#ky asks

[hxqsea]

does a backflip

Hope you break something

[kydrogendragon]

Sad Dads, please, for the wip game

Sad Dad!! I really liked this au and had this typed out about it, but never got to making into a true fic form, but I want to one of these days!!

Okay, so this was a Human!Au I had in mind. We've got freshly divorced Dream who's still getting used to not having Orpheus in his life on the daily and dealing with arranging schedules between him and Calliope and overall, having a not so great time.

Then, we've got Widowed Hob with young Robyn who loves the beach more than anything in the world. Except, apparently, the chance to go to Disney World with his cousins.

Hob still has work to do when they're planning to leave, so he leaves Robyn to have fun with his family and insists that he calls every day since it'll be the first overseas trip he's taken without Hob. (Yes, he's still with family, so Hob knows he'll be fine, but he worries!)

Hob, meanwhile, decides to treat himself with a trip of his own. So he rents out a spot along the coast and plans to make some progress on his research publication with the sound of the waves.

When he arrives to the little cottage far removed from society, however, he finds a car already parked there. Said car belongs to none other than Dream.

It's late in the evening and the weather's coming down hard. Driving back out with such little light on the precarious cliff roads it took to get here would be ill-advised, so Dream, not wanting this man to die on the roads just because he wanted privacy, tells him to stay the night and they'll resolve this all in the morning.

Well, the downside to this house is, of course, there's only one bedroom. Neither looked for a place with more than one bed when it was just supposed to be them, after all. The couch is... well, it's not very large to say the least and the springs inside it are guaranteed back killers, no matter your age.

The two stay up for a while though. There's a fire going which is nice. Dream has already gone through half a bottle of wine by himself, Hob helps him finish it. Dream, deep into his cup, spills his life story onto the strange man who will be gone come morning.

Hob, in return, shares his own. He shares the fears he has of raising Robyn without El, of messing it all up. He shares the fear he has over this trip which should be a fun thing for his boy, but he's so worried that something will take him from Hob, just like it took away El and he'll be too far away to do anything to help it.

They talk and cry and drink and then talk some more.

It's late, the rain has just started to calm down, the fire is at a gentle crackle - mostly embers at this point - when Dream leans forward and presses his lips to Hob's. Hob is not a strong man. Especially when being kissed by such a gorgeous creature. The wine doesn't help. And it's been so long since he's been kissed or touched or anything. So he gives in.

And the two stumble to the shared bedroom and fumble their way through drunken hand-jobs and if they each have another cry about it about intimacy after going so long without it, that's between them.

In the morning, Hob's awake before Dream and works on making breakfast with the meager rations the cottage has on hand. Mainly beans and toast with eggs. Better than nothing. And good for the headache he's nursing.

When Dream comes out, he's prepared to make apologies but Hob cuts him off, saying he thinks they both needed that. A good cry, a good chuck of alcohol, and a reminder that they're not unlovable.

"Perhaps," Dream replies, thanking him for the plate of food. And so they talk more about their lives, about the mundanity of it now that they know the tragedy of each other. And if after breakfast, they put off calling the rental company a bit longer, neither of them mention it. And, if by lunch (once the headaches have started to fade and they've each showered and dressed), they decide to go explore the beach some, together, neither disagrees.

And if, perhaps, after their five days are over, and Hob has to leave first, they exchange numbers (and maybe a chaste kiss), they'll simply smile and know that maybe it's not the end of everything.

[borg-beb]

1, 13, 20, 42, 44?

1. Any scars?

Yes. They're faint now but I have old scars on my legs from self-harm about a year ago, I have since recovered. (Yesterday was actually my 6 months clean mark!)

13. Height?

About 5"8!

20. Do you love someone?

Hard to say. Platonically, yes. Romantically, complicated.

42. Are you okay?

For the most part yes, especially now a days!

44. Selfie?

Oof, here's a recent one (from tonight)

[hxqsea]

hi winks

hiii!! smiles

[kydrogendragon]

💕🖊🖊🖊

Freshly written words, right off the press! (Cont. Here)

The restaurant is just down the road from his flat, not that he plans to tell Hob this. He types back his reply, agreeing to the time and place and lets the phone fall onto the cushion beside him. Morpheus leans back, head resting on the back of the couch as he stares up at the ceiling. It has been three days since his initial liason with Hob Gadling. It has been three full days of his questioning this bet with his sister. And now, with this more standard date planned, Morpheus mentally prepares himself for the tangled mess of expectations that come with it. Granted, his time with Hob—the fifteen hours he spent in his company—has proven that any script he has will be ill-suited. The notion only makes the unease towards the situation worse. Or perhaps that is simply true in the comfort of Hob's flat. Perhaps in public, it is different. Will Hob expect Morpheus to lead as Calliope had? Or does he expect him to be arm candy, nodding in agreement with his words as Thessaly did? These roles, at least, Morpheus is familiar with. He does not know where he stands with Hob just yet. He does not enjoy that fact.

