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rosaren2498 · 4 hours

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for the director's commentary game: I'm curious about your earliest inspiration for wylmk! for me, fics often start with a single scene, or even just an image or a line of dialogue. is there something like that that sort of spun out into the whole story? or if that's not the case, what's the first scene you wrote and did it change much between the first and final drafts? xo @hardly-an-escape

lovely question, and it's made me realise I don't quite remember where exactly it started. I fell into Dreamling via a long, long car journey after a sudden bereavement, where I read @issylra's spilled ink and daffodils series, and AWordyBody's Chicago theatre au, and realised I was full-tilt shipping Hob and Dream. it can barely have been a week from there to starting to write.

I don't remember what the first line was. I do remember, though, that I knew it had to be an academia AU, and I knew it would involve Hob and Dream teaching together. and I vividly remember that it wouldn't leave me alone, that I had such a clear image of these two getting together, that I couldn't help but write.

I also remember that I was listening to 'Halloween' by Novo Amor around the time I had the idea, and something in the vibe of it really struck me as the kind of mood I wanted to go for. then there's 'Decimal' by Novo Amor which of course gave me the title, though I only realised afterwards that I'd got it wrong: the first lyric is actually 'could you let me know'. but that song absolutely crystallised the vibe for the fic, the desire Hob has to bring comfort to Dream, the desire they both have to be known, despite their past trauma, the devotion of their love.

some of the scenes that were there from the very beginning, though, were: Hob and Dream going to see Crosses; Hob and Dream fighting over the strike (because I was on strike, haha); Dream turning up at the picket line in the pink UCU hat; Hob and Dream's first kiss being in Brixton after a gig.

I do remember that this exchange between Hob and Dream was written very, very early on.

“Thanks for meeting me today, I’m off at a conference on Friday so won’t be in then,” he says, coming into the room. It smells faintly of oud wood and neroli, which certainly beats the vague scent of coffee and Lemsip Max that often pervades Hob’s. “How unlucky for you.” Dream gestures to one of the chairs that sits at a little round table in his office, taking the other one. “Nah, I love a good conference.” Hob settles in his seat, pulling out his iPad and notebook. “I detest conferences,” Dream says. “I did not go into this line of work because of any desire to interact with people.”

Hob dancing like this lil skeleton man to Kasabian was also so early on in the story's genesis that it feels indelibly linked.

I knew from the get go the story was not going to stop at them getting together, and that there would be a third act crisis. but originally, the story was going to be sixty thousand words and eight chapters. so that conflict was just going to be Dream figuring out he's in love with Hob, and panicking, and going all withdrawn so he didn't reveal it. so their reconciliation originally looked like this:

“You’re really very stupid sometimes, you know that?” Dream looks nearly as startled as he does offended. “You mean to say you’ve been being weird for the last week because you’d figured out you love me, and you were worried I’d be able to tell?” Dream’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. Then he looks down into his lap, ears and cheeks scarlet. “Yes. That is about the size of it.” He looks so shamefaced and forlorn that Hob can’t keep himself back. He reaches to take Dream’s face in both his hands. “You colossal idiot.” Dream looks very confused. “I love you too. Have for quite a bit, to be honest.” Dream’s eyes go very wide, and then the single most beautiful expression crosses his face. “Do you mean to say I’ve been worrying over nothing?” “Big time,” Hob says, screwing his face up.

but as I got further into the story I realised that this wasn't nearly as realistic a conflict as the one I went for, given the amount of trauma I'd written into it for them both. and with that in mind, it felt inappropriate to have Hob respond quite like this. this was a more comedic version of the scene, and I wanted it to be heartfelt more than funny.

while I can't remember the scene that wylmk sprang from, I can tell you exactly the scene that please wake me did. but it's in the next chapter of please wake me, so you'll have to ask me then.

thanks for this, it was fun to answer.

"director's cut" ask game

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rosaren2498 · 9 hours

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Also, "you know I love you, right" with dreamling from the gentle prompts

Hi anon I am SO SORRY this is like almost six months late, but I finally wrote something for this prompt!!! 😁💖

AO3 Link Here or read the whole fic below!

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Dream is nervous.

He knows, logically, that he should not be. That he is, as always, catastrophizing things in his mind, thinking of the worst possible scenario for how things will go. But he also knows that what he plans to ask Hob tonight over dinner is not an insignificant question. And he has to get everything just right.

Dream has gotten things wrong so many times in his relationships. With his parents, with his siblings, his friends, his past lovers. He has asked for too much too soon, and given too little until it was too late to fix what had been wronged.

