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[dreamlings]

me see Dream smiling :

[dreamlings]

-Based on those sculptures I found on google about her

[dreamlings]

Can I also ask about Blind Date?

Of course!! This one I think will be cute. It was a Valentine's day prompt I hadn't gotten to but had a decent plan of attack for. So here's my notes on since since I don't have any official snippets.

Human!AU. Divorced Dad!Dream w/ Widowed Prof!Hob. Jo's Hob's mate who's drinking buddies with Matthew. Anyways, Dream's been going on a bender, fucking anything that moves and Matthew's tired of picking up the pieces afterwards and Jo's tired of seeing Hob look so sad everything they pass a happy couple so they decide to pit these two together. Dream and Hob do not know this is a blind date. They assume they're meeting their respective friend for dinner to celebrate something (each has their own excuse). Hob gets there first, waiting politely at the table, scrolling on his phone when Dream walks up looking confused. Hob is star eyed at the very very pretty man giving him a thoughout look-over. "You are not who I expected Matthew to choose in a partner." "What?" "Primarily being the fact that you do not look like your name is Johanna." "I'm sorry, I'm so confused. You know Jo?" Matt told Dream he wanted to introduce him to his new girl and also celebrate his newest art sale. Hob, meanwhile, was told to meet Jo cause she'd been craving this place's rolls and was tired to fish and chips. "I think there might be some sort of miscommunication. Here, please, stay, I'll call Jo and she if she knows what's up." Jo tells him to enjoy this and to talk to the guy. Better than moping around. "Right so… apaprently we've both been played. Jo's not coming and im guessing your mate isn't either. Sounds like our two friends have been conspiring behind our backs." "I see…" "I know this isnt what either of us expected for the night." "No…. but at least they chose a spot with good wine." "Cheers to that." So they stay and talk and later, when they end up toppling into Hob's flat after dinner after far too many glasses of wine, well, let's just say neither of them are too mad about it. Especially when Hob wakes Dream up with the smell of breakfast and fresh coffee.

The WIP Title Game

[dreamlings]

The Sandman | the quiet devastation of Lord Morpheus 

LUCIENNE: With you gone as long as you were, the realm began to… decay and crumble.

MORPHEUS: Had they so little faith in me? Do my own subjects not know me?

[dreamlings]

new brilliant headcanon brought to you by @dsudis "Hob should write Dream poetry and it's terrible and Hob knows it but he reads it very seriously while watching to see if Dream will start laughing and maybe Hob cracks up first"

I love the idea of Cheeky Bad Poetry Hob so I wrote this over coffee:

A Sonnet for my Dreamlord My dear, to look upon your lovely face, Is a joy unmatched by near all treasure; Save of your arse in finely fitted lace, That all tailors blush in taking measure. Nay, I should turn about to better write Respectable praise of your public front: Hair dark as sooty coal, or kinder, night; Softer than your manner, to be as blunt. Let me try the safe subject of your eyes, Beneath a now so gently furrowed brow, In sure attempt to hide your sweet surprise, That husband I, compose such words of thou. I beg the truth of Love’s blue gaze expose The merit to this verse heart doth disclose!

and Dream is fighting back laughter by nay, I should turn about but Hob manages to sell his oblivious earnestness until his voice cracks on merit ---the thing is, though, Dream still obviously loves the gesture so much that Hob starts teasing him with funny little poems all the time, while also kind of unintentionally working on an actual serious sonnet for him in secret? and one day, unplanned, he delivers it to Dream, memorized, of course, because he's spent months if not years tooling with it, and he honestly never would have thought it ready or worthy, but it just slipped out, because he loves him so much. Dream, of course, is utterly smote and eldritch about it, and Hob realizes he should have done this a lot earlier because now he can ruin his Lord of Stories by quoting a single couplet

(naturally he proceeds to take TERRIBLE advantage of this newfound knowledge at every possible turn)

