Do ya'll ever think about how every character in MDZS is living in a radically different genre of story?
Cause yeah, sure Wei Wuxian is living in a danmei fantasy novel with strong romantic comedy elements, but if you slide over a bit Lan Wangji is living a serious and heady drama about regret, loss, yearning, the passage of time, and ultimately atonement.
Scooch on over to Xichen and your in a straight up Greek tragedy, right down to the parable about hubris and trust. Jin Guangyao is living meanwhile in a political dark fantasy al'la Game of Thrones, Nie Huaisang is in a Gothic moody Monte Cristo-esque reflection on revenge and deception, and while Lan Sizhuhi and Jin Ling are living in two VERY different YA fantasy books ('magic boarding school/secret orphan of destiny' and 'Steven Universe style coming of age/discovering all your family are some flavor of evil and magic' respectively).
Everyone connected to Yi City is living inside a dark psychological thriller/horror flick, except for Xue Yang who is in a Found Family/Enemies to Lover fic right up until he isn't.
Jiang Cheng's entire life has been one long soap opera, and it is showing no signs of stopping anytime soon.
Xichen seeing Lan Zhan dragging Mo Xuanyu into cloud reccess like
Xichen-wow I'm so happy that Wangji can finally move on and live a happ-This is Wei Wuxian again isn't it
Okay so I guess I’m gonna ship Dreamling but dammit, I’m gonna do it the monsterlover way. Because don’t get me wrong, hot guys making out is nice, never gets old, but if one of them is the anthropomorphic personification of Weird Shit Our Brains Do When We’re Asleep and is at least as old as spiders (random fact drop, I recently learned that jumping spiders dream) then that’s not why I’m here. I’m here for the Otherness. Give me Dream showing up literally out of nowhere, not always physically, sometimes talking to Hob in a reflection or as a disembodied voice or just popping straight into his head to say hi. Give me Dream showing up in various animal guises, eerie eyes and all. Give me Dream just back from some nightmarish business, still looking only vaguely humanoid and scary as shit. Hob never cared much for Lovecraft but he’s getting a solid idea of what ‘eldritch’ is supposed to mean now. He can’t die and he still feels a flutter of fear around Dream at times - which, at this point, is kind of a thrill honestly. The guy never quite feels real, there’s something weird about the way the light hits him, the way he moves, even when he does deign to fully manifest as something that looks human. It’s impossible to actually mistake him for human when you spend time around him. And he makes 0 effort to hide it around Hob - partly because the man’s knack for rolling with the uncanny is both fascinating and amusing, but also because if he’s going to be scared off, Dream would rather it was sooner than later. (Less painf- uhhh embarrassing that way.) Meanwhile running away is the furthest thing from Hob’s mind, because said mind is the unhinged kind that analyzes a situation like ‘I’ve known this person(?) for centuries and I still don’t know who or even what he is’ and concludes ‘…that’s hot.’
horror art is fun, but i can also in a dreamcore art work
(every window is unik like a... dream)
equal rights for women will never truly be achieved until we have more female noir detectives
and i don't mean some badass woman who doesn't need a man and can kill someone in 6 inch heels without breaking a sweat or smudging her perfectly set makeup or chipping a nail. she looks like she grew up in a soggy cardboard box on the side of the road all alone. she monologues dramatically to herself while looking over the corruption-riddled city she works in because she has no friends or hobbies and will literally do anything except go to therapy. she gets beat up in alleyways so blood and rain drip sexily from her nose and chin but when she gets to her feet she looks like a sad wet cat. women want her but they also pity her. instead of perfume she smells of coffee, whiskey and cigarettes, which are also more or less all she lives off of. her voice is more gravelly than a pit of rocks as a result of said diet. she hasn't slept or showered in at least 3 days and it's increasingly obvious. she's either divorced or feels like she should be.
