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edgedancer77 · 3 months

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I love the idea that Dream visited *Hob’s* dreams instead of some rando’s after escaping the fish bowl, but this image will live forever rent free in my head. 😆

A little birthday gift for @seiya-starsniper. May your new year of life be full of happiness and joy! Also tagging @ginoeh, because the start of this is technically me misinterpreting one of her prompts, lol.

Without further ado, have some Dream raiding Hob's dreams post-fishbowl.

Stars twinkle through the window as Hob stands in his kitchen and cooks. It is late, but he is hungry, having forgotten the time grading. He’s got a day off tomorrow though, and so he is making himself a rather elaborate feast, because he feels like it. Because he can.

The light summer breeze coming through the window stirs the various smells about, sauteed onion and tomatoes and beef, spices and fat and broth, warm milk for hot chocolate and the dense, syrupy sweetness of baking apples. He’s never been good at moderation, least of all with food. Sue him. There’s a few candles burning on his kitchen table, decked out with earthenware, and through the speakers of his radio is playing a song he’s quite convinced he’s heard some time in the seventeenth century. It’s really crazy what musicians nowadays dig back up and incorporate into their music.

Just as he stirs the pumpkin soup bubbling on the back burner, there’s a low sound behind him. Hob turns, the dripping spoon still in his hand. “Oh,” he blurts out, “I am dreaming.”

Because there, in front of him, stands his stranger, who snubbed him at their last appointment, who he hasn’t seen in much longer than a hundred years. Who definitely, positively, has deep, black pits for eyes, who looks even more gaunt than usual, malnourished, even, and who is absolutely bang naked. He has to be dreaming. The music suddenly makes a lot more sense. The dishware, too, really.

“You are,” his stranger says, and even his voice is different, cavernous, deep and soft like his eyes.

“You’re welcome here, regardless,” Hob tells him. “You can have a shirt and sweats from me, if you want. Soup will be ready in just a tick.” He can see him swallow, hard, the movement of his Adam's apple on his slim neck stark.

“Very well,” he says, turning away. “See that it is.”

When he comes back, he’s wearing one of Hob’s old band shirts that’s somehow black now, and a pair of pajama pants with little yellow stars on them. Hob smiles, motions for him to sit down, and puts a bowl of the promised soup in front of him, steaming and fragrant, spiced with curry and nutmeg and roasted sesame seeds.

His friend wastes no time, forgoes the spoon entirely and lifts the bowl to his face to drink, his bony fingers clutching the glazed dish tight, uncaring about its heat. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t breathe until the heavy bowl is empty. Then he holds it out to Hob, the rim clutched between three fingers as if it weighs nothing. “More,” he demands, and Hob obliges.

This goes on four more times, and then the pot is empty. Next Hob serves up venison pasties, and he’s more than a little smug as his stranger devours the first one in just three bites, but Hob figures he’s allowed. “They’re good, right?” he says. His friend just glowers at him and reaches for the next one. When the pasties are gone, there’s dumplings and omelette and the apple pie.

It all vanishes, piece by piece, bit by bit, bite for bite, into his stranger. Afterwards, they look at each other in silence, Hob stunned at the speed it all vanished, his stranger apologetic for some reason. Then the silence is cut by the rather loudly growling stomach of his friend.

“I. uhm. I could make you some pasta?” Hob offers. “Maybe some pudding, too, let’s see…”

“No,” he’s interrupted just as he gets up. “I am afraid I have to hurry. There are things I have to tend to rather urgently. I thank you for being so hospitable.”

Suddenly they are standing in the doorway again, from one second to the next, Hob blinking up confusedly intovast, starlit eyes. They’re close, closer than they’ve ever been. There is no warmth emanating from his stranger, just a heavy, almost humming sense of presence that draws Hob in.

“Do you have to go?” He pleads. “Maybe I could—”

“I am afraid I cannot delay my task any further, Hob.” His stranger shakes his head. “I thank you for this.”

“Wait,” Hob says, desperately. “This is a dream, right?”

His stranger turns back around, the look on his face incredulous. “Yes,” he confirms for the second time, “it is.”

