I saw other people do this and I haven't really written much in far too long, so I thought I'd try it this way since not writing certainly isn't good for my emotional health.
Below you find a list of some of my wips. Send me an emoji and I'll try to at least add a few sentences and post a snippet. Maybe you can get me "unstuck" 🙈
🐦⬛ Taking Flight (E) - Dream admits that he has wings and Hob wants to see (and touch) them
🍒 Help Wanted AU (E) - Hob is a 34 year old virgin who decides he needs professional help to change that fact.
🛌 Dream Within a Dream (M) - Dream puts himself to sleep to keep Burgess from using his powers. Hob has to find a way to wake him up.
🦄 single dad omegaverse AU (E) - After giving birth by himself, Hob was supposed to get help from Dream when he has trouble nursing his daughter. Dream gives him a lot more help than that, but also quite a bit of trouble.
💦 horny Dream omegaverse AU (E) - Dream wants to be with Hob in every possible way, but thanks to his shitty ex, he thinks Hob might not want him the way he is.
🥰 fake boyfriend AU (E) - bartender!Dream gets Hob to be his fake boyfriend so that Burgess will stop hitting on him. since it doesn't work right away, they might have to be more convincing.
Thank you for your consideration and have a wonderful day! 💜
I got about 14 messages so far (which I didn't think would happen 😮), so thank you lovely people! 💙 I'll see what I can do, it might just take a little time.
I recently discovered that I'm much likely left handed and sort of slipped into writing with my right as a kid. Supposedly people like that can have a lot of trouble because the brain wants to work with the left and that doesn't change even if you use your right hand, and basically you end up needing double the brainpower for a lot of tasks.
And here I sit, wondering why I can't put out fic at an alamring rate while
brain exhausts itself at a quicker rate
writing in another language instead of my mother tongue
having 2 kids, working and keeping the house running
helping family members who can't do certain stuff for themselves anymore
your writing doesn't suck. In fact, it's great. you're not wasting your time. you really are good at this, and I definitely don't say that to everybody. you should love yourself even if you suck, but the thing is that you don't suck. at all.
Thank you, sweetheart!! 💜 I really wasn't trying to pick on myself, I'm just sort of an honesty fanatic (which makes it quite heart for people to get along with me 😬).
I'm very happy that you like my writing 🥰 I hope I can get my head to work and share some of it soon. Your message certainly helped with that!
Clean skin and a cool pillow and all the best to you! 😘
My elderly father started talking about how frustrating he finds “the pronouns thing” and I was like. Oh no. He had such a good stand on this, he’s been they/them-ing his cishet siblings for god’s sake! Is he regressing?? And he was talking about how difficult it is to remember, and how onerous it feels to expect strangers to keep track of it, and I’m like oh no oh no.
Then he says, “I mean, the problem isn’t the gender thing. The problem is four words: she, her, he, and him. We got rid of stewardess and turned it into flight attendant. It doesn’t matter if the flight attendant is a man or woman, so we got rid of it. We just need to get rid of those. I don’t need to know.”
“You don’t need to know… people’s gender?”
“No. I don’t care, I don’t need to know, and I don’t want to remember it.”
So we can relax. It’s just a continuation of his crusade to they/them the world. He doesn’t want to remember anyone’s gender. He’s abolishing the genders.
(i had a whole plan in my head but then didnt touch this for weeks after the sketch and i honestly dont think we’re getting further on this one so im posting it)
They only get up to leave the New Inn because they are being forced to. Well, asked forcefully. By the manager on shift. Who Hob has employed for nearly two decades and deeply respects. Dream watches Hob fall all over himself in apology and fails to not be charmed.
Hob has always been like this, hasn’t he? It just never affected Dream before. It seems his time held captive has made him… vulnerable is not the correct word, but perhaps more acutely aware, of human kindness. Of consideration. Of caring.
And oh does Hob convey those things. He gifts them to those around him in such abundance it almost makes Dream giddy. Lightheaded.
Hob’s flat is a short walk away, but they - appropriately enough - have to pass the condemned remains of the White Horse in order to do so. Unsurprisingly, they stop.
“Call me crazy, but I’m still trying to save her.” Hob’s hand finds the back of his head and he looks rather chagrined. “Been over three decades now and I’m still in legal battles over its historic status. Over whether we can restore or have to bulldoze her. Well, not me, it’s my son who has now taken over the good fight. But I just can’t seem to let her go, you know?”
Dream’s eyes slide to Hob as they stand side-by-side. He is still looking through the fence, expression wistful. The light of a street lamp halos Hob’s silhouette, but Dream can still see his small smile. Can feel his smile in the soft daydreams that float on the breeze: they are worn at the edges for how many times Hob has repeated them, how close he holds these little capsules of memory and what-could-have-beens.
A brushing of hands, pale and tanned. Taming a lock of stray ink black hair. Pressing of knees under a table. The barest grazing of lips across a cheek.
“I do know,” Dream answers as he flushes with Hob’s little thoughts, turns to Hob when he glances over with a question on his brows. “I know what it is like to not want to let go of something that you have revisited at multiple important moments in your life. Something that remembers a you others have forgotten. Something that holds both memories… and wishes.”