yeah okay gimme a sec
ok first off some of yall missed the entire point and gave gorgeous, put-together women, when op explicitly stated that she is "a sad wet cat" this is the type-a woman who Does Not have her shit together and Does Not care.
therefore, i give you: Female Noir Detective
this lady's so much of a mess she's smoking the damn cig backwards
I read "until we have more female black noir detectives" and I was like YEAH!!! and then was surprised to see a white woman fdsjkhfjkds
The point 100% stands as is but also woc as noir detectives is a GOAL
ANYWAY I drew a female noir detective of my own <3
She doesn't have a name so feel free to suggest!! and make up anything about her cos I think i crashed my brain drawing this lmao
Constructive crit welcome!!
Constructive crit welcome!!
p.s. would be neat if this got similar attention
people are so obsessed with the idea of fake friends. look lots of people aren’t going to like you and also aren’t going to hate you so much they feel the need to pick an actual fight with you so they’re just going to be like. friendly. when you’re around each other because that’s what adults do. and probably not invite you to their birthday party. this is not a grand betrayal you do this to other people too
We need like “unclench your jaw” posts but for eye strain. Like
Go look at something 20ft away for 20 seconds.
take off your glasses if you wear them for 20 seconds
Recommended by my optometrist
Look at something 20 feet away, then 10, then 5, then one, then if you can your nose.
Repeat twice, then again without glasses.
Face forward look out of the corner of your eye. As far as you can look. Slowly move to the other corner. Repeat twice.
Look down as far as you can. Slowly look up. Repeat twice.
Roll eyes twice.
Close eyes for five minutes.
I do this every day usually at my halfway point. My migraines went away. My vision go better. Honestly stretching my eyes as she put it feels great too.
the idea of using tumblr as a twitter alternative is incomprehensible. it's like if your local walmart closed down and you started doing all your grocery shopping at the cursed antique store from needful things
OK, Hob thinks. So his friend can transform into animals. Noted, got it. Any animal, slightly taller then average. With jet black hair, slightly otherworldly eyes and a keen sense of awareness is most likely Dream. He's not going to let the smug git get the jump on him next time. Oh no, turn around is fair play. He's going to be the one sneaking up on him and saying, with his most devil may care attitude, 'Hello Dream' .
So when, one evening while heading for his car, he spots a large dog, dark as midnight, hanging round campus. Carefully regarding each student as they go about their business. He knows this is the chance he's been waiting for. Up he saunters, grin on his face. Leans down and says, *Hello Dr..." (actually, there's too many people floating round here to just toss his friends name about)" Hello D, fancy seeing you here."
Dracula can truthfully say that it is rare in this day and age he finds himself perplexed. But when a university professor, wrapped in tweed, interrupts his hunt, calls him by name and invites him back to his home for a cuppa. Well, who is he to pass up the invitation. This is the most entertaining thing that's happened to him since the 19th century...
Danny is still a beautiful boi. Beautifully drawn but badly written…smh. NEIL COME SAVE THE BOI!!!
I saw your comment on Ao3 about Dream knowing he's scary to humans and now I'm thinking about Hob watching people be afraid of his friend for no reason he can see or maybe he can see it sometimes HE GUESSES but surely he's not the only one to think hot not scary? Anyway I think about him watching Dream feeling a bit down about it and being aggressively unafraid of him in response. Which probably sets off Dream's self sabotage habit, but Hob cannot be swayed. Can we talk about that? :D
WE CAN YES.
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It takes Hob a while to notice it, but once he sees it, he can't stop. The way people won't sit at the table next to Dream, the way they'll cross the street to avoid walking past him, the memorable time that he managed to single-handedly clear a tube carriage at peak hour just by stepping into it.
The thing is, Hob had sort of assumed he was doing it on purpose. Dream was a creature who loved personal space. It was an honour that Hob got to stand so close that their shoulders brushed, that they could huddle up together at a tiny little café table when it was raining outside. One time Dream had deigned to grab Hob's key out of his coat pocket while his arms were full and he'd been smug about it for weeks.
