#old school Dreamling

[windsweptinred]

Hob's kettle really doesn't get the credit it deserves for being his unfailing wingman in Dreamling fics.

[cuubism]

Zero [complex math verse]

cw for disordered eating eating disorder storylines can be very triggering so please mind this content warning as it applies heavily to the entire fic

---

Hob is almost to his data structures section—running a bit late, as per usual—when he gets a call from Death. He picks up as he’s rushing up the stairs to the Comp Sci building.

“Hey, Hob,” she says before Hob can even tell her that he only has like thirty seconds to talk, actually. She sounds fatigued. “Can you go pick up Dream from the Maths building?”

Hob pins the phone between his shoulder and ear as he tugs open the door. “‘Pick him up’? Is he okay?”

“He asked me to come get him, but I can’t leave this patient right now.” Hob can imagine her leaning against the wall, hand pressed to her forehead. Why didn’t Dream call him?, Hob wonders. He’s usually much more available than Death, at this hour. “I asked if he wanted an ambulance, and he said no, but if you can’t go get him then—”

“Wait, wait.” Hob stops in the middle of the hall, stomach swooping. Someone walking behind him swears as they have to swerve to avoid hitting him, but he ignores it. “An ambulance? I thought you said he was okay.”

But... she hadn’t said that exactly, had she?

“He will be,” Death says, which doesn’t fill Hob with much confidence. But he turns around and heads back for the door, heartbeat picking up with each step.

“I’m going now, I’m not far.” The undergrads are just going to have to cope with not having discussion section today. He doubts they’ll be too unhappy about it.

“Thanks,” says Death, with relief. “Text me when you find him? And you should bring some food, if you have it.”

Oh.

Fuck.

Hob had been afraid something like this would happen. But he can’t exactly force Dream to pick up better habits. Horses and water, and all that.

“Yeah, yeah, I will, thanks,” he says, and walks faster.

Hob is going to be upset with him.

The thought circles Dream’s mind as he sits crumpled on the bench outside the classroom he’d been working in, head on his knees, hands clasped behind his neck. Nothing feels real. Everything is spinning and swaying. He might pass out. He might throw up. He hates throwing up. Hob is going to be upset with him.

It’s exactly what he was trying to avoid by calling his sister instead. Death will be upset with him, too, but she’s chastised him before. Dream is used to it. The same words coming from Hob will be a different matter.

He should have known that she would be busy, and would call Hob. Even if she could come to get him she would likely call Hob after. He should have known. He sits with his head pressed to his knees and waits for the inevitable.

Either Hob was very close by, or more time slips past Dream’s notice than he realizes, but it feels like only a few minutes before he hears Hob’s footsteps coming quickly down the hall. He doesn’t know what it means that he can recognize Hob’s footsteps. Or that Hob had known which classroom to go to. The one Dream always prefers to work in.

“Dream?” Hob crouches in front of him, trying to meet his eyes, but Dream can’t lift his head from his knees. It’s the only thing keeping the world from tipping over on him. Hob lays a hand on his arm. “Hey, love. What’s going on?”

“‘m dizzy,” Dream murmurs, voice small. He hadn’t realized how much his shoulders were shaking until Hob touched him. He thinks that’s distress more than physical shakiness. But Hob’s presence soothes him more than he’d expected. Even if Hob chews him out, he doesn’t want Hob to leave. He wants Hob to hold him. He just wants Hob to hold him.

“Okay.” Hob’s voice is quiet and calm. He brushes Dream’s hair behind his ear, though it’s not long enough for that to do much. “Sit up for me for a sec? I’ll help you.”

Dream is helpless but to follow Hob’s voice. He starts to sit up. His vision is still spinning. Hob wraps an arm around his middle and bodily lifts him up until he’s leaning back against the wall, then sits beside him on the bench, their thighs touching.

He meets Hob’s gaze. Hob is close enough that he doesn’t appear to waver as much as everything in the background. He looks beautiful, he’s a savior, an angel.

Dream’s brain is not working very normally right now. Not that it ever is.

Hob looks more concerned than angry with him. But Dream doesn’t have much time to study his expression before he’s turning to dig in his bag and pull out his water bottle. He uncaps it and hands it to Dream.

“Drink that. At least half of it. Slow.”

He goes back to digging in his bag as Dream sips the water carefully. Hob is very steady, underneath the concern. No panic. Good in a crisis, Hob. That’s interesting.

Hob watches him drink the water, then hands him a package of cheese crackers he’d pulled out of his bag. Despite himself, Dream laughs, weakly, as he takes it. “Do you always have food with you?”

“You’re not the only one who forgets to eat lunch, I just accommodate for it.”

‘Forgetting’ is… not exactly it, Dream thinks as he picks open the package and takes a cracker, eating it slowly. He still feels more nauseous than hungry, but he knows Hob won’t let it be until he eats it.

No, he has witnessed Hob skip a meal when in the throes of some engaging problem, but he always makes up for it later. Or by carrying around snacks, apparently. Whereas with Dream… it is not exactly forgetting.

He eats the crackers one by one, mechanically. Barely tasting them. Fortunately, the food cuts the edge of nausea in his stomach instead of exacerbating it, and he no longer thinks he’s in imminent danger of throwing up. Or passing out. That would certainly upset Hob.

“There you go, love,” Hob soothes him. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

Hob could have gone into the medical field instead if he wanted to, Dream thinks, somewhat deliriously, swallowing his final cheese cracker. His bedside manner is very good.

Or perhaps this is just because it’s Dream.

The thought makes him want to cry, but he doesn’t. He just stays still as the world starts spinning a little less, and Hob takes the water bottle and empty snack package back and shoves them in his bag, then tugs on Dream’s arm.

“Alright, why don’t you lie down.”

“This is a public hallway,” Dream complains, albeit weakly.

Hob sighs in exasperation. “We’ve slept on classroom tables before. Besides, this is a university, everybody’s seen weirder shit in public than this. Lie down.”

Dream acquiesces, and Hob guides him to lie down on the bench, his head on Hob’s lap. It’s pleasant, like that, and the world spins less and less. Hob pets his hair, and Dream closes his eyes.

“Are you going to make me go to A&E?” he murmurs, after a few moments of quiet.

“Depends how you feel in twenty minutes or so.” He sighs, and there’s a shake to it. “But I think you’ll be okay, love. Just give it a moment.”

Dream will be okay, until Hob decides he’s recovered enough to chastise him for his behavior. For now, he just lies there quietly and enjoys the settling feeling of Hob’s hands in his hair.

Hob doesn’t ask him what he did to himself, or why. Perhaps he’s judged Dream too tired or incapacitated to talk about it right now. He just keeps steadying Dream, quietly, his hands ever-moving.

When several minutes have passed, Hob asks, “How are you feeling, darling? Do you want to go home?”

Darling. Hob calls him such sweet things when Dream is nothing but difficult to him. “I would like to go home. Please.”

Hob helps him sit up, bracing an arm around his shoulders. But the room, thankfully, has stopped spinning. He gets Dream to his feet, and Dream doesn’t sway. Hob picks up both his bag and Dream’s from the floor and slips them over his shoulder. He wraps an arm around Dream’s waist. And silently, relieved to be standing again, Dream follows Hob home.

~~

Dream’s flat is closer to campus, so Hob takes him there, gets him settled on the couch and makes tea and pushes a box of biscuits into Dream’s hands, and all this before even telling Dream off for his behavior. Dream is not a child, he knows perfectly well how much sustenance a body needs to sustain it, he knows that it is unwise to go without eating, so why doesn’t Hob tell him so? Chastise him for his foolishness?

Dream sits curled up on the couch. Turning the box of biscuits over and over in his hands, unopened. Finally, Hob sits beside him with his own tea.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

Dream can’t manage to get himself to open the biscuits. He sets the box in his lap, but picks up his tea as a compromise that will hopefully ease Hob’s worries. It does not work, based on Hob’s expression as he watches him do it. Dream sips his tea anyway. Hob’s put a lot of honey into it. Correctly deducing that Dream hasn’t had enough sugar or anything else today.

Instead of responding, he tears up.

Hob puts both of their mugs back on the coffee table and pulls him into his arms.

Dream presses his face into Hob’s shoulder. Tucks his hands in against the warmth of Hob’s body, pressed between his back and the couch. Crawls halfway into his lap. Hob wraps his arms around him and holds him close. Dream feels like his soul is pattering around and only staying contained by the boundaries created by Hob’s body. He doesn’t know what that feeling is.

Hob strokes his hair, murmurs against the shell of his ear, shh darling, it’s okay. Dream is a pathetic cowering creature soothed by Hob’s touch. That feeling. It’s fear. He’s scared. Scared of himself. That he can lose such control while grasping so tightly for it.

“Thank you,” he finally manages, something he should have said earlier, but means more than he can say, “for coming.”

“You could have called me, you know.” It’s not accusatory, but a little hurt. “It’s okay if you’d rather have Death, just—”

“It is not that. I—” He pulls back to see Hob’s face. Hob wipes the tears from his cheeks. “Death has told me her feelings on the matter before. I was… apprehensive to hear yours.” Death, also, has seen Dream at lower points than this. She can hardly think less of him. The same is not true of Hob.

Hob looks sad to hear this. “My feelings are that I’m concerned. Did you eat anything today?”

“…No.”

“What about yesterday?”

Dream thinks. He must have, surely? “I think so.”

“I can make you stuff, you know,” Hob says. “Whatever you want. I don’t mind.”

This is the last thing Dream wants. For Hob to think this is somehow his fault.

“If you’re forgetting I can just come get you whenever I’m eating,” Hob continues. He’s only growing more distressed at Dream’s silence.

