I've just seen you posted that long list of prompts. Can I ask for a fake marriage/relationship dreamling, with the prompt "kiss me while everyone's looking."?
🫶
Hey there @embroiderling! Have this little fic I definitely didn't write just after I got that prompt... <33
Read here or on ao3!
Dream wasn’t entirely sure what led him to the situation he was currently in; running down the streets of Los Angeles like he was chased by the devil. Perhaps it had all started when he met Hob Gadling on the set of his latest show, witty and charismatic and throwing him smiles that would light up the entire room. Or it had been when Dream found himself smiling back, accepting the easy friendship Hob proposed for them and meeting him outside of filming for drinks and movie night and sleepovers at his home spent trading stories and a glass of wine.
But actually, it had probably been the moment Dream agreed to Hob’s insane plan of marrying him.
Yeah, they probably skipped a few rather important steps right there, between friendship and marriage, but that was not really the problem they were facing. No, the fact that they were two of the most well-known actors in the industry that married for something as crude as a green card was not really the problem. The fact that they had both been married before, that Hob was a widower and Dream divorced, was also not it.
The problem was that being married to Hob was easy. Too easy. Marriage with Calliope had been… harder. They had both been characters, stubborn and intense and with a temper to match. For Dream, marriage had always been about damage control, about preventing some inevitable argument or other. But eventually they would always end up yelling or crying or hurting each other, before doing it all over again the next day.
Marriage with someone Dream had never intended to marry, had not even found himself interested in at first, should have been worse.
Instead, marriage with Hob Gadling was heavenly. They lived together. Shared a bed. Hob did not mind Dream cuddling up to him to steal some of his body heat. They would read together on the couch, then talk about their current books while they made dinner. When Dream complained about the laundry needing to get done, Hob would do it and not allow him to help. He would come back with a pot of tea and the offer of a massage should Dream’s feet or back or neck hurt from acting all day.
Dream found himself searching Hob’s touch whenever he could and never being denied. When out on his own he would see something and bring it back home for Hob and receive the world’s biggest smile in return. So he did it again. And again. Their living room was overloaded with antiquities and books and little trinkets, all lovingly displayed.
And they never fought. Over a year of living together, of sharing a house, a room, a bed, a life, and they did not fight once. How could life with Hob be so good, when Dream’s entire life before hadn’t been?
Well, the answer should have been clear. But for some reason, Dream hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t noticed, and now Hob was gone. Not gone gone, just. Gone. His friend, his husband, was gone from their home and Dream did not know where he had disappeared to after their… disagreement. It hadn't been a fight. Because in a fight, both parties got angry. In a fight, partners tried to hurt each other after they had been hurt first. But Dream hadn’t been hurt by Hob. Hob would never hurt him, not in a million lifetimes. Instead, he hurt his friend for no reason but his own stupidity and insecurity.
And now… now he was running. Not away. He was running towards Hob. Or at least he hoped so. Finding his husband was a much harder matter than Dream had hoped for when he started running. But he was getting closer, he was sure of it. Their bench. That would be where Hob was. Sitting on the right side, peas in hand, feeding the pigeons. It had been one of Dream’s favourite rituals. Whenever a role got to him too much, twisted his stomach into knots and left his heart aching, he would sit on that bench and feed the pigeons.
And now, as Dream turned the corner, he saw his husband sitting in the spot he had claimed when he had first joined Dream in this little ritual of his. Those beautiful brown eyes were staring off into the middle distance, while one of his hands threw peas to a flock of birds and the other turned his wedding ring around between his fingers.
The sight made Dream’s heart ache, his best friend reduced to nothing but numbness. He had done that, and he would make it right again.
“Hob,” he called once he was close enough to be heard, and his husband’s eyes immediately snapped towards him. There was surprise there, possibly at the sheen of sweat that plastered Dream’s hair to his face, proof that he ran all the way here. Not that he stopped just because he found Hob. No, he ran straight into his husband’s arms, which wrapped around him all too willingly.
“Hey, hey, what’s wrong, love? Are you alright?” The words ached, because Dream was not worth this level of care after how he had hurt Hob. But now that he wasn’t running anymore he couldn’t breathe, and so he allowed his husband to hold him for a moment, just until he could form an actual response.