So he doesn't realise it's not actually deliberate until he watches Dream smile at a young mother with a kid holding each hand who then grips both of them tightly and hurries them past, nearly bowling Hob over in the process, and Dream looks after them like a kicked puppy.
Anonymous asked:
If you're still doing prompts, maybe temporary amnesia Hob, with a distraught Dream? Bonus points if Hob just assumes that they're married (love love LOVE your writing btw, your posts always brighten up my day)
I think I wrote this in response to one of the amnesia posts going around BUT I am 100% here to do it again because it's so fun
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Hospitals are filled with fever dreams and the exhausted napping fantasies of tired medical students and young ER doctors alike, and in Dream's current mood it is an assault on his senses that he could do without. He is rude to the receptionist, probably, short-tempered and imperious, and he thinks with a pang that Hob would have been disappointed in him.
Hob. The thought sticks in his mind like a lump in his throat as he winds his way through maddeningly identical corridors, the smell of disinfectant seeping into his skin, panic bubbling under the surface until finally, finally, he bursts into a room where a familiar face looks up from the bed.
What would be Dream's heart plummets to what would be somewhere deep in his stomach at the look Hob gives him. He had not realised that smile, that particular smile, was reserved for himself. The look Hob gives him is perfectly pleasant, but there is no familiarity in it.
Temporary, he tells himself. It will be temporary. The human mind is capable of incredible things, and Hob is eternal. He will return to himself.
It is simply distressing, to be so obviously forgotten. He had been warned. He had not realised how badly it would hurt.
But his own distress is not the thing at stake here. Hob's secret is. They have discussed the danger of serious injury, of being taken to a hospital, and Dream had promised himself that should such a thing occur, he would intervene. He would not see his friend's liberty endangered.
"His husband," Dream says before he can think better of it, to a nurse wittering at him that he has to be a relative to be in here. "I am his husband."
Hob looks at him in wonder, and then smiles. It is not quite the smile he normally reserves for Dream, the familiarity is still absent, but that Hob can smile, that he has not forgotten joy, that is a balm.
He closes his hand over Hob's, and runs his fingers over a thin gold band which the nurse will simply believe has always been there. The band is necessary, for the lie.
The tiny sigil engraved on the inside is not.
It is surprisingly easy, after that, to convince medical staff that as Hob has someone to care for him at home he would be much more comfortable there, and after only an agonising eternity or so of dealing with humans who are trying to be helpful but doing the opposite, Dream is allowed to take his husband home.
With a warning that Hob should be under as little stress as possible until he recovers, and a follow-up appointment to attend in a week's time. He is given other advice, about rest and about services he may wish to avail himself of, to speak of his own distress, which he ignores. No human could understand his distress. Except, perhaps, the human who is at the centre of it.
"Can't believe you'd marry me," Hob says, pottering around his own kitchen. It is strange to watch. He knows how to operate a kettle, he can find the mugs, but the tea gives him pause, searching through cupboards and then laughing when he finds it.
He is taking this in good humour, at least.
"Can you not?" Dream asks.
It is too late now to tell Hob that they are not married. It seems unwise to tell him, at least with any suddenness, that he is immortal, and that Dream is something so far from human that it is not entirely within the scope of comprehension for him.
He has decided to accept this, for the time being, in deference to Hob's needs. To his own needs. He needs Hob's mind as it was. He needs Hob to remember.
He does not intend to examine why this is in any great detail.
"Well, I mean," Hob says, gesturing at him as he prepares two mugs. "Look at you. You're gorgeous."
"Am I?" Dream asks, unable to help a smile. Hob will be all right. In the meantime, there is some wonder in seeing him as though for the first time, with nothing of their past hanging between them.
"You know you are, look at you," Hob says, easy and light. "And I saw myself in a mirror so I know you can only be here for my charming personality, which I unfortunately can't remember right now."