How can Dream tell Hob, who cares so much and wants to help, that he does this on purpose? That he doesn’t forget that he’s hungry, but rather ignores it? Or worse, relishes in it? That he has done so for a long time. That it makes him feel sharper. In control of himself.

That once broken, habits are, it turns out, very hard to pick up again. Even when that habit is eating.

“It is not so simple, I’m afraid,” he says, ducking his head.

“No, I guess it wouldn’t be.” Hob bites his lip, looking away. “Why, then? I want to help you, but I don’t…”

“It makes me feel better,” Dream says. “Until it doesn’t.”

Like today. He pushed too far. But it’s only when he does go too far that the reality of what he’s doing comes back to him. It’s easy to forget, when he is used to it.

Ironically, he knows from experience that it will be easier to eat better in the next few days, now that he’s shocked himself back to reality. It will be easier, until he slips again. He doesn’t know how not to slip.

When he finally looks back up, Hob is already looking at him again. He looks sad. Dream doesn’t want him to be sad.

Hob takes Dream’s jaw in his hand, strokes his thumb over Dream’s lower lip. “You scared me, seeing you like that.”

Dream should probably apologize for his behavior. Instead, all he can do is lean in again to press his forehead against Hob’s. He knows Hob wants to fix it, to offer solutions, but all Dream really wants is his touch. Hob’s touch fixes more for him than anything else.

“I’m gonna stay over,” Hob says, cradling the back of his head. “And we’re going to have dinner.”

It is, in fact, almost dinnertime, Dream realizes. No wonder he felt overcome, after having nothing until now. Hob will insist on him having something, he knows. It still feels… strange. To be having something.

He tucks his face into Hob’s neck. “Very well.”

“Will you eat some of it?” Hob asks, petting his hair again, tugging the short strands between his fingers. Dream thinks it must be soothing to him to do so.

“Yes,” he says. “However. I don’t want you to think that this is your responsibility to fix.” Or that you can. Hob is very very good at taking things apart and fixing problems, but if he digs his hands into this one he is going to get his fingers jammed in the unsteady gears of Dream’s brain. He is only going to get hurt in trying.

“Maybe not,” says Hob, and, like he heard what Dream didn’t say, continues, “but I can feed you one meal so let’s start with that?”

Does Hob understand how much comfort he brings? Can he possibly?

“I love you,” Dream murmurs, almost unintelligible for how close he’s pressed himself to Hob’s body.

Hob kisses his head. “I love you, too, my darling.”

He bundles Dream closer so their limbs are all tangled together. Dream loves that, how he can feel each pressure point where they touch. “Will you tell me more about it? When you feel up to it. The more I get how you feel, the more I can help you.”

As a child, Dream’s favorite number was zero. Some mathematicians would insist zero was not actually a number, but rather the absence of one. That was exactly what Dream liked about it. The nothing defined by the everything around it. Zero was foundational, and yet it was not even properly there at all.

Sometimes Dream felt like zero. The less he ate the more he felt it. It was easier to be nothing than to let the everything in.

“You are insistent upon trying to help me,” Dream says.

“Yup.”

“Because,” Dream realizes, with a hard swallow, “you love me.”

“Exactly. You get it.”

Dream twists their fingers together and squeezes. If Dream is zero, Hob is like infinity, so boundless that he can’t help but let it engulf him.

Perhaps one day Dream will be able to explain it all to him in better words than that.

[martybaker]

Thank you @amielot for tagging me in last line tag game like forever ago 🙈 I’ve been in real life hell with no time to spare for any creative endeavors, but today I took up the proverbial pen once again to prod at my unfinished modern au ice-skating fic (you can find part one here)

and I wanted to share this bit with y’all, because I think it’s pretty funny. Enjoy.

——

Hob laughs out loud. “Wow. Okay, I deserved that one. But how about this one: Say, Professor Endeles, what would a perfect date look like for you?”

Dream pretends to ponder this deeply.

“A nice spring day,” he starts, “not too cold or too hot, we have a picnic on a hill… with a beautiful view of the city of Verona below us.”

He smiles at the image, continuing, “I shiver in the light breeze, underdressed, and Pedro Pascal lends me his jacket-” Hob bursts out laughing at that- “he lends me his jacket, hand feeds me strawberries and italian cheese, we drink Chardonnay...”

Hob laughs so hard it makes him bend in half. “Pedro Pascal??? Pedro Pascal hand feeds you strawberries?!”

Dream gives him a cheeky grin. “Yes.”

“Okay, incredible. I’m skying in the Alps with Keanu Reeves if you even care,” Hob parries.

Dream smiles at him beatifically. “I don’t. Pedro’s taking me to Teatro alla Scala to see Carmen in the evening.”

By this point Hob is straight up wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “Oh my god. Okay. You absolute madman, you win this round. I concede defeat.”

——

And I’m tagging @zigzag-wanderer @seiya-starsniper and @omgcinnamoncakes if you feel like sharing :)

[nobody-is-evil]

Dream Receives a Letter

Summary: Instead of my name, I leave you my phone number. You should know that I am a guy. Please only call if you would date a guy as seriously as you have dated girls.

Your Nervous Admirer,

(XXX)-XXX-XXXX

Dream reread the words over and over again. Would he? He didn’t know.

Written for the Dreamling Nation Valentine’s Week. This is will be reblogged with the link to this fic on ao3.

Warning for unhealthy attitude towards food from the paragraph starting with “Dream had gotten his breakfast” to the one starting with “Dream stayed safe in his room”.

February. Valentine’s season.

In past years, Hob often had a date for Valentine’s Day. They’d never been anything but childish flings, though. Somehow, he insulted his partner, or they insulted him, and the two of them broke it off soon after—sometimes on Valentine’s Day. He couldn’t remember most of their names.

Sophomore year, Hob had come very, very close to having a partner for Valentine’s Day—a long-term one, at that! But Eleanor moved away in early February, and by then they’d already broken up after she decided she wouldn’t be able to keep up their relationship long-distance.

He spent the day that year sadly tending to Robyn, the oak sapling they’d planted in Hob’s yard. Eleanor had been so excited to watch him grow...

Junior year was different. Last year, the pain of the hellhole he escaped (the less said about it, the better) was still fresh, even months later. Not exactly the best frame of mind to be dating.

Not that that was common knowledge—most people would’ve described him as a happy, optimistic golden retriever. Only one person had known differently: The first person to show him kindness after the hellhole and his best friend, Dream.

Who Hob might’ve, sort of, kind of had a massive crush on at the time. And who might’ve, sort of, kind of gotten a girlfriend soon after Hob and Dream became friends.

Hob still didn’t understand why Dream had been so infatuated with his girlfriend. Thessaly was—how to put this—more disinterested in men than Hob thought possible. She was a 7 on the Kinsey Scale. Had to be, in order to miss how gorgeous Dream was. How neither of them had seen it, Hob didn’t know. But then, Dream had always had bad luck with relationships.

6 girlfriends, and not a single relationship had ended without massively upsetting Dream. Hob couldn’t see the sense in most of them—who would leave Dream for another guy? Who could break up with him over an accident, no matter how tragic? Who could date him just to sleep with him? Who could fall out of love with him? Who could date him without realizing she was a lesbian?

(Answers, in order: Killala, Calliope, Titania, Alianora, and Thessaly.)

(Nada...was different. But Dream’d changed since then. He wouldn’t do that again.)

Okay, so maybe Hob thought about Dream’s past relationships a lot. It was only natural to be upset on Dream’s behalf. If Dream was Hob’s boyfriend—

Nope, nope, nope, he couldn’t think like that. Dream was straight.

Well.

The thing was, all he had to go off of for that was that Dream had just never told him otherwise. That didn’t actually mean Dream for sure didn’t like men.

But Hob didn’t want to risk ruining their friendship. It was a little selfish—after he’d had to leave all his friends behind at his old school, the only true friend he’d been able to make at this school was Dream.

It was also out of concern for Dream. The last time they’d seriously fought had been the worst. When Dream refused to speak to Hob, well, that didn’t mean Hob had stopped caring about him, and it had been easy to tell—to him, anyway—that it was eating at Dream. If calling them friends had gotten that reaction, what would Hob confessing his love do?

No. Just like last year, Hob couldn’t do anything to show Dream that Hob was in love with him.

And that was final.

No way around it.

Period.

...

But as the holiday drew closer and closer, as the dating talk became inescapable, Hob found that he couldn’t stop thinking of ways he could do it while avoiding most, if not all of the consequences he was afraid of.

So here he was, writing a letter that he didn’t plan on signing.

Handwriting a letter to his best friend that he wanted to be anonymous seemed like a bad idea at first glance, but not when Hob’s usual handwriting was rushed. If he took his time and slowly wrote every letter in every word so they were all nice and neat, it looked like it was written by a completely different person.

He did have to start over several times whenever he wanted to erase something. Would using an eraser change Dream’s answer, maybe not, but Hob had to start over anyway.

Most of it ended up being him waxing poetic about Dream. Even if Hob was able to confess to Dream without the poetry, it could only help to stroke Dream’s ego—especially in places it wasn’t usually stroked.

...

Moving on.

The last sentence contained Hob’s instructions for getting in contact with him. It may have also seemed silly for an anonymous letter, but in his opinion, it was sillier to send it without. If he got an anonymous love letter that asked him if he could love the author, well, he wouldn’t know. For all he knew, they could be catfishing him.

So in lieu of a name, Dream would be getting Hob’s phone number. Considering he already had this info, Hob had downloaded an app that gave him a different one, one with the area code of the town he now lived in rather than the one from when he got his phone. Dream would see a number that could be most of his classmates—but not Hob.