“I am sorry, Hob. For what I said.” There was no answer and Dream supposed that none could be given anyway, and so he continued. “I had not realised how… deep your affections for me were. I. I expected some catch, for I had not known marriage could be so wonderful.”
There was pain in Hob’s eyes and Dream suspected it was not because of him, but rather for him.
“And here I was, thinking I’ve been rather bloody obvious.”
Dream huffed a laugh and took Hob’s hand in his, so that their wedding bands were resting against each other. “Looking back, I wonder how you ever became an actor.” That, at least, got him a grin. “I do not want to leave you. Not when the five years are over, not ever. You’re it, Hob.” Silence, stunned, but there was also a bud of hope that was threatening to spill into a smile so bright it would break Dream clean in two.
“So kiss me now, husband mine, while everyone in this blasted park is looking.”
I finally have some time to write so here we go with the first little Tangled AU snippet for chapter 2 of Tangled Dreams! Thanks for the ask my dear!
Make me Write as well!
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“I want you to show me the lights.” The guy says after a moment, with that same air of regality that he had earlier. When Hob only raises an eyebrow at him he scoffs, as if Hob should be aware what lights he's speaking of just from that. “The lights. The ones that show up only once a year, always on the same day. Tomorrow.”
Ah. The Festival of the Star. Hob supposes that ‘the lights’ is certainly one description for the lanterns they're launching into the air every year.
“Can't you see those well enough from up here?”
The man’s face abruptly closes off right before Hob’s eyes, emotions of every kind flitting across those angelic features so fast he can barely make out a single one of them. Eventually though it settles on something like resignation.
“If you do not wish to help me I will simply throw you off-”
“Hey hey hey,” Hob interrupts quickly, his eyes wide and panicked. “Never said I wouldn’t take you, darling. I’d love to, in fact! No threats of an unassisted tower-descend needed, I promise!”
Smug satisfaction spreads over the other man’s face and Hob only barely manages to stop himself from rolling his eyes.
“Good. You shall get your reward as soon as you have brought me back here. Safely.”
At those words the raven hops closer to Hob and onto his chest from where he lets out a threatening caw. Hob gets the message well enough. If you value your eyes, think about your answer.
“Deal!” If his voice is about an octave too high as he blurts out the word, nobody has to know. “I’ll show you the lights and bring you back here, then I will get my crown and go on my merry way!”
Tough decision, but "I will hang on (until I can't anymore)" with Dreamling? (Soccer au maybe? 🥺)
🤘five-and-dimes
Shooting for the Sky
Hey my lovely @five-and-dimes! Thank you for the prompt, I had a great time writing this! I hope you don't mind some humour sprinkled in between the usual angst and fluff, the idea suddenly grew wings and took flight and I had zero control over it.
Morpheus is regretting every single decision he has ever made in his tragically short life that led him up to this moment. If only he wasn't at fault for a hundred percent of them, from starting to kick a ball around with Olethros at age ten, to signing his first professional contract and later joining the Fiddlers.
This blasted team of absolute nutters.
Team building, Hob has said with a smile and a glint in his eyes that Morpheus hasn't quite been able to place. Now he knows it to be unbridled insanity mixed with a healthy dose of sadism, joy granted by witnessing his best friend's early demise due to the heart attack he would surely suffer in the next few moments.
Morpheus has heard about team building exercises where a team went to play minigolf or drove around with go-carts or some other safe and ordinary and fun experience. But of course his band of suicidal idiots would go skydiving for such an event. And of course they have all done this before, since they have zero sense for self-preservation and do not care about their personal well-being at all.
Those words out of his mouth have only caused the other men to burst into laughter when he said them.
So now he is here. ‘Here’ being an aeroplane about a kilometre above sweet British grounds, strapped like a toddler to Hob Gadling's chest. Apparently you do not jump on your own the first time you skydive, which has never been a thing Morpheus gave much thought to, since he never expected to find himself in this situation.
But he has done a lot of things he didn't expect himself to do since he has met Hob. Wonderful, amazing Hob, who is currently resting his chin on Morpheus’ shoulder so he can look out the window while Morpheus himself is trying his hardest not to hyperventilate.
