I’m BEGGING for more “retired!Dream opens up a weird magic fey bookshop” au. Its so intriguing!
you are in luck. i wrote more
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"So," Hob says, leaning in the doorway of Dream's study-of-sorts, "much as I love the recommendations, do you mind if I browse?"
He's taken, recently, to meeting Dream on the upper floor of the shop, bringing coffee and watching Dream label and sort his new books in incomprehensible categories. He usually gets some interesting book facts out of it, too, or strange little stories -- "this book washed up on the Sardinian shore some years ago", "this was signed by a long-dead author, I've been curious to see how long it will take for a collector to find it," "an old man bestowed this upon me on the eve of his death, it's the only copy in existence" and so on -- not to mention the pleasure of Dream's company. He is so odd, and so engaging.
Dream looks up at him now with a tiny smile that crinkles the corner of his eyes. "Of course. Find whatever you wish."
Hob has been wondering if Dream's serendipitous knack with books will extend to browsing, to random finds. Only one way to know.
He leaves Dream to his labeling and goes to wander the shop.
This time, he does get swallowed in Oneiromancy, where he finds Sleeping Worlds, a book about dream travel. Then he wanders deeper into the shop, passes categories like, "Cat Training," CLOCKS, "Mathematics: Easy -> Impossible", and, "♾". Of course he goes into Infinity, and picks up The Birth of Numbers, a book whose text starts in the center of the page and spirals outwards, font growing larger as the book goes on, and in another section called "Romance: DIFFICULT LEVEL" -- whatever the hell difficult means -- he picks up a tiny book that's just one line, one syllable on each page.
I
on
ly
want
ed
you
to
see.
God, Dream's shop is weird.
Dream finds him there some time later, deep in Sleeping Worlds. "I see you've had a productive day."
"Yeah, sorry, lost track of time."
Dream keeps looking at him with a little smirk.
Worry darts through Hob's stomach. "Wait, what time is it?"
"Midnight," says Dream, with satisfaction. "I've absorbed you."
Yeah, no kidding. Hob scrambles to his feet. "Jesus, Dream, sorry. I'll get out of your hair."
"No matter. This is what The Library is for."
Hob goes to hand him the books, and he waves a hand. "Keep them, I will get them back eventually."
Ominous. Great.
"Gonna break into my house and retrieve them?" Hob asks. He probably wouldn't even mind, to be honest.
"Nothing so alarming." He gestures Hob forward, and Hob follows, lets Dream walk him out.
It is, indeed, pitch dark outside on their shared street. Hob's supposed to open the cafe at 6. Whoops.
"Thanks for the books, Dream," he says. "And for. Ten hours of distraction, apparently."
Dream leans in the narrow doorway of his shop. "Of course. Come browse... anytime."
And he melts back into the shadows as Hob steps down onto the street.
--
Hob wonders if he's an idiot for wanting to ask Dream out. Dream is clearly some kind of other thing, and hanging around him did kind of get Hob cursed. But the way he bites his lip when he's making notes in books is so cute. His unerring ability to make perfect book selections is both strange and endearing -- even the books Hob had picked up on his own had been exactly what he hadn't known he was looking for. Hob's heart picks up every time he steps into the cafe.
But if he's to ask out Dream, his own personal weird bookshop creature, he has to do it right.
And he knows how.
The next time Dream comes in for coffee, Hob sits down across from him and hands him a book. Dream looks at it in surprise, and Hob has the sudden thought that as the all-powerful selector of tomes, he probably isn't gifted books himself.
The book is called, Broken Hands. Hob had pulled it off his own shelf. Dream doesn't ask him what it is, instead he flips open the cover and reads, as Hob had hoped he would.
The first page of Broken Hands has the following paragraph:
Kissing her hand, he came to know himself. Kissing her mouth, he came to know them both. When they went onward, for now only in his mind, he kissed more of her, and more, and more, and then, he knew her. He wanted to know her.
Dream reads it, and looks back up at him. Offers a tiny smile. Yes, Hob knew he would get it.
"You have something you would like to ask me, Hob Gadling?" he says softly.
"You have something you want to answer?"
Dream takes a long sip of his coffee, but looks at Hob over the rim of the mug, a smile in his eyes. Then he swipes away the milk foam from his upper lip with his tongue and says, "I'd say that you are very foolish, to still wish to associate with someone who did, in a sense, get you cursed. But that I find myself grateful for this foolishness. People do often come back to the library, once they find it-- but they don't often come back for me."
It makes Hob sad to imagine--Dream the perennial custodian of The Library, shepherd of its patrons, gifting small touches of coincidence and magic, but always in the background, a bridge and not a destination. Meanwhile, Hob likes the strange books, but it's Dream he keeps wanting to hover around, to lure back into his own space.
He dares to take Dream's hand and squeezes. "...So?"
"I'd say that I'd like to get coffee with you, if you know a place."