Of course, just leaving the number would still defeat the purpose. Dream would call, he would hear Hob’s voice, and Hob still wouldn’t know if Dream even liked men. Even if he asked Dream to text instead, they were still close enough that he couldn’t discount Dream figuring out it was him too quickly. No, there had to be a condition on it. He finished the letter.

Instead of my name, I leave you my phone number. You should know that I am a guy. Please only call if you would date a guy as seriously as you have dated girls.

Your Nervous Admirer,

(XXX)-XXX-XXXX

There was a chance Dream would call anyway. He was curious like that. But more often than not, Dream followed instructions just because they were given, as long as they weren’t from one of his parents or a person he similarly disliked.

That didn’t always mean he would do as intended, though. Dream’s interpretation skills sometimes hit the mark and sometimes missed. Hob was as clear as he dared without using language Dream might not be familiar with.

This was all probably for nothing. Most likely, Dream would get to the part where his admirer was a man and discard it all on the basis of being 100% straight. He’d had six girlfriends before he was 18 that all left him devastated when they ended. He’d never said a word about being anything but straight even after Hob came out to him. He had to have thought about it. Dream had clearly just...decided he was straight, or to never tell anyone he wasn’t. He wouldn’t admit to liking men by answering a random love letter.

Hob stared at the completed letter.

No, that was the devil talking. He’d written the thing, and he was going to send it, for a reason—for he had a chance, and he wouldn’t stop being able to think about it if he didn’t take that chance.

—Line Break—

Dream woke suddenly, without knowing why.

Then he heard the excited squealing.

He rolled over and pressed the pillow against his ears, futilely. Ugh. Why was Desire so enthusiastic about Valentine’s Day when they weren’t even interested in romance?

Unfortunately, he knew the answer to that question: They were nosy, and this holiday was a great way to figure out what people wanted.

He let out a sigh, his morning already ruined, and got up for school.

Making himself presentable wasn’t high on his list of priorities. He tended to sleep in the clothes he planned to wear the next day, rather than change in the morning. He didn’t see the point in brushing his hair when it looked good as it was. As long as he wore deodorant and made sure his clothes were still reasonably clean, Dream thought he was decent enough to be seen in public (considering girls would inevitably find him attractive and guys would inevitably envy him anyway) and therefore decent enough to attend Family Breakfast.

Sometimes, he wished he could take longer so he could get to breakfast after his siblings had already left. It would make everyone happier...except Death. Death would only have to pout at him, and he’d go back to coming to breakfast on time the next day. It had happened before.

Dream had gotten his breakfast (coffee cake and a glass of chocolate milk, perfect for his sweet tooth) and sat down before he realized how quiet it was.

...why were all of his siblings staring at him?

“Is that food on your plate?” Desire asked. At Dream’s bewildered nod, they continued, “What have you done with our Dream? He would never eat breakfast without prodding.”

While Dream kept his face perfectly stony, he was an on-fire puddle of embarrassment. Further humiliation came from the fact that Death didn’t immediately step in—she was thinking the same thing!

He considered his words carefully, as always, before speaking: “Most days, I have no need for food beyond the basic necessities. Today, I do.” The former part was the reason he gave every day. Proof, not that he needed any more of it, that none of his siblings actually listened when he spoke. Why he bothered, he...well.

Now Death interjected to scold him, “Dream, you can’t just have chocolate from your valentines all day. You’ll make yourself sick.”

“I’m sure it won’t just be chocolate,” he acknowledged. He stood up with most of his meal unconsumed, “If you’ll excuse me,” without waiting to actually be excused.

He loudly scraped his meal in the trash and poured his drink down the drain. Or, at least, he hoped they thought he did (in reality he scarfed it down while he was out of their lines of sight, only leaving enough to provide the necessary noises). Maybe next time, Death would think twice about taking Desire’s side on his eating habits.

Dream stayed safe in his room until it was time for the next part of his awful morning: his parents’ call.

Even though they were out of the country, they always called on Valentine’s Day. Night and Time Endless only had one purpose in making this call. Not to make sure their kids were safe and happy, not to wish them a good day, not to tell them they’d be home from their trip soon.

No, his parents only wanted to ensure none of their kids had dates for Valentine’s Day.

Considering not a single one of his siblings had ever shown the least bit of interest in romance, let alone had a partner, it might as well have been a personal attack on Dream. It had been the last two years, when he’d been with Thessaly and before that, Calliope.

He informed them, “No, mother. I have not had a girlfriend since I broke up with Thessaly in August.”

“Good.” They hung up.

They wouldn’t have done anything drastic if he had a girlfriend—that would require a level of care he didn’t think they were capable of—but they would tell Destiny to pester him every day about why the rule existed: Because most relationships end in tragedy.

It was galling, but internally, he could admit that he was starting to think they were right. This was the longest he’d gone without a girlfriend in a while. Not for lack of contenders—the girls at his school were always trying to bag him, an Endless. No, he just didn’t see the point in dating a girl who held only that shallow interest in him. Not one of them could actually care about him.

Ugh. Why was he letting his parents further sink his mood? He had enough things to be upset about without making himself more upset because of a topic he’d already been thinking about for months.

Since he, Desire, Despair, and Delirium were all heading to the same place, it was better that they all take the same vehicle (logic that Dream despised) especially considering neither of his younger sisters could drive and Desire was perpetually on thin ice.

On good days, Death would drive them. However, as already established, today was not a good day. So Dream had to drive.

By the time he was finally able to part ways from his siblings and go to his locker, it felt like his mood was already at its lowest, and he hadn’t even had to deal with anything directly school-related yet.

At least his all-black attire and dour manner meant people made a wide berth around him. Dream reached his locker without any further trouble. He inputted his locker combination and was about to open it when he stopped.

His brain was telling him something was wrong—something undesirable would happen if he opened it. After giving his subconscious a moment to explain itself to his conscious self, he understood. In past years, he’d had a lot of valentines slipped into his locker, and that was while he had a girlfriend. There was sure to be a mountain of them this time, and some would fly out if he wasn’t careful.

Only now did he open it. As expected, letters threatened to scatter everywhere, how tiresome, but he didn’t let a single one slip away. He stacked them and set them to the side to deal with later—

Holy shit.

Despite himself, Dream felt a grin spread across his face. (He fought it down, of course—it wouldn’t do for the school’s gossip mill, of which he was unfortunately considered a celebrity, to see him and come up with any crazy ideas, like him having a secret girlfriend. If that made its way to Delirium, for example, she would tell the family and he’d never hear the end of it.)

Some girl had left a giant box of his favorite chocolates in his locker, far too big to have been slid through the slots. No, she knew his locker combination. As the only other person who should’ve been able to say that was Hob, and Hob would’ve just given them to him in person, that meant she broke in.

But how could he be mad, when she had such a good reason to?

Dream popped the lid off and was further surprised by a pristine white folded paper sitting on top of the chocolates. He hadn’t planned on reading any of the valentines, but this one earned it. While treating himself to one of the gifted sweets, he opened it and looked for a name at the bottom.

Hmm. No name, only a phone number. He flipped it over, scanned the (very neat) handwriting, but the only name he could find was his own. Who would send a love letter signed with a phone number? Intrigued, Dream actually read it now, starting from the greeting.

If he could live solely off of compliments, the letter would be enough to sustain him for likely hundreds of years. It was not just the sheer amount, nor the degree of flattery, but the kind—each one was actually characteristics he prided himself on, not just how others saw him.

His art was highly skilled and full of complex meanings. His hair and clothes were cool and did make him hotter, rather than hide it like so many other girls had bemoaned. He did put a lot of effort into his schoolwork, even though loathed doing most of it at all.

The author didn’t only heap praise on him. Interspersed were declarations of love. Dream had mixed feelings about them—he enjoyed them, but he wished she hadn’t sat on it for so long, if the amount of time she’d apparently harbored these feelings was to be believed.

He read to the end of the letter and froze. His...nervous admirer...was a guy?

Of course Dream knew his school had a not insignificant queer population, but he’d never had cause to think about it before. No guy had ever shown any interest in him before.

In addition to the author being a guy, he asked that Dream only use the phone number if he would date a guy.

Which, again, not something he’d ever had to consider before. Dream reread the words over and over again. Would he? He didn’t know.

At the minute warning bell, he quickly gathered his materials for his first class, leaving the chocolates and the letter behind, but not the thoughts they had caused.

What qualities were consistent with someone willing to date a guy? Well, probably the same qualities that made him willing to date a girl. She was interesting, she was hot, and she was willing to date him. Soon enough, Dream found that he cared about her, that his every waking moment was consumed by thoughts about her.

It was the first condition that no girl had met within the last several months. His heart had closed off. It had higher standards.

So someone who liked guys would find guys interesting and hot. Well, he was intrigued by the author of the letter, at least. Dream hadn’t found a guy attractive before, but then, it had never been an option before. He’d need a large sample size—after all, it wasn’t like he found every girl attractive.

He would take the rest of the school day, and if he didn’t find any of his male classmates hot before school ended, he probably didn’t like guys.

—Line Break—

By the time the passing period prior to lunch had started, Dream had found that the fact that he recognized people was interfering with the experiment, as he was dismissing guys he disliked straightaway.

Did he do the obvious thing, to change his sample from his classmates to pictures of men on Google or something? No, that took too much work. It was much faster to simply think flexibly and stop recognizing people. With just a little bit of concentration, the hallways became filled solely with strangers.

Hmm. Still hadn’t found any attractive guys at this school.