Send me a 🖊 and I'll post some freshly written lines of a WIP

[kydrogendragon]

🖋🖋💜😊

This is me being responsible and trying to focus on a single wip! (Cont. here)

Hob, playing the gentleman, pulls Morpheus' seat out for him with a tinge of red upon his cheeks. He makes sure to show his appreciation for the act—and for the hint at how the roles are divided—by trailing his hand along Hob's arm. He bats his eyes twice as he speaks a quiet thanks before sitting down. Hob pushes him in and makes it to his own seat. "Are you one for wine?" Hob asks, grabbing the relatively small list from the table. "I have been known to indulge," he replies, making something of a show as he holds Hob's gaze and unbuttons the cuff of his shirt. Deft fingers free the fabric from its restraints. He folds it, neat and crisp lines, and rolls each sleeve up just before his elbow. Hob's eyes do not leave him, trained on his forearms as they are. He watches Hob's gaze follow the movement of his hands to his neck and smirks as Hob's throat bobs when he flicks open a single button there, allowing more of the pale expanse of skin to show.

Send me a 🖊 and I'll post some freshly written paragraphs of a WIP (the more pens, the more paragraphs!)

[kydrogendragon]

🖋️🖋️🖋️

Extra extra! Read all about it! *Tosses more words like a paperboy on the streets* (cont. here)

Morpheus stands outside the small Italian joint, thumbs in the pockets of his pants. He had turned over what would be appropriate wear and decided the white dress shirt sans jacket would be acceptable, alongside his usual black slacks. It would also mean he did not need to go home to change after his meeting with Lucienne. He debated rolling the sleeves up. They stay, at the moment, enrolled. Should Hob show he wishes Morpheus to lead, he would keep them down. Should he wish for simply an attractive and agreeable partner in public, he would roll them up. Perhaps undo an extra button. "Oh! You beat me!" Hob's voice calls to him. Morpheus looks up to see the man smiling as he approaches. He takes the time to size Hob's appearance, seeking any clues that may help Morpheus choose his role in this story. The brown suit jacket implies one thing, but the graphic tee (as subtle as the design is) implies another. The jeans, the loafers, and the styled hair but lack of jewelry all tell equally conflicting stories. As usual, Morpheus is left fumbling for a familiar road with this man. "It appears I did," he replies, stepping closer. He watches Hob's throat bob. At the least, he has succeeded in being enticing. Small victories. "I was not waiting long, however. Shall we?" "Gladly." Hob pulls the door open, waving Morpheus through. He is immediately hit by the savory smell of garlic and fresh baked breads and plentiful herbs and oils. It has been some time since he has been here, though he is uncertain if it is good that he is back.

Send me a 🖊 and I'll post some freshly written lines of a WIP

[kydrogendragon]

ooh! 🖋️🖋️🖋️

Another continuation of this one!

Morpheus works through the provided snack as well as the water as Hob pulls his shirt back over his head. It is...strange. This is not a situation Morpheus has a script for. The plan had been to bed the man and do it well enough to entice him for further stays. And while it seems he has secured at least dinner tonight and breakfast come morning, should be stay (two additional dates he could technically count if he stretches it), he feels unmoored. He is afloat in a sea of uncertainty where his next steps are unknown to him. Does this Hob plan to resume their activities now? After dinner? Does he plan for them to resume at all? Or perhaps this is all fueled by pity for his breakdown earlier—something he dreads looking closer at for fear of what it may reveal. He sighs quietly, setting the glass on the nightstand behind him along with the remaining untouched biscuits. Perhaps his next steps are not as important. Perhaps he simply needs to follow Hob's lead now. "Finished?" Hob asks, flattening the wrinkles on his shirt with his hand. Morpheus nods. "Great! So um...did you—do you want to—" he huffs, shaking his head. "Sorry. It's been a bit since I've done anything like this. Bit rusty at...talking, apparently. It seems. Do you want to just. Hang? For a bit? There's a new taskmaster I've got recorded. If you want to watch it with me."

Send me a 🖊 and I'll post some freshly written lines of a WIP