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rudie-wr1tes · 9 months

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Endless Passion - A Sandman Fan Fiction

I. White Noise

Synopsis: A young sleep psychologist has made it her life's duty to rid victims of chronic nightmares of their demons forever. And if it means finding supernatural artifacts to complete her life's devotion, so be it. Reality-altering power in the hands of a mortal... What could possibly go wrong?

An elder patient rested in a dark room in nothing but a backless hospital gown, waiting upright in a chamber of salted water, warmed slightly to her preference. White noise filled the space, soothing tension in her shoulders and stiffened neck. Nurses prepared her, sticking small probes to her temples. But she was numbed to the sensation. All she could focus on was her fatigue. Nights were terrors. She spent her lifetime taking stimulants to block them. Nightmares plagued her thoughts, nothing an herbal remedy could repair. But only one was her last hope.

A voice broke over the floor’s intercom.

“Erin?” a gentle voice called over the intercom, “Erin, can you hear me?”

The elderly woman nodded slowly, as the nurse stuck a final probe to her temple. A nurse handed her a microphone.

“Yes, Dr. Kanaka, I hear you.” She said, her voice frail, cataract tainted eyes trailing over to the one way window, where she saw her reflection, and not who stood inside.

On the other end of the tinted glass, the owner of such a tender voice, was that very psychologist. The young woman smiled, nodding in reassurance as if her patient could see her. Dr. Kanaka’s dark curls were pulled back in a chignon, soft tendrils falling loose and framing her rounded face. Small flicks of liner graced her doe eyes. Her rosebud lips pursed softly as she spoke into the microphone again. Her fresh face contrasted fatigue that often came with nightfall, a drop of sun in the dreary observation room.

“Okay, Erin.” She said, “Now, remember what I said to you yesterday?”

“No, not really.” Erin replied, “I’m sorry.”

The sleep psychologist working with Dr. Kanaka heaved a sigh next to her behind the observation booth, pinching her nose.

“No, that was a bad question.” she chuckled, “Just try and relax for us. I know it’s a little odd sleeping in this water, but we’re just trying to study how your brain works when you’re sleeping, okay?”

“I’m sorry if I scream.” Erin said sheepishly, “It gets rather frightening, but the warm water will help.”

“I know it does.” Dr. Kanaka reassured, “That’s why Dr. Mapu and I are here. We’re here to help.”

Dr. Mapu reassured Dr. Kanaka with a glance, despite the doubt behind her eyes.

“It’s time, Sabine.” She uttered. To some, the doctor could come off brash, but it was just her tone. Sabine knew Quinn well to know she wasn’t crass to the old woman’s case.

“You can rest, Erin.” Sabine said as the nurses left the room, dimming the lights to a gentle amber. Camera footage flickered in the screens before them, focusing on both her brain and body. Erin’s wrinkled eyelids fell shut almost immediately as she laid back in the salted water.

Sabine flicked off the microphone with a painted red nail, scratching the neck of her turtleneck.

“Well, here we go.” Quinn sucked a breath, her notes at the ready, “For someone who struggles to sleep, she sure doesn’t have a problem now.”

“She’s been awake for three days.” Sabine replied dryly, studying her patient’s face, “They’re getting worse. It doesn’t make any sense. No brain tumors, no history of dementia or alzheimer's. The trauma we flushed out. But the terrors she describes….”

Quinn’s eyes scrunched into a scowl as she read Erin’s file cover to cover. She shook her head.

“I mean, the depression was terrible obviously. Generational trauma, war, inflation, divorce, miscarriages. We flushed out everything and now we’re onto this occult-”

Sabine hushed Quinn as the nurses entered, waiting on standby in case Erin suffered from a heart attack.

“Hello, ladies.” She said, “Oh, and Karl.”

Karl waved in the back, all watching Erin.

Quinn bit back a laugh as Sabine leaned in, jaw tight.

“It is not occult shit.” She argued while mocking her tone, “It’s an ancient text I saw. About helping someone get rid of bad nightmares. And I think it can work.”

“That fuckass dreamstone you were talking about?” Quinn remarked, “What, like you went through a mountain on some sort of adventure to find it?”

Sabine paused for a moment. She looked down in her lap, taking a breath.