A flash of motion caught his eye. Dream’s eyes searched for it on instinct and landed on—

A hot guy. His search was over.

Now all he had to do was stop staring (and probably freaking the guy out, considering his stare had often been described as intimidating.) Dream blinked, letting his brain go back to its regularly scheduled programming.

Oh. That was. Hob. That he’d been staring at.

Naturally, Hob seemed concerned by his behavior. “Dream, are you okay?” By the way he asked, Dream could tell that this wasn’t the first time he’d done so.

“I’m fine. I just have a lot on my mind.” There, that was vague enough.

“Like what? Got a lot of valentines?” Hob teased as they found their way outside and to a quiet place.

The pieces fell together. Dream narrowed his eyes. Hadn’t he noted earlier that other than him, only Hob had access to his locker? And, as a guy who liked guys himself, Hob wouldn’t be opposed to other guys who did. “I found a large box of sweets in my locker this morning. Did you give the combination to someone or something?”

“Ah, yeah.” Hob looked down in embarrassment. “I figured you wouldn’t mind, considering what the gift was.”

Dream leaned in, unable to look away. “So you know who it’s from?”

He laughed, “I do, but I can’t tell you.”

No, Hob had principles. It would be useless to try to get him to break a promise like this. Instead, Dream tried to get other important information from him. “Is he attractive?”

“Umm...” Hob looked at him like a deer in the headlights. “I don’t know if you would think so or not, Dream.”

Ugh. As much as Dream wanted to know the answer, he didn’t want to make Hob uncomfortable. “I suppose I’ll just have to call him.” After all, he found at least one guy attractive, so there was possibility enough that he could date a guy.

He got his phone out and dialed the number he’d memorized without even trying, just from how much he’d stared at the letter. (Dream glanced up at Hob once, but he was laser-focused on Dream’s phone.) After the last number, he hit the green call button.

Hob’s phone rang.

That...that...

Neither of them said anything as Hob got his phone out and accepted the call. Dream’s call connected when he did.

“Hey.” Hob’s voice came out of two speakers.

Dream ended the call with shaky hands. He was glad he was sitting down, because the revelation left him light-headed. “You...”

He must’ve sounded angry, because Hob’s next words came out in a rush, “Look, I know I’m probably not—”

“The letter-those were your words?” he had to confirm. “You feel that way about me?”

Hob stared at him with a familiar look that it now occurred to Dream was adoration. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“I...”

A lot of things were occurring to him, actually.

Hob was his best friend and most trusted confidant. Hob knew things about him nobody else did.

Spending time with him wasn’t exhausting like it was with other people—Dream had, on several occasions, initiated a hangout with him because he was thinking about Hob, and Hob never brushed him off.

Hob never raised his voice at Dream or called him weird, either, their first meeting notwithstanding. Hob listened to Dream’s advice.

Hob was always kind to him, even when Dream’s grief was hitting him hard or he was resistant to being called friends or he told him he began their relationship with bad intentions.

He held as much love for Hob as he did for Lucienne or Jessamy, except a distinctly different kind of love.

“I believe...I feel the same.”

“You do?” Hob breathed a sigh of relief. “I’d hoped so, but to hear you say as much...!”

The smile that Hob gave him was priceless. Dream would do anything to keep that smile on his face for the rest of eternity.

“We’re dating, then,” Hob said.

“Yes.” Just saying so set Dream’s heart aflutter.

“Then, maybe, sometime—” They were sitting close enough for Dream to tell that Hob’s gaze was drifting down to his lips. Hob noticed him noticing, “I’m sorry, I know you don’t really like kissing—”

“I’ve never kissed a guy before,” Dream countered as he leaned in.

They met in a chaste kiss. It didn’t take long for Dream to decide he was right—kissing a guy was different. The feeling of stubble against his chin was much better than his past girlfriends had made it seem. That couldn’t just be it, though. He’d never been this...giddy...to kiss his partner before. Perhaps it was something intrinsic to Hob.

Dream broke the kiss, and was treated to Hob smiling at him again.

Dream broke the kiss, and was treated to Hob smiling at him again.

[unlikely-gravestones]

Ok, but a Dreamling fic where either:

A) Dream is courting Hob, but Hob doesn't know

Or

B) Hob is courting Dream, but Dream doesn't know

I mean, it literally works either way, and yes I will be promptly expanding on that right now.

Let's take fic A: Give me Dream courting Hob but in an obscure way, like taking him to Fiddlers Green (aka the heart of the Dreaming) and showing him one of his most beloved creations; give me Dream conjuring specific foods from Hob's past, meals and desserts that he knows Hob still idly daydreams about but can't find anymore, or don't taste quite right. Yet the ones Dream gift him taste exactly like how he remembers.

Dream shows his favour for Hob by steering clear his nightmares, sometimes even personally curating a dream when he can't visit him himself. And visit him Dream does - both in The Dreaming and in The Waking. When Hob enters his realm, most nights Morpheus can be found within his dreams, allowing Hob to shape the world around them as he sees fit unless Morpheus wants to show him something in particular.

And when Dream does show him around... think of Hob complimenting stuff in the Dreaming, slightly flustering Morpheus because he is unrelenting is his curiosity and awe at Dreams realm, at his creations-

Dream thinking to himself that Hob is such a FLIRT, because The Dreaming and everything in it is Morpheus, so of course he takes pride in it...but here's Hob praising it all left right and centre. Hob's obvious wonder and verbal appreciation of anywhere they go or anything Dream does (because there are no limits in the dreaming and oh my god is there a dragon on that castle...YOUR CASTLE??...i didn't even have a castle wtf) just makes Dreams feelings all the more tender and...its worth the surprised look Lucienne gives him when he only smiles fondly at Hob while the immortal praises the magnificence of the library and the quality of the printing.

In The Waking (and they do meet frequently in the waking because Hob will be damned if he ever waits 100 years to see Dream again), Hob is surprised by how warm Dream is towards him; he no longer sits rigid and regal but instead relaxes into his seat, sometimes tapping Hob's shoe under the table with his own when he sits down, though Hob's sure it's an accident (the first time, it was). He smiles more often, though no more freely- its the same small knowing smile he's always had, and it melts Hob as much as it surprises him. He doesn't know why Dream seems more...fond, but he's not going to be the one to point it out lest Dream stop or leave him again. The attentions nice anyway, from His Dream.

Just give me Dream doing stuff that to HIM is romantic but to Hob its mildly confusing yet very pleasant. And again, Hob will gladly take all of this without question because even though he feels just a little bit like there's something he's not getting, he won't risk upsetting Dream again. He knows it wasn't Dreams fault for missing their 1989 meeting, but he still did storm out of their 1889 meeting and all hell broke loose for him in the years that followed. Hob figures its better to accept all the welcome changes and gifts, rather than put his foot in his mouth again by bringing it up and risking Dream leaving, risking not know where his friend is or if he's safe.

AND FIC B. Give me Hob deciding to court Dream, to go old school and work his way up to asking him out because he needs to gauge his reactions first before he dives all in. Hob learnt a lesson in 1889, and so while he might be taking some of the courage he had back then to start courting Dream, he wouldn't put himself out there like that again and have it backfire even more monumentally. No, he'll work his way up to it.

Give me Hob asking Dream to meet him at places outside the Inn, simply taking walks together and enjoying good conversation. He lays a hand on Dreams shoulder when they part, the other balled up in his jacket pocket from nerves, and the smile on his face from Dream allowing it, from Dream looking at his hand on his shoulder and then smiling at Hob in that small knowing way he always does... Hob doesn't stop grinning for the rest of the night.

Give me Hob tapping his shoe against Dreams under the table sometimes, to emphasise a point, to touch him without being obvious. Give me Hob, in the dreaming, shaping the world around them to be a beautiful flowering meadow where the colour of the blossoms match that of Dreams eyes. Have him conjure wine - wine with no name for all he thinks when creating it in his dream is that it simply must be the finest - and watch Dream, for perhaps the first time ever, drink something with him.

Give me Hob complimenting the Dreaming, yes again, because truly it is astounding in its beauty and complexity, but also because he thinks its cute how Morpheus smiles and looks from under his eyelashes at him. Give me Hob buying a pair of earrings for Dream because they glistened like stars when he walked past them, and now he's panicking because what the fuck was he thinking and they're dainty but feel like they're burning a hole through his pocket as he waits for Dream and he probably has time to run upstairs above the Inn and put them down in his flat but-

Dream walks in the door, so he's stuck. And maybe he picks up on Hob's nervous energy, because shortly after sitting down his face becomes serious and he asks Hob what's wrong. And Hob is sweating bullets but he just looks at him for a moment and pulls the earrings out of his jacket pocket, setting them gently on the table between them.

And Dreams confused, but when Hob manages to get out a "For you. They're uh, for you." He relaxes and gives Hob a pleased but surprised "For me?". Give me Hob explaining that he saw them and thought of Dream, trying to pass it off as casual because he doesn't know if he's being too hasty and if it'll scare him off, but also trying to say just enough that if Dream were interested, he'd pick up on it.

Suffice to say Hob's brain stops working the next time he sees Dream, wearing the earrings he bought. He's out of it for a solid 15 minutes, eyes mostly focused on the shine of the gems and holy shit he's actually wearing them oh my god he put them on is he interested is he accepting my courtship holy shit oh wait fuck he's looking at me what did he say what did I say-

Give me Hob picking a flower for him on one of their walks, handing it over with a simple "For you". Hob brushing their fingers together on the table at the inn, resting his foot against Dreams. Hob tugging Dreams sleeve to get him to lay down in the grass beside him in Fiddlers Green, occasionally tapping his foot with his or pressing his arm against him as he talks.