The team would never let him forget it if he had a panic attack over skydiving. Their serious support ends with the after-effects of abuse, everything else will become part of the Terrific Team Tales (what an awful name), which they recap at least once a year on pub night, specifically to torture the other members with embarrassing stories of the past.
It is a horrifying tradition. Truly grotesque.
Morpheus will not give them more material by panicking.
So, instead, he concentrates on Hob.
Hob, who stands pressed to his back, head to calf, lending to him the warmth Morpheus so rarely feels on his own. Hob, who's scent envelops Morpheus like a hug of comfort and safety, calming him like few other things could these days. And Hob, who's midsection is pressed directly to Morpheus’ backside. Will be pressed to his backside for the whole dive. Together, in the air, putting his life in Hob Gadling's hands.
Oh dear.
Perhaps the panic attack is the better option after all. These thoughts will only lead him to a single outcome, and he's absolutely not going to face this conversation after falling a whole kilometre out of an aeroplane. Absolutely not.
Just as Morpheus is about to force his thoughts back onto the ridiculous ideas of his teammates, the voice of the pilot sounds over their headsets.
“We reached the final height for the jump! The door will be opened as soon as we hit the agreed upon coordinates. Have a good way down, gentlemen!”
Cheers ring out around Morpheus, and ten men, Hob included, jump up and down with barely concealed excitement. Hob's jumping jostles him where he stands, and Morpheus barely catches himself before he would have crashed backwards into Hob.
“Someone's excited,” he comments with a wry smile, which only turns softer when he looks over his shoulder to see Hob's bright eyes, shining with joy.
“I get to share one of my favourite activities with my favourite person, of course I'm excited!”
Morpheus softens even further at that answer, Hob’s affection as always so easy to grasp.
“Ugh, find a private channel to flirt on with your man, Hobert!” Sounds Corin's voice over their headset, and Morpheus can't help but chuckle at how he and Hob stick their tongues out at each other.
“Ten bucks that I’ll land first!” calls Abel into the round, which Cain immediately meets with “Twenty bucks that you’re full of shit!”
“Fifty that you’ll both be last,” Mervyn murmurs, and the rest of the team laughs at their bickering, as they always do.
Cain and Abel, the other brothers in the team, have a sort of love-hate relationship going on. Half of the time Morpheus is a bit worried they might kill each other with their antics, but in the end they would never seriously hurt each other. Though if it does happen one day, Morpheus believes the murdered brother would come back to life just so that they might continue their bickering. Mervyn likes to pretend that he doesn't find it hilarious.
Behind Cain and Abel the door of the aircraft suddenly opens, the wind suddenly overpowering every thought Morpheus might have had. He couldn't look outside, as there were about nine burly football players between Hob and him and the door. But even just the coldness of the air against his face, unnatural in comparison to the cold he has felt so far down on safe ground, wipes his mind clean of coherent thought.
“Ready?” Hob says, so close to his ear that Morpheus feels his breath on his cheek, clearly to avoid speaking over the open channel. It makes him shiver, but the cold covers the real reason just fine.
“Absolutely not,” he replies as loud as he dares, while making grabby hands towards Hob's arm to hold onto. The other man complies immediately, and Morpheus digs his fingers deep into Hob's biceps. “But I'll be fine as long as you're there.”
“If you change your mind, say the word, yeah? We don't have to jump.”
“Kollité, I would do a lot of things to see you happy. Including jumping out of a plane with only a piece of cloth strapped to my back, like some crazy person.”
Hob looks increasingly fond the longer Morpheus talks, and eventually he smacks a loud kiss to his cheek, and then another to his forehead and his nose and wherever he can reach from behind Morpheus’ back. It's silly and adorable and so Morpheus laughs, free from the fear of judgement he once had.
“I like my men a little crazy.” Hob murmurs into his ear then, and Morpheus thinks he might choke on the thin and cold air.
“Let's go boys!” Corin then calls over their headsets, which suddenly brings movement into the aeroplane. One after another, the Fiddlers jump out of the open door, some head-first, others (Ken) do a flip into nothingness. And all too soon, Hob and Morpheus are the only ones left on the plane.