“So there’s no harm in doing this then,” Hob murmurs, stepping closer, gently placing one hand upon a lily-white neck. His friend shivers. Hob gets up on his toes and slowly, gently kisses his brow. “I hope you fare well,” he whispers, “and I will not give up hope to see you again when I am awake.”

From one moment to the next, Hob is alone. There is a relieving sense of loss in him, like a splinter being drawn from a wound.

Hob wakes.

#chaosheadspace's writing #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dreamling if you squint #the sandman #Get that man some food

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edgedancer77 · 4 months

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Kindle Vella | Ream | Patreon

Love a man who helps with the dishes. Someone to Build Me Up Chapter 12 is live!

Then he's on his feet, picking up both of our plates to take to the sink.

"You don't have to do that," I say.

"You said we're operating by family rules," he says, a little petulantly. "That means you let me help."

Quick Summary:

Reeling from a breakup, English professor Zack Carter is trying to pull himself together for his sister's wedding. His recovery includes hiring sexy, snarky, and multi-talented Marcus Berens as his personal trainer. When Zack finds out his ex has chosen his former bully as her wedding date, Marcus agrees to play the role of Zack's boyfriend. But despite a shared love of theater, neither of them are good at pretending their feelings are just an act.

If you haven't gotten into it yet, the first three chapters are free on all platforms!

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edgedancer77 · 4 months

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part two of single dad Dream and personal chef Hob (because they wont leave me alone) part one here!

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The smell of onion and garlic greeted Dream as he padded down the stairs, his bare feet noiseless against the carpeted steps. It’s 1 o’clock in the morning and Dream had woken up alone, but noticed the bedroom door opened a crack and, with a face splitting yawn, Dream had donned his favorite robe and slowly made his way out of the darkness.

He hears the unmistakable sound of Hob puttering around the kitchen, a knife coming down rhythmically onto a wooden cutting board, the sizzle of a pan as he adds something into the heat, and quiet mumbling.

Dream rounds the corner and sure enough, finds his kitchen island covered in flour. Items such as butter, white wine, olive oil, and the remains of an onion peel are on the counter nearest to the stove, where a pot sits neglected in the back burner, and a large saucepan cooks over a small fire.

Hob takes the handle of the pan, flicking his wrist just enough to have the concoction inside to toss once, twice, in the air before he swirls its contents and sets it back down onto the grate with a gentle clatter.

Dream walks up to the island, leans forward onto his elbows, and watches.

Hob is still in his flannel pajama pants and a thin white t-shirt, showing off the complicated array of tattoos on his biceps down to his forearms, the muscle of which flexes with every toss of the pan. His hair is tied back into a short ponytail and he’s wearing his glasses.

One of Dream’s favorite things to do is watch Hob cook. Ever since he’d arrived into Orpheus and his lives all those years ago, as their personal chef. Hob had been hired to make sure Orpheus was eating well and healthy meals every day, packing his school lunches and prepping dinners for the small family to get them through the weekend… but Dream couldn’t deny how Hob had helped him, too.

Having Hob as a permanent fixture in their lives was still something Dream couldn’t quite believe. Mornings were full of smiles and laughter now, over crepes with an abundance of fresh fruit. Lunch was no longer snacks or skipped altogether, but sandwiches had in the back garden that Dream had so often lost himself in, growing fresh vegetables as well as a sea of flowers to care and fret over.

Much like Hob did for Dream; care and fret over.

Dinner was always their time, after Dream would send Orpheus off to bed and Hob and him would open a bottle of wine and nibble on leftovers or curl up in the living room and enjoy a quiet night of reading or talking or making love.

Dream couldn’t fathom his luck in knowing that for some reason, Hob loved him and his son as viciously as Dream did.

And maybe he should have announced his presence, because the way Hob jolts as he turns and finally discovers Dream might have given the poor chef a heart attack.

“Dream!” Hob laughs with a hand over his heart, the absolute shock in his eyes softening to disbelief and then, fondness. Dream smiles back.

“Sorry. I should have said something.”

“No, no it’s fine,” Hob says softly, his smile is warm and easy, as it always is when he sees Dream. “Did I wake you?”