Cheeky thing. "Yeah, there's a Starbucks a couple blocks down," Hob says, gesturing, and Dream chuckles. Hob's still holding his hand, and brings it to his lips for a light kiss, and gets to watch as Dream's cheeks tint pink. His heart lifts in his chest. So easy and light.
"You're gorgeous," he says, and that blush deepens. "I'd suffer even Starbucks for you."
"You would suffer much, then," says Dream.
"We'll get our Starbucks and wander around WHSmith and have a fabulous date," Hob says, and Dream's face goes through the most exquisite journey of horror.
"You demand too much," he says, faint. "You enjoy my suffering."
"Little bit, yeah." Hob's certainly enjoying the reaction.
Then Dream looks at him in challenge. "Very well," he declares. "You've set the date. Now you must follow through."
Hob can't even spare a thought to the distasteful activities he's now gotten himself into--he has a date with Dream. "So that's a yes?"
Dream smiles again, a tiny, pleased thing. "It is a yes, Hob Gadling."
--
They do go to Starbucks. Hob is treated to the glorious sight of Dream sipping a pink drink out of a long straw, which is so worth dealing with the coffee. Then he indeed drags Dream to WHSmith, where Dream stands in the middle of the brightly-lit store, spins in a circle staring at carefully lined book displays with wide eyes, says, "Hell would be more merciful," and bolts away. Hob follows him, laughing.
Outside, he finds Dream leaning in the shade of a tree, looking vaguely shell-shocked. Hob really shouldn't keep laughing at him, but he can't help it. "Were you traumatized permanently by the big chain store?"
"Yes," says Dream, but, despite the perilous adventure, smiles. "You are a cruel man, Hob Gadling."
"Nah. Just harnessed the fluorescent lighting to chase you back into the safety of my arms."
"Oh?" Dream pushes off the tree and steps closer, until he's standing just before Hob, close enough to touch. "Was that the goal?"
Hob takes the leap that's offered and touches Dream's cheek with a light hand. "Did it work?"
This close, in the midday light, Dream's eyes are almost grey. The shade of the tree dapples his skin. It's still odd to see him out of the contained space of his bookshop, of Hob's cafe, but it does make this feel more real. A part of the world beyond the spun-sugar story of their orbiting binary stars.
Dream rests a feather light hand on Hob's chest. Studies Hob from under his eyelashes. And instead of answering, he leans up and, with that same light touch, presses his lips to Hob's.
Hob revels in the mere touch of him for a moment, but doesn't let it stand at light for long. He takes Dream's face between his hands and deepens the kiss, sweeping his tongue into Dream's mouth, swallowing Dream's hum of pleasure. If only he could put into the kiss what he had felt when Dream had handed him Nightingales. A sudden finding of something long lost that was always meant to be rooted in his heart.
When they part, he makes good on a promise and does pull Dream into his arms. It feels like a great indulgence. It also feels right.
"Make me a solemn promise, Hob Gadling," Dream says against Hob's cheek, arms wrapped around his back.
"Anything."
"Never take me here ever again."
Hob laughs into his hair, squeezing him tight. "What could one possibly want from here when The Library exists?"
This seems to greatly gratify Dream, who preens in Hob's arms. Hob kisses the shell of his ear, then his cheek, then they part again, and he takes Dream's hand. "I'm glad you expanded your horizons with me for a day."
"And now I will shrink them again," says Dream. "Except for one." To which he runs his thumb along Hob's lower lip, a touch Hob sways forward to follow almost drunkenly as Dream smirks. "Come."
He starts leading Hob back in the direction of their quiet street, and far far away from any fluorescent lighting, and Hob follows, touching his lips fondly. And lets himself be cautiously, tentatively hopeful that this will continue spiraling up into something real, because he wants it so bad. Curses and all.
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since i forget it's not common knowledge for non-Dog™ people, brief overview of the collie thing and why i was losing my shit:
idk every country, but at least for the American Kennel Club (AKC) and Canadian Kennel Club (CKC), "Collie" refers to a specific breed of dog, most iconic as the breed of "Lassie":
these three dogs are all collies. collies come in two varieties, "rough" (longhair, more common), and "smooth" (shorthair, less common). both rough and smooth collies are considered the same breed, judged to the same standards, and can be born in the same litter, similar to how a black lab and a yellow lab are both labradors. it is equally correct to refer to them as a "rough/smooth collie" or as simply a "collie," as that is their official breed name in the US/Canada. while they used to be extremely popular in the mid-20th century, collies sit at #39 on the AKC breed popularity lists nowadays, making them solidly "somewhat uncommon."
a border collie is a separate and distinct breed of dog. while they share a common ancestor with the collie and are also herding dogs, their appearance, temperament, and herding style are all distinctly different. they can come in many colors, but are most commonly black and white with medium-to-long hair:
while a border collie is a type of collie-dog, in the US they are generally referred to as "borders" or "BCs" rather than just "collies," as "collie" is already the name of a different breed. BCs are more popular than collies nowadays, so most laypeople are more familiar with them than with rough or smooth collies. but given that "collie" already refers to a different breed, in the US/Canada it's not technically correct to also refer to a border collie as simply "collie" (or call them a collie, who cares, i'm not a fucking cop).