Hob actually flirting with Morpheus, emboldened by the earrings his soon to be lover continues to wear. Dream amassing a small shrine of tokens and gifts Hob brings him, ones he's always pleased though still confused to get. He did not think humans partook in gift giving this often, but perhaps he was mistaken.

The most important part of either fic is that the one doing the courting thinks its going great. And by all means...it is. Both parties are happy, though one is slightly confused. And I don't imagine they would get far physically without this misunderstanding coming to light; Hob would def ask to kiss Dream and Dream would go "...what?" because while the idea is pleasing, for him it's coming out of nowhere while for Hob, they've been working towards it for months and thats fine bc hes got all the time in the world and he would never rush Dream.

Cue Hob losing the confidence he had two seconds ago (Hob's had centuries to become well acquainted with himself in every aspect, he's confident in most things about himself but when it comes to Dream...hes always flipping between confidence and foolishness). Hob just being like "wdym what 🤠" and slowly they both realise they've been living two different realities these past few months.

Alternatively, Dream I think would also ask to kiss Hob...to which, you guessed it, Hob responds with "...what?". There's still a smile on his face, though it's more in confusion now and his eyebrows are drawn. And I def think Dream would just look at him for a moment before repeating "I asked if I may kiss you, Hob Gadling. Our courtship has gone so well, I should like to take it further, if you are willing."

"...courtship? Dream, what...what courtship?"

And of course, this would be the point where slowly they both realise they've been living two different realities these past few months. And, because Dream is Dream, this conversation would absolutely end with him on the verge of tears, whisking himself away back to the dreaming or simply "This dream is over" ing Hob if they were in The Dreaming to begin with. Hob would reach for him with a "No, wait-" but it's useless because Dreams gone either way.

Has to have a happy ending though, Hob's stubborn enough that he just calls for Dream when he goes to sleep again (says a mix of things- pleads for Dream to come talk to him, says he's honoured to be courted, threatens to bang pots and pans together outside his castle cause fuck it he'll find a way to get there, Lucienne will let him in or Matthew would show him the way if he asked he's sure, he even apologises at some point because it's beginning to feel like 1889 all over again).

It probably just ends up with Hob loudly confessing his own love in a multitude of ways, because what has he got to lose if Dreams left him already. Except Dream hasn't left, and he comes back, soothed by Hob's declaration of affection and perhaps slightly chastised by Lucienne for assuming Hob would understand the meaning of his odd courting rituals (I like to think he threw himself into a room all dramatic like and Lucienne just ends up standing outside the door going "...Did we ask Hob if he would accept being courted? No?...Did we research human courting customs and try to incorporate some of those, my lord? No?....*insert knowing silence*..." bc I KNOW Lucienne out here using the royal "we" while dealing with Dream).

Anyway. Big thoughts. Feel free to have at this if anyone wants to write anything, I just need a "We're courting" "...We are?" friends to lovers happy ending angst hurt/comfort fic.

(This post is long enough but also there's a secret 3rd option where one of them THINKS they're being courted by the other, so they respond in kind with gifts of their own and genuinely think the other person is trying to court them so they accept and go along with it bc...theyre idiots in love, your honour. But, as is the theme, there's a fundamental miscommunication where they're not actually being courted, the other just feels more secure in their 'friendship' and therefore brings gifts and touches bc they're friends now right and friends do that...not for any other reason...)

[gabessquishytum]

Hi! 👋 New Anon here! I have been devouring all your AUs - they are fantastic! Especially your ballet au.

I wanted to throw my hat in the prompt ring, because if there is one thing that ballet universes have its the "I'm not just a stuffy ballet person, dance is FUN! So I am fun!" scene.

So Dream goes looking for Hob (reasons) and can't find him, he deigns to ask someone and they say 'yeah, it's Wednesday, Hob's doing his thing.' Dream puzzled (quizzical head tip, with a healthy dose of ew, people and slang) 'His thing?!' Yes, Hob -- teaches wiggles/ballet for toddlers/some dance class where it's just little kids having fun at the barre at the nearby community center [OR] takes the ubiquitous "hip hop" class for fun (because he has skills) -- and Dream goes to find him. And yeah, they're already catching feelings, but it wouldn't be a DANCE Universe/Movie/AU if Dream didn't see Hob having non-ballet dance fun and just want to do him in the supply closet.

Omg yes I remember watching Step Up many years ago and honestly??? That movie is kind of dreamling coded?? Prim and Proper ballet boy Dream picking out street dancer Hob to perform as his partner in The Big Competition is kinda fantastic???

Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself. Hob being the FUN dance guy is just so great tbh.

I love the idea of Dream seeing Hob teaching toddler classes, that's absolutely adorable. Hob LOVES babies and children so he jumped at the opportunity to volunteer his time (he also wants to make ballet cool for kids, especially when a lot of the bigger ballet schools are so focused on putting them through exams. He wants it to be FUN!!). He runs one class for the teeny tiny kids to run around be fairies and learn like. 1st and 2nd position. And then one for the slightly older ones with fun music and barre exercises.

Dream watches from behind the door as Hob sits on the floor, pointing his toes, surrounded by a gaggle of 4 year olds who obviously adore him. Pretty soon he's got them all "floating" around the room on tiptoe pretending to be astronauts. It's absolutely the sweetest thing he's ever seen.

Perhaps Hob spots him lurking and encourages him to join in and Dream is like "You know I no longer have the capacity to dance" and Hob is like "But you can still be an astronaut. I'll make sure you float, I promise."

And Dream melts into a puddle on the floor.

[hardly-an-escape]

I'm stuck on you (I'm mighty glad you stayed)

Square: D3 - "Why did you do it?" (June monthly prompt replacement) Rating: M Word Count: 8767 Ship(s): Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling Warnings: No archive warnings apply Additional Tags: Dreamling Bingo fill, alternate universe - human, alternate universe - no powers, stuck in an elevator, claustrophobia, panic attacks, strangers to lovers, love at first sight, first kiss, post-break up sex, bog people, poetry recitation, bisexual Hob Gadling Summary: Hob is a secondary school teacher running late to meet his exacting girlfriend for lunch. Morpheus is a famous novelist just trying to fly under the radar on his way home. But when the elevator they’re in together experiences mechanical difficulties, Morpheus’s claustrophobia leads to a bonding experience that changes the lives of both men. Read on AO3 | fill for @dreamlingbingo | prompt from #dreamlingweek2023

The elevator has barely lurched into motion when it suddenly shudders to a stop. Hob is willing to bet it hasn’t even surfaced from the depths of the underground parking garage he is trying to exit. He rolls his eyes, checks his watch, and presses the door open button. Nothing happens. He presses it again, and a third time. Nothing. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “I don’t need this, I’m already late.” He hits the emergency call button with perhaps a little more force than is necessary and glances over his shoulder at the other occupant of the elevator, a handsome, dark-haired man who nods tightly when Hob catches his eye. “Alright, mate?” he asks. But before the man can answer, a tinny voice crackles through the speaker.

Hour Zero, 12:08 PM

The elevator has barely lurched into motion when it suddenly shudders to a stop. Hob is willing to bet it hasn’t even surfaced from the depths of the underground parking garage he is trying to exit. He rolls his eyes, checks his watch, and presses the door open button.

Nothing happens.

He presses it again, and a third time. Nothing.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “I don’t need this, I’m already late.”

He hits the emergency call button with perhaps a little more force than is necessary and glances over his shoulder at the other occupant of the elevator, a handsome, dark-haired man who nods tightly when Hob catches his eye.

“Alright, mate?” he asks. But before the man can answer, a tinny voice crackles through the speaker.

“Templeton Elevator Company. Are you experiencing an emergency?”

“Yeah, we���re in the lift at the underground car park on Monteagle and it’s just stopped.”

The tinny voice asks a series of questions, which Hob answers with increasing impatience.

There are two people in the elevator. Yes, they’re both adults. No, they don’t have any food or water with them. No, they don’t have any pressing medical issues (after waiting for a headshake from the stranger). Yes, he’ll hold while they contact technical services.

The tinny voice is replaced with tinny hold music. Hob curses under his breath again.

After a moment the voice returns. The elevator they are currently occupying appears to be experiencing a mechanical failure. High demand on technical services at this time. Their safety is important to the Templeton Elevator Company. A repair technician should arrive within the hour.

Click. And then silence.

“Fuck,” says Hob again, feelingly. “Fucking fuck.”

He sighs. Sits down. Takes out his mobile. No signal, of course. Or wait – maybe one bar? He dashes off a quick text to Gwen and sets the phone down gingerly on the floor in front of the door, thinking vaguely that the signal might filter down through the elevator shaft. It’s probably daft.

Heh. Shaft, daft.

He is going to lose his mind.

Hour One, 12:08-1:08 PM

“My girlfriend’s going to kill me,” he says conversationally. “We’re supposed to be getting lunch with some old school friends of hers. I’m already on thin ice, she’s always getting on me about being late all the time. This’ll probably be the final nail in my coffin.”

“Surely,” says the stranger, “being trapped in an elevator is a reasonable excuse for tardiness.”

“Yeah… She’s a bit strict about some things. I don’t know. She just wants the best for us, she’s just a little intense about it sometimes.” Hob shakes himself. “Sorry, mate. I shouldn’t be whinging to a total stranger. My name’s Hob, by the way. Hob Gadling.”

They are both sitting, now, on opposite sides of the elevator. Hob’s legs are stretched out casually and the stranger has his knees up, his arms wrapped tightly around them, hands gripping his own elbows, knuckles white. He looks almost defensive, Hob thinks, extending his hand across the elevator to shake. After a moment, the stranger takes it, squeezing briefly.