Dream ducks his head with an affirming hum.

“Only because I did not feel your presence.” Dream straightens out and steps around the island, wrapping himself in Hob’s waiting arms.

“Sorry, love.” Hob presses his lips to Dream’s temple. Hob smells like egg and there is flour dusting his arms and now transferred onto Dream’s robe, but he finds himself uncaring.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Hob continues, turning slightly to remove an arm around Dream to turn down the burner. “You can go back to bed, if you’d like.”

Dream shakes his head, sliding his arms from around Hob and up his chest, settling on his shoulders.

“I can’t sleep alone anymore.”

Hob smiles softly at him. A moment passes where they simply stand and look at one another, one of Hob’s hands coming up and tucking a stray hair behind Dream’s ear. Dream stares at Hob a lot. Life had been practically perfect since Hob arrived, and Dream had been waiting for the other shoe to drop; for Hob to realize he’d made a terrible mistake in staying with Dream. He was waiting for the fights, the loss of attraction, the stress of putting up with Dream’s tendencies to get lost in his work, all the usual suspects. But Hob was still here. And after all this time, Dream was finally starting to believe in Hob’s commitment, his love.

He leans heavily into Hob, humming contentedly and Hob chuckles in his ear.

“You sure I’m not keeping you up?”

Dream shakes his head, he would not be able to fall back to sleep even if he tried.

“What are you making?” Dream asks as he finally pulls himself back enough to survey the damage done to his kitchen. Well… their kitchen now. Hob’s kitchen, if Dream is being completely honest.

“Oh, I don’t really know.” Hob grins, coy. He pushes his glasses up as he looks around the space. “I just rolled out some butternut squash cavatelli, prepping that took most of my time. Needed something to do with my hands.”

Dream looks down and takes one of Hob’s hands, wider than his own, calloused fingers with dough under the nails.

“You’re a wonder, Hob Gadling,” Dream murmurs, lacing his fingers with Hob’s and squeezing tight.

Hob shakes his head. “It’s just pasta.”

Dream raises a skeptical brow and Hob gives him the wonderful gift of laughing out loud.

“Just pasta…” Dream mimics under his breath, grinning sleepily as Hob’s laugh simmers down and he sighs, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

Hob presses a short peck to the corner of Dream’s lips, who immediately snags Hob by the front of his shirt to catch his lips in a proper kiss.

They’re both grinning by the time Hob nudges Dream gently, telling him to sit down so he can get back to work.

Dream leaves him to it, wandering to the wine cabinet and plucking a bottle of red for the two of them to share.

And Hob is back in his element, swiping the garlic he’d just minced with his knife and adding it to the pan of what Dream can at least determine is diced onions, translucent and simmering in a thin sauce that smells amazing.

Usually they chat while Hob cooks, but this time Dream is silent, perched on a stool that’s just out of the way of Hob’s work while also being close enough to study his movements.

Dream sips his wine while Hob plucks a few sage leaves and adds them to the mixture, stirring the pan by the handle again

He wanders over to the fridge, scanning the items on the door before snagging a box of chicken bone broth and adding a generous amount to the pan as well.

Turning the heat on the stove up, Hob takes a wooden spoon and swirls the contents once more before setting the utensil down and finally taking up the glass of red that Dream had poured for him.

He sighs in content after the first sip, leaning against the counter and facing Dream again.

Dream gestures with the hand around his stemware. “Explain your process, Chef.”

Hob laughs quietly, looking over his shoulder at what’s on the stove.

“White wine butter sauce with onions, garlic, and sage. Bringing this to a boil then adding the pasta.”

Dream hums, crossing one knee over the other and resting an elbow on them.

“Pasta you made yourself?”

Hob swallows another sip of wine, nodding.

“That squash was about to go bad. And I dug up that dinosaur from under the cabinets.” He gestures behind Dream, who looks and finds what must be a pasta maker attached to the edge of the counter. The contraption resembles a metal drum with what can only be described as hair rollers stacked on top.

“And what inspired this creation, Chef?”

Hob laughs again. Dream smiles, too.