“It’s going to be a long night.” Sabine muttered to herself.

Quinn ceased to speak, looking at her partner as if she lost her mind. And maybe she was correct. Sabine had been chasing the origins of the dreamstone ever since hearing its origins, making dreams into a reality through manifestation. She slipped into the pocket of her coat, thumbing the icy surface of the crimson gemstone, glowing warm in her hand. Her finger nearly pricked the edges of its golden casing. Her focus was only on her patient.

Ninety minutes passed in silence and occasional small talk, note taking of the brain waves until she descended into R.E.M. Quinn queued in, pointing a pencil to the scanner, Erin’s brain swept in vibrant shades of blue and green.

“She’s doing so good so far.” Sabine observed, “For now, at least. It’s never the first ninety minutes. It;s what happened after.”

Erin twitched, her brows knitting in concern. This was her cue.

“Here we go.” Quinn nodded, “Now what?”

Sabine remembered everything Erin told her- growing up on a farm in Indiana, Sunday dinners and holding hands in prayer. Being carried over the threshold of her first home by her husband. Imagining a world where war never touched her home, where she could see her cats all over again, where she could see her son not be lost to Desert Storm, and her family was together again. The beauty of these dreams. She also remembered what got her through nightmares. Her father’s voice singing her to sleep as a sick child. Holding a crusty cat in her lap and watching television at night. Journal pages to fill it. Reassurance from a kind face to listen instead of calling her crazy. Hands holding each other as she got bloodwork done. A kind smile from a doctor with good intentions. The power was overwhelming, the rush filling her with a state of euphoria- and yet, the power felt natural, as if she spent her entire life missing something, the ruby returning in her hands. A ripple simmered through her core. She watched in delight as Erin seemed to relax.

“It worked.” Sabine said under her breath, “Quinn! Guys! Look over-”

Everyone was asleep. Quinn flopped back, her mouth wide open in a low snore. Which was an unusual side effect of the ruby. Sabine noticed this when she first tested it in her apartment- the entire building barely stumbled out of bed by the time she came home from work that following morning. The intention wasn’t as bold then. She hoped to god someone didn’t crash in their car from falling asleep.

This was the second patient whom she helped. The first was her sister, without her knowing, who suffered from nightmares and darkness that she would carry to her grave. Now she marveled at Erin, who seemed to relax her entire face into a warm smile. Sabine leaned into the mic, focusing on the ruby.

“Let the light outshine the darkness. You are safe. You are loved. Your brain is in survival mode and you deserve to remember the light.”

Nine hours passed and her brain was at normal levels once more, in comparison to three months prior after suffering from a heart attack out of fear, the difference was night and day. Erin commended her, as well as her second son, who was fatigued but just as grateful.

As Sabine and Quinn exited the sleep center, Sabine found herself yawning, rubbing her eye and forgetting that the eyeliner on the corner existed. She cursed herself.

“Well, you wanna get breakfast?” Quinn offered, squinting her eyes. Both women were tall, but Quinn was tall enough to block the sun, even for a moment.

“I wish.” Sabine sighed, “But I have more notes to make. I think we can adjust the strategy we used today-”

“Girl, be serious.” Quinn put her hands on her hips and stopped her in the parking lot, “Sabine, I have to ask. Are you okay?”

Sabine scowled, “Uh, yeah, why?”

Quinn arched her brow, “You’re throwing yourself into your work. You barely answer my invites to hang outs… You’re obsessed with this whole art, which is fine but like… Is that all?”

“I have to.” Sabine argued, huffing, “People need my help. I found this amazing thing and… I need to reach more people. This could help so many people get rid of their nightmares. Heal them entirely. And have them sleep better from now on. I’ve seen so many patients struggling to find peace at night and I can’t either until we give them the last few years of their life mercy.”

Quinn nodded, her gaze softening, “I’m worried about you, sis. Are you sure it isn’t-”

“No.” Sabine quipped, “It’s not about my grandma, it’s not about my book being rejected to be published. And it sure as hell isn’t about Alex.”