“Hob. That’s an… atypical name,” he says.

“Suppose so,” Hob laughs. “It’s Robert, actually. Hob is an old-fashioned nickname, but I got saddled with it in uni and it just sort of stuck. I studied history,” he adds in explanation.

“I am – you can call me Murphy,” says the stranger. Murphy. It has the flavor of untruth about it, but if a stranger on an elevator doesn’t feel comfortable giving his real name, who is Hob to judge?

“Pleasure. Have we met before? Only there’s something about you that seems familiar.”

“I do not think so.”

Murphy curls, if anything, even tighter in on himself. Hob does not pursue the topic.

They sit in silence for a while as the air grows slowly stuffier.

Hob taps at his phone and tsks when he sees his text has failed to send.

“I don’t suppose you have any service?” he asks hopefully.

Murphy pulls out a slim, expensive-looking phone from the pocket of his slim, expensive-looking suit jacket and gives it a cursory glance.

“I am afraid not,” he says.

“Damn. Oh well. Nothing for it but to wait, I suppose.”

Murphy clears his throat.

“How long has it been now?”

“About… twenty minutes?” Hob looks at his watch. “Twenty-five?”

“Thank you.”

Murphy’s voice is taut, and his knuckles are white where he is gripping his knees. Looking more closely, Hob can see sweat beading on his forehead, and realizes his chest is moving a little too quickly.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“I am fine.”

“No offense, but you don’t look fine, mate.”

“We are not mates,” snaps Murphy. “Nothing is wrong.”

“Okay, okay.” Hob holds up placating hands. “Whatever you say. No need to bite a bloke’s head off.”

Silence reigns for another minute.

“I. Apologize,” says Murphy finally. “That was uncalled for.”

“No worries.”

“The truth is that I am. Not fond. Of confined spaces. I am finding the prospect of being in this elevator for much longer. Distressing.”

“God, I’m sorry. You should have said. I ought to have told the elevator company, I’m sure claustrophobia counts as a medical issue,” says Hob. “Especially under the circumstances.”

But Murphy is already shaking his head.

“It does not rise to the level of a diagnosable condition,” he says.

“Even so,” objects Hob. “Do you want to call back? Tell them? Maybe it’ll get someone here more quickly.”

“It does not matter.”

“Isn’t there… is there anything I can do to help?”

Murphy looks puzzled.

“Why would you want to help? You do not know me.”

“Because I have a basic sense of empathy?” Hob says, slightly appalled. “Because you’re a human being who’s distressed? Jesus, what kind of people do you hang out with?”

“You will probably be shocked to hear,” says Murphy dryly. “That I have very few close associates and even fewer friends.” Hob snorts. “But I. Thank you. For your willingness to help. Unless you happen to have a Xanax somewhere on your person, I doubt there is anything you can do.”

“And here I am fresh out of benzodiazepines. I knew I’d forgotten something at the chemist’s this morning,” Hob says, and is rewarded with a tiny chuckle.

The rest of the hour passes slowly, but not too badly. They chat, stiffly at first, but more fluently after Murphy admits that the conversation is helping to distract him from the little metal box they find themselves in. Hob certainly talks more – but then, Hob generally talks more than everyone, something Gwen not infrequently rolls her eyes at.

He learns they both were graduated from Oxford, although their time there didn’t overlap. Murphy is cagey about what he does for a living, but shares that he studied literature and dabbled in student drama. He seems interested when Hob tells him about the secondary school where he currently works, teaching history.

“It’s funny, I used to picture myself as a professor at a university, you know, doing my own research on the side, publish or perish, all that,” he says. “Gwen – that’s my girlfriend – she thinks that would be better. Sounds better to be a professor, I guess; more money, too. But now that I’m working with teenagers, I can’t imagine doing anything else. They get a bad rap from everyone, you know, but they’re so interested in the world, and all they want is for someone to listen to them and take them seriously…”

Read on AO3 >>>

massive massive thanks to @tryan-a-bex and @karalynlovescake for beta reading. I can't thank you enough!

green = complete, orange = WIP

[wordsinhaled]

Alright y'all, I've been asked for some guidance and Middle English resources following up on my "Hob 'Middle English survives in me' Gadling" post, so... here goes! :D @slavicwitchling I hope this is a lil helpful! I feel like this... went way too in-depth for what was actually asked of me but feel free to say hi if you have more specific questions or anything else I can help with <333 (Or if anyone has q's about other random Medieval Lit Things that might be helpful for fandom please feel free to stop by!!! (Also lol, I make myself sound like an Expert or something but it's been a minute since I was in school doing this, though to be fair I'm diving headfirst back into this passion lately and may potentially be going back, so always happy to do some research if needed!)

What is Middle English? Middle English describes the period of the English language where it transitioned from Old English to Early Modern (aka Shakespeare's) English. During this period from the Norman Conquest in 1066 to the late 1400s, English also borrowed a lot of characteristics from French, and a lot of changes happened grammatically & structurally to make English sound, look, and feel a lot more familiar to our modern ears than Old English does. Here's a helpful article on this! There's some debate on when ME was spoken but more or less 1150 to 1500. What did Middle English sound like? What would Hob have probably sounded like? Here's my back-translation of Hob and Dream's 1389 conversation into Middle English! Here is also an example of a Middle English lyric found in the manuscript Harley 2253 (which dates to c. 1340) - "When the nyhtegale singes" ("When the nightingale sings"). Middle English was beautiful and Hob probably sounded kinda like this! Actually just go listen to all of Briddes Roune it's so pretty <3 And here's what the manuscript page looks like!

When the nyhtegale singes,  The wodes waxen grene, Lef ant gras ant blosme springes In Averyl, Y wene ; Ant love is to myn herte gon With one spere so kene, Nyht ant day my blod hit drynkes Myn herte deth me tene. Ich have loved al this yer  That Y may love na more; Ich have siked moni syk, Lemmon, for thin ore, Me nis love neuer the ner, Ant that me reweth sore; Suete lemmon, thench on me, Ich have loved the yore. When the nightingale sings, The trees grow green, Leaf and grass and blossom springs, In April, I suppose; And love has to my heart gone With a spear so keen, Night and day my blood it drains My heart to death it aches. I have loved all this past year So that I may love no more; I have sighed many a sigh, Beloved, for thy pity, My love is never thee nearer, And that me grieveth sore; Sweet loved-one, think on me, I have loved thee long.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight read in ME

The Canterbury Tales General Prologue read in ME (this is 45 minutes long, but you can just listen to part of it, haha)

helpful resources & websites

Luminarium — an anthology of medieval literature 1350-1485; I especially love the section for Middle English lyrics & poems!

the Middle English Dictionary via University of Michigan Library; an AWESOME searchable database of Middle English words and examples of their usage in context within texts. You can use the "Modern English word equivalent" search function to back-translate things!

Middle English manuscripts online at the British library!

List of Middle English terms of endearment — helpful for Dreamling fics ;)

How to call someone beautiful in Middle English <;3

(Some) notable literary works in Middle English in case that interests anyone!

Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, written between 1387 and 1400 — links to Harvard's Chaucer website w/ the text & in-line translations + helpful guides on how to read Chaucer, etc.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight by anonymous, c. 1400 (the Gawain poet) — links to the Weston translation but I really like the one by Simon Armitage, which is great for learning ME because it's a facing page translation! I've seen a lot of people recommend against starting with SGGK as your first ME work because it's super weird and super steeped in Arthuriana, but like, I'm not gonna tell people what to read! If it interests you, you should read it :D Granted, I'm SUPER BIASED in favor of SGGK (it's my favorite work, no contest) but it could be good to be familiar with some Arthuriana first before reading

On that note, Sir Thomas Malory's Le Mort Darthur c. 1485 (links to a version online up on Project Gutenberg) is a translation & compilation by Malory of French & English Arthurian stories (the Old French Vulgate romances, the Alliterative Morte Arthure and the Stanzaic Morte Arthur). Fun fact, Le Mort Darthur was first printed by Caxton in an abridged version in 1485, right as Hob was getting in on printing! Afterwards they found the Winchester manuscript, which dates to prior to 1485 and is considered to be the more accurate version compared to Caxton's The Norton Critical Edition is a great unabridged Middle English full text version that reproduces some of the visual characteristics of the Winchester manuscript (illuminated capitals and fancy font for all the names, etc.) and has a lot of literary criticism, analysis, and a glossary in the back included. BUT I think this version could be a difficult read to get through if reading alone. Here is the Oxford World's Classics version (ed. Helen Cooper) which is easier/more approachable!

William Langland's The Vision of Piers Plowman c. 1370–86 (aka just Piers Plowman) - honestly, it really is not my favorite at all, but there is an entire International Piers Plowman Society. It's like the Ulysses of ME literature I guess??? So i... won't rag on it too much, haha; maybe I just need to revisit it and I will find something new in it to like. It's a series of dream visions in which the dreamer/narrator seeks a true Christian life. Here is the Middle English text (University of Michigan Library). Here's the Oxford World's Cassics translation

The Gawain poet is thought to also have written Pearl, Cleanness, and Patience, which are 3 works that survive in the manuscript Cotton MS Nero A X, the same manuscript as SGGK (the "Pearl manuscript", c. 1400) (more info on the manuscript)

[avelera]

So I was re-reading my Amnesiac!Nicky/Joe from the Old Guard fic, Lights Out, as I try to polish off the last chapter while the inspiration is still with me (like...4 years late, I am so sorry orz) and for the record I listened to so many historical lectures to write this fic like, dear lord, basically took online lecture courses on Middle Eastern history, which is was almost entirely new to me, on Islam, on the Crusades, just... so many lectures on the Crusades. It basically sparked an actual interest in me in the Medieval Era ( was an ancients-only girly before that and really didn't see the appeal), because actually if Nicky was from Genoa in 100 CE it would have been easier to write him than 1100 CE because the mindsets are just so foreign in that time.

