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fandomrose · 4 months

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Furina post 4.2 reverse comfort.

Hi again. A Furina post 4.2 reverse comfort. I've been working on this for a depressingly long time.

There is implied spoilers but not many. This is also friends to probably, eventually lovers. Starting with the friends in this fic.

This is alot more angsty than the Neuvillette one. It does have descriptions of injury and disassociation. I drew on my own experiences with my own disassociation and helping others through theirs.

I really wanted to do one for Furina because I wish to hug the poor woman. She's been through too much.

I hope you enjoy 💙

You clutched bags filled with cooking ingredients. Ever since learning that your 'former' Lady Furina was living off of macaroni from a certain blonde haired traveller and 'talkative' flying pixie. You decided to pay her a visit, said flying pixie freely telling you where she lived.

Nerves coursed through you. It had been a few weeks since you had seen Furina. Since the prophecy had 'not' come to fruition your services as a private investigator for 'solutions for the prophecy' was no longer needed. And when Furina stepped down from her position as Hydro Archon you stopped seeing her.

'Diva archon' is what people called her but you knew her better than that. You can't have claimed to be close but, you had seen glimpses of the hidden care and love she had for the nation she governed. True god or not you saw glimpses of all she sacrificed over your few years working under her. You had grown fond of her and the trail she was put through almost broke your heart.

You steeled your nerves before knocking on Furinas door at just past midday. There was silence before you heard rustling, the unlocking of the door and it opened giving you the first look at Furina in 3 weeks.

She had slight bags under her eyes, she looked thinner and her smile was not as bright as it used to be.

"Why hello, it's certainly been a while since I've seen you,-" she started off attempting the same theatrical countenance she had before but it quickly faded. "Why have you come here and how did you find out where I live?"

The thought of her finding it worrying that you knew where she lived didn't cross your mind. "The travellers companion may have let it slip my lady."

She sighed, "Please don't call me that any more just 'Furina' is fine." Her voice now sounded tired, a slight rasp of exhaustion present.

"Alright my- Furina... um," there was an awkward air between you two, one that you were determined to dismiss. "I was wondering if you would like to spend the afternoon in familiar company... I brought food if you'd like to have dinner."

Furinas eyes narrowed slightly. "Did Paimon also tell you that I was living off of macaroni."

You had somehow forgotten how sharp Furina was. "Yes.. but, but I didn't just bring food, I thought I'd teach you to make more dishes other than macaroni. Still quick, easy and involving pasta but different. Also baking bread. I thought it would go well with what we are making...." You felt yourself ramble, trying to convince Furina to give you a chance.

She looked like she was fighting with herself for a moment. You hold your breath waiting for a response. "Okay.. that sounds nice actually."

You sigh with relief "Alright lead the way my- um- Furina." You watched as she flushed a slight pink before leading you inside. Her home was modestly furnished but well coordinated and clearly to her aesthetic taste. She led you through the short hallway and into her kitchen. It was up to Fontaine’s modern standard with an oven and hobs, a sink and a new cooling machine that was recently invented by the Fontaine research institute for the storage of Fonta, but had been later discovered to increase the shelf life of many different foods. They were currently very expensive however. You wondered how she was able to afford it with no job. Her shelves were almost bare however, it made you glad you came with ingredients and a few extra essentials.

"Here you can put the food on the counter." Furinas gestured to the counter close to the oven. "What are we making?"

You nod and pull the ingredients out. "I thought a cottage pie and some garlic flat bread would be a good start. I also brought the ingredients to make some simple crěpes for dessert."

"Great ... I don't know how to make any of that, are you sure you want to bother teaching me?"

"Of course Furina, why would I bring all this if not to teach you."

"I guess you're right, so what are we starting with?" Her voice was hesitant, you begin to wonder if she was really up to this. What if you were pushing her too hard?

"Ah I thought we'd start by preparing the bread.."

You show her the steps of baking bread. She follows your instructions diligently, her smile broadening and confidence returning with every step she gets right. "This isn't as bad as I thought it'd be. Then again of course I could learn anything I put my mind to."

Seeing her smile again was all you wanted out of today. If you were being truthful with yourself.

"Now we let the dough rest for about 45 minutes.. in the meantime let's prepare the potatoes for the mash that'll go on top of the shepherd's pie."

You teach her how to peel a potato with a paring knife. Or rather you try to. As she pulled back the knife her hand slipped on the potato and she nicked her palm with the knife, a long thin line of blood appearing on her palm. You were focused on your own potato when you heard her yelp in pain. You immediately drop the knife and potato you were peeling and rush to her side assessing the damage.

"Furina! What happened?" You gently grab her hand looking at the wound. "Where is your first aid kit?" She didn't speak, only pointed to a cupboard on the other side of the room, her eyes glued to her wound, pearls of tears collecting in the outer corners of her eyes and all you want to do is draw her into your arms.

But first the wound, you gather the first aid kit and sit Furina down at the table in the kitchen and quietly bandage her hand. The cut wasn't deep, which was good, but she barely flinches as you clean the wound, which was a point of concern. You sense she's not up for criticism or questions so you keep things to yourself while you finish bandaging her hand.

I take a deep breath and try to talk to her again now that the wound is dealt with. "Furina? Are you up for continuing or would you like me to take over?" She didn't respond immediately seemingly not even hearing you, you are about to attempt to get her attention again when-

"No. You- you take over." She sounded exhausted again, and almost defeated. Worry crawls through your stomach all the way up into you throat but you hold back for now. Not quite sure how to deal with this Furina.

