#Hob Gadling is insane

[puckishpuppeteer]

Even if Hob only appears in half an episode, I love how quickly we adopted some headcanons as a fandom, without questioning anything.

These include (but are not limited to):

Hob fucking hates Shakespeare, and rants about him in class.

His students definitely think he is a criptid.

While on that subject, he is an awesome teacher.

On the other hand, he's awful at the "changing names" part, so he uses some variation of Robert Gadling.

He calls Dream "his Stranger".

If we're talking about dreamling (we are), he calls Dream love or duck, sometimes without noticing he does it.

If he is in any position to give Dream clothes, you can bet that they are going to be black.

He would absolutely rescue Dream and Calliope.

He's buddies with Death and Matthew. If this is in the good omens universe, he's also Crowley's friend.

Eleanor Gadling was a role model for women everywhere (even taking in account the period in history that she lived) and Hob was whipped.

[appleleef]

this is what happened right

[magnusbae]

Favorite Sandman Episode:

The Sound of Her Wings

[neytui]

When you have a godlike entity looking out for you

[cuubism]

modern human au dreamling where dream and hob get married for "tax purposes" yup 100% that's definitely the only reason no other reason

dream is actually from generational wealth because of his weird family but he lives like a starving artist out of spite. hob is in academia so you already know. dream is like everything is so expensive we should live together to split expenses and maybe get married for Tax Benefits ("wow i am such a genius now i get hob to myself" one second later: "shit now i get hob to myself. perhaps this was a mistake")

hob, hopelessly in love with his friend: haha (panicking) sounds great dream (actually needs to save the money though) sure (panicking again)

dream: (i've made a mistake) great :) (dying inside)

dream, digging himself in deeper: we should get a one bedroom apartment To Save Money and also what if someone comes and figures out we're married for Tax Purposes

hob: who is going to come dream

dream: the tax.... police

hob: the who

dream: you know.

hob:

anyway so they get a one bedroom apartment and awkwardly share a bed while dying inside for like 5 years until one day hob runs into desire or something and desire is like why the fuck is dream sharing a shitty apartment with you? he could buy that whole building. and hob is like what. and desire is like we're rich dude.

so hob goes home and is like married for tax purposes dream? FOR TAX PURPOSES? you're literally rich, apparently!

dream, sweating: yeah and you know what rich people are really passionate about. PAYING LESS TAXES (nailed it)

hob is supremely unimpressed.

dream: anyway so i've technically been paying both our rent for five years and just stuck yours in my family's investment account to save it for you later do you want your fifty grand.

hob: my fucking WHAT

dream: it's actually worth like a hundred now

hob:

dream:...............courting gift?

[banancrumbs]

too long ago

[pansy-moon]

listen i know we need to stop babygirling 35 year old men but how can i not when he memes himself 😭😭

[teejaystumbles]

for the upcoming chapter of You create me against your lips by the wonderful @delta-pavonis

[quibvsposts]

“A hundred years' time, on this day?”

[achillesuwu]

Random thought I just had but when you think about it it's actually not that surprising that Hob waited for Dream in 1989. That he thought he would be there. Why? Because technically 1889 is in some way their second fight.

In 1589, Dream left without looking back and without a proper meeting and yet, in 1689 he is there first. What does Hob tell him as soon as he sees him? "I knew you would be there"

So what did Hob do in 1989? He did what his stranger did last time they had a fight. He came first and waited because his stranger must know that he will be there

[alexxuun]

Watching ep 6 of the Sandman again and Hob is just so unabashedly arrogant and shameless underneath everything. Like he only get better after 1889, all of the centuries before, he was just straight up shameless about his actions a lot of the time, maybe even lacked empathy for other people base on his choices in life. He is the definition of “the product of the time” with mostly bad connotation to it. But what I like about Hob’s character is that he does change like Dream said. He actually put effort into being better and stop making excuses for himself after Dream’s advice. It take him a while, maybe too long for a lot of people without Death’s gift, but he show that change can happen, maybe needing a little helping hand sometimes, but people can change, always, for the better. But mostly, props to Ferdinand Kingsley for his performance because I don’t think I would have like him as much if it was not how he played and performed by Ferdie.