“Boredom.” Hob walks past Dream to get into the fridge again, snagging the tray of the cavatelli as well as a carton of heavy cream. “And midnight munchies.”

Dream goes silent again, indulgently observing as Hob works on autopilot, tipping the sheet tray over the pan and letting the pasta fall into the broth. He holds the pan by the handle while he stirs the orange cavatelli again with the wooden spoon.

“Anything I can do to help?” Dream offers, setting his glass down.

“Um…” Hob tilts his head back as he taps the spoon on the edge of the pan and sets it aside. “There’s a brick of Gruyère in the fridge, if you could grate about a cup of that.”

Dream hops off his seat and does as instructed.

He stands next to Hob while he shreds the cheese, taking peeks at him while he works.

Dream had been a little more adventurous in the kitchen, often asking how he could be of service, and Hob in turn instructing him along with patience not often afforded to him. Dream appreciated that his offer to help was always received with genuine enthusiasm, and working alongside Hob, even if it was doing something as simple as dicing peppers, keeping something at a constant stir, or grating cheese, was a small pleasure that Dream would never tire of.

It was collaborative, domestic, and he knew how much more it meant to Hob, them cooking together. Food was Hob’s love language and Dream was only all too willing to learn, to one day surprise him with a creation of his own he could pour his heart into and share with Hob.

For now, Dream gathers the shredded cheese and sets it off to one side while he puts away the remaining Gruyère.

The pasta had been cooking down and now Hob adds a heavy amount of cream, swirling the mixture once more. Dream watches as the pasta grows puffy and the sauce thickens up.

Hob dips a spoon into the mix, blowing on it and tasting. Nodding to himself before reaching over to grab the salt and adding a large pinch of it.

He then scoops up the cheese Dream shredded, thanking him with a smile and a quick kiss before sprinkling that in as well.

The dish seems done, the cheese melting into the sauce and making it even more thick and creamy. But Hob stares down at it, hands on his hips.

“Needs color…” Hob mutters under his breath, going back to the fridge and searching its depths.

He pulls out an opened bag of baby spinach, reaching in and grabbing a large handful of the leaves and plopping it into the pasta, stirring it in as it welts quickly.

At this point, Dream reaches up and grabs two plates, finding a clean spot on the counter and setting them down. He hadn’t been hungry when he’d awoken, but suddenly Dream’s stomach was grumbling and he was eager to taste what Hob had been distracting himself with for who knows how long.

They taste it right there, standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, facing each other as they slowly chew their food.

The explosion of flavors on Dream’s tongue makes him want to cry. He’d never experienced such an emotional reaction to food before Hob came into his life, but it makes sense, now. The love, care, and respect Hob put into his ingredients came through in the final product; it was palatable. It warmed Dream up when he hadn’t even been aware of how chilled he was. It tickled his senses and made him endlessly curious and full of awe of what Hob could create.

Dream wants to keep Hob forever.

Hob must notice something in Dream’s face because he grins, slumping lazily, tiredly, against the counter while he pops another bite into his mouth and speaks around the food.

“What?”

Dream licks his fork clean and sets it and the plate back down on the countertop.

Dream will tell Hob, later. But first…

“Why couldn’t you get to sleep?”

Hob pauses, looking down and huffs out a quiet laugh. He sets his plate down too.

“Orpheus starts first grade tomorrow.”

Something warm takes hold of Dream’s heart and squeezes.

Hob goes on about how much Orpheus has grown, how it seemed just yesterday he was toddling around the kitchen and Dream had to rush in and excuse himself and his son, scooping up a giggling child who made grabby hands at Hob during his first week of working there.

Since day one Orpheus had seemingly adopted Hob without question, accepting him as part of the family in that easy way kids did. Even during that first year, when Hob was just their home chef, Orpheus would wonder where “Mr. ‘Ob” was on his days off, already so used to his presence.

It’s been nearly three years since Dream and Hob first met. The smoothest, happiest years of Dream’s life.

Hob is pulling a hand through his hair, laughing at himself as he apologizes for his worry. But Dream takes his fidgeting hands in his, stepping close and ceasing Hob’s rambling.