“Run. Makes it easier to jump,” Hob calls over the noise.
Screw it, what is there to lose (except his life, the part of his brain that is not yet totally beyond salvation provides) anyway?
Together, he and Hob run the ten steps towards the door of the aircraft and jump.
Morpheus regrets it almost immediately.
Upon falling, his stomach swoops and turns in the most uncomfortable manner possible and when he looks down he sees certain death rushing at him. His heart pounds in his ears and he's pretty sure he doesn't breathe for at least a full minute with how light headed he feels as he finally sucks in his first breath.
But then broad arms snake around his chest, impossibly warm hands are splayed across his ribs, and Morpheus feels himself melt against Hob. He trusts this man, quite literally with his life, proven as of this moment. After all, Hob is the one that has the parachute strapped to his back and he is also the one who knows how to work it. Morpheus thinks (hopes) that in an emergency he would remember the instructions Hob gave him a few hours ago and pull the right flap, but he prays it won't come to that.
He would much rather enjoy Hob's warmth against his back, the arms that hold him and not open his eyes again until they're on the ground once more.
“Just hold onto me, love.” Hob whispers into his ear and Morpheus can’t help but snort.
“Oh I’ll hang on, alright? Don’t think I will let you go though, once we’re on the ground.”
A chuckle, right beside his ear, and Morpheus simply closes his eyes and concentrates on Hob’s warmth, the wind on his face and the adrenaline rushing through his body. After that first moment of falling, the tingling in his stomach almost turns into a pleasant sensation and he feels like every breath fills his lungs up way past the limit. He could run a marathon right now without breaking a sweat, the amount of energy coursing through his veins is just perfect.
Slowly he starts to understand why the other men were so excited for this team-building activity.
Adrenaline-junkies, the lot of them.
Morpheus opens his eyes next when they are suddenly jolted into a slower fall. As he looks upwards he sees the bright green parachute with the Fiddlers’ club crest in the middle that Hob has shown him during their preparation for the jump. Since this is a team building exercise, naturally all gear is sponsored by the club and usually Morpheus would find this incredibly tacky. But looking upon the crest of the Fiddlers only fills him with a sense of pride, to be using or wearing anything sponsored by this team is simply amazing.
He’s proud of who he works for, who he’s representing, and the thought is so sudden Morpheus feels tears sting in his eyes.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Hob’s voice sounds next to his right ear and Morpheus has to blink a few times before he can see clearly what Hob is referring to. But once he does he lets out a small gasp of surprise. The sun is setting on the far horizon and a few clouds break her light just so that reds and purples and pinks colour the sky around them like the most stunning of watercolour paintings.
“Oh,” he whispers as the tears suddenly spill over, his throat closed off with emotions he can't quite name. It really is beautiful. The sky, the view, the man behind him. His life, really. He's grateful for so many things in that moment, but he manages to voice one thing.
“Thank you, Hob. For taking me along. And being patient with me.”
Hullo!! Here's one from the I Will prompts for Dreamling please!!
"I will fall in love (with you)"
Easy as Breathing
Hey love! Thank you so much for the prompt (and I apologise that this took so long). Have a short but sweet addition to the soccer au, I hope you like it <33
Read here or on AO3!
Weekends have always been Morpheus’ favourite part of the week, although the reasons for it have changed drastically since he joined the Fiddlers. Whereas a bit more than a year ago he loved weekends for the fact that he would not have to deal with Roderick or Alex or any of his other teammates for two whole days, he now loves weekends for the time he can spend with his friends outside of training. Truth be told, almost all of his time is spent at Hob’s apartment on those days. While he loves all of his other team members, they are not Hob.
Hob, his best friend, who is currently stirring a pot of Morpheus’ favourite soup while singing along to the musical they discovered together last month. The unsteadiness in his lyrics is made up with the enthusiasm in his voice. He sings like he does most things in his life: with emotion, heart, and dedication. His hips are swinging, wooden spoons are being misused as microphones, and Morpheus is pulled into spins and sways every moment Hob does not spend with a knife in his hands.