Hob has turned fully to face him over the course of Dream’s words, likely more sentences then he has ever strung together in his friend’s company. “I… you…” His face is a beautiful shade of pink in its excitement. He looks radiant.
Dream cannot resist. He leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of Hob’s mouth, closing his eyes as he lingers. “Dream,” he whispers as his eyes open and he shifts his weight back to his heels. Hob’s lovely brown eyes are wide, but warm. Surprised, but pleasantly so. “My name is Dream.”
.
.
(And when they get back to Hob’s flat they make out like horny teenagers and Dream has to stop and explain to Hob who and what he is before they continue because he is quickly losing control on his form. Hob takes this news surprisingly well… and then he happily lets Dream’s various limbs take him to new heights.)
Just promise that you won't harm me or Paul, and I will let you out. Should I have believed him this time? Should I have forgiven him for murdering my raven? Perhaps. But in the end… I could not.
[Fluffbruary FIC] Without Warning Something's Dawning (Listen)
Fandom: The Sandman
Pairing: Dreamling
Rated: T
Word Count: 659
Tags: Fluffbruary, Fluffbruary 2025, Human AU, Rich Guy Dream, Mechanic Hob, scent, feelings contemplation, mild Dream-typical angst
Notes: Coming out of left field, we have a surprise fluff entry in the Turbo Lover universe! My brain saw 'green' and 'grey' and went straight to the clothes left on the couch last time around. 'Anticipation' is always an easy theme with this AU as well. Title of course from the Judas Priest song that I named the series after and Dream really ought to take that parenthetical to heart.
Fluffbruary 2025 Prompts:
Day 4: green | grey | chess
Day 5: anticipation | nonsense | mail
Summary: Dream wanders through his thoughts about Hob
On AO3
It is late afternoon by the time Dream gets to the clothes left in the drawing room. Hob had spent the morning with him lounging in the sunny bay window of the breakfast nook, resplendent in the skimpy teal green dressing gown Dream had gifted him, animatedly discussing literature through the ages. It was a delightful surprise to discover this commonality between them, that Hob was excited to debate the merits of Shakespeare and expound on his favorites from Byron or Chaucer or Austen or Marlowe, and morning had passed into the noon hour before Dream realized it.
Reluctantly then he had retrieved Hob's original clothing from yesterday, from before they had picked up the suit, and once Hob was dressed Dream had driven him home in the Porsche. Or rather, Hob had driven with Dream in the passenger seat, watching how naturally he handled the damned temperamental machine, admiring the flex of his arms and hands as he shifted and steered and sneaking glances at the bright joy in his face.
It warms him even now, back at his quiet and empty house, the Porsche back in the garage, to recall the way Hob had glowed with delight, the grin he sported the whole drive, how right he looked settled in the car that Dream had never felt any true pride in until now.
He likes that Hob is happy driving his car; more specifically, he likes that driving his car makes Hob happy.
He likes making Hob happy.
Hob's happiness brings him happiness.
And he is happy, now, gathering last night's discarded clothing from the green velvet couch, reminded of how it came to be scattered about. He still aches in all the right places, a lingering and welcome memento of their tryst. Hob is so good to him, so giving, indulging anything Dream wants and everything Dream asks of him, with enthusiasm.
They match so perfectly. Dream is forever grateful that he found his way to Matthew's Motor Repairs when the Porsche's clutch went out; Hob is truly the best thing to happen to him in a very long time.
He smiles, picking up Hob's silk shirt, remembering how perfect the vibrant dark teal-green color had looked on Hob, how it burnished the warm tones of his skin and set off the silver threads in his hair—just as Dream had known it would. He drapes the shirt over his arm and lifts the grey suit jacket, shaking it out, bringing the lapels to his face and inhaling. Hob's cologne still clings faintly to the fabric, intertwined with the scent of Hob himself, and Dream feels a rush of anticipation for the next time that he can take it in first-hand, that he can twine himself into Hob's arms and bury his face at the base of Hob's throat, breathe him in, bask in the warmth and the strength of him. The thought curls soft in his stomach and he lets it settle, gathers Hob's trousers and his own rumpled clothing as well, sets it all in a pile. He will have it all delivered to his laundry service to clean and press and return, that he might dress Hob in his lovely ensemble once again, show him off on the town again, bring him home and strip him out of it again.
Hob, he knows, will let him do all of it willingly. Will participate joyously, with warmth and enthusiasm and that beautiful smile, with that bright sparkle in his eye, with heady delight in fulfilling Dream's wishes.
He is more than Dream deserves, and surely Dream will not be able to keep him forever. All things fade; once upon a time he had thought making Alex happy was the key to fulfillment, after all.
But he will keep Hob as long as he can, in whatever way he can and bask in their mutual happiness for as long as he can make it last.
=
Started: 2/3/25
Drafted: 2/4/25
Posted: 2/5/25
Previously in the series, in case AO3 is down:
Customer Service
With Every Nerve Alive
Loyalty Rewards Program
Shift to Overdrive
Love Machines in Harmony
do you ever think about how a series of tiny choices like “I guess I’ll watch that show” can like totally and entirely change huge aspects of your life