"I still find you very charming," Dream says. "And handsome," he adds, because this is true and there can be no harm in saying it. "More so, perhaps, when you have not recently sustained a head injury."
"Ah, that'll be why you're not currently ravishing me, then," Hob jokes. "Sorry, how do you take your tea?"
"Black," Dream says. "No sugar."
"Right." Hob nods. "I don't suppose you know how I take mine?"
He looks up, then, and meets Dream's eyes, and Dream can see the distress in them, the fear.
It does not come naturally to him to provide comfort, but the urge to offer it wells up in his belly and he finds himself suddenly in the kitchen, standing awkwardly before Hob. Hob, much better at this, takes it as an invitation for a hug, and wraps his arms around Dream rib-crushingly tight.
Dream hesitates a moment, but splays his fingers over Hob's back as he breaks into tears.
He has never seen Hob cry before. Not at his lowest. Hob must have cried, he has suffered things that no man could be stoic in the face of, and Hob is the opposite of that, he is unafraid to feel.
But it is strange to feel as though he is being trusted with something as delicate as spun sugar, and surprising to realise that in some way, it is just as sweet.
"You take your tea with obscene amounts of milk and sugar," Dream says. "I will make it for you. I... will take care of you," he promises.
He wants to tell himself that this is not what he intended, but it is, isn't it? He had gone to that hospital with the thought that he would take care of Hob. Because he does care. For Hob.
"I'm sorry," Hob says, voice trembling. "I don't even know your name," he adds, so quiet.
The words strike as the point of a lance, a winding blow. Why had he withheld such a small part of himself for so long? The Hob of yesterday had known his name, but not for long. Perhaps, if he had known it longer, it would still be in his mind now. Perhaps Hob would not be so untethered, so lost.
"You call me Dream," he says, holding Hob a fraction tighter.
"Do I?" Hob laughs, despite his tears. "I'm a sap. Am I a sap?"
"I would not dare to comment," Dream says. Hob, he secretly thinks, is a sentimental man. Even if not quite in this.
"Do I get cross with you?" Hob asks, pulling back enough to meet Dream's eyes.
Dream shakes his head. "No. No, even when I deserve it, you are never angry. You see it as your own fault, when I hurt you. But it is not. You are... much kinder to me than I deserve," he says.
Hob smiles at him, very nearly the way he always smiles, and it pierces Dream to the marrow. "You deserve it," he says, with simple conviction. "Look at you, putting up with me like this."
"Vows were made," Dream says, and this is not a lie. He had promised a slightly drunken Hob that, should his secret be at risk again, he would come to his rescue. Dream's word, once given, was his bond.
Hob huffs. "Bet you weren't expecting this, though," he says.
"I will admit that the possibility had not crossed my mind," Dream says. He is still holding Hob, and now that he is, he is not inclined to let go. "But I will try to see it as I believe you would see it, were you entirely yourself."
"Oh?" Hob asks. "How's that?"
"As an adventure."
(I think I've determined that this really ought to be a full fic because it has been haunting my brain for some time so. I'll be back with the rest at some point. Because I needed another WIP 😂😅)
there are so many little commonalities in dreamling fics that will hit so hard no matter how many fics you read them in, but one that just always always gets me is them at their reunion meeting at the new inn, hob, with the grace and generosity of a saint if we're being honest, being like yeah you stormed out on me last time and then ghosted me for three decades but it's okay i love you i'd wait for you forever.
and dream just being like oh sorry about that. i was in a cage at the time.
hob like: 😨😨😨😨😨😨😨😨 ..... a cage?
dream: yeah sorry the cage kind of impeded my ability to meet for drinks :/
hob: WAIT A CAGE????
dream: obviously i got out tho
hob: when did you get out?
dream: tuesday 👍
"New Beginnings" for Guardian Bingo 2022
this was the true ending, I asked