“He’ll be fine.” Dream smiles at Hob’s nodding.

“We’ll both be there for him. Every day after school, he’s going to tell you everything he’s learned, whether you want to hear it or not.”

Hob chuckles. “I do want to hear it.”

“I know you do.” Dream leans in so their noses brush. “It’s one of the many, many reasons why I love you.”

Hob playfully cocks an eyebrow. “And the other reasons?”

Dream smirks as he takes a step back, then two, pulling Hob along until he gets the hint and follows Dream back up the stairs to their bedroom.

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edgedancer77 · 4 months

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Hob is happy serving up good food and feeding people comfort food from his truck -- he's not looking to be famous; Dream is a Michelin star judge who stumbles upon his truck and loves his food.

Dream is used to liking small portion tasting menus with ingredients sourced from yurts or dug up during an irregular moon cycle. Comfort food that "sticks to your bones" is not what Dream eats, even when he needs comfort!

Dream stumbles on this food truck when he gets lost looking for his car after having a forgettable meal at the hot new speakeasy concept that recently opened.

Eating/tasting is a job and Dream is so tired of his function. So when he hears music and people having fun, Dream figures he can at least ask someone where he is and/or get his bearings. What he see when he rounds the corner are people queued up at a funky painted food truck -- laughing, joking?! with someone who is making his food safety hair net look good, and happily eating. The smell hits Dream in the face -- it's so good.

When Dream makes it to the counter, he forgets that he needs directions, hot chef hairnet, is so pretty - engaging smile, the stereotypical tattoos on his forearms, soft doe eyes -- Dream is momentarily speechless. When the chef ask him what he wants, Dream says surprise me (the same Dream who always has a plan when he's eating for his job); he gets a roguish smile and a wink,,,,, and falls a little in love.

Then he tries the food he's handed falls all the way in love.

Oh, this hit me right in the soft spot!! Absolutely love it.

I can so imagine Dream being used to those nouveau cuisine dishes where you get like, a sliver of horseradish, one grain of rice and a sauce made from gold leaf. He thinks that he likes it, that he's reasonably content. But he's never looked at one of those kind of plates and smiled. Not the way he's smiling at the loaded paper plate Hot Hair Net chef just gave him.

He sits a little way from the truck and eats, slowly, carefully. There's pilau rice, delicious curry, veggies that are clearly fresh. Its warm and filling, and Dream can't quite finish it all. But he's still smiling.

And he still doesn't know where his car is. So he goes to the counter again. The gorgeous chef seems to be packing up for the day and he positively beams at Dream. "Back already? I was hoping I'd get a chance to feed you up, but I didn't think it'd be so soon."

Dream blushes and asks for directions, and Hob says that if Dream can wait a minute, he'll walk there with him. His car is over that way too. While Hob packs up, Dream dares to ask about his ingredients, and Hob absolutely lights up while he talks about where he sources his fresh stuff, how much he values his suppliers, and how excited he is to keep building his business. He's got dreams of a restaurant someday, although he dearly loves his truck - maybe he'll do both!

By the time Hob helps him find his car, Dream is absolutely ready to give his heart and soul over on a paper plate. There are spices zinging on his tongue, and Hob has taken off his hair net to reveal an adorable, sexy little man-bun. He's got measuring spoon tattoos on his hands. Dream wants him.

He's back the next day. And the next. He's driving out of his way to get to Hob. Nothing else tastes good. And when he finally, shyly asks if Hob would like to come over for dinner sometime, Hob lights up. "It's about time you cooked for me! I'd love it. And... I'll bring dessert."

When Hob winks at Dream this time, he follows it up with a kiss on the cheek. And Dream’s not hungry anymore. He's just thirsty 😉

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edgedancer77 · 4 months

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Kick's 2023 Fic Roundup (YEEEHA!)

[Please use the Kayne Malevolent voice for that title]

SOOOOOO all domains included—fics, original fiction, nonfiction, and copywriting—I wrote over 300k words this year. Of that, fic was 132,449 words! 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 I'm pretty proud of it, honestly, so I thought I'd hop on the rundown bandwagon.

