#just because Hob has a will to live that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t have shit to work through

[writing-for-life]

The Endless Are Not Their Opposite--They Only Define It

I read quite often, on here and elsewhere, that the Endless are also their opposite (@tickldpnk8 and I were just talking about an interesting thread on Reddit), so I just decided to speed-complete this one and get it out of my drafts before it dies in there (so not as much in-depth as originally planned, but sometimes, you just need to run with it 🤣).

The Endless are not their opposite. They define it. It’s a (in my mind, and I’d love to hear what you think) massive difference. And they define their opposite by their absence. If they truly were their opposite, it would give very different meaning to canon, and if we were to do so, a lot of it wouldn't make sense in my view.

Dream is not also reality. He defines it. He is, and forever will be, unreality. It is his absence that defines reality. A dream that becomes real isn't a dream anymore--it's real. That’s the main reason why pulling the ship into reality in Overture weakens him. If he were reality, he could have just snapped his fingers and make it happen. If he were reality, a lot of his problems wouldn't be... well, problems. The fact he is (a) D/dream is pretty much why all his relationships are doomed to fail. Dreams don't last. Dreams are forever strange and can't be truly known.

Delirium is not also sanity/clarity. She defines it through her absence. And when she pulls herself together like in Brief Lives, it hurts her "muchly". It is immeasurable pain for her because it is what she is not and cannot be for any extended period of time without hurting herself.

Despair is not also hope. She defines it via her absence. As long as you hope, you don’t despair. If Despair were also hope, we would not have 6 issues of Overture very clearly showing us who and what H/hope is. If Despair were also hope, we wouldn't need a little girl called Hope reach out her hand and touch Dream—he would have a sister who could do it. But the only time Despair shows up for him, so to speak, is after he killed Orpheus—make of that what you will.

Death is not also life. She defines it. The fact that she is there at your beginning does not mean she is the one who gives you life. She is there so you will remember her, always (and especially when she takes your hand), hence you will cherish life. She does not directly give life to immortals either--they are immortal because of her absence, because she withholds her gift, like she does with Orpheus and Hob (the Eblis-situation has nothing to do with anything in my mind and is linked to a funeral rite, and we are clearly told it is not something she usually does [“it’s been so long”], or is remotely comfortable doing. It is just that she is the Endless that is most life-adjacent and hence the one who will have to do it. Just like Dream is the most reality-adjacent and hence the one who has to pull the ship).

Destruction is not also creation. He defines it. He is what gives us the blank slate, he is what makes creation possible, he is what starts the cycle and ends it, but he is not creation himself. Keeping on destroying makes creation impossible. There needs to be a pause, a break for creation to come to fruition—the absence of destruction. If he were also creation, he wouldn't create so badly (to the extent that it is canonically turned into a running gag), and being around him and seeking him out wouldn't be an issue. But it is.

Desire is not also hatred (I’m still not sure if hatred is really the opposite of desire, but I’ll run with it because that’s what Gaiman chose). They define it via their absence. You know how Dream doesn’t want Desire in his life anymore after one major spat (whether he had reason to or overreacted isn’t really the issue). And what feelings are often left in the absence of Desire? And what does Desire feel and gets themselves tangled up in because they are pushed away and are basically not acknowledged/desired by their own sibling despite constantly trying to show him they are important (desire is not just a sexual thing, people, get your mind out of the gutter 🤣)? Yeah, about that one… There is definitely a different type of enmeshment here which sometimes seems a bit plot-hole-y to me, but I think that might be down to the fact that Desire is the chosen antagonist (and even that, only to a degree until they aren’t). Even so, it still makes sense.

Destiny is not also freedom. He is the absence of it. All paths lead to the same end. Or a decision you make was the decision you were going to make all along, and what looks like a different ending was the ending that would have happened anyway. And even if you choose, the book will start to make that choice destiny again. Only Delirium knows what’s not in his book, and in this universe, the only true freedom is not bound by any rules, logic or sanity…

[seiya-starsniper]

SNIPPET - Dreamling Bingo (Robin Hood AU Retired Dream)

For @dreamlingbingo Square A3 - replacing Robin Hood AU with the Adoptable Prompt: Retired Dream

Snippet itself is rated General, actual fic will be Explicit

other snippets under the tag #retired dream is a fuckboy wip

--------------------

“Before we go on,” Hob says, trying his best to get some blood back into his brain and out of his cock, “We need to set some rules.” 

Murphy, predictably, frowns in confusion. 

“Are you referring to play rules?” he asks. 

“Not quite,” Hob answers. “I mean rules for how things are going to be, after we have sex.”

This time, Murphy outright grimaces and sighs in frustration. The sour look on his face tells Hob he knows where this conversation is going. 

“Humans have such complex feelings about sex,” he complains. 

“And you didn’t before?” Hob shoots back.  “Mr. ‘I sent a woman to hell because she had regrets about being with me?’”

“That was—” Murphy wrinkles his nose and grimaces. Oh, Hob knew all about Murphy’s past relationships, at least, the ones while he was still Endless, and how poorly those had ended.

“Was—?” Hob asks, letting the question hang between them. Murphy may have been able to get away with not communicating clearly when he was still inhuman, but that sort of thing didn’t work in his new existence.

“I was different then,” Murphy says after a brief silence. “Everything was so much…more intense. My loneliness, my responsibilities, my entire existence.”

“And now?” Hob asks. 

“Now,” Murphy replies, sticking his tongue out playfully and shrugging. “Now I can just focus on my pleasure. My wants. My needs. And the world would not end for it.” Hob snorts and rolls his eyes fondly.

“Sure, sure,” he says with an easy smile. “Far be it from me to disagree with a fun time. But you and I both know that doesn’t mean you’re not breaking hearts along the way while you’re finding yourself.” 

Murphy’s face twists in discomfort, and Hob knows he’s plucked a sensitive string. He wonders just how many hearts Murphy has broken since becoming human. He feels kind of bad for them, really. Murphy was so pretty and so emotional. There’s probably a few songs about him out there in the world if Hob had to guess. 

“I suppose you’re right,” Murphy finally acquiesces with a sigh. “Just because I am no longer directly tangled with the collective unconsciousness does not mean I am not affecting others. It is just…different.” He looks distinctly uncomfortable now, like he’s expecting some sort of judgment from Hob about his behavior. But Hob knows better than to throw stones in glass houses. Part of the reason he’d even wanted to live forever was so that he could bed as many women as he wanted. And men too, once he realized he enjoyed their company as well. 

“You remember what I said when I first set you loose on the world?” Hob asks, more gently this time. Murphy tilts his head, thinking, and isn’t that a sight? His friend has to actually struggle to remember things now. 

“You said,” Murphy replies then pauses. Then his eyes widen. “You said that I should treat others how I would wish to be treated myself.”

Hob smiles. “Golden Rule of living forever,” he replies. 

Murphy snorts. “And how would you wish for me to treat you then?” 

“Not like a one-night stand, for one thing,” Hob replies easily, stepping closer into Murphy’s personal space. “I’m your friend, not some fling you pick up at a club.” He reaches a hand to caress Murphy’s face. “So you communicate with me all your needs, or we don’t do this, okay?” 

Murphy inhales sharply and sways into Hob’s touch. “Yes,” he replies, eyes fluttering.

[gabessquishytum]

Dream loves sucking cock, loves licking them and warming them for hours if he could. The one thing he’s not particularly fond of though is deepthroating; he has a fairly strong gag reflex, and just doesn’t like the sensation the handful of times he’s tried and managed it anyway.

Thank goodness he’s finally gotten together with Hob, whose small cock is just the perfect size to sit in Dream’s mouth without touching his throat, even if he takes in all the way to the hilt. Dream’s obsessed with it, constantly looking for any excuse to get on his knees for his boyfriend, and is quite happy to spend long hours with his head between Hob’s legs.

And when his mouth isn’t full, he’s quite happy to praise Hob for how tiny and perfect his cock is, you’d think it was especially designed for Dream, how no one else can appreciate his adorable little gift of a cock.

If Dream is fucking him, he’s almost always sure to still have a hand petting it, commenting how it’s such a wonderful toy to play with while they make love. If Hob is fucking him, Dream will usually be teasing him that he’s using the wrong hole, that his cock was clearly shaped and sized for Dream’s mouth, since it’s not doing much for his ass (he says all this even as he’s still moving his hips).

Hob of course comes embarrassingly fast every time, since it’s all somehow hitting both his humiliation and praise kinks simultaneously

-🪽anon

Small cock appreciation club!!!!

Dream honestly thinks that Hob's small cock is perfect, and maybe that's why all the chat about it turns Hob on SO much. In theory it should be degrading to be teased for something that is traditionally considered a negative physical trait. But Dream is totally sincere when he waxes lyrical on the subject of the minimal length, the underwhelming size, the negligible thickness. He means all of these descriptions in an extremely complimentary way. Hob’s horny brain struggles to match Dream’s enthusiastic, breathless tone of voice with his frankly humiliating language... and his body ultimately decides that it is very much into the whole thing. Dream is both amused and horny about it too, so of course he turns up the notch on his lovingly mean descriptions of Hob’s cock: how cute it is when it kind of disappears into his lap when he sits down. How sweet it looks when fully hard but still no more than a finger in length. Dream firmly asserts that he could never ever be with another man, because Hob’s cock is perfect - it may as well have been designed for Dream’s needs. He simply couldn't live without the pleasure of delving his hand into Hob’s underwear and fishing around for his cute little prick.

The only problem is that Hob now has some kind of pavlovian association with all of those words describing his size - small, tiny, little - and arousal. He can never order a small coffee in peace ever again. But God, he wouldn't have it any other way...

[drjholtzmann]

Hob’s eyes follow the curving, liquid grain of the wood. It reminds him of lava, folding over itself and cooling, making layers upon layers of warping lines collapsing into each other, a mass spilling outwards as it grows, melting into the landscape. 

He glances to his right just as the shadow draws near. Somehow he had seen it weaving between other passersby. Morpheus steps up beside him, hands in his coat pockets in the searing sunlight. 

