struggles to buy a youth-sized casket for Peter's funeral. Things were a lot easier when they were fighting over Bucky Barnes. (Or: The Avengers welcome Peter into their crazy superhero family and will do anything to protect him.)

Burn up with the water by jaybaybay

Spider Man died while millions watched. There was a fire. Then an explosion. And just like that, the famed hero was no more. The world mourned for their loss, then the world had moved on. Save for one. Tony Stark had last been seen when he spoke at Spider Man's public funeral, his demeanor had been calm and stoic; a stark contrast to when he had been seen only days before, screaming and clutching the disembodied torso of the cherished vigilante. Iron Man hadn’t been spotted in months. Not since the incident.  Everyone knew Spider Man was dead. But somewhere, in a prison encased deep in the ocean… Peter Parker lived.

The Humbling River by mysterycyclone

Peter’s been distant lately. Edgy. Angry. On his best days, he moves through his life in a vague daze, skipping meals and sleeping. On his worst, he’s hit with fits of anger that border on unthinking rage.  Monday afternoon, he breaks Flash Thompson’s hand.  Wednesday evening, he goes missing.  That night, the first headless corpse appears in Queens.