[kairennart]

Strains of a Melody by @ginoeh for @endlessbigbang

[notactiveartblog]

Hob wanders the Dreaming. Lost in a story quite literally. It’s up to Dream and the citizens of his realm to restore Hob his memory and bring him back to his body, which soundly sleeps in the waking. (Or: a little comic im making based on Sleeping Beauty’s once upon a dream scene)

Page 1

[acheronist]

Hey uhhhh dream? Your weird sad wet dog is outside 🌧🤺 from @moorishflower ‘s gorjuss fic

[athousandyearstime]

A bit insane actually that Death told Dream that it's okay to seek comfort in humans and the first thing Dream does is visit Hob.

[cuubism]

I complained that Morpheus's season 2 cemetery fit wasn't tits-out, @magnusbae said "tits in outfits are so devastating because you know there's tits to be seen but they're in," I decided that's something Hob would say while drunk and that he should say it to Dream's face. And here we are.

--

“Listen,” Hob says, with the slurred, utter conviction of the very intoxicated, “listen. This’s. Important.”

“I am sure,” Dream agrees, sipping his wine. He himself is not drunk, but he’s gaining a surprising amount of amusement from watching Hob.

“You listening?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah,” Hob sighs, looking down into his glass. “You’re a good listener.”

Before Dream can respond to this, Hob shakes himself.

“But listen. S’such a tragedy you know?”

“What is?”

“Tits,” Hob says passionately, and Dream chokes on his wine.

“In,” he manages, once he’s swallowed and not asphyxiated, which felt dangerously possible despite his nonhuman form, “what way?”

“Always covered up,” Hob says mournfully, face crumbling. “Should be more societal—” he stumbles over the words, tongue heavy in his mouth, “socially acceptable to just. Be tits out. You know?”

Dream is not certain he himself has a strong opinion on the matter. He does not spend much time contemplating others’ breast tissue.

“Perhaps one day it will be,” he says, in an attempt to soothe Hob’s devastated expression.

“Can’t come soon enough,” Hob agrees, and raises his glass to Dream’s in a toast to the matter.

Dream obligingly clinks their glasses, and after Hob has drunk, swaps Hob’s glass of beer for a glass of water. Hob doesn’t seem to notice.

“Horrible to know that they’re there and you can’t even see them,” Hob continues.

“Torturous,” Dream agrees. “Unsurvivable.”

“Nah nah nah,” Hob counters, waving a hand. “Tits is a reason to survive.”

“I see,” Dream says, hiding a smile. He suspects Hob will be too hungover to even remember this in the morning. Probably it is for the best.

“Eleanor had great tits,” Hob sighs. “Among other things.”

For a moment Dream worries his cheerful drunkenness will tip over into melancholy, but then Hob adds, seemingly oblivious to how he’s blowing past his usual boundaries, “You know. I always thought—” he hiccups “—that you would have. Fuckin’. Bangin’ tits.”

Dream drops his wine glass.

It shatters against the table, but he pays it no mind as he stares at Hob, who’s looking off into the middle distance, lost in a memory.

“Dunno why,” he says. “You’re always so. Covered up. But I know there’s something there. You’re beautiful, you’re…” he trails off.

Dream does not know what to say to this, to the revelation that Hob is thinking of him in such a way. It strikes him more strongly than even hearing the word tits applied to his person, which is its own hard shock indeed.

Perhaps he is more drunk than he’d thought, for the first response that does come to his mind is would you like to see them?

This is undoubtedly a cue to end the evening.

“I think perhaps you should have some water and sleep now, Hob,” he says. “Your body will not thank you tomorrow.”

“Mmm,” Hob says, not really listening to him. “Yeah…”

Dream takes him by the arm and pulls him up from the table, manages to maneuver a stumbling Hob to the stairs at the back of the inn, to his bedroom, where he lays Hob down on the bed, pulling off his shoes. Hob reaches for him, and for a moment Dream is afraid Hob is going to grab at his chest, but he doesn’t, just lightly touches Dream’s cheek.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, the words all blurred together, and something in Dream’s chest tightens.

“Sleep now, Hob.” He brushes a hand over Hob’s forehead, and Hob falls asleep instantly, relaxing into the pillow.