“It’s nice,” Hob looks from his friend back to the tree. “I know I’m not the oldest thing in the world but, still. Sometimes it’s nice to be around things that are older than me. Especially something living. Feels…normal.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Mm, old as the universe, are you.” Hob teases, tilting his head as he takes in the dappled shade falling on the trunk. 

There is a distant roll of thunder muffled by heavy clouds. A laugh that is clamped down in the back of Morpheus’s throat. “Several.” 

“Yeah, you look it.” Hob buys in, rolling his eyes and swaying an elbow towards Morpheus’s side without making contact. “They say it’s four thousand years old,” he says, finally turning to face him. 

Morpheus shouldn’t look so comfortable in the sun, he thinks. Not because of his heavy coat, double-breasted and fully buttoned. But because he looks like an alpine flower. A delicate, sharp pointed edelweiss, built for thin air, meant to be bathed in blue snow-tinted light. He is, in many ways, quite literally a creature of night. Yet here he stands, swathed in the heavy gold Mediterranean light like a stone sculpture, like he belongs there. Like he’s always been there. 

He is looking at the olive tree, as if trying to read something within the bark of it. 

“I believe I once came by here, with my son. I confess I did not think to commit the place to memory in any fine detail. There was, perhaps, a sapling there.”

“Son.” Hob repeats, a weak echo, as he watches the stoic profile of his friend. He thinks he sees his eyelashes twitch. Hob takes a deep, and hopefully silent, breath. Forces it into his stomach, down to his toes. He looks back to the olive tree, following Morpheus’s unerring gaze, as he asks, “So, how old's he now?” 

And truly you would think after six centuries Hob would have developed anything approaching a frontal lobe, but apparently not. He bites his tongue as the words fill the air between them, wishing he could reach out and snatch them back. 

The sun itself seems to dim. “He is not.” Morpheus intones. His chin raises slightly, but Hob doesn’t dare look over. 

Hob's stomach is hollow and leaden. “It doesn’t, uh,” his hands flex at his sides hopelessly. "It doesn’t ever really go away, does it?”

“No. No, it doesn’t.”

Hob isn’t sure if the contraction is intentional. The words sound like they stick in Morpheus' throat. 

“It is beautiful,” he says, addressing the tree. As if finally having seen enough to pass judgement. 

“It still produces fruit,” is all Hob can think to say. 

“A wonder.”

“Sounds exhausting, personally. Amazing though, right? Thousands of years and it’s still providing food for people.”

Morpheus looks at him.

Hob meets his eyes. “I know it sounds like I’m trying to make some kind of metaphor here, but honestly, I just really like the tree. I swear.”

Morpheus swallows, his Adam’s apple a sharp thing in his throat, struggling against the motion. But some of the tension eases. And he smiles. An impossibly small thing. Fond and drifting somewhere between the corner of his eyes and the curve of his cheek. “Wonders never cease.” 

“Tell me you haven’t ever been moved by the beauty of a tree, then mock me. In the meantime – what say you to finding some little hole in the wall that will serve us some truly ancient vino? I mean something that tastes like dirt and blood.” He looks at Morpheus’s unimpressed expression and shrugs, “You know, in a good way.”

There is a breath of silence between them, in which Morpheus does not retreat, and Hob takes heart that this means he has not overstepped, yet. Maybe one day there will be time for them to talk more about this. Maybe it'll take hundreds of years. But in the meantime there is good wine waiting for them somewhere around the corner.

[ao3]

[delta-pavonis]

Ficlet: O that I were a glove upon that hand

Dreamling || Human AU || Rated E || ~1100 words

(Because Tom doing Romeo at VogueWorld 2023 gave me some feelings and Ferdie is often in his Venice Preserv'd look in my head... although with longer hair.)

This has, perhaps, gone too far.

Let's back up.

Everyone in the department, most people on campus, and – because of a viral video of him going off at the director during a dress rehearsal of a Shakespeare in the Park performance of A Midsummer Night’s Dream – a damned large swath of London all know of Dr. Robert Gadling's particular and peculiar hate of the Bard. It is what makes this whole thing incredibly frustrating.

Gifts. Hob has been getting gifts. Left for him in conspicuous places, each more finely crafted and expensive than the last. And each with a goddamned Shakespearean love sonnet on it.

If it wasn't for the nature of the gifts themselves Hob would be absolutely certain someone was taking the piss. (Jo, that would probably be Jo.)

But each gift is so bloody thoughtful; carefully chosen with an uncannily tuned awareness to Hob’s personal needs and tastes. This person either really cares for him or… well, he would think the person a possible stalker except that everything they have done relates to something that has happened in public, with full easy access for many people to make a judgment that Hob likes or needs something. 

There have been six of them now. And aside from the fact that Hob’s living room wall now looks like all those movies where the authorities are frantically tracking a serial killer, complete with a map of London and lots of red sharpie, he is rather… flattered? 

It has been a long time since… well. The anniversary of Eleanor's death will be rounding on eight years this winter. 

Hob thinks he has worked out a pattern to when he gets the gifts, is like 80% confident he can guess when they have gotten placed in each location, from his university office, to the men’s dressing room at the White Horse Community Theater, to his usual table at the New Inn. Add to that his approximately 60% confidence in the reasoning behind the temporal spacing of the gifts, and he is ready to roll the dice.

He locks up his office a tick early, as usual on Thursdays, and makes all appearances to head home before going to that evening’s rehearsal. But as soon as he gets home he is donning a new hoodie no one has seen him wear before, slinking back out the garden door, over the hedge, and jogging to the theater. Hob closes himself into the darkness of the men’s dressing room a solid two hours before anyone is scheduled to be anywhere near the place. 

And he waits. 

Hob is good at waiting.

He is crouched where he will be behind the door when it opens, but this puts him immediately next to some of the accessories storage for costuming for this show. And oh, they have gotten in a new pair of leather gloves for him.

Just because he is good at waiting doesn’t mean that he never gets bored. 

Hob slips on the new gloves and works his hands in them. These will be perfect to swordfight in, fantastic.

And then the door creaks open. 

He freezes and watches, only the sliver of light coming from the hallway to help him. A masculine figure, slim, in a peacoat, walks silent as a hunting cat to the second chair from the far wall, just where Hob usually gets ready. 

A hand runs softly across the back of the chair once before a small box is left on the tabletop. Then as quietly as they came in, the person turns to leave. 

Just before they get to the open door Hob pounces.

There is a shout and a scuffle, the two men – for it is another man, of that Hob has no doubt – grappling as one tries to escape and the other hold on.

Which is how Hob ends up with his black leather-gloved hands wrapped around the pale swan neck of his longest friend. 

They haven’t seen each other in… fuck, it feels like more than a hundred years. And they had not parted on good terms. 

“Christ, Dream?” Hob pants out the nickname but does not let go. 

Diamond-sharp blue eyes that could belong only to one person stare at him from beneath heavy lids. He parts his lips to speak, but at the same time Hob shifts the grip of his hands and any words Dream was going to say get lost in a breathtakingly thready moan. 

Barely a heartbeat later they meet in the middle, Hob’s hands going to the back of Dream’s head and Dream’s arms going around his shoulders and their mouths fit together like goddamned puzzle pieces and Hob knew, he fucking knew, it would be like this. 

They knock over no less than two chairs, collapse against a wall for a minute, then one of them pushes off and they are almost going ass over tea kettle onto the couch. A bit of quick footwork on Hob’s part and they are on the opposite side of the room.

By the time Hob has Dream sitting on the vanity they have gotten their shirts off and his bare back slams into the mirror’s surface, sliding and squeaking with the thin sheen of sweat. He gets his hands under Dream’s thighs, hikes him up to grind their clothed erections together, and once Dream has his legs wrapped around Hob’s hips he brings one hand to his mouth to pull off the gloves.

An unsteady hand grabs his wrist. “Leave them on.” Dream’s voice is even lower than Hob remembers it. 

There is fumbling to get flies open and then Hob has his hand wrapped around both their cocks and is pumping. Dream’s fingers are now tugging on Hob’s hair, his body arching prettily as Hob gets his lips and tongue onto that beautiful neck.

Hob is about to be embarrassed by how quickly he is nearing completion when Dream pulls him into a kiss, moaning into his mouth as he shudders through his orgasm. 

“Come with me, Hob,” is whispered against his lips and Hob is absolutely lost to it, shouting into Dream’s collarbone.

They are still panting, large heaving breaths, when Dream tugs Hob’s hand up from where it is wrapped around their spent pricks so that he can lick the leather clean. Hob watches that pink tongue dance between his fingers and his cock almost twitches in interest. He huffs a laugh and takes Dream’s chin in his grip, pulls their mouths back together so that he can speak against them. 

“Hello, Stranger.”

[five-and-dimes]

Begging for more of Dead Hearts I love what you've posted so muuuuuuuch.

Thank you!! Since this one has been popular, I went back and tagged the snippets I've done for it, so you can find them more easily here.