Quinn sucked her teeth, “I’m just saying you’ve been a little too preoccupied. You do this. You don’t want to face what’s head on and focus-”

“If I wanted to be evaluated I’d make an appointment.” Sabine snapped, side eyeing her work best friend. But the insult fell flat, her voice too vulnerable to the jab. A creeping sensation fell over her left shoulder. She checked then, wondering if someone was watching. With the dreamstone in her possession, who knows what coud;’ve pursued her? Quinn snickered, her laugh making Sabine want to laugh even though she was pissed.

“God damn.” She laughed, “Maybe while you’re dreaming, you can find that lanky little white boy in all black you mentioned months ago.”

“He was just a pretty face.” Sabine rolled her eyes, smiling, “I’ve seen that face at one point in real life, which is why I dreamt it. It didn’t happen suddenly. Probably just some residue from all the fantasy novels I read in high school and wouldn't shut up to you about.”

“Whatever it takes bestie, because you need a nap.” Quinn remarked, “Allright, nerd, I’m heading to brunch. You go take your nap, and call me when you wake up. We’re going for drinks.”

“But Quinn, I-”

“I don’t want to hear it!” Quinn said, “You are twenty-five years old. You never do anything for yourself. You've dedicated a quarter of your life to this project, more than I ever could with my left fucking hand. You need a break! Now go and get your juice bottle, get your weighted blanket, and rest. You need it.”

Sabine gave in and sighed, “Fine.”

“Atta girl.” Quinn unlocked her car, “Let me know if you see Dreamboat again. And ask if he’s got a hot sibling.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Sabine shook her head, “If I can get a word in.”

As both friends parted ways, Sabine’s mood dropped- the sensation of being watched crawled up her shoulders and spine, knotting tension into them. She looked to find its source. A man stood across the street, his figure soon disappearing into a crowd of faces. Before blinking, there were two things she remembered. She was overthinking it again. He was gone in an instant.

In silence, she returned to the comforting monotony of her apartment, curled up beneath blankets with her tuxedo cat. As she stared at the floor to ceiling shelves of dream journals before her, her thoughts rummaged back to the parking lot. She recalled the figure. He was a strange man with straw blonde hair and rounded glasses was standing at the edge of the street across from them. She had remarked in her head the sad beige phenomenon memes posted about, recalling his suit. The chummy, customer service smile glued onto his face. Something wasn’t right. Maybe he was new. Or drunk. Or just odd. She shrugged off the sensation of being watched, returning to sleep again, hoping to discover something new in the world of her dreams.

However, something wasn’t right. She was waiting for a sense of awe to come over, after doing what she always hoped- to relieve those suffering from nightmares to be healed. And yet, something shifted inside her. Kalea, her sister, should be at school. She hadn’t had a text from her all day. She quickly got up from her bed, hurrying to the bedroom across the hall, leaving the little cat to be the dreamstone guardian.

The door creaked open loudly, a dim shade of light washing over the edge of Kalea’s floral bed sheets. There her sister laid, in the same position as she did the night before, when Sabine used the dreamstone, frozen in content sleep. Sabine furrowed her brows.

“Kalea?” she called in a soft voice, “Kalea, don’t you have an exam today?”

The nineteen year old did not respond. Her eyes fluttered, her long hair laying over the pillow in black ribbons. Sabine sat beside her sleeping sister and rubbed her arm.

“Sis, don’t mess with me right now.” Sabine remarked, “Come on. Are you that tired?”

Even as a child, Kalea pretended to be asleep to sneak out of chores and school. Sabine huffed, assuming that it was just that. Maybe the night terror from before was so exhausting, she had tuckered herself out.

“Fine.” Sabine mused, “It’s your grade anyway. I’ll see you later.”

Sabine failed to notice the way the dreamstone glowed a searing red beneath her own bedroom door. Her cat scrambled out from the cracked doorway. It was calling to someone- or something beyond anyone's understanding.