[dreamlings]

would love to see more of the theatre fic 👀

“You have done this with a man, before?”  Hob snorts indecorously. “Of course I have, I was at Cambridge for three years.”  Dream’s lips curl with pleasure. “The buggery laws have never curtailed your desires?” “My sweet Dream,” Hob says, pressing his trunk against his lover’s, “the day I allow the Queen to tell me who I may love is the day death takes me into his bosom.” “Some would call that treason.” Dream’s voice flutters with his breath.  “I’d sooner commit treason than step away from you.” “Ah, but treason is a crime of thought,” Dream replies, one delicate finger drawing a line down Hob’s chest, catching on his shirt. “You are committing it even now.” “Do you wish to know how many crimes of thought I have committed over your body, pretty player?” Hob asks, his hands spanning Dream’s narrow waist. He must have worn women’s garb with ease. “If buggery was a crime committed in mind alone, I would have been in Bridewell years since.”

thank you so much!

ask me about my WIPs

[dreamlings]

For the WIP ask -- bad week, sequel, and/or tiny sparks?

Super excited about all of these! :)

Hob's bad week:

About four pm there’s a buzz at his door, and he slopes over, still in the clothes he went to bed in. “‘Lo?” “Deliveroo?”  “You sure you got the right address?”  “For… Hob Gadling?” the bloke says, sounding a little confused by his name.  “Yeah, that’s me. Come on up.” He buzzes the guy in.  Dream’s ordered him some kind of dumpling soup with a fragrant broth. The receipt reads ‘to cure your ailment, with all my love’, and suddenly he’s fucking crying, all the feelings that this bout of brain fuckiness had relegated to the dustbin crashing over his head, because Dream loves him and is taking care of him from fucking Edinburgh and he’s so lucky but oh God, if he knew what state Hob was in right now maybe he wouldn’t feel the same way, maybe he’d see the truth, a depressed bloke in his pyjamas at four in the afternoon, unable to do any work, or cook, or anything remotely approaching humanity. He feels utterly pathetic and yet he still can’t make himself do anything except sit down on the sofa and watch the fucking television. Thank you for my soup, darling <3 he texts when he’s stopped crying into the cardboard container. It’s made him feel a little warmer inside, like someone’s lit a fire in the middle of the marshland. I hope it has healed you somewhat. How are you feeling? And what he wants to do is call Dream and tell him, set a signal flare up from the fire that Dream’s built him, but he can’t do that, he can’t be that miserable waste of space to Dream, and besides, the grey pall is settling back upon him, the only light in the great flatlands of his mind the spark of Dream’s love, and he doesn’t want to put it out. 

Sequel:

Dream is wearing shorts.  “I never thought I’d see you wearing shorts,” Hob says. “Isn’t that against goth code?” Dream rolls his eyes. “If Gerard Way can wear shorts, I can wear shorts. Besides, even I have limits. Wearing black jeans in London in July is tantamount to asking to get heatstroke.” “Why do I get the feeling you learnt that the hard way?” Dream’s lips twitch and he looks studiedly at the menu.  “Nope, not working on me, love.” Dream blushes grumpily. It’s adorable. “… I passed out at Notting Hill Carnival when I was twenty four. After that I resigned myself to the fact that shorts were going to have to become part of my summer wardrobe.” 

tiny sparks:

He still has to learn moderation, though. Whether it’s not using all the hot water, or that drinking more than two cups of coffee is a terrible idea, he’s still got some way to go on his general habit of excess.  “Hob. Hob.”  “Dream? It’s the middle of the night, are you okay?” “I cannot sleep, Hob.” Hob flops onto his back, rubbing the heel of his hand over his eyes. “Yup, common human problem. Often happens when you have caffeine in large amounts.” Hob doesn’t seem to understand the severity of the situation. “Hob. A human body requires sleep. What will happen if I do not sleep? What if I cannot sleep ever again?” Hob rolls over with a groan. “Dream, you had too much coffee, and now you’re reaping the rewards.” “The coffee did this?” Dream demands in betrayal.  “Yup. Three iced lattes in one afternoon will do that.” Hob mashes his face into the pillow. “Be thankful you didn’t shit yourself.”  This is perhaps the most horrifying realisation about coffee Dream has had tonight. “What?” “See you in the morning, pal,” Hob says, and is asleep again.

