#dream has gotten overwhelmed and has kicked at hob before

[amielot]

Hasn't been brushed in a while

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[notallsandmen]

Ao3 first lines

Tagged by @issylra @hardly-an-escape @littledreamling @tj-dragonblade @historyandqueershenanigans @wintersmitth @ml-nolan — thank you darlings!

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

“Defiling the Sublime: emerging technologies and their methodological implications”, by Dr. Robert Gadling, PhD

August 2021. It’s the third and final day of the annual conference on Elizabethan literature, taking place over Zoom due to the pandemic. It has been a long day — they had started at 9 am this morning, and everyone is now thoroughly ready to call it a day, but they still have the concluding discussion to get through.

Disintegration (Dream Therapy part 1)

11 PM, 7th of June 1989. 
Twice in his long life, Hob Gadling is touched by Despair. Hob doesn’t know that yet, yet he remembers all of it.

Lullaby (Dream Therapy, part 2)

03:00, 8th of June 1989.
The needle of the record player skips, and then the eerie pizzicato strings of The Cure’s “Lullaby” envelops Hob in a claustrophobic embrace. It is so seductive, so hypnotically mesmerizing, that Hob doesn’t even notice the moonlight being spun into spider silk, reverently wrapping across his hips.

Dream nonsense (Dream Therapy, part 3)

After six centuries without a name for his stranger, the onslaught of names which Hob finally received during their reunion at the New Inn had almost been overwhelming. He only ever needed one, Hob reminded Dream later that evening; their limbs entangled, panting against each other with breaths neither of them needed.

Putting Out Fire With Gasoline

Hob Gadling would come. He has to come.

It’s the 7th of June 1989, and Dream arrived at the White Horse early this time.

Nocturnal Emissions (In Somnis Veritas, part 1)

“You look tired.”

“I am tired.”

“When was the last time you slept?”

“I do not remember. Millennia, perhaps.”

License my roving hands (In Somnis Veritas, part 2)

Get it together, Hobsie. You’ve kept it together (well, sort of) for centuries. You’ve been a chaste saint for one day every 100 years, and then you’ve gotten to wank and fuck and get this out of your system for the next 99 years.

Exam Week

”C+. 66 % — It’s still a Pass, darkling!”

This was apparently not the right thing to say, since it made an already seething Dream begin to pace around his living room.

”Hob Gadling, you cannot grade me based on your nightmare.”

Perennial Polaroids

Hob could not help but grin at the sight before him; his lover wrapped around him, having jealously kicked the duvet between them off the bed. ”Dearheart, as much as I enjoy wearing you like a cape, you will need to disembark me now, — I need to take a piss.”

The Oneiros Complex

Dream could be painfully oblivious sometimes, especially when it came to evaluating his own appearance.

Tagging @chaosheadspace @quillingwords @acrisisofbeholding @gabessquishytum @deltapavonis @wordsinhaled @avelera @landwriter @blueberrymffn @aquilathefighter @im-not-corrupted @arialerendeair