however, this gets further muddled depending on which country you're in - for example in the UK and many european countries, there is no breed that's simply called "collie" - Rough Collies and Smooth Collies are two separate breeds, in addition to Border Collies, which are significantly more popular. in the UK, "collie" isn't the name of any specific breed, but most people will use it as shorthand for their BCs. "collie" in the UK and "collie" in the US often mean two different dogs.
and then you also have the bearded collie, again a distinct breed, but much more difficult to mix up due to A) their rarity and B) the fact that they look like walking muppets:
and honorable mention to the shetland sheepdog or "sheltie," which while related to the collie is, again, a separate breed, and most notably is significantly smaller than a collie. if you see a dog that looks like Lassie But Small, it's probably a sheltie.
IN CONCLUSION:
several different recognized breeds of collie-type dogs
only one breed is officially named "Collie" and that's the rough/smooth varieties in the US and Canada (aka "Lassie dog")
ergo, there is only one breed of dog that "collie" actually refers to (in North America at least)
however due to the differences in names between countries and the overall higher popularity of border collies, they and other breeds are sometimes also referred to as "collies"
i own a rough collie and she is very pretty and therefore superior and if you call any other type of dog a collie except for the rough/smooth type you're Wrong.
thank u for coming to my TED talk.
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just listened to the pod and although i agree the william doesn’t HATE women’s football, a lot of your arguments relied on “whataboutism”…. like sure the late queen or charles didn’t go to support their patron sports team, or the prime minister didn’t go either, but that doesn’t absolve william. you downplay the importance of his attendance but also stated he’s the reason you even know about some female players. but anyway, i also think he should definitely step down from the FA presidency - it involves too much passion for a “neutral” figure head
I can understand why you've interpreted it that way - to the point where I already had most of this answer prepared in my drafts - but it's inaccurate. I can only speak for the things I said in that episode so if you have a problem with something Grace said you can talk to her (she'd be happy to argue with you and tbh I think it's pretty telling about your view that you chose me to message and not Grace...) but that segment of the episode has two parts:
Why I don't think it's a big deal William didn't go and
Why I'm upset by the general narrative from the public and press
There were only two reasons I didn't think it was a big deal that William didn't go. I can show you my notes if you refuse to believe me.
The work he does for the England WNT and the men's national team is not drastically different now. It's not the same situation as it was in 2022 when William had done absolutely fuck all for women's sport and we both criticised him extensively. The players themselves have spoken repeatedly about the support and engagement they feel from him and
It's Australia. It's 10,000 fucking miles away. Spending tax payer money (from all four nations of the UK) to send a leader in climate change to Australia for what is effectively 5 minutes of work celebrating England is frankly absurd and I genuinely cannot fathom why anyone ever thought he'd go. Especially as it risks inflaming tensions given no one has been to Australia since the change of reign. If you listen back - I don't know, maybe you skipped over this bit, maybe you chose to disregard it - I clearly state that the problem wasn't that William didn't go to Australia it was that he didn't prepare for the fact he wasn't going to Australia. We both stated that he should have done more to support the team but he should have done it from home.
So if you can tell me where the whataboutism is there that would be grand as those were the only two arguments I made.
The rest was about the general narrative - as I said in the episode - and has no impact on my standpoint on William's decision in any way. It wasn't about William at all from my perspective, and what I said was entirely about the undercurrent of bigotry in the criticism of William. I am a Scottish woman and I don't think it's wrong that I find it upsetting when people believe English women matter more than anyone else. See the disparity in the reaction to William not going to Australia vs the reaction when Welsh people spoke about his lack of support for their team. At least he actually wanted the English women to win!! Whether you care or not, it is a problem that William got crucified for not going to Australia, and yet Welsh or Scottish people (and tons of other groups) get crucified for just politely asking for him not to want us to lose. In the course of a conversation about football and the public reaction to inequality in William's support, it is natural that a Scottish woman would mention the fact that the public and the press have shown nothing but bigotry towards us for the entire 17 years William has been President of the FA. It's natural that I would mention that even if William's support for the English women's team could be better, the public and the press treat the English women's team a million times better than they treat the Scottish or Welsh or Australian women's teams. If now isn't a good time to discuss it because it's "whataboutism" but every other day of the year is also not a good time to discuss it because it'll lead to a public hate campaign by the press and the public, when exactly is the right time?
So I don't consider it whataboutism because I was not saying that William's choice was any better or worse as a result of my point. I consider it a related conversation about my personal issues with the fact that people are claiming on social media to be holier than thou because of their standpoint in this while at best deliberately ignoring and at worst actively celebrating other, worse, forms of inequality. If you consider that whataboutism I truly don't care, because I'm right.
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