thank you so much!

ask me about my WIPs

[dreamlings]

I fulfilled the poll

“Fields of flowers, skies so blue, The world awakens, bright and new. Spring’s embrace, so warm and kind, A season’s dance, in rhythm we find.” - Poem

Ko-Fi ☕🩷 ⬇️Close Ups ⬇️

[dreamlings]

Hi, may I ask about the bachelor au please and thank you:3

omg yes. i made a post once about how unhinged a dreamling Bachelor au would be, and then i actually started writing it XD

it's a bit messy/unformatted right now, because it's a sort of outsider POV structure where it alternates between scenes from the TV show and chat commentary from the internet fandom who are watching 😂 hopefully one day I'll actually write all of it

A scene from probably the last/second-to-last episode of the season. The final two "contestants" in the show were Hob (who Morpheus keeps insisting he doesn't have feelings for despite everything he does proving otherwise) and Thessaly.

--

Morpheus leans on the railing, hunched in on himself. Rain pelts down onto his head, flattening his hair and soaking his clothes. Hob steps out through the sliding door, heedless of the rain, to stand beside him, and rests a hand on Morpheus’s back. Hob: Didn’t work out, then? His voice is softer than usual, almost inaudible over the rain. Not playful, or teasing, as it so often is with Morpheus, it’s just… gentle. Morpheus: She… decided… that she no longer loved me. Hob: Poor darling. Again, it’s not teasing, only a bit… sad. Morpheus: I suppose this means that you win. Hob: Yup. Morpheus curls into him, pressing his face into Hob’s chest with a sob. Hob catches him, wraps his arms around his shoulders, and holds him tight. Hob presses a kiss into his hair. Low enough that it’s clearly intended not to be picked up by the mics, he says— Hob: It’s alright, baby. It’s okay, it’s okay— —as Morpheus keeps crying.

INTERVIEW — HOB Hob’s expression is lacking its usual cheer and mischief. His hair is still wet, as though he’s only recently come in out of the rain. Hob: So I guess I won? Interviewer: You don’t sound happy about it. It takes a moment for Hob to respond. He bites his lip in thought, then sighs. Hob: I— it was just supposed to be a game. I thought— I thought we felt the same way about it, I thought— I didn’t even care if I won at first? So it was just for fun, just this totally ridiculous nightmare of a— He scrubs a hand over his face, messing up his hair. Hob: Seeing Dream like that, I didn’t realize, I didn’t realize what it— Interviewer: ‘Dream’? Hob: Hm? Interviewer: You called him Dream. Hob: Did I?

[dreamlings]

I would love to hear about the math verse AU and/or the physical therapy AU and/or Dreamling shibari for the wip game 👀 and no I cannot choose just one! xo @hardly-an-escape

posted a little bit of Math Verse, here's a tiny snippet of Physical Therapy part 9 that i wrote... today, alas there is not much of that chapter yet

--

Even if Hob doesn’t say it aloud, it’s okay. Dream knows that Hob loves him. He shows it. He doesn’t need to say it. Dream’s ex-lover had, after all, said that he loved him frequently. “Come on, you know I love you.” But where had it shown up? That was not love. It was the opposite of love. So he doesn’t need Hob to say it back, it is enough that he— “Hey, Dream?” Hob says, interrupting his thoughts. His smile is warm, successfully banishing any hope of Dream finding his line of thinking again, as sunlight does to shadows. “I love you.”