#the sandman #dream of the endless #fan fiction #original female character #my fanfiction #the sandman netflix #lord morpheus #writing #writeblr #fic writing

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ivyithink · 2 years

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a little something for the lovely fic i have read recently, that reminded me to return to scrolling through ao3 from time to time. such a great exploration of the dynamic between these two, can’t get it out of my head

The Fic In Question: point-set triangulation by therm0dynamics, i sincerely recommend))

#my art #my doodles #the clothes are not really correct i am sorry #drawing suits is a kind of torture for me so you’ll have to accept a t-shirt #the sandman #hob gadling #the corinthian #did i expect to be sucked in a relationship between characters that haven’t interacted once(1) in the show??!?#i should have #ah the power of fan fiction

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goblininawig · 11 months

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Lucien's Little Dilemma

Follows the events of Gault's First Kiss, but can be read as a stand-alone. You can also read this on A03. Rated G.

Summary: Lucienne and Gault team up to help a dreamer find their way.

They keep having the same dream. It starts with a wilderness devoid of life, no insects, no birds, no foliage, and no weather. It is a void of endless nothing that they nevertheless know, in the way of dreams, that they must cross. Every step is torment.

But finally, the wilderness gives way to a rocky terrain with soft moss that kisses their weary feet. They stumble into the shelter of a cave to rest. Colorful veins of phosphorescent minerals glow and sparkle along its surfaces, casting light on a small pool, bubbling up from a hot spring, and the massive nest just behind it.

Within the nest, sits an egg. It's large enough for a person to stand inside, if it were cut in half. The shell is unlike any known on Earth, and it shines faintly.

As they watch, the egg begins to tremble, then shake. Then a crack appears. Terrified of what sort of monster might be inside, the dreamer screams and runs from the cave, back towards the biting wilds.

Lucienne closes the dream journal, a slight furrow between her brows. They had made it all the way inside the cave this time, But they are still too afraid of confronting the unknown.

This dreamer recently came to her attention when Lucienne had been looking idly through the new arrivals. In the scores of fresh books, she'd run across the journal of a dreamer on the cusp of adulthood, prompting the Dreaming to conjure them a new volume in their life long record of dreams. Since then, she's been keeping track of them.

If only there was some way to help them, she muses, tucking the volume back into the shelf.

"You're quiet today, love," Gault murmurs softly in the librarian's pointed ear. "What's on your mind?"

Lucienne smiles and tilts her head back on Gault's shoulder so the dream can see it. "You're always so concerned about me," the librarian observes. She snuggles deeper into Gault's embrace. "I was just thinking about a Dreamer."

"Oh?" Gault replies, drawing her shimmering arms more tightly about her lover. "Anyone I've met?"

"Not according to their recent dream records," Lucienne replies, trailing two dark fingers along Gault's sparkling skin as she spoke. "This young adult struggling to accept the truth about themselves. I wish I could help," she explains.

"It's rare for you to become so concerned about one of the Dreamers," Gault noted. "What is it that's drawn you to them?"

Once again, a smile lifts Lucienne's lips. "They remind me of you, in a way," she admits. "The way you fought Lord Morpheus to be seen as you are, and not how he wanted you to be. This dreamer has a similar challenge... except I'm not entirely certain they even realize that. It's hard to tell when you only know their dreaming minds."

"Perhaps I can come by the library later, look at the dream log, and see if I can help?"

"That would be lovely," Lucienne tilts her head up again, this time to kiss Gault's cheek.

Gault flutters in the air behind Lucienne's armchair, reading the dream journal over her shoulder. The couple is studying it together in the library. Lucienne is secretly very fond of the way Gault uses her wings at any given opportunity. It makes her feel warm and giddy in ways she hasn't experienced since she was human, long ago.

"I can see why they remind you of me," Gault says, interrupting the librarian's thoughts. "They are aching to make some real transformations in their life."

"Yes, exactly!" Lucienne affirms, "any ideas?"

"Well, I recognize the area of the Dreaming this describes. I had a lot of work in that area back when I was a nightmare," she explains. "Maybe I can find them there and help them have a break through."

Lucienne sets the book down on her desk, hops out of her chair, and leaps into Gault's arms. The dream makes a startled noise, but catches Lucienne easily, and draws her close.

"Thank you," Lucienne murmurs softly, before pursuing her lips to Gault's inviting mouth.

They get lost in each other. Gault flies them in graceful loops over library stacks as they embrace tightly and kiss gently. And they start like that until Merv stomps in to ask 'Loosh' a question.