So anyway, since then I've continued listening to lectures, definitely picked up a bunch while writing Dreamling stuff because hey, I'm a slut for immortals and I always use the hyperfixation to delve into new historical eras. And sure, in the years since with all the new lectures I've listened to, going back to re-read Lights Out has revealed some things I would have done a bit differently, some ways I might have better portrayed a Medieval mindset in Nicky than what I did, but for the most part, they were gratifyingly minor!

Until I listened to a lecture on Catholic history and realized the single biggest historical error in the entire fucking fic.

See, I was raised Catholic, got out literally as soon as possible, but I have an enduring interest in the Catholic Church and its history as an institution. So while writing Lights Out, brushing up on Catholic Church history besides the Crusades didn't really feel like a priority. I already knew a fair amount and from personal experience felt I could at least fake the perspective of a devout Catholic.

But there was one thing, one fucking thing I got entirely wrong and only learned it in the last week, after spending literal decades of my life studying European history.

I said that Nicky went to seminary school, that he fully became a priest and then was defrocked in order to go back to Genoa to be his father's heir after his elder brothers died of a fever. I was trying to reconcile the historically impossible idea floated in some Old Guard behind the scenes stuff that Nicky could be both a priest and a Crusader, because priests were actually forbidden from fighting in the Crusades.

But here's the thing: there were no seminary schools for priests until the 1500s.

Like, it was actually kind of a big deal and credited with one of the reasons that Protestants broke away was that there were so many shitty priests because no one was actually forced to even learn all that much about the Bible or the faith at all!

This blew my mind. I thought that priests got some sort of training and had some sort of school system going all the way back to early church but apparently I was completely wrong.

Probably the more accurate thing would be to say Nicky was in a monastery and got training there and was forced to leave.

But the whole idea I had around him having actually completed some sort of training before being yanked back to secular life? Completely anachronistic for another 500 years argghhh....

[theresugar]

TW: homophobia, dementia, toxic family, death

So I just finished watching The Notebook (yes, I cried like a little baby). So, to add to the list of fics that I will never write, I present:

Dreamling: The Notebook AU (with a spark of homophobia, because this is the '40s)

Dream Oneiros Endless comes from a large rich family. Robert (Hob) Gadling comes from the complete opposite and works at a mill. They meet through mutual friends. Hob continuously asks Dream out, which he responds to negatively each time (let's just say that they both managed to find friend groups that are also secretly queer, so they don't care). Eventually, Hob does the "hangs from the ferris wheel" scene, gets a promise from Dream to go on a date with him, the movie scene happens, etc. They finally go on that walk and Dream falls for him. Yay, happy scenes as they fall further in love.

And then Dream mentions that he has to go to New York for college (they can be American in this AU or there can be another reason for this). They go to the abandoned house, where they talk about fixing up the house. Things are heating up when Matthew, Hob's friend, tells them that Dream's parents have the police out looking for him. They go back to his house, the whole argument with the parents happen (perhaps with the siblings looking on or overhearing from another room. Destiny and Death, whatever their names happen to be in this AU, are probably moved out at this point, but maybe they could be visiting for some reason or they find out about this whole thing another way). The argument between Hob and Dream happens and he leaves.

The next day, Dream is informed that they are leaving. He tries to go to the mill to talk to Hob, but he's not there, so they miss each other. Hob writes a letter to Dream every day for a year, but Dream's mother throws them out. Death somehow finds them and saves them all, but something stops her from giving them to Dream.

Hob enlists in the army. Perhaps Dream has some form of condition that prevents him from enlisting, but he works as a nurse instead. There, he meets Calliope, a fellow nurse. They begin to get to know each other and Dream goes back to school once he is able to. His parents approve of Calliope, as she comes from old money and is a (respectable) woman. He proposes and they are engaged.

Hob, meanwhile, returns and finally gets the house that they talked about. When going to get materials to fix it up, he spots Dream and runs to talk to him but ends up seeing him with Calliope instead. He returns to the house and focuses wholeheartedly on that. Once he's finished with it, he lists it as for sale but no buyer seems good enough. He gets involved with Eleanor, but they both know that she's not who he really wants.

Calliope is buying a wedding dress and someone brings her a newspaper, where there is information about the wedding printed. Someone leaves it on a table and Dream ends up coming across it. He unfolds it and sees the ad about Hob and the house. He contemplates for a while and then informs Calliope that he needs to return to Seabrook (or whatever the town is) to settle some things.

He finds the house and Hob. He freezes up and Dream goes to leave, but, being a horrendous driver, he drives right into the fences and the car stalls. Hob invites him in and they catch up and have dinner. Dream leaves and Hob asks him to come again tomorrow.

They have the day out on the lake and it begins to rain. Dream finds out about the letters. Things heat up quickly after that and they finally have sex. Dream and Eleanor meet.

The next morning, Hob is gone but has left a note. Dream follows the arrows and paints, with only a blanket around him, on the porch. Someone arrives and he hurries down to greet them. It's his sister.

Death (or whatever her name is in this) informs him that Calliope is coming. He asks if she knew about the letters and she tells him what happened and then asks him to drive with her. She takes him into town, where she points out a woman who she says that she had been in love with and had tried to run away with but had been caught, but that she sometimes goes there to watch her and think about how life might have been.

She drives him back and tells him that she hopes that he makes the right decision and gives him the letters. Hob and Dream fight again and then he goes back to the hotel, where he and Calliope talk.

Finally, Dream returns to the house and he and Hob remain together.

Years later, Dream is diagnosed with dementia. He writes their story in a notebook together and writes a note in it, asking Hob to read it to him and promising that he will come back if he does. Hob continuously reads it to him, getting him to remember before he soon forgets again.

The most recent time is too much for Hob and he breaks down and is found unconscious in bed the next morning. After being rushed to the hospital, he returns and tells the nurse that he wants to see Dream ("Mr. Endless"). The nurse pretends to insist that he return to his room.

Hob goes to Dream's room and he remembers him. The two talk of miracles and the next morning, the nurse finds them in the bed, having passed away together.

[mimisempai]

I know you (drabble)

Summary

Hob is having a bad day and Dream knows exactly where to find him.

On AO3

Rating G - 200 words

When Dream arrived in the small park, just behind the school, he immediately spotted the wisp of smoke coming from the figure leaning against the old oak tree.

He approached slowly so as not to frighten him and then leaned against the wide trunk right next to Hob, just touching his hand with the back of his, waiting in silence.

Hob asked softly after a few minutes, "How did you find me?"

Dream turned to him and tucking a strand of Hob's hair behind his ear, he replied gently, "I know this is where you come when you're having a bad day."

"And why did you come?"

"I figured after the comfort of a cigarette, you wouldn't mind a little more human comfort, although I'm not really... human."

Hob didn't answer, he threw his cigarette away and, grabbing his lover's hand, he intertwined their fingers. Then he said in a simple manner, "Let's go home, Dream."

And, as their steps brought them closer to the house, Dream's hand in his, their shoulders brushing against each other with each step, the presence of his lover by his side, all of that gradually made the remnants of this bad day fade away.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Dreamling Masterlist here

[cuubism]

truly the best dreamling fic trope is:

hob and dream: being weird as fuck and engaging in excessive pda

hob's students, colleagues, & staff at the new inn: 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

[whatimdoinghere-ihavenoidea]

Hogwarts!Dreamling AU

Where Hob is a the cheery, bowl of sunshine Hufflepuff 's Head of House, Morpheus is the sarcastic, kinda grumpy Slytherin's Head of House and no one has any idea how they get along so well nonetheless how they even became friends in the first place.

I needed to take all of this our of my chest, I am sorry

Please please please, if anyone write this into fanfic or draw them, please tag me

It's well known they know each other for many years, Hob has made sure everybody knows that.

The position of History of Magic was offered to Hob first, however his only condition to accept was to bring along his life-long friend Morpheus, as he knew the position of Astronomy was also available.

The inclusion of Hob to the Hogwarts' teaching staff was a breeze, the commonly boring an hated subject was now one of the student's favorites due the passion and teaching style of the new professor.

He likes to enchant miniatures to recreate historical events for his students, he got rid of the chairs and desks in the classroom and do the lectures in the floor sometimes crosslegged, sometimes completely lying on it while he reads stories doing different voices.

On the other hand Morpheus loves to be overdramatic on his lessons and yet he is very appealing to the students as well, as if there was some sort of spell hidden on his voice as he speaks.

Professor Morpheus shows more affection and sense of humor around the younger students, it has been said he once smiled at a joke from a second year's kid.

Morpheus had been unemployed for a couple of months before going to Hogwarts and although this was not expected, he was truly grateful to return to the school with Hob, as they share fond memories of Howgarts.

Few people know that they actually meet there when the where just first year students, they share the car on the Hogwarts Express.

What Hob doesn't know is that Morpheus sister tricked him to get into that car so she could spend the ride with her friends instead of babysitting her little brother.

Hob is a big fan of cooking and as the Hufflepuff's Common Room is right next to the kitchen he takes every chance to sneak in and cook something for him and Morpheus as the Astronomy teacher is a very picky eater and usually does not eat much of what the house elf's cook.