--

and Shibari, another damn thing that's so close to being finished XD light nsfw

--

This time, when he makes to do so, Dream lets Hob take his shirt off by hand. Hob himself is already shirtless, as he was before, and Dream takes a moment to run his hands down his chest, over his belly, luxuriating in the feeling of his skin. Slow, he thinks. One mistake of last time. Hob kisses the hollow space under his ear, and his jaw, and his throat. He pulls Dream close by his hips so their bellies touch, and he can feel Hob’s arousal pressed against him. Normally Dream takes a more active role in their lovemaking, but this time he lets Hob direct him, tips his head when Hob’s hand goes to his jaw, opens his mouth to Hob’s tongue. Hob takes his time in exploring him, tracing the curves of a now-familiar river, its embankments and erosions. Unbuttons Dream’s jeans without looking, pulls them down and lets Dream balance on him as he steps out of them. So physical, and almost awkward for it, for while Dream is fluid as air in the Dreaming, he always feels just a bit wrong in the waking, liable to disjoint and slip the bounds of his skin, the way dreams can fracture when hit by sunlight. He must concentrate. He must imagine himself a thing of the waking world. But Hob. Hob is a master of his body. He has had so long to learn how to use it, and he has applied it to so many different things in that time. As Dream stands, Hob brings him in close again just by leaning into his space, like he’s pressuring a skittish wild thing, loops him in with one strong hand wrapped around his upper arm. His body is surety and dominance and Dream is utterly in his thrall. When Hob turns him, steps behind him, as he had done last time, Dream is dropping to his knees already before Hob can lay a hand to the back of his neck. Hob’s sharp intake of breath catches in Dream’s chest, and Dream smiles, just a small twitch of the lips in satisfaction. He is in Hob’s thrall, but so is Hob in his, for submission is its own form of power. “You want to be good for me, love?” Hob says, stroking his fingertips up the back of Dream’s neck and into his hair. “Or do you just have something that you want?” “As you say,” Dream says, noncommittally, and delights in Hob grabbing a firm grip of his hair. “That,” Hob says, “is not quite good enough.” Hob pulls his head back, a sharp, firm tug admonishing him for his response. Dream resists automatically and Hob’s grip only tightens. Dream is not so easily overcome by sensation as he was in the immediate aftermath of his escape, the first time he had knelt for Hob. In some ways it has been a disappointment to slide back towards equilibrium. But he sees now that it has its benefits, too. The strength of Hob’s grip in his hair that would then have been too painful to tolerate now sends sparks of pleasured agony through him. Dream’s spine curves. His neck strains. Hob is immovable. It’s instinct to resist his pull, to clutch to station and power and kingship, but when he yields and lets Hob tip his head back, bares his throat, it feels like sinking into a soft bed. Hob will move him and use him but he won’t wrench him apart. And all Dream has to do is… let him. Each letting is an exhale. His eyes flutter shut.

[dreamlings]

I wanna know about Michaelangelo's hands 🥺🥺

ohhh, one I was actually working on today 🥹 it's only been in progress since October 2022 XD but it's a slowburn after episode 6 exploring Dream's difficulties with rebuilding the Dreaming, because I felt dissatisfied with how the Dreaming just sort of got fixed off screen in the show. It's kind of about writer's/artist's block, and overly-identifying with your work, and Dream confronting his relationship with creating, and learning how to take a break, maybe.