Thanks to everyone who read my stuff, kudos-d it, commented on it, and yelled with me about it on Tumblr and Discord (Honk-Honk to all my honkos!!! 💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤). Y'all have made my life so much more fun this year.

The Sandman - Dreamling

Music When You Speak [Rated E | 72,075 words]

When incognito rock star Dream of the Endless drifts into Hob Gadling's record store, it's instant attraction. Neither of them expected things to get this serious.

This started out as an experiment in "taking time to enjoy the scenery," so naturally I had to [SPOILER ALERT] add a kidnapping subplot that ends with Dream naked and covered in blood.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Oops.

I'm so glad so many people loved it. I loved it too. Still do.

Playlist here

Aaaaand complimentary ficlet, Piece by Piece [Rated T | 610 words].

I'll Make You Sorry [Rated E | 12,035 words]

Things from Hob's past are making Hob's hookups run screaming into the night, and it's really freaking him out. Dream is very concerned (both that other people are dreaming Hob's dreams and that Hob takes so many lovers).

This is my only canon-adjacent fic (so far) that isn't ficlet or pure smut, and I enjoyed making both of them so deeply uncomfortable. Also I need to write more Corinthian because I found his voice disturbingly easy to emulate. 😂😂😂

On Sex Dreams and Anachronisms [Rated E | 1,818 words]: Two embarrassing times Dream dropped in on Hob's sexy dreams and one much nicer one. Second silliest thing I wrote this year.

(Not) Spellbound [Rated E | 1,192]: This is just bondage smut. You're welcome. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

How to Extract Your Boyfriend from Toxic Internet Culture [Rated G | 704 words]: By far the silliest thing I wrote this year. Features retired Dream's stint as a True Crime Wine Mom.

One Tall Dark Stranger [Rated G | 565 words]: From the prompt "Accidental Hand Touching."

You Will Not Be Bothered [Rated G | 420 words]: From the prompt "picking a leaf/flower petal out of their hair, or brushing dirt off of their face."

I'll Be a Better Man Than My Father Ever Was - Chapter 4 by @chaosclimber | for the Dreamling for Ukraine fundraiser.

[PODFIC] Inappropriate Uses of the Dewey Decimal System and Coworkers by Hob Gadling, no PhD (Chapter 2) by @chaosheadspace | for the Dreamling for Ukraine fundraiser.

Metaphysics by @quillingwords

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The Sandman - Femslash Weekend!

This was so fun, and I have at least one more femslash idea I really hope to have the spoons to finish in January. 💜🖤💜🖤

You're Gonna Catch Hell [Johanna/Mazikeen | Rated E | 2,116 Words]

Johanna Constantine, a gun for hire, is meeting a very dangerous new client at Club Hell. A mysterious woman who spots her right when she enters the club might pose some complications.

Pure smut, although I have an enormous hc around this AU that I'm not sure will ever see the light of day.

Obliterate All Prior Things [Lucienne/Gault | Rated E | Words 3,421]

Whatever horrible thing Lucienne says is happening to The Dreaming is certainly happening. But the other part—the bit where Lucienne thinks she is the reason for it—cannot be allowed to stand. Run away with me, Gault wants to say. We'll find our own way. Be whoever we want. And you can finally rest.

I have huge feelings about Gaulcienne, which will become extremely clear if you read this.

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The Magnus Archives — Goof Troop (aka., TimGerry)

Just an Animal Looking for a Home [Rated E | 33,349 words | Love and Nonsense AU - WIP]

When Tim Stoker came to Pinhole Books, it was like someone jammed a foot on the accelerator of Gerry's life. After a health scare, a wedding to his (let's be honest) soul mate, and the exponential growth of the shop, it's showing no signs of slowing down. Now, Pinhole is opening a second location, their beloved Fiona Law is retiring, and Tim and Gerry are bringing a new canine member into their family. But even good changes can be overwhelming, and Gerry finds himself dealing with old trauma he thought he'd left far behind him. Plus, Tim is unexpectedly forced to face old conflicts, which takes him places where Gerry can't follow. With all these stressors on top of the typical growing pains that come with a still-new marriage, Tim and Gerry have to learn to work through their issues together. It's either that or fall apart.