The dreamer stumbles into the safety of the cave, weary from traveling through the wilderness. The cave walls sparkle and illuminate the space. Deeper in, lies a bubbling hot spring pool, and, beyond that is a massive nest with an equally large egg. They suddenly worry they've entered a monster's lair.

"What do you seek?" says a soothing voice.

The dreamer looks around but can't find it's source. "Please," they whimper, "I just want to rest."

A figure separates from a dripping stalactite above - humanoid, but dark and shining like the cave itself, held aloft on a pair of large wings. "Peace is difficult to find when you do not know yourself," she says.

"But I do know myself," comes the unconvincing reply.

"Then why do you fear your power?" the figure gestures behind them to where the mysterious egg sat.

As they watch, the egg begins to crack and shake: something is being born. The dreamer cringes away in fear, but the fairy-like figure flies down to stand beside them.

"It's all right," she promises. "Just watch."

Gault offers the dreamer her hand, and they take it gratefully, squeezing tight as the shell breaks away.

It's like the sun is rising inside the cave; it fills with light and heat too intense to look at. The dreamer closes their eyes, but the intensity fades, and they open them again.

Inside the nest, preening its firey feathers, sits a pheonix. The dreamer gapes at its beauty, and the palpable sense of magic, purpose, and power it radiates along with its sun-like shine.

"It's incredible," the dreamer says reverently.

Gault squeezes their hand, "and so are you."

They find their mother in the kitchen, drinking coffee, and sit down with her to have a talk that involves some tears, but more joy and laughter. They declare new pronouns and a new name, a name that fits who they truly are inside.

In the Waking World, the dreamer rouses, a sense of purpose and self-awareness burning like a fire in their heart. They know what they need to do.

In the Dreaming, Lucienne eagerly devours the latest entry in the dreamer's book. Gault arrives back from her mission as the librarian reads the final sentence. Lucienne leaps up to greet her, and they embrace.

"You did it," Lucienne cheers.

Gault smiles and brings the back of one glimmering hand down Lucienne's cheek. "I didn't do much," she demures. "They just needed a push in the right direction."

"We all do from time to time," Lucienne beams, leaning into the touch.

"Speaking of time," Gault says, winking mischievously, "do you have any right now?"

"For you," Lucienne affirms with a gentle kiss, "always."

Tagging: @orionsangel86 @tryan-a-bex

#the sandman #the sandman netflix #gault x lucienne #gault the sandman #lucienne the librarian #gaultcienne #lucienne x gault #fan fiction #sandman fanfic #rated g #goblininawig

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salethe2 · 1 year

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Morpheus holding little Orpheus. A piece I drew for my fan fiction, Ambrosia

#the sandman #morpheus #orpheus #sandman art #sandman netflix #father and son #digital art #Fan fiction art #do not repost #netflix the sandman

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bazzybelle · 1 year

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In These Violent Days, I'll Be Where You Are - 2K - Teen

For Dreamling Week - Day 1: Bar Fight

I'm Baaaaaack! I've been working on longer stories, both for the Sandman and Carry On Fandoms, BUT today is the first day of Dreamling Week. I have been working on some smaller fics, which I will be posting throughout the week. I will also be bombarding my feed with Dreamling posts from the INCREDIBLE writers, artists, and general chaos demons this amazing fandom has produced.

I hope you enjoy the beginning of my journey into writing Dreamling. I've been having so much fun in this fandom and I'm glad to share my joy with you all.

Thank you to the amazing mods and humans from the @mr-sadman server who have been so supportive and kind. You guys are amazing for putting together this awesome fest and for bringing us wild people together.

You can read the story below the line break or you can check out the story on AO3, by clicking the link!

Click here to read on AO3!

“Duck, that really wasn’t necessary.” Hob had been struggling with the lock to his flat above the New Inn. That is, until his overly protective and overly concerned boyfriend, fashioned another key from out of thin air and slid it into the lock with ease. Really, he was fretting over nothing. Sure Hob was nursing a black eye, and a few cuts and scrapes to his face, and come to think of it, he’s pretty sure his nose is also broken. But he can take care of himself. He’d been getting into barfights since he was a young’un, barely any meat on him.