Dream lays a blanket over him, leaves water and aspirin on the nightstand. Stands, observing Hob, for longer than is proper or necessary. And then takes his leave to the Dreaming, where Hob’s words, drunken ramblings though they were, circle him for hours afterwards.

--

The fact of the matter is. Dream wants Hob. And has for some time. He does not know when exactly it struck him, only that he has increasingly become fixated on Hob’s hands, on the breadth of his shoulders, the warmth of his eyes. He has not known how to broach the topic. He has never had a lover who was a friend before.

Nor had he known whether Hob would be receptive to such a thing.

He supposes he has that answer now.

Hob has also handed him, though he probably did not realize it, an easy way to convey his interest. It will also, Dream thinks with a little smile, be somewhat… amusing to surprise Hob with the reality of his desire. Likely he never thought that would be the outcome of ranting to Dream about his breasts, such as they are.

I will visit him tits out, he resolves. Tomorrow, when he wakes.

--

Dream is no stranger to more revealing attire, though he has not cared to wear it since his captivity. This, he thinks, is worthy of making the change. He garbs himself in normal slacks and boots, his usual long coat open and unbuttoned— but under it is a sheer, long sleeved shirt, ruffled collar, cut out over the chest precisely as Hob had requested, drunk though he was. Truly, Dream thinks, observing the look in the mirror he has manifested in his chambers, the fashion of this decade is interesting indeed.

Thus clothed to the requirements, Dream commands his sand to take him to Hob’s flat, now that he can feel Hob has woken. He stands in Hob’s living room, and he waits.

Hob comes into the living room at the sound of his arrival, rubbing his eyes, still sleepy and hungover. He’s still in pajamas, and clearly has not been awake long. “Listen, Dream, I’m so fucking sorry, I should not have said— oh holy fuck.”

“I thought this would appeal,” Dream says, and watches Hob reel, eyes wide.

“Appeal. Appeal? Appeal to what, my fucking dick? Oh Jesus Mary and God-fucking-dammit, I’m making it worse—”

Dream is feeling very validated in his choice now. He smirks, taking a step closer. “You were very passionate last night. I thought perhaps. You would like to test your theory.”

Hob’s eyes are still huge. He swallows, throat bobbing, gaze bouncing between Dream’s eyes and his lips and his bare chest.

“My theory,” Hob says faintly. “Are you coming onto me? Please tell me you’re coming onto me and not just trying to break me. Because you broke me, I’m broken.”

“Until you spoke last night I… did not know that you thought of me like that,” Dream admits.

“Didn’t know? And here I thought I was the most obvious—” he bites the sentence off. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not dreaming, am I? I guess it could still be you…”

“You are not dreaming,” Dream confirms.

Hob steps closer to him, then, as if hypnotized. Strokes a thumb lightly over one of Dream’s bare nipples, and Dream shivers at the touch. Then Hob presses his hands flat to Dream’s chest, cups what little flesh is there in his palms. Dream does not have a particularly substantial chest but Hob seems compelled anyway.

“Are my ‘tits,’” Dream asks, quoting Hob from last night, “‘banging,’ Hob Gadling?”

Hob goes bright red, but doesn’t remove his hands. “Yeah, Dream,” he says, strangled, “you have the prettiest little titties I ever saw.”

This is not something Dream has ever cared about or even considered about himself, but he preens anyway.

“And if you’ve no objections I’d really like to get my mouth on them,” Hob continues. “You free now? Or did you come just to upend my world and run?”

“I am ‘free,’” Dream confirms. This is, in fact, his desired outcome. “Is that the only place you will put your mouth?”

“Fucking hell.” Hob kisses him then, rough and hot, hands going to Dream’s waist to pull him in so their bellies are touching. Dream hums in pleasure. And Hob pushes his coat off his shoulders. It falls to the floor, unheeded. “No, I want to fucking bite you. Kiss you everywhere. And I dunno what you have going on down there, but I’m going for that, too.”

Dream raises an eyebrow. “‘What I have going on down there?’”

Hob huffs. “Well I don’t know, you personification of insanity. What do you have going on down there?”

“What would you like me to have going on?”

“No,” Hob says, half a whine. “Don’t say shit like that, I’m not a strong man. Come on.”

He takes Dream by the hand, drags him towards his bedroom. And Dream smiles to himself. A desired outcome, indeed.