Now enjoy young Hob experiencing character growth:

When Eleanor answers the door, Hob expects her to see the bruise on his cheek and laugh at him, or slam the door in his face, or any number of cruel things that Hob thinks he himself might have done if their situations were reversed. When he thinks about it later, he will realize that that was why he went to her at all. Because he had felt certain he deserved some salt in his wounds and he thought for sure that she would give it to him. Instead, she merely leans against the doorframe and looks at him pityingly, “I take it the conversation with your friends didn’t go well?” Hob laughed wetly, “I mean, we’re not friends anymore, so…” At those words, Eleanor smiles. Not meanly, not even really happily. But it makes something warm spark in his chest. Like maybe he isn’t the irredeemable scum he thinks he is if she is willing to give him a smile, even one as small and sad as this one.  “Then there’s hope for you yet.” And then, to Hob’s surprise, she opens the door wider, nodding her head to invite him inside. He follows her meekly, standing in the entryway awkwardly while she rifles through her freezer. “Come on then,” she gestures to the couch in her living room, pushing at his back when he moves too slowly for her liking. Once he is seated, she unceremoniously presses a bag of frozen blueberries against his face, “Hold this, it’ll make you feel better.” Petulantly, Hob thinks that he doesn’t want to feel better, but he follows her orders regardless. She is being kind to him even after proving just how little he deserves it. For a few minutes, they sit in silence, Hob lost in his head and Eleanore patiently waiting for him to pull himself together. To his horror, when he finally speaks, it is with a watery sniffle, “I’m a terrible person, aren’t I.” Beside him, Eleanor shrugs, “Kind of.” It's so quick and nonchalant that it startles a laugh out of him, “What do you mean, ‘kind of’?” He had thought it was a yes or no question. Sighing, Eleanor looked at him with a raised eyebrow, “What I mean,” she explains firmly, “is that you’re 18-years-old and so far have done some terrible things. There’s nothing you can do about that. You’re just going to have to live with it.”  He can’t help but wince at her words. Because they’re true.  “But,” she continues, “you’ve still got your whole life ahead of you. So,” she looks at him pointedly, “What are you going to do now?” He opens his mouth, and then closes it, looking down at his lap as he really considers her question. Up until now everything had been easy. Before Eleanor, no one had challenged him, had asked him to really think about his words and his actions, to consider that maybe his ‘jokes’ and ‘games’ weren’t actually fun. He’s been coasting through life. It would be impossibly easy to slip back into that. To go back to making other people feel awful instead of feeling awful himself. He takes a deep breath. What is he going to do now? “Better,” He decides. “I’m going to do better.”

[roguelov]

Hob always has to be touching the other two in some way, like wrapping his arms around their waists/shoulders, interlocking hands, kissing them, etc. Especially when they're around other people, because he just needs the whole world to know that they're his and he's theirs and that nothing and no one will ever come between them. He won't allow it. He has lost so many people already, he's not losing his soulmates too. He'll stand against Lucifer themselves if it means Dream and Y/N are safe and happy. There's nothing he wouldn't do for them.

Dream is much more reluctant to touch the other two, maybe doesn't even initiate any touch himself for a while, terrified of overwhelming the two with the sheer magnitude of his love for them. Always waiting and yearning for Hob and Y/N to touch him first.

And they understand. Of course they do, they're soulmates. They never pressure Dream to do anything, always taking whatever he's willing to give and giving him so so much in return. They're patient, waiting for Dream to open up on his own terms. And he does. It's slow, almost painfully so, but that's okay. There's no rush. They will wait for all eternity for him, if they have to.

MY BABIES MY HEART OH MY GOD

Hob touches because he doesn’t want to let either of you go, but he knows of loss. Hob has lived centuries and loss is a reluctant friend. Dream however doesn’t touch you and Hob in fear of losing you both, he has had very few good things in his life in which he has ruined. The dichotomy is just utterly heartbreaking and beautiful all at once.

And yes like you said Dream will slowly open up and become much more affectionate in his love. He will not be as pda as Hob, but Dream’s touches are still loving. Like how his fingers will graze along your back guiding you and Hob, or how his pinkie might reach out to brush against yours showing he’s beside you, or how his kisses are yes fleeting like a simple peck on the cheek yet leaves both you and Hob whirling with love

Meanwhile Hob will kiss all over you and Dream’s face in greeting, as a goodbye, or just in passing. He will always need to touch you and Dream even if as simple as sitting side by side and his knee leans into your leg. Hob’s touches are constant and reassuring and every single action of his love still makes yours and Dream’s heart flutter

[balladofmyramblings]

One BOSAS take that really gets on my nerves is the idea that Coriolanus never loved Lucy Gray. While there are some points to make for it, there’s a lot more to say about the story as a whole when you see it through the lens that he did.

Number one: The idea that Coriolanus never loved Lucy Gray makes zero sense and completely undermines how his relationship with her shaped his relationship with power, and his personality in general.

Let’s first look at the “present” (the main time BOSAS took place). Coriolanus is immediately attracted and drawn towards her, and continues flirting with her later. He enjoys the kiss before the games very much, and literally gives her his mothers compact. He also says that he’s never felt that way about anyone else before, so even if what he feels isn’t actually love (and who are we to decide?) if he thinks it is/was that’s good enough, because it influences how he feels about the whole thing in the end. These examples aren’t enough to conclude, as love is based on way more than just desire, so let’s continue.

Now, the “future” (after the huge fight, and the rest of the years up until Katniss’ games). This proves so much more than the “present” stuff. Firstly, there’s the fact Coriolanus was willing/ready to spend the rest of his life with her, if he hadn’t been accepted into officers school. You can still love people and put your career first, which is what he did.

He was also happy that Lucy Gray believed they were written in the stars and therefore forever intertwined (which they pretty much were), which if you didn’t love someone would be a pretty heavy thing to be told and put a lot of pressure on the relationship as a whole. Instead, he sees as a positive, even if he doesn’t believe it and the reason why is kinda weird.

Coriolanus, again, had never really been in love or even a relationship. The only other mention of past romance we get from him is a dare that Festus put him up to, involving lots of posca and some encounter behind an alleyway that got him the reputation of a player. That’s it. This whole romance thing is pretty new for him, so even if he wasn’t actually in love, he thought he was, and that means the same for him.

Let’s look at how it means the same for him. It’s gonna be quick (I think). Coriolanus vows to never love again. He hates the control it has over him. This alone is enough to convince me he truly loved her- the fact that he nearly went with her to live alone in the wilderness (although the fact he could’ve been arrested probs helped some too). He was well aware of what him loving her cost him, and that’s enough to convince me he did.

I see a lot of people quote the fact that he was unloving towards the fact that that he never loved at all, but we have to look at that as cause and effect instead of seeing it as the same wavelength if that makes sense. Like because he loved her, he knows not to love again, NOT he won’t ever love so he never loved her. Plus, we know he’s capable of love due to Tigris, we just also know he doesn’t value it and cares about his career more, due to Tigris again.

Also, I’d like to add on the fact that Coriolanus was excited to see Lucy Gray at the hob, wanted to spend time with her, and met her family. Like yeah these don’t mean love, but some of y’all are out here painting this idea that he never even liked her and that’s just SO wrong compared to love, which at least has a lot of layers and I can understand both sides.

We also know Coriolanus, after Lucy Gray “betrayed” him, says that he should marry someone he has no chance of loving. So, he did love her because he learned his lesson about love in general from her. He learned that he will always choose the capitol/power over love (how Lucy Gray shaped his relationship with those feelings and made them more clear), and that he really did love power lol.

In conclusion, while his feelings were clearly complicated, he did love Lucy Gray, and that shaped a lot of the story, both his own and Lucy Gray’s.

[hamiltonforpowerpoint]

I just finished ACOFAF believe y’all think RueHob is toxic? Is it perfect? No but y’all placing all the blame on RUE. Saying that they only love this idea of Hob is crazy

Some things I want to touch (To my understanding this is what I perceived)

Rue didn’t choose to serve the court of wonder like it was some planned decision. Rue was an orphan who was kidnapped and forced to stay in the fae relem no? I think it makes sense for Rue to take the place next of the ppl who raised them.

So Oscar/Rue took the love at first sight route. Doesn’t inherently make it selfish, unreasonable, or shallow. I’ve heard plenty of stories of ppl getting together within days/weeks/months of meeting each other. Some people feel differently

Just because Rue lived in a place of lavish doesn’t mean they can’t be sad. Idk maybe it hit me more personally bc I saw it as yk yt parents non-black kid adoption. Rue being an OwlBear just trying to fit in in the society around them. We always say money doesn’t buy happiness why can’t this apply to Rue?

The love Rue wanted was romantic love. They may have had the love of the people, court, Wuvy, etc but it wasn’t the love they WANTED. Is Rue not allowed to want love? Love that is of kissing and holding and not making face and contracts?

It’s almost like the Bloom is made to make connections of any kind 💀 Again I don’t understand why it’s wrong for Rue to want to love somebody/love them. Rue didn’t force Hob to fall in love. Rue didn’t feed him a love potion or pushed him till he breaks.

I feel like we are a being harsh on Rue for being more emotional/dramatic but at the end of the day this is a dnd game. These characters actions rely on the descriptions provided by the player. If they add in a sigh here or a tears in the eyes there I don’t think it’s fair to fully put that on the character without the context of performance.

Wuvy Wuvy Wuvy. I love Wuvy but it’s clear that their relationship was platonic .l. I think Rue has felt that everything Wuvy has done (sort of) was due to responsibility of position/duty. Ofc Wuvy denies that but we don’t know how long Rue felt this way. I don’t think we see any evidence that says Rue told Wuvy to To change herself and make herself smaller I think Wuvy did that out of the love of her heart. If I had to take a major guess I would assume Rue made these changes to themselves first and Wuvy followed so that they wouldn’t be alone. While Wuvy may follow Rue command her actions are of her own. Did Rue do Wuvy wrong from time to time. Yes!

To imply that Rue is selfishly satisfying this hunger through Hob is crazy to me. I feel like y’all are babying this man. Hob was major and was set to be married. At the end it was Hob who went after Rue not the other way around. If he wanted to he could’ve atleast cleared the air with Rue then continue his duties. No one told him to hold on to Rue token. No one told him to dance with Rue. No one made him give Rue his badge. No one forced him to quit. He decided those things bc of his own heart not Rues.

Ig my question is if Rue only loves Hob bc of what he “represents” (like this idolization I suppose) why does Hob love Rue. He had his court, his honor, his goblins. A big chunk was Hob being to loyal to his court.

P.S The thing with the goblin court was f’ed up. Just makes Rue flawed not horrible.

TLDR: I’m more trying to fight I’m just RueHob number one defender. I’m not digging on anyone or being like “I’m right you’re wrong”. I’m just expressing my feelings after being on an 8 episode rollercoaster

[pleasecallmeeds]

my top ten favorite television shows

did anyone ask? no! do i care? no! 