“I will not have you suffering any more for the remainder of the evening.” Dream slid an arm across the small of Hob’s back and carefully guided him inside the flat. Once inside, Hob kicked off the stupidly high stiletto heels he’d been wearing that night, and groaned at the sight of a dangerously purple bruise covering the better part of his left ankle.

Right, add a sprained —possibly broken— ankle to the list of injuries he’d sustained tonight.

Dream carefully manoeuvres the both of them into Hob’s bedroom, and it is at this moment where the adrenaline he’d been feeling for the last few hours decides to fade. Hob winces as he puts too much pressure on his fucked up ankle.

“My point exactly,” says Dream, as he helps Hob settle onto the bed, before helping him out of his outfit (a skin-tight, sequined fiery red number, adorned with roses of varying sizes in black and shades of red). It’s probably dotted in bigot blood, but Hob doesn’t find he cares too much about spilling blood. He’s more upset that he’s ruined the outfit. He paid a pretty penny for it. Granted, it was well worth it, and he was helping one of the fashion design students at the university to showcase their work. But still, it is rather unfortunate that it had to get ruined. He would have liked to be able to use it again.

“Love, I’m going to have to stand up again to get this off.” Hob attempts to get on his feet once more, but yelps as soon as his injury makes contact with the floor.

Dream looks unimpressed.

“Allow me to help you,” Dream says as he carefully undoes the zippers and clasps, removing the layers that allow Sherry Punch to show the world who she is. It takes a bit of time and a little elbow grease —or possibly, some dream magic— but they manage to get the outfit, and undergarments off. Dream carefully hangs the ensemble on Hob’s closet door, before grabbing a pair of his softest pyjamas. Hob, in the meantime, takes off the large, cherry-red wig adorning his head (styled in perfectly coiffed victory rolls, thank you very much) and hands it to Dream.

“We still have all this to deal with,” he says gesturing to the mess of makeup, glue, and blood on his face. A corner of Dream’s lips quirks up, before he gently moves some of Hob’s hair away from his eyes.

“I shall be back with your tools to remove your makeup, as well as your first-aid kit.”

“Third time this month I get to use it!”

Dream’s not amused with the cheeky grin Hob gives him, but he chooses not to respond, exiting the room like a shadow. Once he’s gone, Hob sighs and leans back against the headboard. As much as he jests about fights in his pub, he had truly believed tonight would be different.

The political atmosphere in London has been less than desirable— No, who is he kidding? It’s been absolute shit, is what it’s been. Protests in front of libraries, bloody wankers screaming at children and innocent drag queens who really have done nothing wrong. Politicians pandering to the absolute worst of society, by targeting the most vulnerable in his community. With each passing day, more and more safe spaces are removed due to threats and intimidation, and Hob for one was beyond fed up with it.

The New Inn, from the moment of its birth, dedication, whatever you wish to call it, has been a place for marginalised people. From its poetry smash evenings, to its Fab in Drag nights, The New Inn welcomes any and all who wish to learn more about the LGBTQ+ community, and especially those who wish to explore their gender and sexual identities (or lack thereof) in a judgement-free environment. Hob worked hard to ensure it would stay that way, with the turmoil of life outside its doors.

But of course, bigotry knows no bounds, and a few months ago, the protests found their way to The New Inn. Tonight was not the first time Hob had been forced to manhandle someone who had gotten too close for comfort. Tonight though, tonight was the first time a few of them had made it inside the pub. The event was ticketed and supposedly heavily vetted (though clearly not enough). Hob had felt comfortable enough to perform tonight as Sherry Punch. Sherry had become an important part of his life since the early 2000s, and she’d come out to play whenever Hob was feeling especially confident. Lately, Sherry had been forced to take a mini retirement, so that Hob could make sure any other drag performers were not harassed, or hurt.

Tonight was supposed to be secure. For the first time in almost a year, Sherry Punch was coming back to the stage, refreshed and ready to slay. She had barely had a chance to get through her set before the heckling and harassment started. It didn’t seem to be too big a deal at first, and Sherry was used to a bit of heckling. She’d dealt with worse in her hey-day, and was able to shame a few of them enough that they left the pub in a huff (escorted, of course, by some of the bartenders working tonight).

