Icon from a picrew by grgikau. Call me Tir or Julian. 37. He/They. Queer. Twitter: @tirlaeyn. ao3: tirlaeyn. 18+ Only. Star Trek. Sandman. IwtV. OMFD. Definitionless in this Strict Atmosphere.
Been obsessed w/myopic Hob, have had this sitting in my WIP folder for weeks, finished it this morning
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Hob Gadling watches the familiar black-and-white blur of his oldest friend settle opposite him in the New Inn, and has to stop himself bursting with excitement.
“Hang on, hang on, most important development of the last century,” he says, grabbing his messenger bag, feeling around until his hand closes around the small, hard case he’s looking for.
He can feel his stranger’s eyes on him as he cracks the case open, revealing a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, giddy with excitement as he extracts them.
“I’ll finally be able to see you,” he enthuses, settling the arms over his ears.
The world grinds to a halt as Hob looks up again. His hand goes to his mouth, a reflex response to the greatest shock of his life.
His stranger—pale as moonlight with eyes like sapphires lit by fire—is absolutely nothing like he imagined. He’s… he’s…
Alright, then. A thought-because it seems like something you might enjoy:
Hob, and the slow, careful cataloging and curation of Things for His Stranger. For Dream. It starts, just like everything else, with stories. His experiences. And, well, the food and drink is being hospitable, wasn't it? It's what people did (and if it turned his Stranger's head, that was just a delightful side effect).
Before he's entirely aware of it, a handful of centuries have passed, and Hob finds himself comparing memory foam mattresses and growing a collection of assorted duvets, quilts, and thick crocheted afghans; soft, pretty things that might someday blanket the memory of cold glass and metal and keep the edges from biting.
He doesn’t really think about it until he’s in a Marks and Sparks fingering a cashmere blanket they’ve got in for the holiday season and wishing it came in black because he’s not sure Dream will appreciate the pale nondescript beige or slightly darker nondescript beige colour it does come in, but he does think the softness would be nice.
There are jumpers, genuinely beautiful butter-soft silk-cashmere blend affairs, but he can’t just casually drape a jumper three sizes smaller than he’d normally buy over the back of the sofa and hope Dream thinks to steal it. He’d grab the blanket. He likes blankets.
hob: you attract what you fear? oh i sincerely hope that my stranger will not show up in my flat at 3AM in his nightmare form! god! look at me: the biggest scaredy-cat ever!
dream showing up in hob’s flat at 3AM in his nightmare form: hob gadling. so you weren’t actually afraid of my monster self?