This is the sequel to Hiding in Plain Sight, which I actually started this in 2022 and took a hiatus while I was writing Music When You Speak (so the word count includes 2022 chapters, don't @ me 😂). It's pretty heavy but I think the break will make the story that much better for it, honestly.

Playlist here.

Also in this AU, a couple ficlets set before TimGerry got together.

What's His Deal? [Rated T | 608 words]: Gerry tries to find out what Tim's deal is. Jon is completely unhelpful. From "Blossoming Romance" Tumblr prompt: "Attempting to find out if they are single/available"

Scoop [Rated E | 682 words]: Gerry has just hired a new employee at Pinhole books, and it may just cost him his sanity. Involves ice cream.

Ad Libitum [Rated E | 1,861 words - WIP]

It's Tim Stoker's first week at The Magnus Conservatory, and his piano accompanist hasn't shown up for auditions. An imposing goth swoops out of the shadows to save him, but Tim worries his instant attraction to the man may make it hard to control himself.

I just started this one! Music conservatory AU where Tim is studying voice and Gerry is a pianist. Excited to see where it goes (honestly, your guess is as good as mine at the moment).

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And of course I've got a book and a Patreon with two serials in progress if you're interested.😉😉😉 But I hope to write a LOT more fic in 2024! Love y'all. 💜🖤💜🖤💜💜🖤💜🖤💜💜🖤💜🖤💜

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edgedancer77 · 4 months

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End of year Dreamling fic roundup

This was the year I wrote my first ever fic. I was inspired by so many stories, meta analyses, and fanart from this fandom, that I decided to step out of my comfort zone and dare to write non-academic work. Here is what I wrote, I hope you read them and they make you smile ❤️

Summary:

Hob did not think it could get worse than this. Kidnapped, blindfolded, tied with rough ropes, thrown in a truck, put under with what was most definitely chloroform, and eventually waking up in a humid, musty dark basement. Oh well. It can get worse than this, Hobsie, can it not?

Hob gets kidnapped by some people seeking information on Dream of the Endless. Problem is, Dream has not told Hob of his name(s).

Summary:

In 1689, Dream of the Endless asks Hob Gadling if he still wishes to live. Hob, who had lost his wife, newborn baby, and son way too early, is convinced that the Stranger is responsible for his loss, having wished to punish Hob for his arrogance and greed and teach him a lesson. So he formulates a plan to take revenge: he would win the Stranger's heart, make him fall in love with him, and then break his heart and leave him an empty husk. Everything changes when he realizes that not only he has fallen for the Stranger, but that the Stranger is in fact innocent of what Hob accused him.

The Dreamling telenovela nobody asked.

Summary:

Hob Gadling is not a stranger to depression. But this is not it, this is something different.

OR Hob is dealing with Seasonal Affective Disorder

Summary:

Dream has been cursed to scare everyone away and live a lonely life, and the only way to break the curse is to find someone to marry him. He does not know how to get out of this loophole, until he meets a very brave man.

A story based on the Swedish folk song Herr Mannelig (also known as Bergatrollets frieri, or "The Courting of the Mountain Troll).

Summary:

“Yeah well, I am going to be honest, I AM going to move here. I am broke, it will be cheaper than paying rent, and plus I grew up in this house.”

Morpheus refused to grace this with a response. “Matthew, we are leaving. And I suggest you do the same, Robert Gadling. Unless you want me to call the authorities.” He stood up and walked towards the door.

“What if,” Hob said. “What if we both lived here?”

When Destiny dies, he leaves his mansion to both his nephew Morpheus and his gardener's son Hob. Even though they grew up together, they could not be more different from each other: Morpheus is a university professor, deeply introverted, stuck-up, almost celibate, and impossibly misanthropic. Hob is a waiter, an extroverted and loud hedonist who loves life and having fun. They decide to live in the mansion together, but they do not know what they got themselves into. They both plan to get rid of the other, and they always get involved in various shenanigans which make them learn things about themselves they never knew.

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