Dream wants to do things right with Hob.

Hob, who has been so patient with Dream as he picked himself up after his divorce from Calliope. Hob, who had only been a casual acquaintance at first, a friend of a friend of a friend. Hob, who had somehow, miraculously, fallen just as deeply in love with Dream over the last two years as Dream had done so with him.

And now, Dream wants them to take the next step in their relationship.

He sets the stage perfectly; buying a bottle of wine from the vineyard where they had their first date to pair with the dinner Hob is preparing in Dream’s kitchen. Candles on the table for ambiance. Dream is also wearing a sleek satin button down that he knows that Hob likes on him.

“Is it my birthday?” Hob asks, waggling his eyebrows when Dream lets him into his flat. When Dream closes the door behind him, he finds himself pulled into the passionate kiss. Hob presses him against the closed door and licks eagerly into Dream’s mouth, drawing a guttural groan from deep inside him.

“You’re tempting enough for me to want dessert first,” Hob teases, nipping at Dream’s bottom lip before pulling away slightly to appreciate Dream’s outfit more. Dream laughs, and pulls Hob back to himself in a tight hug.

“Perhaps I just wanted to look nice tonight,” Dream whispers against his lover’s ear. “But good things come to those who wait.” Hob huffs, then kisses him again, gentler this time, and Dream melts into it.

They eventually make their way into Dream’s kitchen, and Hob notices the bottle of wine and candles on the table immediately.

“Please tell me I haven’t forgotten a special occasion,” he says, his tone teasing, but Dream can tell he’s nervous. Dream shakes his head and nudges Hob towards the stove and countertops, kissing him again and squeezing his arm.

“No special occasion forgotten, I promise,” Dream reassures Hob. “I am only doing this just because. To be romantic.”

“If you say so,” Hob replies, still uncertain. He lets the matter drop, and goes on to prepare dinner while Dream opens the wine and finishes preparing the table. His hands are shaking with every movement, but thankfully Hob is too preoccupied with cooking to really notice. They trae stories about their days, Hob on the latest drama in the faculty department of his university, and Dream complaining about the minutiae of having to plan his gallery opening next month.Dinner itself flies by and before Dream knows it, they’ve opened the bottle of wine and moved to the living room to cuddle.

Hob tries to suggest putting on a movie, but Dream shakes his head, taking a deep breath and putting his wine down on the coffee table.

“You know I love you, right?” Dream asks, wringing his hands together despite himself. Hob hums, and then takes Dream’s hands gently in his. He brings one of Dream’s hands to his lips and kisses it, slow and tender. Dream melts like butter into his touch.

“I do, and I love you too,” Hob answers, his smile warm and inviting. “What’s this all really about, love?”

Dream stares into Hob’s dark brown eyes, and swallows thickly. Now or never he supposes. At least now he’ll know whether they really were of the same mind about the future.

“I—Iwantustomoveintogether,” Dream blurts out all in a single breath. There. Now it was all out in the open.

Hob furrows his brow in confusion at first, seeming to not have understood what Dream had just said. But then his eyes widen in shock, and Dream feels his stomach swoop. He can’t tell whether Hob looks happy, or upset, and it absolutely terrifies Dream.

But then Hob’s eyes soften, and Dream feels hope burn bright like a star within his chest.

“You mean it?” Hob asks, his voice sounding just as fragile as Dream feels. “You—you want—”

“Yes,” Dream exhales, before Hob practically knocks him into the other side of the couch with how forcefully he kisses him. Dream wraps his entire body around Hob’s, unwilling to let go of him for even just a moment. Hob technically hadn’t answered the question just yet, but Dream can infer by the way the other man is kissing him that the answer is a very resolute yes.

“You know, you didn’t need to get all dressed up just to ask me that,” Hob tells him when they break apart to breathe. “I would’ve said yes even if you’d asked me in the middle of Tesco.”

Dream barks out a laugh and then pulls Hob into another kiss.

“I would hope by now, you know that anything else less than the most romantic gesture is unacceptable by my standards,” he replies with mock indignation. Hob doesn’t reply, only kisses him again, and everything is perfect.

They soon fall into excited discussions about the future, talking late into the night about whether they will stay in one flat or the other, the best time to move, how much in monthly payments they can afford between the two of them. Dream is not particularly married to his flat, and he knows that the location is not the most convenient to Hob’s university. Hob’s flat is small, however, and Dream knows he needs a larger space in order to be able to paint. They eventually decide on vacating their separate flats and looking for a place together.