(I actually found this post in my drafts a few days ago and decided to update it and actually finish it. Most times you can tell when 2021/2022 Madison is writing because it’s all in lowercase. I mainly just moved things around and then changed a few of the standings. I also included gifs for the ships that I love the most. I hope you enjoy!) 

10. The Sandman

I wasn’t expecting to love The Sandman as much as I did, but I did. I’m also grateful that this is my first dive into Neil Gaiman’s writing, which led me to watching Good Omens, which I also enjoyed. I personally prefer The Sandman’s mythology and the strange way the season is formatted; it has a plotline running through but each episode feels like it’s in an anthology--almost like this was based on a comic series or something. Also, major props to The Sandman for being one of the gayest shows on television. I’ve never seen a show be comprised of probably 95% queer people. It was a marvel. Don’t love that Morpheus hasn’t had any queer relationships yet--doesn’t mean he’s not queer, but so far, hasn’t said anything regarding this. I’d like it if the main character was queer and not just all of the side characters, but I’ll take what I can get. 

favorite quote: “What power would Hell have if those imprisoned here were not able to dream of Heaven?”

favorite character: the Corinthian is so fucking cool. Dream is hot too.

favorite episode: “Sleep of the Just,” “24/7,” & “The Sound of Her Wings.” I love them all. 

favorite ship: dream/morpheus x hob

9. What We Do in the Shadows

On the topic of “the gayest shows in television,” this one is included. Literally all of these vampires are queer and fucking each other. It’s groundbreaking! It’s also one of the most hilarious things I’ve ever seen. I wish that I had stronger, more genuine bonds of friendship between this group, but they’re vampires that have lived for hundreds of years. Outwardly showing love toward your friends is overrated, I guess. 

favorite quote: “Trust me. Gay is in. Gay is hot. I want some gay. Gay it’s gonna be.” 

favorite character: laszlo cravensworth, my beloved

favorite episode: “The Wellness Center” (season 3, episode 8)

favorite ship: look, i’d love to ship Nandor and Guillermo but their dynamic is pretty toxic. besides, we all know that they’re all just living in a polycule. 

8. That 70′s Show

That 70′s Show is nostalgic for me. My aunt is nine years older than me, so she was a teenager when I was in elementary school. She would watch this show on the television at my grandparents’ house and I’d watch the camera circle around a group of kids getting high in Eric Foreman’s basement and I was invested. I love the group dynamics, the sarcasm, the humor, and the rare emotional moments, too. 

favorite quote: “Damn, Jackie, I can’t control the weather!”

favorite character(s): Kitty & Red Foreman (people who don’t like Kitty Foreman need to grow up fr)

favorite episode(s): “Eric’s Buddy” (Season 1, Episode 11), “Grandma’s Dead” (Season 1, Episode 23), and “Garage Sale” (Season 2, Episode 1)

favorite ship(s): hyde x jackie, eric x buddy

7. Stranger Things

If it weren’t for the last two seasons of Stranger Things, this could easily be at the top of the list. But my perception of Stranger Things has changed so much through these last couple of seasons. I still really enjoyed the fourth season, which is why it has remained in my top 10. There’s things to like about season 3 and 4, but they don’t compare to seasons 1 and 2. The mystery, the character development, and the strong relationships between characters made me fall in love with the show. Unfortunately, I feel like this has declined over time, but nonetheless it’s still a fun time, even if the actors will be grown adults playing children by the time season 5 comes out. Also, I’m just begging on my knees for queer characters and relationships in the forefront. Robin is the only openly gay one (so far, we know that Will is canonically gay) and her relationship isn’t a main focus and she isn’t actively in any relationships yet.

favorite quote: “Harrington’s got her, don’t ya, big boy?” & “Do you wanna be normal? Do you wanna be just like everyone else? Being a freak is the best. I'm a freak.”

favorite character(s): steve harrington. eddie munson. robin. my beloveds

favorite episode: “Chapter Four: The Body” (Season 1, episode 4) had me genuinely freaked the fuck out. that’s what got me hooked on this show. 

favorite ship: steve x eddie, mike x will (but will deserves better)

6. Freaks and Geeks

It’s actually criminal that Freaks and Geeks was cancelled after one season. I think it is one of the most realistic depictions of high school I’ve ever seen. I felt seen in both Sam and Lindsay Weir. I related to Sam’s awkwardness and finding comfort in a few close friends, but I also related to Lindsay’s desire to fit in and try new things but not exactly finding the right friends. I loved the dynamic, the humor, the references, and the relationships. Overall, it is one of my favorite comfort shows. 

favorite quote: “I’ve seen God...he plays drums in Led Zeppelin.”

favorite character: Bill Haverchuck, you comedy genius 

favorite episode: “Chokin’ and Tokin’” (episode 13)

favorite ship: look, I would have loved if Lindsay actually liked Nick, because i thought they were really cute together. I don’t get why everyone’s obsessed with Daniel. James Franco is gross on so many levels. 

5. Criminal Minds

When I went to college, all of my classmates were studying forensic science because of this show. They all told me to watch it, because literally my whole class was obsessed with it. So I did what they said, and it’s one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. Wow, is this show fun. I haven’t even finished it because I don’t want it to end. This is one of the strongest casts of characters I’ve ever seen. I genuinely love and care about each character. If any of them died, I’d be heartbroken. The cases are compelling and thrilling to watch (well, not all of them, but most of them), and I love watching the BAU figure it out together and take care of each other. 

favorite quote: ‘You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you’ve really stopped to look fear in the face. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do.”

favorite character: obviously the Dr. Spencer Reid. but Penelope Garcia is a VERY close second. 

favorite episode: “Amplification” (season 4, episode 24)

favorite ship: reid x morgan (i present evidence A, your honor: “pretty boy”), morgan x garcia (i present evidence A, your honor: every episode of CM), garcia x every woman

4. The X-Files

I recently got into The X-Files because of my friend @midwestmothman and I will forever be in their debt. I haven’t even finished more than two seasons of this show and I’m in love with it. I don’t want to watch it too fast because then it’ll be over, and what do I do then? (I know they have this exact same dilemma.) Mulder and Scully are one of the foundations of so much of our current ship/fandom culture and it’s obvious why. I love the mystery & sci-fi of it all but we all know that it is the chemistry between the two leads that keep us invested even if the episodes aren’t as strong as usual. It’s one of those shows that I could turn on and watch all day. 

favorite quote: “Mulder, sometimes I think the world is going to hell and we’re the only two people who can save it.”

favorite character: I can’t pick. They’re both iconic.

favorite episode:  “Ice” (season 1, episode 8)

favorite ship: mulder x scully ofc

3. Seinfeld

ok, sorry (not sorry?) but Seinfeld is hilarious.

i absolutely love it. it is partly a nostaliga thing, but when i got old enough to actually give a damn about what i watch i decided i would watch it on my own instead of reruns on my grandfather’s television and i decided on my own that it is one of the most hilarious things i have ever seen.

i am a piece of each of these characters. they’re all complex characters with deep flaws but just as deep character and depth. they’re not meant to be praised; they know they are selfish people but the whole point of the show is that we can laugh at the terrible things that they say that we’re too afraid to joke about (as in like little rude things not hateful things).

this show is iconic. there are so many sayings, so many scenes, so many quotes that are iconic. Kramer--iconic. Seinfeld’s apartment--iconic. they’re all iconic.

obviously i do not care for the actual namesake of the show but every other character has an incredibly special place in my heart.

favorite quote: “You’re a nice guy, but I actually only have three friends. I can’t really handle any more.”

favorite character: the man, the myth, the legend Cosmo Kramer

favorite episode: “the red dot” (season 3, episode 12) & “the voice” (season 9, episode 2)

2. Fleabag

Fleabag has a special place in my heart. Phoebe Waller-Bridge is a genius and this show is a testament to that. I thought season one was a great examination of what it’s like to be a woman that feels like she’s being a woman wrong. That she wants to say things and feel things that she’s not supposed to. She also doesn’t know how to handle her grief or to handle love. Then season 2 is a full-blown love story (admitted by Fleabag herself) and I LOVE it. It is so tragic, it is so beautiful, it is so comforting. It is upsetting that Fleabag finally finds someone who gets her but they have a barrier that they can’t overcome. It is one of the most heartbreaking moments of TV for me recently. “I love you.” “It’ll pass.” ARE YOU JOKING. 

favorite quote: “I want someone to tell me what to wear every morning. I want someone to tell me what to eat. What to like, what to hate, what to rage about, what to listen to, what band to like, what to buy tickets for, what to joke about, what not to joke about. I want someone to tell me what to believe in, who to vote for, and who to love, and how to tell them. I just think I want someone to tell me how to live my life, Father, because so far I think I’ve been getting it wrong.”

favorite character: fleabag, duh. but obviously the hot priest, too. 

favorite episode: series 2, episode 1

favorite ship: fleabag x the hot priest, it truly breaks my heart

1. Succession

Succession is one of the best meshes of comedy and drama that I’ve ever seen. Endlessly quote-able, at times nauseating, at times hysterical, at times the most depressing thing I’ve ever seen. A story of cycles and power and prisons. A tragedy. Witnessing these ups and downs over the past few years have been one of my favorite television experiences. It was like a new Game of Thrones for me. In a similar vein I think both shows ended the way the story demands but weren’t very satisfying in nature. (Spoilers) No one will admit it but Tom being the successor is like Bran being the King at the end for me. I loved it, though. Every minute. (I was secretly rooting for Ken but we don’t need to talk about that.)

favorite quote: all of the best quotes are between Greg and Tom. Tom’s “Are we talking to each other on the deck of a majestic schooner? Is the salty brine stinging my weather-beaten face? No? Then why the fuck are you are wearing a pair of deck shoes man?" always gets a laugh and Greg’s “It’s not like they pre-poop them” response regarding the dog poop bags. Also of course “You can’t make a Tomlette without breaking some Gregs.”

favorite character: roman roy you weird fuck 

favorite episode: “This Is Not For Tears” (season 2, episode 10) - probably my favorite episode of television ever

favorite ship: tom x greg, ken x nate somehow?? like can we go back to the line “Man, I forgot how eager you were to get laid at a party”??? also ken x stewy -- once again going back to the line “You like pancakes and waffles and you kiss guys on molly”??? kendall roy & his relationships with men will forever remain one of life’s greatest mysteries

HONORABLE MENTIONS 

House

favorite quote: "It's one of the great tragedies of life — something always changes."

favorite character: Dr. James Wilson my BELOVED !!!!!!!!

favorite episode(s): tough because i love “three stories” (season 1, episode 21) but “wilson’s heart” (season 4, episode 16) absolutely destroyed me. 

favorite ship: wilson x house ofc 

The Great British Bake Off

favorite quote: James Acaster’s “Started making it, had a breakdown.”

favorite contestant: GBBO 2020′s winner PETER (noel’s not a contestant but he’s my favorite) are you kidding me he’s so cute

favorite season: 2020 season 

Full House

look, it’s peak nostalgia. I’ve been getting back into it lately. 

favorite quote: Stephanie’s “How rude!” and Michelle’s “You’ve got it, dude!”

favorite character: Uncle Jesse. He’s easy on the eyes.

favorite episode(s): “Secret Admirer,” (season 4, episode 5) & “Silence is Not Golden” (season 6, episode 17)

favorite ship: danny x joey x jesse. don’t act like you don’t see it, too!!