One particular tosser, a big, burly, monster of a man had managed to get close enough to the stage. Close enough, that when Sherry reached out to the crowd, he’d jumped out at her, attempting to pull her down to the floor. The thing was, Sherry wasn’t the type of queen to allow herself to be dragged down like that. So Sherry fought back, yanking the man by his coat lapels and kneeing him in the groin.

Things escalated from there, and Sherry had to make a hasty retreat and Hob had to come back, practically tossing the bastard through the window. It would have turned into an all out riot, had Dream not been there to influence the crowd to peacefully, and safely disperse. One of his bartenders did end up calling an officer who thankfully apprehended the man. But Hob would have to go and formally make a statement and press charges (not that it would do anything).

But all that could wait for tomorrow. For now, Hob slowly eases into his pyjamas as Dream returns to the bedroom. He smiles fondly at him, noticing the full tray. Hob can make out his makeup remover wipes, some peroxide and bandages, as well as an ice pack and a glass of water.

Gods above, but he does love this man. Being. Anthropomorphic personification of a concept. He loves Dream, is what he means.

“We should be doing the cleaning in the bathroom.”

“It is unwise to move you. I would like to prevent further injury to your ankle.” Dream places the tray on the bed and grabs a few pillows to stuff behind Hob. And he does like to be taken care of every once in a while. But honestly he feels disgusting and bloody, and he really should have insisted they go into the bathroom instead.

“You know,” Hob says, moving to the edge of the bed, “this isn’t even the worst of the injuries I’ve sustained in this month alone. Remember that protest in front of the library near the park?” He doesn’t get far, the throbbing pain in his ankle keeping him rooted to his spot.

Dream doesn’t respond. He doesn’t need to. He simply rolls his eyes, while pushing Hob back against the headboards.

“If you weren’t so strong I would— oh, fuck. Love that feels amazing,” Hob moans as Dream places the ice pack on his swollen ankle. Ice packs, definitely a top invention from the last hundred years. And they only got better as time went on. The ones he has in his flat, for example, can be frozen or heated up. There are days where Hob’s old war wounds make it near impossible to get out of bed. Those are the days he makes the most use out of the several packs he’s got laying around.

A corner of Dream’s lip quirks. He gets to work, slowly removing the makeup from Hob’s face, careful not to agitate his swollen cheek and bruised nose. Hob closes his eyes and all but leans into the gentle touch. As long as he’s held a torch for the person taking care of him, Hob never really imagined this would be his reality.

He definitely didn’t expect this to be his future when he was a scrawny, gangly little thing at twenty-two, fighting and killing to survive long enough to either find work in a field, or a war in which to be a soldier.

Hob’s life, if he’s being completely honest with himself, has been painted by violence. Sure, he could justify some of his actions, especially in the beginning. Some of the murders were accidental, or a consequence of fighting to survive. You had no choice in the “good ol’ days”. Back then, a show of mercy could mean a knife in your back. Back then, it was kill or be killed. Hob could barely remember, after over 600 years, the faces of the men he’d killed. They’ve all blended together at this point, as a generic bloody-faced man that will haunt his dreams from time to time, reminding him of the red in his ledger.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Dream applies some gentle solvent over the glue lingering on his face.

Hob smiles ruefully. “Just admiring my brilliant boyfriend.”

“Your flattery will earn you no favours, Hob Gadling.”

“Oh come on. Not even a small one?”

“Hmm. Perhaps.” Dream leans closer into Hob’s space, slowly wiping a smudge of cherry-red lipstick off of his lips. He traces his fingers over their chapped, rough edges, lightly teasing them, before placing a soft kiss.

“Will you share your thoughts with me, beloved?” He whispers, caressing the side of Hob’s head. He can feel the light fluttering of Dream’s breath upon his face. Forever the greedy, touch-hungry bastard he is, Hob is weak to every sweet intimate moment that Dream initiates between them. He’d give the world and more for a second of Dream brushing his fingers over his cheeks, or carding his fingers through his hair.

“I was just thinking back to when I was first getting into bar fights. I never would have thought my life would end up like this.” Hob picks up one of the wipes and rubs it distractedly over one of his eyes. Dream places his hand over Hob’s, steadying and guiding it over the makeup still left on his face.