Dream’s stomach is in knots, the good kind though, when they go to bed. He’s never gotten to truly choose his own living space with another person. When he and Calliope had been married, they’d moved into her childhood home, and it had never quite felt like home, even after Orpheus had been born. Even his current flat, the style, the decor, all of it is handpicked by his mother, Nyx.

But this new flat? This hypothetical for now space? This will be just for him and Hob. It will be just theirs.

Six months later, Hob carries Dream over the threshold of their new townhome like they’ve just gotten married, and Dream laughs in delight. He cannot remember the last time he’d been so happy.

When Hob lets him down in their new, still empty living room, Dream takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, letting the emotional weight of what they’ve done wash over him.

This home is theirs. Both their names are on the mortgage, a contract that binds them closer than marriage does, at least in Hob’s opinion. This home hadn’t been in their initial plan, they had only seen it in passing while looking at another flat in the same neighborhood, but it had been love at first sight for both of them.

It had also, admittedly, been a little bit outside of their budget. But Hob was expecting a promotion, and Dream’s gallery opening had plenty of buzz surrounding it. Things would work themselves out. He knew they would.

They’re arguing again, and Dream doesn’t even remember what started it. They were fighting more and more lately; about chores, about things that needed to be fixed, about the ever growing pile of bills between them.

Hob had gotten the promotion he’d wanted, but it came with more work and time away than either of them expected. Dream’s gallery opening was well attended, but only a few of his paintings had been purchased outright. The gallery assured him this was normal, and he knew it to be true, as a debut artist he needed to build a reputation. But the disappointment stung nonetheless.

The house too, had been more work and more expense than they had expected. It seemed like something was always breaking, or needed to be replaced, and they could never agree on a chore schedule that did not make the other feel like they were doing more of the work.

Now they were arguing over what to have for dinner, a simple meal, an activity they used to both consider sacred between them. But Hob doesn’t want to cook, and Dream is tired of eating takeaway. Hob tells him Dream needs to learn to cook. Dream tells him that Hob is too picky to cook for.

“You know what? Forget it,” Hob says, throwing up his arms in surrender and turning away from him. “This isn’t worth it.”

Dream’s heart shatters when he hears those words.

Not worth it, not worth it, not worth it. Dream has heard those words a million times in a million different contexts, but it always, always, means the same thing.

Dream wasn’t worth it. Wasn’t worth the effort it took to put up with him, to be patient with him, to love him. Calliope had said he wasn’t worth all the fights and arguments. Cory had said their relationship wasn’t worth staying in London for when his dream job was in the US. Nada had said having to deal with his family wasn’t worth it. And now Hob had decided Dream wasn’t worth his time or his love either.

Before he knows it, Dream is running out of the room, out of their home, and into the pouring rain. He can’t hear anything over the pounding of his heart in his ears.

Not worth it. Not. Worth. It

He’s worthless, worthless, worthless.

Dream hadn’t even bothered putting on shoes, so it doesn’t surprise him when he slips on the wet cobblestones of the street and he falls.

What does surprise him is that he doesn’t hit the ground.

Because Hob is there. Holding him back, and gripping him like he’s afraid Dream will disappear if he doesn’t.

Hob had come after him. Had run after Dream in the pouring rain just to catch him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Hob is crying into his shoulder as he pulls Dream to his chest. “I forgot that’s what you hate hearing the most, I didn’t mean it. Not like that. Never like that.”

Dream chokes out a sob of his own, then wriggles himself out of Hob’s grip so he can turn around and hug his lover back.

“I’m sorry too,” he says, pulling Hob into a desperate kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too. I swear it Dream, I’ll never leave you alone,” Hob promises. “You’re absolutely worth fighting for, always.”

Dream doesn’t know what the future holds for them. But he knows, now, in this moment, soaked to his skin and freezing cold, that he and Hob can get through anything. Because they love each other. Because Hob will fight for Dream as much as Dream will fight for Hob. Because they’re not perfect people, but they are perfect for each other. And that is worth everything.

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rosaren2498 · 14 hours

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Hob wanting to see his beloved but not wanting to disturb his work and thus choosing to go to him instead of calling Dream: *taking a nap*

Dream, also wanting to see his lover, showing up unannounced in Hob's flat, seeing he's lying down in bed at 2 in the afternoom: "wha--?"