Whenever he puts his head on Hob’s shoulder and lets him lead, he prays for it to never stop. He wishes to feel Hob’s powerful voice and laugh vibrating in his chest forever, to wake up to that bright smile and those caring eyes. Morpheus can't remember a single time he has felt so safe before finding the Fiddlers and Hob. Completely and utterly safe. If he were to fall, Hob would catch him, again and again, literally and metaphorically.
Every one of Morpheus’ bad days Hob meets with sympathy, a helping hand, a shoulder to rest on. He does not mind the tears and snot and cries of rage and frustration because Morpheus couldn't stand his racing heart and sleepless nights anymore. But no nightmare or panic attack or act of anger can scare Robert Gadling away. He's there, whenever Morpheus needs him.
And Morpheus is learning to do the same. He pulls Hob's head into his lap when he notices his friend growing restless and frustrated, cards through the long strands of his hair and massages his scalp until all the tension bleeds out of him at once. When the tears come, so often for others, for the destinies of people who were not his to save, he lets Hob hide his face in his neck and cry until he is shaking with missed breaths.
But Morpheus notices that over the past few months, it has become less. The crying, the nightmares. Roderick’s voice is a more distant presence now, undoubtedly there, but less overpowering than it had once been. Quieter. Never less angry.
Hob, too, seems to get overpowered by his emotions less and less. These days he notices the tension in his shoulders and chest as much as Morpheus does, and does his best to breathe through it, to decompress by going for a run or talking the emotions out with Morpheus.
“Bad with boundaries,” Hob had once told him, and Morpheus had frowned. In his eyes, Hob seems to be rather good at setting boundaries with assholes, but that hasn't felt like the right thing to say. “When I see people hurting, I want to help. But not everyone can be helped. Doesn't mean I stop trying.”
Morpheus wondered for a while after that, if he could be one of those people who simply couldn't be helped. Every time he woke up screaming from a nightmare, he would apologise to Hob. Over and over, until Hob would take his face in hand and remind him of his progress. The fact that he is going to therapy, changing habits, getting better.
Morpheus hadn't seen his progress, until that moment. The fact that Roderick’s voice and the nightmares and the panic attacks were still there was proof of the opposite in his eyes. But Hob pointed out they were getting less. Only twice that month did he wake up screaming. He was more focused, and didn't get lost so easily in the dead man's voice. Only one panic attack in six months.
He smiled more, Hob said.
Morpheus thought that wasn't entirely his own doing.
After all, Hob taught him how to smile again, with his awful puns and endless patience and ridiculously thoughtful gifts. Gerhard the Great sits between their pillows on Hob's double bed, which is slowly becoming their bed with how much time Morpheus spends sleeping in it. There's also his spot on the couch now, his mug in the cupboard, his part of the bookshelf and closet. At this point, Morpheus wonders if moving in with Hob wouldn't be easier.
“Hob?” He asks, face pressed into his best friend's neck, his eyes closed. Hob hums in response, easy as breathing, and Morpheus feels no fear speaking his next words. “I think I'd like to live here. With you. If that's something you'd like too.”
The arm around him tightens, and then the other hand Hob has been using to stir the soup comes to rest at the nape of his neck.
“I'd love to have you here, Dream,” Hob murmurs, close to his ear, and Morpheus smiles.
Easy as breathing.
“I think,” he whispers, quietly enough that it only rings between their chests, between their hearts that are pressed together in their embrace. “I will fall in love with you, kollitós. One day.”
One day. When he will have healed enough to think of words as big as love.
“Can't wait for that day, lovey.”
The words are quiet, soft, and they warm Morpheus down to his very core.
Hi!! Just seen some fanart from your dreamling au of your half rodian
I would love to read your fanfics (when I have the time) and maybe you have talked about it in them, but I was wondering what the lore is behind him.
How is a half rodian possible? What ideas did you come up with to explain it all? What traits did you keep/drop and why? I'm so interested!
I have been trying to create my own half rodian oc, but was struggling with the design so semi ditched the idea until I came across the fanart and thought I'd ask you about yours :)
What a lovely ask to wake up to!