Game of Thrones

Game of Thrones used to be my favorite show of all time. It was one of the only shows that kept me in anticipation every week for the next episode. It takes a lot for a TV show to do that. And I loved every minute of this show, even the last season and its ridiculousness. I’ve always felt this, but I feel like that now that we’re a few years out from the finale I think maybe if some people looked back on the last season they wouldn’t think it’s so bad. I thought the ending made sense. It was disappointing, but it made sense. I’m more upset about the character arcs reverting, ending in disappointing ways, or progressing too fast (I’m looking at you, Daenerys.) However, even when it was bad, it was still good. Just not good enough to break my top 10. Close though! That’s why I’m giving it a little speech. 

favorite quote: “Our fathers were evil men. All of us here. They left the world worse than they found it. We're not going to do that. We're going to leave the world better than we found it.” (Oh, Daenerys. You had such potential.)

favorite character: jon fucking snow 

favorite episode: “The Winds of Winter” (Season 6, episode 10)

favorite ship: jaime x brienne (we almost had it all), jon x ygritte 

Thanks for reading. What are your top ten favorite television shows?

[seiya-starsniper]

hello hello i see you're open to prompts 👀

how about #20"I'm just going to lie right here" for dreamling (or any ship you prefer 👀)

happy writing, my dear 💜✨️

HEY SO REMEMBER THIS PROMPT YOU SENT ME FIVE MONTHS AGO??? Apparently it took me getting another prompt to finally come up with an idea for it, so I've gone and combined the two 😄💖 Gentle Prompts Here and Soft Prompts Here (I'll still accept prompts from both because I am a fluff machine)

-------------

Hob knows something is wrong as soon as his roommate enters their shared apartment and slams the door behind him.

“Morph? You all right?” Hob calls out, pausing his movie and turning to the entryway where Morpheus is angrily pulling off his shoes and shoving his coat onto the hooks. He also practically slams his keys down into the tray on the side table by the door, and Hob winces at the loud clang that echoes through the apartment. He considers asking Morpheus again if he’s all right, but decides to let his moody roommate come to him instead. 

Something is definitely very wrong if his roommate is making this much noise. Morpheus Endless is normally so quiet of a roommate that Hob doesn’t always notice when the other man is even in the apartment at the same time as him. Morpheus was so silent and unassuming that Hob had felt like he was being haunted by a ghost rather than living with a real person the first few months they started living together. Hob would be jump-scared in his own kitchen simply by turning around and finding Morpheus there right behind him. He had no idea another person could walk so quietly. The worst time had been in the bathroom, when Hob had accidentally squirted half a tube of toothpaste all over the other man’s black shirt. From that point forward, Morpheus had started knocking along the walls wherever he walked, so that Hob would know where he was at any given moment.

Still, the pale man was an ideal roommate otherwise, if not a little socially awkward at times. On top of his eerily quiet nature, it had taken months for Hob to get Morpheus to even say more than five words to him whenever they were in the same room together. Hob had first thought Morpheus was just disinterested in being friendly all together, but then one night, like a cat, his roommate peeked his head out of his room to the smell of Hob cooking dinner. Hob has since learned to let Morpheus come to him, instead of trying to impress on the man himself.

Hob’s efforts seem to now be paying off, for instead of stomping off to his bedroom to sulk about whatever it is, Morpheus instead makes his way over to the couch and plants himself directly in front of Hob’s line of vision. Hob tries to give his best reassuring smile as he stares up at the pale man.

“Bad day?” Hob asks gently. “I’m happy to listen, if you’d like. Looks like you could use a hug too.”

Morpheus doesn’t answer, he simply sways somewhat unsteadily for a few moments, before he practically collapses onto the couch. The only problem is, Hob is still very much sitting on said couch, and instead of aiming for the empty spot next to him, Hob instead finds himself with an armful of gangly limbs and untamed hair. 

“Oof,” Hob grunts as he takes on the unexpected weight. Hug it is, then. Morpheus isn’t heavy by any means, but it still takes a moment for Hob to adjust to having what is effectively an oversized cat suddenly in his lap. Hob eventually manages to wiggle his arms out from under Morpheus, before wrapping them around the pale man and pulling him against his chest. Morpheus immediately takes the cue and buries his face in Hob’s shoulder, shaking like a leaf and failing to keep his breathing even.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay, it’s all right,” Hob soothes, rubbing at Morpheus’s back. His roommate is freezing from the cold weather outside, but he’s quickly warming up the longer Hob holds him.

Hob doesn’t know what it is that’s upset Morpheus so much, but whatever it is, he’s glad that his roommate isn’t trying to deal with it alone, that they’ve come far enough in their friendship (though Morpheus has yet to call him a friend at this point) for him to show Hob this vulnerable side of him. 

The only downside to this is that this newfound vulnerability is doing absolutely nothing to help Hob’s teeny tiny, absolutely miniscule crush on his roommate. But that’s neither here nor there. Hob tucks the yearning feelings that arise from their newfound intimacy quietly behind his ribs and focuses all his energy into comforting Morpheus instead. 

“Do you…want to talk about it?” Hob asks Morpheus. 

A soft inhale. Then a shake of the head against his shoulder. The motion alerts Hob to the fact that his shoulder is damp, and the realization makes his heart lurch up into his throat. He wants to go out and find whoever or whatever it is that’s upset Morpheus so much and give them an introduction to his fists.

“Okay…” Hob continues, taking a deep breath and trying to calm himself down. He’s here for comfort, not to be a white knight. “That’s fine, we don’t need to get into it. Uhm…can I readjust though? This position’s a bit uncomfortable.”

There’s a short pause, and then eventually, Hob feels Morpheus nod against his shoulder.  

Moving Morpheus is a fairly easy task. If Hob didn’t know any better, he’d think his roommate had been replaced by some sort of mannequin from the way he lets Hob manhandle him so easily. He seems to be mostly aware of what’s happening, which is good, but it’s clear he’s no in any sort of headspace for conversation just yet.

Eventually, Hob is able to rearrange them so that he’s lying with his back resting on the arm of the couch, and Morpheus is sprawled on top of him. Their legs are tangled together and Hob’s also thrown the large throw blanket over them for good measure. Morpheus, of course, reburies his head in Hob’s shoulder, and Hob takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around his roommate’s shoulders once more, rubbing soothing circle’s into the other man’s back.

“See, that’s better now, isn’t it?” Hob asks gently. “Nothing beats a good hug and a cuddle on the couch when you’ve had a bad day.”

Morpheus hums, but otherwise doesn’t offer any other sort of verbal reply. It’s a start.

“You can stay as long as you like,” Hob adds. “I’m just going to lay right here until you decide you want to move.”

“Then you’ll be here until tomorrow,” Morpheus croaks, his voice clearly cracked from crying.

Hob laughs and moves his hand up from Morpheus’s back to ruffle the man’s messy black hair. Morpheus groans in annoyance and bats his hand away, but otherwise does not move from his chin perch on Hob’s shoulder. Somehow, Morpheus's hair looks exactly the same.

“There you are,” Hob says, his voice fond. “Was starting to worry you’d gone mute on me.”

“No,” Morpheus says. “...I still don’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s fine,” Hob replies, then adds, “and we can stay here until tomorrow, really, if you like. But I will need to pee at some point.”

Morpheus huffs. “I suppose that is acceptable.”

“Can I tempt you with some food too?” Hob asks. “I’ll even feed it to you if you’d like.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Morpheus replies. “I can feed myself.”

“All right,” Hob says, shrugging and shifting himself into a more comfortable lying position. “Need anything else? Want to take a nap?”

Morpheus doesn’t answer for some time, and Hob almost thinks the man fell asleep on him already, but then his roommate readjusts his limbs as well and moves his body downwards until his head is resting on Hob’s chest. Hob wants to cry at how adorable he looks, at how right it feels that their bodies fit together so perfectly, like they were made for each other. 

“A nap sounds nice,” Morpheus finally replies, mumbling quietly into Hob’s chest. “And perhaps food when we wake up.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Hob agrees. He already knows he’s going to be ordering take-out for tonight, but come tomorrow, he’s going to make all of Morpheus’s favorite foods for the rest of his week. For the rest of his life, if he’d let him.

It doesn’t take terribly long for Morpheus to fall asleep on him, and Hob resists the urge to plant a kiss in the man’s hair, settling instead for gently rubbing at Morpheus’s back. Hob falls asleep not too long after his roommate, and when he dreams, he dreams of a home filled with warmth and joy and love.

[gabessquishytum]

Alpha!Dream hides his ruts from omega!Hob.