--

“You would try to console me, when it was you who had the nightmare?” said Dream, as Hob went into the kitchen. “The nightmare was about you, so yeah.” “I see.” Dream was quiet while Hob put together the tea. Then he said, “What do you fear for me, then?” Hob passed him his mug, sat down on the couch beside him. He took a sip, then sighed, trying to work through the wording of it. “You hurting yourself,” he admitted. “Intentionally. Incidentally. Any way it might happen. Hearing you talk about how hard it’s been to create recently… that gap between expectation and reality, that can really wound, you know? Especially if you don’t give yourself grace. Which I suspect you don’t.” Dream took a slow sip of his tea, then said, “Grace is for those with room for error.” “Grace is for you because I say so,” Hob said. Dream seemed startled by this response. “Because you say so?” he repeated, at length. “Yes,” Hob said, with determination. He hadn’t let death stop him, and he didn’t intend to let Dream’s rules stop him either. “I’ll give you grace, if you won’t give it to yourself.” Slowly, Dream leaned over, and rested his head on Hob’s shoulder. Hob’s breath caught. He carefully put down his tea. Wrapped a hesitant arm around Dream’s shoulders. Ran his fingers through his hair. Grace. Such an easy thing for Hob to give, and such a hard thing for Dream to accept. “I do not know that I can give you what you are seeking,” said Dream quietly. Hob could just feel his breath over his skin. He made a questioning noise, not understanding Dream’s words, and Dream elaborated, a hush of breath: “Love.” “Oh.” Hob was still for a moment, because wasn’t this love? Dream close to him, and coming back to him? “No, darling, that’s not what I meant.” It could be, he’d love if it was, but— “I don’t have expectations of you. I just wanted you to know that I care for you. That’s all.” “Ah,” said Dream. He seemed to think for a while. “It is not that I… couldn’t,” he said at last, with some grief, and Hob’s breath caught, a sudden lurching what if lodging there. “It is that I have not succeeded in the past, and I do not expect that to change. Especially now.” “I understand,” Hob said. You could try, he thought. It doesn’t have to be the way you’re thinking. It doesn’t have to be in the form that you failed at. Hob didn’t like to be a grumbling “kids these days” type of old person, but he did sometimes feel that people nowadays put too many boxes around it. Hob loved him the way a knight knelt before his king, the way too long-parted friends would kiss, the way lovers drew each other to bed and the way he might tempt a starving animal in from the cold; he would have Dream visit his pub once a century or live with him forever, whichever suited him. If the type of commitment that Dream had tried and failed at in the past could not work for him, then they would do it a different way. “I think,” said Dream slowly, “that you understand me quite well, indeed.” “Oh, I wouldn’t dare,” said Hob, which brought a half-smile twitch to Dream’s lips, Hob felt it against his skin. “But I think, perhaps, that we’re hardly strangers anymore, you and I.”

[dreamlings]

Please please please anything of the second installment of king Dream knight Hob! The first part was so 🔥 that I’m still smoking😂

😂😂 yesss

once again it's just smut

--

“What did you actually do, with that king?” Hob asks. “You really made it look like you sucked him off.” Morpheus chuckles. It’s an endearingly wicked sound. “I threatened him. Made it quite clear what I would do to him if he defied me. Or perhaps…” he drags a finger along Hob’s lower lip, “what I would have done to him. What my loyal knight might do to him, as soon as I gave him leave.” “Oh, yeah?” There is something… thrilling, about being Morpheus’s weapon, an extension of the darkest shades of his will. “Would you do that for me, my Hob?” Morpheus asks, eyes heavy-lidded. “Ply your sword in my name?” “Already do.” Hob kisses his cheek, mouths over the skin, drags a hand up and down over his bare hip. “Did you really think I used my mouth on him?” Morpheus asks. “Did you think I would not save it for you?” Hob swallows hard, but says, “I can never know for sure what you’re thinking.” “Did it make you jealous, then?” says Morpheus. “Did it… burn in you, to think I would let myself be used by another when I should be yours?” Oh, it did. Hob leans over him, presses him down to the mattress, murmurs against his lips, “I wanted to cut his throat.” Morpheus’s breath catches. “I would not have stopped you.” “Even if it started a war?” “I want to see you spill blood for me.” He takes one of Hob’s hands, sucks two of Hob’s fingers into his mouth. Then, still with his lips touching Hob’s skin, says, “Next time you bloody yourself at war, come back to my chambers first. I want to see it.”