“You have had the privilege of 600 years of experience. You are hardly the man I met in 1389.”

“Still just as charming though, right?”

Dream huffs a small laugh. “Always, agapi mou.” He reaches for the bottle of peroxide and starts to clean the scratches and minor cuts lingering. Immortal as he is, Hob still needs between a few hours and a few days to heal from injuries (depending on how severe they are) (he once spent nearly a week laying in a ditch somewhere in Ypres after a brutal battle in 1916).

“My life has been an endless, pun unintended, streak of blood. It seems I cannot help but give into my violent nature. No matter how things change, or get better.”

“Your penchant for violence cannot be denied.” Dream isn’t one to pull back any punches, and Hob is grateful for that. He doesn’t need empty platitudes, not from the person who knows him better than anyone else.

Dream brushes a cotton pad over a small gash above Hob’s eyebrow. Hob’s eyes flutter shut, as he exhales deeply.

So soft.

So gentle.

“But your reasons for engaging with the violent facet of your personality have changed, have they not?”

They have. They started changing in the 1500s with the smile of his beloved Eleanor. They changed further with the squalling cry of a precious babe in his arms. Hob had wanted to protect Robyn from any sort of violence, and as such neglected to teach him how to fight. To fight like you had nothing to your name and everything to live for.

A mistake he carries with him to this day. Though it isn’t as heavy a burden as it was centuries ago.

One of many mistakes, his brain helpfully supplies.

No, he doesn’t fight for selfish reasons anymore. Not since being scolded for participating in something as dark and disgusting as the slave trade. He will never make amends for the pain he was party to. And he doesn’t deserve to feel better about the mistakes he’s made. He just chooses to keep learning and doing better day by day.

“I fight for those who can’t,” he says, looking into the sparkling blue eyes of the man he loves above all others.

“You do,” he says, pressing a small kiss onto Hob’s eyelids. It never fails to bring shivers to his spine, all the while warming his heart right up.

“It is something I love about you, amore mio. You do not hesitate to protect those you care about. Even if it means you wind up with a broken nose, and a sprained ankle.”

A small, but smug smile makes its way to Hob’s lips. “Can’t deny I looked good kicking a bigot’s arse.”

“I’ll admit, watching you fight is always exhilarating.” Dream leans over, whispering in Hob’s ear “However, after your impromptu performance, I felt the need to restrain myself.”

Hob reaches for one of Dream’s hands, intertwining their fingers. “Did you now? Maybe I should let Sherry Punch out to play more often then, I reckon?”

“She truly is, what you would call, a sexy bitch.”

“You did not just say that!” Hob cries out loud, arms wrapping around his stomach as laughter peels out of him. 600 years he’s known Dream and yet he keeps on surprising him. Dream. The Prince of Stories. Shaper of Forms and the Lord of Dreams and Nightmares. His Dream, just referred to Hob’s drag persona as a “sexy bitch”.

And in that deep, sonorous voice that never fails to drive him mad.

He loves him. So fucking much.

“God’s wounds, duck, if I wasn’t in this much pain, I’d have you here and now.”

Dream waves a hand over the tray and its many contents, vanishing them away from Hob’s bed. His black cloak, grey shirt, and dark jeans change into a soft t-shirt and dark flannel pants. He helps Hob get settled into bed, before nestling behind him, wrapping his long arms around Hob’s waist.

“Then sleep, and allow me to protect your dreams, as you protected your community tonight. My beloved knight.”

Warmth spreads from Dream’s fingertips like sweet treacle, coating Hob’s veins and numbing any lingering pain he feels. A part of him still wants to think about the continuing presence of violence in his life. A part of him wants to vent and rage about the way the night was ruined for everyone involved.

But those are worries for the morning. When he’s not comfortably nestled in the arms of the man he loves. They are worries for when he is able to make it out of bed without howling in pain. When Hob is healed and ready, he’ll pick up the fight once again. He always does.

But for now, it’s enough to close his eyes, and follow Dream into his Realm for a night of peaceful sleep.

#dreamling week 2023 #dreamlingweek2023 #prompt - barfight #dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #my writing #fic writing #the sandman #the sandman fan #fiction #I'm back baybeeeeee #let's see if I can keep this writing streak going!

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