None of his past partners ever made him feel loved- in fact they usually made him feel worse and complained about how he would get during his ruts because they were “weird” compared to how ruts get portrayed in society. He does have the instinct to knot his partner, but for him that’s always been more of a means to an end. What he really wants is to be as close as possible to the other person, to hold and be held, to know that they’re here and safe and that he’s not alone. He doesn’t show the stereotypical alpha aggression, which has led to partners calling him too soft and clingy and annoying and overbearing during his ruts and he often ends up getting dumped shortly after it ends because he’s just “too much”.

So by the time he and Hob get together he’s convinced he just has to suck it up alone in order to not scare Hob away. It’s okay for awhile, but Hob notices the times Dream is absent for a bit and comes back smelling particularly miserable and sad, and he gets worried as time passes and despite sharing Hob’s heat together, he’s never seen Dream in rut. He asks about it, because skipping heats or ruts can be a sign of health problems, and he wants to make sure his darling is okay!

Dream reluctantly admits that he has had ruts, but he didn’t want to burden Hob with it. Hob is appalled- Dream takes such good care of Hob during his heats, he hates the idea of not being able to take care of him in turn!

They talk a lot; about Dream’s past experiences, his anxieties and shame, the types of things he wants and doesn’t want during his rut. The next time Dream’s rut hits, Hob is going to be there, doing everything in his power to make sure Dream feels safe and sated and loved.

-🦇

AWWW poor Dream!! I really like the idea of him having nontraditional rutting behaviours. I think Hob would be totally charmed (but of course sad that Dream has been treated so horribly by other people in the past).

Hob’s first suggestion for Dream’s next rut is: nesting. Its typically considered an omega thing, although not all omegas do it. But Hob thinks that Dream would really benefit. It's all about safety, closeness and the bond between alpha and omega, and it seems like the ideal way to help Dream prepare for his rut without feeling so anxious.

When Dream feels his rut coming on, he starts collecting stuff. Mostly unwashed bedclothes, plus some of Hob’s old pyjamas and comfy clothes. All stuff that smells like safety and home. He feels quite embarrassed as he builds up this pile of fabric, but after a little while his hormones settle and he feels really good about it! The nest smells good, there are pillows, Dream even stolen some of Hob’s plushies. Its perfect.

Hob makes sure to compliment the nest as much as possible when he's invited in. He talks about how cozy and safe he and Dream are together, how they'll spend the time cuddled up and warm, and Dream can knot him if he wants to. Dream relaxes and holds Hob very close, licking his scent glands. He does feel safe and like Hob is loving him for who he is. All his shame evaporates and Dream starts purring. He's beautiful and strong and Hob loves him so much, maybe even more than before if that's possible. And he's going to make Dream feel loved, every single day for the rest of their lives - that's a promise.

[ihatecoconut]

Lucy in the sky with Diamonds [Chapter 7]

Also on ao3!

Delirium pops back up a few days later, orange hair with one side shaved off but grown out enough to be fuzzy. It’s a Monday, so the New Inn is closed for the day and Hob is just doing some (admittedly unnecessary) handy work.

“Hi.”

“Hello. You’re back.”

Delirium nods and then, in a slightly more secretive tone, “Dream doesn’t know.”

Hob laughs, pulling himself out from under the sink and dusting off the dirt that he’s gotten himself covered in. “Yeah, he seemed a little upset last time.”

“Protective.” She supplies.

Hob frowns, confused.

“We’re not supposed to hold onto you for too long,” she explains, swinging her legs back and forth, “otherwise Dream gets mad.”

Hob leans on the bar as he processes this. “The reason I have such a high metabolism when it comes to drugs and alcohol is because… you’re scared of your brother?”

“Not scared.”

“But you… don’t want to make him mad.”

Delirium shrugs. “Death says he won’t admit—” she cuts herself off. “Nothing.”

Hob waits to see if she’s going to change her mind, and she focuses on the slightly dent in the wood of the bar. “OK. Maybe don’t imply that he wants to kiss me though? I think it made him uncomfortable.”

“Why?”

“Because he left quite soon after.” He swallows down on the part of himself that’s been in love with his stranger for longer than he could ever count, prevents the painful rejection from overtaking him and ignores any fantasies of them living a happy life together.

Delirium hums.

“And, I mean…” he pauses, gathering up the tools, “no offence, but it came from you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, I mean, the idea that he might love me back is one of my delusions, right?”

She doesn’t say anything for a very long time, almost to the point that Hob is expecting her to be gone when he turns around again – she’s not, still sitting on the bar and her eyes are slightly clearer than normal, like she’s trying very hard to focus.

“Death told him once that ‘You can have your pride, or you can have the joy of close, loving relationships.’ Because he’s bad at that.” The way she mimics a voice he doesn’t know does make him want to laugh, but the random topic change is confusing him too much.

“I am sensing a ‘but’ here.” Hob tells her.

She shrugs. “You too. You hide too much of yourself from everyone.”

“To protect myself.”

“He already knows everything.”

“I know that.” The misery at having everything he wants dangled in front of him bites out at her as anger and he immediately feels guilty about it. “Sorry, I just…”

“We’re not just our names.” She tells him, instead of responding to that.

He rubs his forehead and tries to follow the threads of a conversation that keeps jumping around, “Oh?”

“We’re also the opposite, so Despair is also hope and Death is also life and Dream is also reality, you know?”

When he looks up, she’s watching him closely, waiting for him to understand something. He isn’t quite sure what, but the next question seems obvious.

“What’s your opposite?”

“It used to be sadness, very simple, and it kind of still is but now it’s actually truth.”

Hob rubs very hard at the bridge of his nose. “So you are also Truth?”

She shrugs. “Or lucidity.”

He looks back up at her, the focused look in her eyes is starting to slip away again, but he thinks he understands what she means.

“You can’t see what people want?”

“Dream can. And Desire.”

He shelves that thought hurriedly before it distracts him. “But you can see… truth? And delusions?”

“Mmhm.”

“Just my truth?”

“Truth does not change.” A voice says from behind him.

Hob turns around so fast that he nearly hits his head on the same sink he had been failing to fix. “Dream.”

Dream nods at him in acknowledgement, but his attention is focused on Delirium. “Sister, you seem tired.”

The lucidity has completely gone from her eyes now, and her irises look a little like kaleidoscopes, which Hob decides is probably not a good thing to focus on.

“Tired.” She repeats.

Dream takes a cautious step towards her. “Is there a truth you need to share?”

“The Book can change.” She replies, vacant and floating a few inches above the bar top. “He can change it.”

And then she’s gone, leaving Hob and Dream alone in the bar with many things to think about – Dream probably more than Hob, considering that he has no idea what the Book is – but instead of voicing any of his questions, Hob looks up into the face of his oldest friend.

“You could kiss me, if you wanted.”

Dream’s expression goes slack with surprise for a few moments, and he kneels down to be at the same level. “If I wanted?”

“Well, I want,” Hob tells him, “and I’m willing to share.”

The tiny smile that he has coveted for centuries makes a reappearance, but Dream does not lean in to kiss him like he hoped.

“You are filthy.”

He looks down at himself and laughs. “Yeah. Kiss me when I’m clea—”

Dream cuts him off with his mouth, leaning forward with so much force that Hob does hit the back of head on the sink, but he doesn’t let Dream pull away, even as he can feel the shape of an apology on his lips.

“This is good too,” he mumbles, sliding a hand round into Dream’s hair – it’s as soft as he always imagined, “you could join me while I clean up?”

This time Dream does pull away. His pupils have expanded to show galaxies within them and Hob is fascinated.

“I would like that. Very much.”

“OK.” He can’t stop smiling. “Never done it in a shower before, but I’m willing to try anything once.”

[mask131]

Green spring: Midsummer Night’s fairies (2)

PUCK AND OBERON before Shakespeare

Category: European folklore

This is a follow-up post to my previous Green spring entry, about Shakespeare’s famous trio of fairies – Puck, Oberon and Titania from “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”. While I previously briefly looked at them in the context of their theater play (though I just stayed at the surface-level of things, I invite you to search on your own for all those Shakespearian complexities), with this post I want to look at their actual folkloric and legendary origins – because Shakespeare didn’t actually invent those fairy characters out of nowhere!

Well… Except maybe for Titania. There are several fairy queens in British folklore, but Shakespeare doesn’t seem to have taken inspiration from any of them when creating Titania – as I said before she seems to have been mostly based on the nymphs and goddesses of Greco-Roman myths, with an emphasis on Ovid’s Metamorphoses. But for Oberon and Puck, that’s a whole other story…

1) Puck outside of Shakespeare

Puck or Robin Goodfellow is actually a pretty well established character of British folklore – he was mentioned in several literary works and theater plays well before Shakespeare. A pretty well-established character… or a pretty well established species. For you see, while there are many accounts of a supernatural entity called “Puck” or “Robin Goodfellow”, sometimes there are also records of several of them existing at the same time, to the point people talked about the “Robingoofellowes”. In fact, remember how in Shakespeare’s another name for Puck was “Hobgoblin”? Well it was the case in folklore too: the Robingoodfellowes were treated as identical to the Hobgoblins as a race – or to the Hobgoblin as a unique character.