Professor Morpheus was once married, but he never talk about his former wife although he has a picture of them on their wedding day well hidden in his bedroom.

Hob remembers Morpheus' wife being a gorgeous woman but after the separation have not seen or heard about her.

Hob doesn't really understand why they decided to separate as he remembers the couple being very much in love.

He thinks it might happen due the death of his son, who died only a couple years old.

Profesor Hob was also married once, but unfortunately lost both his wife and son due the a disease nor muggle doctor or magical healer were be able to cure.

After this, Morpheus had to spend sometime helping Hob overcome a drinking problem that lead him to almost lost all his money.

After these lost Morpheus and Hob became even closer and helped one another whenever they were down.

Even though Morpheus pass through the same experience of loosing a child, he cannot speak out loud about it.

Hob learn about Morpheus' son by accident, while helping him move house.

None of them ever re-married. Although Morpheus dated a woman named Johanna for a while.

Time to time, both professors enjoy visiting muggle pubs to learn more about their way of living, although Hob enjoys it more than Morpheus.

There was a time when they had a fight that lead to them not seeing or talking to each other for at llittle over than a decade, to this day, they both regret about their words on that day.

Hob specially, as it was during this time that Morpheus' son was born and died and also divorced his wife.

What Hob does know, is that his friend was so depressed on this period he somehow ended up in a muggle prison after being involved in a car accident.

When they reconnect, none of them was bitter about the fight and were very understanding of one another, it seemed like no time had passed since they last saw each other.

During Easter Week, Morpheus spends unhealthy amounts of time in the library reading every book possible forgetting to eat something or even sleep.

Hob loves to spend this break playing Quidditch with the students or stepping in as a chaperone on the trips to Hogsmeade, always remembering to schedule a delivery of a snack for his friend in the library.

Aside from being a bookworm, Morpheus also likes to walk along the lake by himself or going to the owlery to feed the birds.

Sometimes the pair seems like they can communicate with one another by telepathy as they know each other so well.

Of course there are also rumors about they are actually a couple, but nothing has been ever confirmed.

[fleabagoftheendless]

Dreamling College AU Idea

A 22 years old Morpheus is pursuing his post graduation degree in fine arts. And he is a virgin. Not that he cares, he learnt from his sister that virginity is a concept made by people who don't understand female anatomy well or that there are people with different sexualities and preferences.

Then one day he bumps into another fellow student. Robert Gadling. And he hates Robert. Like so much so that his mere presence is enough to rile Morpheus up.

Sometimes, when he is alone in his room and it is too silent, Morpheus wishes that he just went and had sex back when everyone was doing it in school. At least it would have saved him from all the bullying and the stupid rumors. But he wasn’t ready back then and he isn't sure if he is ready now.

It takes him to have a wet dream to understand how ready he actually is. And none other than Robert Fucking Gadling stars in his dream.

Robert is kind though in that dream. He doesn't forces Morpheus to do something he doesn't like and doesn't make fun of him for not having any prior experiences.

Morpheus sometimes wonders if Robert will be like that in real life.

[seiya-starsniper]

20 questions for fic writers!

TRIPLE TAG THREAT from my faves @arialerendeair @bazzybelle and @honeyteacakes, I love you guys so so so much!!!!! 💖💖💖

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

I have 36 in total published, a whole bunch more in drafts!

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

167,076 which is crazy when you consider 146,736 are just from THIS YEAR

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The Sandman, currently! I have a couple of WIPs for other fandoms but I just haven't gotten around to them.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Dreams for a Dozen Cats - 527 kudos A Dream for a Viscount - 513 kudos and if I get burned, at least we were electrified - 504 kudos Wake Up & Smell The Flowers - 457 kudos Let's conspire to ignite - 397 kudos

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do! I've been bad about it lately, but I love responding because I absolutely adore the dynamic of being able to communicate with my readers. It's just a tiring exercise and I have to be really in the mood to do it! But I absolutely love and adore every comment I receive 💖💖💖

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

A sweet dream - it's the only one where I've used the tag Main Character Death! The ending is quite hopeful, but the death is in fact permanent, take care if you choose to read it!

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Hnnnnnnngh I have absolutely no fucking idea because they almost all have really happy endings! That's like asking me to pick a favorite child. Honestly though, if you want sappy and sexy romance throughout an entire fic with literally zero conflict, then my happiest ending is probably A Dream for a Viscount. If you want ANGST ANGST ANGST with a massive payoff and a lot of hurt/comfort leading up to a soft ending, my happiest ending is the one in and if I get burned, at least we were electrified

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not on AO3! In my ff.net days though, whew lordy the salt was strong whenever I wrote somebody's NOTP and dared to publish it. Those were some interesting days.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Well, seeing as I am a mod for @monsterfucktoberbingo....I think you can probably guess what type of smut I write LMAO. I do write quite a bit of omegaverse too just to spice things up 😄

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I have! Back in my ff.net days, my teenage self LIVED on the high school fandom crossover fic. I shall never return to those days ever again, but I had a good time. I also recently wrote this Dreamling/SnowBaz crossover for my beloved @bazzybelle💖💖💖

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge! I never really participated in fandoms where fic stealing was common thankfully.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have! I have absolutely no idea what site it ended up on, but I've had my fics translated into Russian and Chinese.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not in a really long time! When I was a teen, I used to RP characters with my friends as a writing exercise, and then that would turn into a fic! I also absolutely LOVED the round robin fic culture back in the old livejournal days. (can you tell I'm dating myself heavily lmao)

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

00Q hands down. I'm still reading old favorites to this day. Although, I will admit Dreamling is a pretty damn close second considering *gestures vaguely(

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Oh lord, I have quite a few, published and unpublished. Most of my published unfinished WIPs are just rotting on ff.net and I've made my peace with them. Unpublished WIPs...I have quite a few SamBucky fics that never made it out of drafts and I'm really sad about that because I really loved that ship at one point :(

16. What are your writing strengths?

I have a few I'm pretty proud of: - Succinctness: I can tell a whole story in under 10k words. One-shots are my bread and butter. - Angst: Do you want to cry? I'll make you cry and wring your soul out with no regrets. - Fluff: On the opposite end of the spectrum, if you want to feel soft and like you're snuggling with a cloud, I can do that for you too. Fluff is such a delight to write, because I like to feel good, and I love making others feel good too 💖 - Dialogue: I love writing dialogue. It's such a delight to try and figure what a character would say when placed in ~situations~

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Whew lordy, here we goooooooooooo: - Longfic/Multichapter fics: I can and have written longer fics, but it's highly demotivating for me. I am struggling so hard to finish my multi-chapter fics right now, it's a nightmare. I'll get there, but... - Descriptions: I AM SO BAD AT MAKING SETTINGS AND DESCRIBING HOW PEOPLE LOOK. I'm sure some people will disagree with me, but I some days I truly hate my inability to describe things the way I want to, or the way I've seen other people be able to. It is a thing I am working on, for sure, I know it's just a matter of practice. - WIP hell: I start and stop things at the drop of a hat. Rest in pieces to all my ideas stuck in partially written states - Plot Summaries: I can write a whole thing and be utterly unable to give you a plot summary. Save me hahahahaha

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I LOVE IT. It's not for me since I only speak English, but I love coming across it in fic.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Yu-Gi-Oh!

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

...heh. I thought this was gonna be harder but it's definitely and if I get burned, at least we were electrified. This fic dragged me out of lurking in fandom to full on writing and participating again. It's my most canon-adjacent fic. It's got angst and action and feelings. It has tentacle sex. It has the Corinthian being indulged within an inch of his life. This fic is a love letter to myself, it the reason I am here, in sandman fandom, writing as much as I am. Is it my best written story out of all my fics? No, it was my first fic after a long writing hiatus and while I consider it a well written piece, I also like to think my writing quality has increased since I first wrote it. But it is my favorite fic, for all the reasons above, and for the sheer joy it brought into my life then, and in the subsequent months after.

Tagging: @valiantstarlights @five-and-dimes @chaosheadspace @ironwoman359 @silver-dream89 @rosaren2498 @bruce-wayne-simp @acedragontype and whoever else wants to do it!

[gabessquishytum]

Wait, wait!! We've talked about how they're teen weirdos, we've talked about how they're singleton weirdos,,,, but I don't think we've talked enough about how absolutely embarrassing they are as parent weirdos!

Robin and Orpheus love their parents, they do! And they know that their parents love them. But they are beginning to think all the times they go visit Aunt Death or Aunt Joanna or recently Auntie Desire and stay for the weekend they are being sexiled.

And all their friends parents don't seem to touch or kiss?! as much, or snuggle. Everytime they leave the kitchen, when they come in both their parents seem disheveled (and the kids are only just starting to realize that's not normally how parents look after they've been alone for 5! minutes!

And really don't parents kiss and whisper to each other, and just smile at each other -- OMG, Dads! No they don't!

Akajsjdjdjsh dreamling really would be the cringiest parents, you're absolutely right! It's getting to the point where Robin and Orpheus are afraid to bring their friends home after school, because every single day without fail, when Hob comes home from work, Dream literally jumps into his arms like they've been apart for weeks!! It's embarrassing because as far as the kids are concerned, their dads are OLD!! And definitely old enough to know better. Especially because Hob has gone crashing to the floor on numerous occasions.

Robin and Orpheus have even tried cockblocking their parents (going into their bedroom at night to ask for stuff, sitting in between them on the sofa, instigating minor arguments between them so they won't feel like doing it) but honestly they're like Jurassic Park!!! Life Finds a Way!!!! And if Robin walks in on them fucking on top of the washing machine one more time, he's going to max out both of their credit cards on Robux.