[dreamlings]

I love the concept of 'wish pregnancy' so much. Please, tell us more :D

ahh, mpreg 😂

the thing is i usually don't like thinking about pregnancy as a concept, and yet here with are with this fic that's 12000 words of it. dream and his strange metaphysical pregnancy and hob having an absolute hellish time trying to be prepared while dream just keeps answering every question with "i guess we'll find out :)" since none of this has happened before. i'm so close to being done with it

--

“I could have crafted a more elegant cradle of dreams,” Dream informs him then, because he really is apparently in a pissy little mood. Hob’s inclined to give him more leeway about it right now, though—not that he doesn’t give him miles of it anyway. “Oi,” he protests. “This is a perfectly serviceable crib! Besides, you don’t have to do everything.” “It has but two legs,” Dream says of the crib. “It’s incomplete.” Hob taps Dream’s belly. “And it doesn’t need to be complete until that’s complete. Worry about your part of things and I’ll worry about mine.” “I will strive to,” Dream says. Then sighs. “It was not only my choice to visit today. I was becoming a distraction in the Dreaming. Or so I was told. By many.” “They kicked you out?” “They strongly encouraged”—it has the sound of a Lucienne quote—“me to leave for a break.” It’s probably not the worst thing in the world. “Normally I’d expect a whole thunderstorm when you’re told that.” “It irritated me greatly,” Dream agrees, either ignoring or just missing the gentle ribbing in Hob’s tone, “but I did not want to cause chaos. This is a delicate time for her.” Hob can just hear Matthew’s reaction to that line in his head—oh you don’t want to cause chaos for the BABY? what are we, chopped liver?—but doesn’t mention it to Dream.

[dreamlings]

90s Hob would absolutely have a teensy robot friend watch.

(Also/or the AU where he's a protagonist in a sentai team and Morpheus is either a fellow team member/love interest or civilian love interest. Both are wonderful.)

I want to state for the record that I have TWO prompts about the robot watch which is so delightful. I'm glad we all vibe with the robot watch, as we should.

Anyway Hob WOULD have had it in the 90s and this gives me an excuse and a framework to sketch down an idea that's been bouncing around in my brain for ages:

---

“Found it!” Hob calls from above Dream’s head, his beaming face appearing in the corner of the square hole in the ceiling into which he disappeared some time ago, promising he would only be a moment.

Dream’s ability to measure Waking time is variable, but he has come to the conclusion, these past weeks, that Hob’s is little better.

“Take this from me,” he says, dangling a box down from the hole. “But no peeking!”

Dream accepts the box, and does not peek. He does, however, sense the dreams it is suffused with—dreams of himself. Of sharing. Of excitement, and time spent with a friend.

He is still coming to terms with having a friend.

Hob climbs down the ladder, and takes the box from him with some effort. It must be heavy.

“I’ve been collecting things to show you for over a century now,” Hob says, striding towards the sofa and setting the box on the coffee table. “Come on.”

Dream follows, perching beside Hob on the sofa, close enough to benefit from the warmth of his recent exertion. He is still flushed with it, high colour on his cheeks. It is. Interesting. To look at.

Hob unfolds the flaps of the unassuming box, revealing Aladdin’s cave in miniature inside. The contents glitter under the energy-saving lightbulb he has complained at length about in the past.

“It’s mostly junk,” Hob says. “But it’s interesting junk. Like this.”

He extracts a large watch from the top, and holds it out. It is very shiny, and unlike the watches in current fashion, though Dream could not say exactly how.

“Picked this up in Japan in the late nineties,” Hob says, beaming. “Beautiful country. S’pose you’ve been?”

“Long before you were born,” Dream says. “But not recently.”

“Well, in any case, look.”

Hob manipulates some button or switch on the watch, and it flips out to reveal what Dream instantly understands is a tiny robot.

“I knew you’d like that one,” Hob says, passing it into Dream’s hands. Dream realises then that his mouth had fallen open—yes, with delight. He finds the object itself delightful, in the way he finds so much human art so. But more than that, he finds himself delighted that Hob had kept this object aside to show him. Even after he had failed to attend their scheduled meeting.

“Just start a pile on the table or the sofa when you’re done with them,” Hob says, reaching into the box again.