Let’s talk a bit etymology. Hobgoblin. What’s the difference with a regular goblin? Well… there are debates about the “Hob”. “Hob” has been attested in the midlands of England (the Anglo-Scottish border) as a term designated all supernatural beings, and treated as a synonym of “elf” – so a “hobgoblin” would be an “elf-goblin”. Other point out that “Hob” might be a deformation of “Rob”, aka… short for “Robin”, of “Robin Goodfellow”. And what about this “Goodfellow” part? Well it certainly wasn’t because he was such a good fellow… The common explanation is that it is a naming convention similar to how fairies and elves were called “the fair folk” or the “good neighbors” by the people of England – it is an ancient technique according to which when a being is dangerous or poses some kind of threat, you need to give them flattering and nice name in hope of avoiding their wrath or not offending them. As such, the Robin would have been called a “Goodfellow” because people feared his mischief and wanted to please him;

Because that’s one of the main characteristics of the Puck: his mischievousness. A Robin Goodfellow was considered a kind of “spirit” (supernatural being), but more “familiar and domestical than the others” – it means that Robin Goodfellows tended, for unknown reasons, to settle into one given place, usually a human building, and treat it as if it was their own house, refusing to leave. This position makes him eerily similar to other “domestic fairies” and “familiar spirits” of the local lands: the brownies of Scotland, for example, with whom the “hobgoblins” were often confused. After all, both were described as small, hairy men that lived in human’s houses, and who did all sorts of chores around the place when the human inhabitants were asleep (dusting, ironing, needle-working, butter-churning…), often in exchange for some food left for them (usually white bread and milk left by the housewives) ; and just like brownies, hobgoblins were said to be banished from a house if someone offered them clothes (for some it is because with new clothes, they will be too proud to work, others say it is because they will get offended by this gift). But the main difference was that, while the brownies are described as peaceful entities all about serving mankind, as I said the hobgoblins were pranksters primarily concerned with joking and goofing around – their duties to the house or the people was just a secondary trait of theirs. That, and how much… let’s say “moody” the pucks are – on top of the “offering clothes” above, it is said that if you displeased a puck in any way, he would promptly undo all of the chores and small work he did around the house through various tricks ; or that if you neglected him, he would start stealing around, claiming that the things in the house would make as a due payment for his services.

The main signs of the presence of a “Robin Goodfellow” in your house are strange and unusual noises: often hidden or invisible, but sometimes in plain sight, the Goodfellowes like to mock people out loud or imitate them ; they also like to produce music that seemingly comes from nowhere, and to produce all sorts of loud, unusual or annoying noises (such as bells ringing) ; and if you call them, they will answer you. However, despite being able to spook and frighten people, the Puck is constantly said to actually be harmless to people (or to cause very little damage). A puck is usually just a laughing and merry spirit who only does “jests and gawdes”, and in fact can communicate and appear so regularly to the owner of a house that said owner will lose any fear of it and get used to its presence.

Outside of the “Robin Goodfellow”, the most famous of all hobgoblins, other renowned mischief-makers included Robin Roundcap of Spaldington Hall, Blue Burches of Blackdown Hills, or Billy Blind talked about in the ballads of F. J. Child.

2) Oberon before Shakespeare

Oberon is an hybrid case. He wasn’t entirely invented by Shakespeare, like Titania, but he also simply wasn’t plucked out of local folklore, like Puck. What Shakespeare did was take a renowned literary figure, and reshape/rewrite it to become his king of the fairies everybody knows today.

And to look back at Oberon’s evolution, I will invite you to go back to my “Cold Winter” series, and take a look there at my post about Alberich. Remember Alberich? The magical Germanic dwarf that guarded the treasure of the Nibelungen in Siegfried’s story? Well he is the start of Oberon’s story. In fact, if I haven’t said it before, Alberich very names points out what he will become in the future, since it means “ruler of the elves” (alb, elf ; rih, ruler or king ; alb-rih, alberich).  

But if you know your Germanic/Norse texts, you’ll think that Alberich is a far cry from Shakespeare’s Oberon. Where is the missing link? Well the missing link is the country between England and Germany: France. In the 13th century, a “chanson de geste” (basically a poem about the exploits of a great figure) was written, called “Les Prouesses et faitz du noble Huon de Bordeaux” (The prowess and acts of the noble Huon of Bordeaux). It tells the story of Huon, the son of the count of Bordeaux, who ended up murdering in self-defense the royal prince and to obtain a pardon, must undergo a redeeming pilgrimage/quest. As he is leaving, Huon travels a forest called Monmur where an elf is said to dwell, and Huon was warned before not to talk to it. They encounter a child-sized, but very handsome man, and Huon’s companion recognizes the elf – he tells Huon to flee without talking to it, to avoid falling into some sort of supernatural trap. But no matter how much they try to outrun him, the pretty-looking dwarf keeps following them, trying to start a conversation, and ultimately Huon proves himself too polite and decides to stop to chat a bit with the elf, who as it turns out is named Auberon (a deformation of Alberich). In exchange for this talk, Auberon offers Huon and his companion to eat and sleep at his dwelling – and he turns out to be a pretty powerful fairy of royal blood! For you see, as it is revealed, Aubéron is the half-human son of Julius Caesar, and the half-fairy son of Morgue, queen of the fairies of Avalon (note: Morgue is a local French deformation of the name “Morgan”, and the recurring character of the Morgue fairy is a literary cousin or double of the Arthurian Morgan). We also learn that he got his small size due to a curse that an angry fairy threw at him upon his christening (yep, just like in the fairy tales), but the same fairy later came to regret what she did, and added a blessing: that he would be more beautiful than any mortal man, and the most virtuous of all the Earth-dwellers.

Auberon, who now considers Huon his friend, offers him two gifts for his upcoming Babylonian adventures. One is a magical cup (well… a hanap to be precise) made of gold, that is always empty when a wicked man holds it, but always full for those with a pure heart. The other is an ivory horn – if Huon blows into it, Auberon will arrive with his invincible magical army to help him. BUT… in exchange Huon must do two promises. One, to only blow in the horn in case of extreme need. Two, to never lie. If Huon breaks one of these promises, he will lose Auberon’s friendship. Despite that, Huon breaks the promise soon after leaving Auberon’s domain – out of vanity, he blows into the horn, and when Auberon arrives he scolds heavily Huon. But in front of Huon’s sincere excuses, Auberon agrees to forgive him. He also throws in a warning about a nearby town Huon shouldn’t go into, because its king kills all the Christians that enter it ; he adds a prophecy announcing that Huon will have many trials in his quest, and that he won’t be able to succeed in his journey without suffering, before disappearing. Huon still however gets entangled with the Christians-killing king, and as he is trapped in his city he uses the ivory horn again – Auberon arrives and with his army helps defeat the wicked king. But he then warns Huon of not entering a second city, where dwells a giant called Prideful – this warning is sincere, as the fairy-king explains that even with all of his mighty powers, he could not defeat the giant. Huon will however manage such a feat.

Much later in the story, Huon will lie in the city of Babylon, where he is threatened with being put to death if he is Christian – since he pretends to be pagan, Auberon withdraws his friendship, and the next time Huon blows in the horn Auberon refuses to answer. After many more trials, including imprisonment and torture, Huon is chosen by the emir of Babylon as his champion to fight a giant called Agrapart, the brother of the deceased Prideful who is seeking revenge. Upon entering this fight, Huon suddenly regains the friendship of Auberon and his magical items work again – and after more fights, Auberon appears to Huon and warns him as he is about to go home with a lovely girl he fell in love with. He warns Huon to not have sex with the girl before their union has been blessed by the Pope himself in Rome – but, as usual, Huon disobeys, has sex with her on the ship crossing the sea, which causes a huge storm and a shipwreck… Anyway I won’t recap the entire epic, because it is long and convoluted, but basically there’s this cycle of Huon calling Auberon whenever he needs help, and Auberon constantly warning Huon about future trials but the knight refusing to listen to the elf’s prophecies. In fact, at one point Huon will reject Auberon because he deems him the “cause” of all of his misfortunes, blaming the dwarf’s prophecies rather than his own refusal to listen to the warnings he has been constantly given… But all on his own, Huon proves that he can get into a very big mess because upon returning home, he loses the precious objects he had gained in his quest to obtain his pardon, a conspiracy is organized to make him look like a liar in front of the king, and he is about to get sentenced to death despite his friends’ attempts at saving him… Auberon, crying for the fate of the one he thinks of as his protégé, ultimately decides to interfere himself – he appears out of nowhere in the royal court where Huon’s trial is organized (which terrifies everybody), he uses his magical gold hanap to prove who is virtuous and who is wicked, he scolds heavily the king for being fooled by the conspiracy, he uses magic to have the stolen objects of Huon appear in front of everyone, and when the real culprits behind the whole thing are found… Auberon has gallows appear by magic to hang them on the spot. In the end, Auberon even goes as far as offer his kingdom to Huon and his new wife – so that they may rule over it.

This French epic got a huge success, so big it had several sequels and prequels written about it (such as one detailing the adventures of Huon as the “King of Féerie”), and due to the importance of the character of Auberon (after all he actually opens the novel, is a key character and even solves the climax), he also got his own side-novel detailing his own adventures and romances outside of his involvement with Huon. It is very probably that Shakespeare learned of the character of Auberon through the English translation of the original poem, “Huon of Burdeuxe”, by John Bourchier in 1540.

- - - - -

One last origin story should be talked about… The one of Puck. Yes, I have already written about Puck outside of Shakespeare… But of the English Puck! You see, the English “Puck” is part of a wider family of beings, all local variations of a same creature. “Puki” in Sweden and Iceland, “pwca” in Welsh, “pouque” in the Channel Islands, “bucca” in Cornland… And “puca” in Ireland. And “puca”, the Irish puck, offers a fascinating variation of the puck myth.

[Note: The proper Irish term is púca, plural púcai, which is a word also used as a synonym for “ghost” in Irish, while “puca” without the accent is the Old English term, that was used as a synonym of “goblin” ; but given I can’t type easily the accent, I’ll write “puca” from now on].

So, what is the “puca”? Well… it is a fairy, a spirit, a creature that can mean either good or bad fortune. Puca were renowned shapeshifters, able to take on a lot of appearances: they could become a horse, a goat, a cat, a dog, a hare, a rabbit, a raven, a fox, a wolf… But they usually always take the shape of a black animal, and sometimes can be betrayed by other unusual fact (they can appear as wild colts, but wrapped in chains, or as beautiful and sleek horses, but with glowing golden eyes). Interestingly, the most difficult shape they can take is apparently the one of a human – because whenever they appear as a man, they are always betrayed by other animal ears or an animal tail.