Hob: "oh. Hi!!! I was just coming to see you"

Dream, fully tearing up: "You would go through the trouble"

Hob, Gobsmacked (hobsmacked) *tf is this bitch on about??? it's not like taking a nap is inconveniencing me??? omg someone show him he deserves love. wait. I'm supposed to do that*

hob: "I LOVE YOU SO MUCH AND I WOULD DO ANYTHING FOR YOU INCLUDING TAKING A NAP"

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rosaren2498 · 14 hours

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Hobo Heart : *looking like a mess in the morning*

Hob, in his mind : Oh my god he is so cute, I want to kiss his cold lips so badly, I want to warm him up every night with Dream and cook delicious meals for him!!! 😭

Hobo Heart : *blinking as he drinks his coffee, trying to wake himself up while wearing Hob's cardigan over the clothes he gave him, which all look big on him*

Hob : *sobs internally and only gushes more*

it's getting worked on, baby!!! Hurray for the fortune cookie!!!! and the many writers stuff

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rosaren2498 · 14 hours

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rosaren2498 · 14 hours

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memory loss hurt comfort prompt for the wip game 👀

Ooooo anon, I hope you're ready for this, there's gonna be A LOT of hurt before we get to the comfort here:

It was a beautiful day. Again. The sun was shining. Again, The birds were singing. Always the same song, the same length, the same, the same, the same. The sun was shining, but now it felt cold and hollow, not warm and inviting. There was something very wrong about where he was, and now that he was paying attention, Hob fits the pieces together to form a very simple conclusion. He was dreaming. He’d been dreaming for the entire time he’d been in this cottage. The knowledge suddenly alerts Hob to a deep ache in his muscles and bones. Wherever his waking body was, it wasn’t here, and it hadn’t moved or been moved in a long time. Too long, his mind supplies. Wake up, he tells himself. He’d always been able to get himself to wake up if he knew he was dreaming. But it doesn’t seem to be working this time. Wake! Up! He tells himself over and over to no avail. Wake up, wake up, wake up! Nothing.

also tagging @five-and-dimes since this is related to a prompt they sent me 👀

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rosaren2498 · 17 hours

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Reblog the writers’ fortune cookie for luck!

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rosaren2498 · 1 day

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a lil sneaky peek at my dreamling early modern theatre AU...

I have never done as much research for a fic as I have for this. I will not brook inaccuracy. "just go for the vibes" you say, not realising that I am both a professional nerd and an absolute perfectionist.

trying very hard to get early modern diction here, definitely failing.

“You again,” the player says, polishing the edge of a bollock dagger, blunted for the stage. “Have you come to fret me once more?”

There is an easy jest to be made here, about Hob being only too willing to finger this man’s frets, but he thinks the player would not thank him for it. “I come to indulge my curiosity, my pale friend.”

The player lifts one sable brow. “And now you declare us friends. You are curious indeed.”

“What good is living in this world without curiosity?”

The player cocks his head at this. “I will concede this much. Then, tell me: are you in the habit of declaring all you meet your friend?”

Some light in the player’s eyes sets his heart thumping, his blood sparking, touch paper crackling. “Only those I deem interesting.”

“And what, precisely, interests you?” the player asks, laying the polished dagger at his side on the stage. “For I fear you do not know me. You know merely the roles I personate.”

Hob steps closer, boot heels crunching through discarded nut shells and apricock stones. “Is there not a kernel within, player?”

The player’s depthless eyes fix upon him. “Perhaps. But it is kept within the fruit. None with man’s eyes shall see beyond that flesh.”

“True. But does not the kernel shape the flesh? The apricock is formless without her stone, the ripe peach mere matter without her pit.” Though the player remains seated, he has the look of the caged tigers the Florentine dukes keep in their palazzos.

“You forget the walnut. What shape can a man discern beyond her shell?”

“Enough,” Hob says, indomitable. “I know a walnut by its shell. And I know there is more of the man in the player than he would admit.”

“You flatter yourself,” the player says.

“O, every day I yet breathe,” he replies, and for a breath he thinks a faint smile curves the ruby lip, and it emboldens him, makes him say what he ought not. “And still, you forget: a man might know the fruit’s truth by his teeth, part the flesh where eyes cannot.”

The player stands in a slip of black cloth, the leather points of his doublet rattling as he comes to his feet. “And this is what you seek, is it?” he demands, rubies bright on his cheeks, mouth a fine slash of crimson. “To know what lies beneath?”

Hob knows he is often a fool. “No — prithee, I did not mean —“

“I am not so easily unpicked,” the player returns, and departs back into the tiring house.

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