Okay so when I created Dream for this au, I had just watched some clone wars episodes with Rodians and couldn't get around the idea that those eyes would be absolutely perfect for a jedi Dream (considering they look like little universes and that's how Dream's eyes are also described in the comics). So, I went down the route of how to make him still look like himself, but include that Rhodian bit, which landed me with a half-rhodian. I needed hair, so his skin couldn't be fully made up of scales. Instead his skin is that of a human, but scales are scattered across it on his hands, forehead and technically chest too. Kept the little antennas mostly because it looked adorable, but also because I remembered the one single inter-species couple I could remember from Clone Wars (Deserter; the clone and his Twi'Lek wife who also have two children who look mostly like Twi'Leks) and they kept more of the traits that weren't human, apart from the skin-tone.
So that's also why there are no nose and a mostly Rodian mouth and ears. We did change the hands mostly because it would be too complicated to draw honestly.
I did do some research into Rodian reproduction but couldn't immediately find anything that would disqualify them from partnering with a human (like. Laying eggs or something). And since they count as humanoid I just decided that it would work I suppose. If Twi'leks work, I don't see why Rodians shouldn't.
In case I forgot anything I'll just tag my darling @mid0khan who made this wonderful artwork for me, I'm sure he could probably tell you more about how he mixed the traits and why! I basically let him lose on the idea and he just resurfaced with a masterpiece some time later X)
Hope this helped in some way! If you have more questions feel free to DM me, I'll try my best to answering everything!
More Tangled Dreams chapter 2, coming right up! Thanks for the ask, love!
Picking up right from the last snippet I posted!
Hob tentatively holds out a hand to the angel-man, but instead of shaking it, the guy uses it to haul him upright with surprising strength. Matthew lets out a shriek as he is forced from his place upon Hob’s chest and Hob sticks out his tongue to the stupid bird, which only causes the little fucker to fly up on his shoulder and pull at his hair in revenge.
“Ow! Your bird is a bitch.” he calls out and swats the raven away, which makes the other man snort.
“He dislikes you.” he states, matter-of-factly. “But perhaps his opinion will change in time.”
Hob isn’t entirely sure why he should care if a bird does or does not like him, but the strange guy makes it sound like the most important judgement of all.
“Now, we should… go.” The man says, carefully eyeing the entrance to the tower. He seems rather unsure about the prospect of stepping outside, almost as if the world beyond the tower is… foreign to him. But surely it is not like that, after all you can’t just spend your entire life in a tower.
I'm almost afraid to ask, but for the wip thing "A day with the Riggers" from the soccer au? 🥺
🤘five-and-dimes
Hey @five-and-dimes ! Thank you so much for the ask my friend, I'm excited to talk some more about soccer au here!
First off, yeah, the fear is probably justified XD!
It's basically going to be what the title says, a rather typical day with Dream still at the Riggers, Roderick still alive. A little hurt no comfort as the main dish.
After talking so much about all the after-effects Rod's 'training methods' had on Dream, I really felt the need to give a glimpse into just how bad it was to experience. There will also be some antagonistic tension between Alex and Dream going on as a setup for the World Cup fic...
The exact scenes aren't planned out yet, but I'm looking forward to coming up with some delicious hurt for this universe. :)))
Hello, hope you're doing well!! I hope it's ok for me to send you a 🖋️...
Hey there love! Im doing amazing, and it absolutely is still okay to send me little pens, though I may have forgotten to actually answer this in WEEKS lmao.
But here, have a little snippet from the second chapter of my Dreamling Rapunzel AU (Disney's Tangled version)
No the first chapter is not up yet, but SOON.
Hob wakes because something is trying to pick his eye out. Really, it isn't much weirder than the last time he has woken up, facing a frying pan and an angry fey or angel of some sort, but this one certainly hurts a lot more. He tries to swat away the insistent creature, but strong wings flap against his hand and the impossible little bird bites down on his finger with a loud caw.
The shriek he lets out at the sudden pain gets slightly overshadowed by the thunk of his body hitting solid ground, as suddenly the doors to the closet he has apparently been shoved into are opened. Now he's lying on the floor, staring up at a ceiling painted with hundreds of stars in all shapes and sizes and the strange fey-angel that confronted him earlier.