On their “bad fortune” side, the pucai are terrifying and menacing entity, whose intentions range from mischievousness to pure wickedness. As horses, they encourage humans to ride on their back, only to take them on a wild and terrifying journey before dropping them back at the place he met them. If they meet an unwary traveler on the road, they will confuse and spook them, if not outright harm them. Children were also warned to not eat overripe blackberries, because a puca could have slipped inside the berry and might be trying to enter the child’s body. Found in isolated and rural areas, some stories even turn the pucai into horrific monsters: carnivorous beasts that hunt down humans to eat them, or vampire-like entities sucking the blood of their victims.

In its “good fortune” side, the puca was said to often appear to warn or prevent an accident, or an encounter with a malevolent spirit/fairy. They could give good advice to the people they met, or guide them away from harm. It was also said that when a puca tried to trick you into a ride, you could control and subdue the creature by wearing sharp spurs – to the point that pucai were said to never try to prank or harm someone who wore sharp spurs (or the “sharp things” as the pucai call them). Only one man was known to have used a puca as a ride (or THE puca, since it is unclear if there is only one or several of them) – Brian Boru, one of the high kings of Ireland, who stole three hairs from a puca’s tail, used them to create a magical bridle, and used it to subdue a puca into becoming his regular horse.

The Puca is intensely associated with the Celtic festival known as Samhain (31st of October), and the following “November Day” (1st of November). Samhain was the last possible time for farmers to bring their crops inside their farms – anything left out in the fields beyond Samhain was “puka”, aka “fairy-blasted”, aka inedible. On the 1st of November, it is said you can meet the puca on the hills or mountains, and if you ask for it he will give you prophecies and warnings. On the same day, the puca is said to spit or defecate on all the wild fruits he encounters, making them dangerously inedible ; but it is also thought that the 1st of November being the “puca’s day”, it is the only day on which he will be civilized and polite towards human beings. Some farmers also like to leave a small part of their harvest out for the puca during the Samhain festival – especially in County Down, where the puca would appear as a disfigured goblin to demand his due if his share of the harvest wasn’t given. EDIT: I was also recently informed of other works involving Oberon and showing his evolution, so I will list them here for now. Purcell's "The Fairy Queen" (not to be confused with Spenser's The Fairy Queen) ; Greene's "James IV" and Christoph Martin Wieland's "Oberon"

[tickldpnk8]

Distant Mirrors Reread: Thermidor

This meta is long overdue. I read Thermidor, but then things got crazy busy with travel and work, and it languished in my drafts. All this despite the fact that there's not a ton that I could glean from this issue. It really is very plot driven (and a lot of fun: I love seeing Lady Johanna! heists! revolution! spies!), and not a lot of foreshadowing or world-building happens.

On the nature of Morpheus' deals:

I find it interesting that we never actually see the details of any of the deals that Morpheus makes throughout the comic run. The only exception to this is with Hob, of course, who in return for his ability to continue to live, he must meet with Morpheus once a century and tell him stories.

In this issue, Morpheus asks Lady Johanna to retrieve his son's head from Paris. And in return, he makes it clear that he has neither gold nor property to offer her in return for this dangerous mission. Which strikes me as interesting. What he offers in return is vague, and as the Reader, we can assume it might be simply a good night's rest free from nightmares. But I like how Gaiman doesn't spell it out: he leaves it to us to fill in the blanks with.

And it’s interesting that he says he has no gold nor property to offer. As opposed to someone like Death who simply arrives for her day among the living with the exact change she'll need in her pocket. We know he can grab things from the dreams of the collective subconscious to nourish or clothe himself. And we know from his visit to Hob in Season of Mists that he could manifest the bottle of wine he pulled for them into the Waking. But that's not what he parleys with.

On Orpheus' nature:

One thing I've always struggled with in this whole world of the Sandman is that a Greek Goddess and an Endless had a kid together who turned out to be...simply mortal. We don't get a ton of issues featuring Orpheus to really tease out how true this is. And then there's the fact that there's mortals and there's humans. What is a mortal in this universe? Perhaps a human is just one type of mortal. Does Dream view gods as mortal because they can die when enough folks stop believing in them?

In any case, on this read through, I'm looking for clues about Orpheus as well, and in this issue we get this:

Basically, Lady Johanna is trying to figure out how to get out of a situation and is meeting with Morpheus in her dream. Jessamy says that Orpheus knew many songs and suggests that he sing. To which Morpheus replies "He still has power. But for that to be effective he would need a chorus." So his gift of music was enough to be considered a power of some sort.

And it turns out that he is somehow able to get the dead around him to sing along with him once he does sing. So he must have some sort of musical compulsion. Again, given Jessamy’s reference, I wonder if that means that he used to have more musical powers before he “died” and became an oracle?

On his and Orpheus' relationship:

For his part, Morpheus reiterates over and over that he can’t be seen to interfere directly in this matter. But he doesn’t exactly say why. Is it because of some Rule? Is it because of something his son said to him? Is it simply because it’s so wrapped up with a human revolution that he shouldn’t get involved in?

On my first read through, I assumed it was because of something that happened between him and Orpheus. But I don’t know if I retroactively applied that logic when I got to later issues. On this read through, I’m noting that he didn’t actually spell it out.

For his part, Orpheus seems to genuinely miss his father. He tells Johanna that sending her to rescue him must be a sign of Morpheus’ care and then says he misses him himself. To me, the tone it’s all written in speaks of remorse on Orpheus’ part. Whatever happened between them was done rashly on Orpheus’ part and he seems to genuinely regret it.

And then there’s Orpheus’ relationship to the Dreaming. By saying “Not even in my dreams” to Johanna on whether he sees his father, we can infer that he Does dream and his father hasn’t cut him off from the Dreaming. But he doesn’t see his father while he is there. In contrast to his mother who visits “from time to time.”

In conclusion

This issue has me coming to the conclusion that Orpheus was more than just a regular human, and that he had musically-inclined powers. It also has me concluding from this issue, that he underwent some sort of fundamental change when he became beheaded. Knowing what Orpheus stories we’ll get later on, I’m almost certain that this view will change or at least be refined.

It’s also got me thinking that on Orpheus’ part, he regrets the split between him and his father. Whereas Morpheus maintains his distance out of either strict adherence to the rules or out of pride.

[delta-pavonis]

Dreamling Week 2024 Day 4

Dreamling Week 2024 Day 4 Prompts (from @mr-sadman): shapeshifter, storm, finger food, dirty

Dreamling || Rated M || 751 words

tags (other than the prompts above): fantasy, urban fantasy, solarpunk, drow druid/sorcerer Dream, half wood elf bard/gunsmith Hob, investigator partners with a history, they get captured and held for days as torture, escape from torture, cannibalism metaphors for love, discussion of taking joy in revenge

In chronological order: Day 2, Day 1, Day 3

Day 4 comes soon after Day 3

They crawl out of the cave system into a raging thunderstorm. Might as well be a hurricane for how the wind is blowing the rain and trees sideways. However, the sight of cypress trees and the salty smell of the ocean limits the possible places that they have been taken to. 

“Holy shit we're in Port Essen!” Hob gasps in breathless laughter. When Dream looks at him he is smiling, almost glowing, underneath all the dirt and grime and soil and debris they are covered with, that is all rapidly turning to mud as the forceful winds and driving rain wash them clean. He looks to Dream and it is like the sun has risen, warmth diffusing through Dream's skin. “I grew up here!”

That raises a red flag in the back of Dream's mind–he doesn't believe in coincidences. 

“We need to move. Get as far away as possible. Fast. Get on.” Dream doesn't say more, doesn't explain, just grabs some of the reedy dunegrass at his feet and pops it into his mouth as he makes the appropriate hand motions. 

Hob lets out a yelp as Dream transforms into a dire elk, huge and black. He wouldn't be able to fly in such rain and he has no meat for a spell component, so his dragon form is out; the elk will give Hob a smoother ride over the widest variety of terrain. 

Once fully shifted Dream drops onto folded legs, but that still means his back is at about the height of a horse, so he angles his head towards Hob to lend an antler for leverage.

Luckily Hob catches on quickly, hefting himself up onto Dream with a grunt. “West,” he says as he buries his hands in the ruff of thick fur around Dream's neck, “We’ll hit forest and freshwater fastest if we go west.”

Dream stands, looks back at Hob once to make sure he is settled, and then leaps into action. Hob lets out another yelp the first time Dream lands from a bound, but he sets a rhythm and the bard in Hob cues onto it almost immediately. 

Then he outright laughs.

“Dream,” he whispers into his fur, must be leaning over to get so close to his ear, “you are amazing, dove.”

Dream would laugh as well, if he could. 

He has never had a rider before, not in any shifted form he has taken, and that it is Hob on his back, moving fluidly with him, legs around him, clinging to him… well. Apparently one doesn’t need wings to fly.

But first they need to disappear. They need to get gone and regroup and get food and maybe bathe in a cold stream and start assembling their meager knowledge of their captors so that they can send out feelers for information and start the tedious process of revenge. 

Because Dream will eat their hearts raw for making this the bower in which he tells Hob the nature of Dream’s connection to him. He will make them watch as he sucks the marrow from their living bones for how they have treated his Mate. He cares not that he himself has been tortured; Dream has done more than enough terrible things in his life to have earned such an experience. But Hob? No. He will not let them survive this insult.

However, getting to that point, when he will be able to revel in the suffering of those who caused so much of the same, will take time. Dream is always thorough in his planning.

And while they wait, keeping to the shadows and gathering their knowledge and power, Dream will sup upon his Mate. He will devour the finest meal he will ever have. Savor the small pieces that he can pick up between his fingers and drop into his mouth and lick from under his fingernails. Drink long draughts of pleasure of Hob’s body and thereby nourish his own soul. Dream has been starving and did not know it, did not really understand what he was missing, until his body was weakened by the captivity and his mind sharpened by the pain his Mate experienced. 

Dream vaults over some rocky ground, avoiding it completely, and then as they crest a hill the treeline comes into sight and he could cry for the relief of it. Within the embrace of the forest Dream will have all the tools he needs to keep them safe. And then he can look towards the future.