He produces all manner of objects. A colourful toy he calls a Rubix cube, which Dream cannot help manipulating until each side is a single colour before they move on. A ballpoint pen—the first of its kind, Hob informs him. A commemorative plate for the moon landing. An album full of newspaper clippings, a mobile phone much more ancient than the one Hob uses now.

“I was dying to show you that in eighty-nine,” Hob says, his smile becoming wry. “The beginning of proper mass communications, y’know? You can sort’ve trace a line back to moveable type from it.”

Dream understands the thinking, and fondles the phone for long moments. He has been forgiven for missing this meeting. Indeed, Hob had never truly thought ill of him for it. He had blamed himself.

“I see,” Dream says.

“It really is all right that you missed it. You’re here now.”

That is enough for Hob. Dream’s presence. It is all he’s ever wanted.

No other creature has ever wanted so little of him. Or that specific thing, for that matter. Few even tolerate it.

“Oh!” Hob says, reaching deep into the box. “About time I returned these.”

He hands Dream, then, a pair of black kidskin gloves. Dream stares at them in shock.

They ought not have lasted so long in the Waking, separated from him. Only if…

“You have been intentionally keeping these,” Dream says.

“Course,” Hob agrees. “Sorry about your hat, that’d disappeared by the time I got back inside. Figured I’d hang onto them until I could give them back.”

“They are made of dreamstuff,” Dream says. “Your desire to keep them must have been strong indeed for them to remain in the Waking. Dreams do not fare well here.”

Hob shrugs. “They’re yours,” he says.

Dream hears the meaning under the words—they were all I had of you. All that remained of someone Hob had simply wished to spent more time with. To know better. To befriend.

“You are a good and loyal friend, Hob Gadling,” Dream says. He feels, without needing to see it, the way Hob’s smile broadens. The way he radiates pleasure in response.

“Thank you for the return of these,” Dream says, tucking them into his coat. “You must have a reward.”

“I really don’t—”

Hob stops talking as Dream brushes a kiss over his cheek.

“I believe that is appropriate,” Dream says, assured by many millions of dreamers that he is correct.

Hob flushes again. “Well, I don’t mind you doing it.”

“Good,” Dream says, folding himself cross-legged onto the sofa in anticipation of exploring the remainder of the box. “I may wish to do it again.”

[dreamlings]

Just get me off the damn mountain

5.6k words, teen, hitchhiking, snowstorm, age difference, there was only one bed

“So, what were you thinking, hitchhiking in the mountains in the winter?” The moody goth child he’d picked up stared out the car window. Hob wasn’t sure he was going to answer. “You realize you could have died? The snow is just starting, but it won’t be long before it’s too thick for anyone to even see you at the side of the road. Did you even have a back-up plan?” The kid grunted, moodily, his knees up near his chest. So, no, then. Hob huffed a sigh of exasperation. Every time something like this happened, he wondered if kids were getting more oblivious, or if they’d always been this heedless. Come to think of it, he may have been considered an adult at this kid’s age, but he’d still been pretty damn ignorant. What was he, 20? Maybe 21? So fucking young.

Continue reading on ao3

For @designtheendless' contest! Thank you for the inspiration!

Thank you also to @aetheltrythh for the amazing beta read!

[dreamlings]

The most pathetic man in the world 🖤

Remember I have open commission and Ko-fi if you want to support me :]

[dreamlings]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling Additional Tags: Not Really Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicide Notes, Internet friendship, Developing Relationship, Long-Distance Friendship, Alternate Universe - Human, Somewhat Unhealthy Relationship, Depressed Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Writer Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Epistolary, Hopeful Ending, Book 9: The Kindly Ones (The Sandman), kind of referenced in an AU way, Pining, Suicide Attempt, Angst, Hurt/Comfort Summary:

Dream is Hob’s long-distance internet friend who’s constantly on the verge of disappearing. Hob just wants to be able to love him, if only Dream will let him.

–

A sad weird little thing. Mind the tags. Only on AO3 b/c I did some weird formatting that isn’t going to work on tumblr.