"Alright." Is all you can say, softly as not to startle her. As you continue prepping the meal peeling the potatoes, boiling them in milk for extra creaminess and seasoning with salt and pepper. You start up another hob and cook the meat, frying off the fat before adding, flour, worcestershire sauce, a splash of red wine, tomato paste, chopped bell peppers and onions. While the mixture reduces you prepare the dough Furina made earlier, spreading a mixture of garlic butter rosemary and thyme over the dough and place it in the oven.

You catch Furina glancing at you while you work. You turn off the heat on the meat and take some of it from the pan in a small spoon and carefully carry it over to her. "Would you like to taste test Furina?" She looked up at you in surprise before nodding slowly. You offer the spoon to her and she leans forward and closes her mouth around it without taking it out of your hands.

A moment of silence, while you might usually feel flustered at this kind of action. But with Furina seemingly still out of it, not registering what she'd done, it was just concerning. You take the spoon away and turn around.

"Is it good?"

A tired "Yea" is the only response you get. It'll do for now. You finish off the cottage pie by arranging it in a dish putting the meat and veg mixture, then the creamy mash before sprinkling a generous helping of parmesan cheese over the top of the mash and putting in the oven for 20 mins. The bread is almost ready to take out and could make a good starter.

You set a time and sit by Furina, slightly awkwardly, not knowing what to say. You'd been so focused on your tasks you hadn't realised how strange it felt to be around Furina in a casual setting and especially not when something seemed to be bothering her so greatly.

"Furina.. How's your hand?"

"It's fine, doesn't hurt much anymore."

Your concern was beginning to reach a peak. She couldn't look at you for some reason. And her voice was so weak it was barely there but you don't know what to do without crossing an unspoken boundary or making things worse.

The bread timer goes off. You rise from your seat to take it out, putting it on a rack to let it cool for a few minutes.

You look over at Furina, her form slumped and defeated looking, her eyebags somehow more prominent than when you started. You didn't understand what could have made her this way. Overall yes, you were there at her trial after all, at the end of it you were just happy she wasn't actually executed. But what happened today? Was it the injury? But why would that cause a near catatonic dissociation?

You didn't want to push, instead you just cut up the bread and offered her a piece, on a small plate, in the hopes that some form of stimulation would reawaken her. She slowly picks at the bread, putting small pieces in her mouth.

The second timer goes off. The cottage pie is ready, so you remove from the oven, find two large plates and serve the food.

She looks up at the food and picks up the fork, slowly digging in to the cottage pie. You watch with interest hoping maybe food would perk her up at least a little. And perk up she does. Finally a smile graces her face, small but there.

"This is lovely, thank you. Truly a meal worthy of the great Furina De Fontaine." She made an attempt at her energetic performance but was still tired it seemed.

You smile at her in what you hope is a pleasant and reassuring manner. "Well my lady I am glad it's worthy of your greatness."

She laughed that same haughty laugh you'd grown to enjoy hearing even if it was a little strained with exhaustion.

"Would my lady enjoy some crêpes to cleanse her palette of savoury tastes?"

"Yes, a batch of crêpes sounds wonderful my humble chef."

You stand and bow hoping this play was helping her recover from whatever state she was in. Turning to make a small batch of crěpes you don't notice the way she slumps in her seat.

You dust the crêpes in powdered sugar, lemon juice and fill them with cream and chopped fruit. A plate of two crěpes is placed in front of Furina with a smile. Your smile fades seeing her downtrodden look again.

"La- Furina? Is everything okay?"

"It should be... but it's not" was her response. You watch as tears slip down her cheeks. She tries to quickly wipe them away. "Ahhahaha.. how silly, I don't know why.. an overflow of hydro yes it must be."

You walk round the table and stand by her. "Furina, you can tell me what's wrong. You- you don't have to hide anymore."

It seems that small push was all it takes for her to allow herself to break. She turns and practically falls into your arms and sobs. "It was going so well. But then I messed up again. I really am useless" She cried into your arms, her sentences broken up by bouts of heartbreaking sobs.

Saying anything felt like a bad idea for now so you remove her hat and simply stroke her head while she cries into your chest. You don't know how long it takes but you patiently wait for her tears to dry and her sobbing to subside. Grabbing a soft handkerchief you lift her face and dab at her cheeks. You watch her eyes widen as if she realised she was actually crying into a living person rather than a plushie.

"I- I-"

"Furina, it's okay.. you aren't useless and you are still learning right. You have no idea how many cuts and burns on my arms and hands I have scars for just from cooking. Hahaha. It happens my lady. But if I may be so bold, it's not about the accident is it?"

You pause before speaking again, not wanting her to have any excuses you make sure to beat her to the punch.

"Have you mourned yet? Your status as an archon? Your position in Fontaines elite? Your friendship with Monsieur Neuvillette? Anything else I am not privy to."

It wasn't the most elegant way to put it. Some might call it cruel but she needed to confront this in order to move on.

You begin to regret your decision when you see Furina hang her head and cry again, much more subdued this time. You open your mouth to apologise but-

"You're right... I've been ignoring it all instead of dealing with it. I thought I could just move on, and 'improve myself' and everything would be okay."

She spoke so harshly of her own thoughts. You shake your head and sigh.

"Don't be mean to yourself Furina. Your only mistake was isolating yourself, but if I may be so bold, again, I'm here. And I want to help you, I've always liked spending time with you so I'd be more than happy to be your friend."

She began to sob again. "You want to be my friend? You'll stay by my side even when I'm like this.."

"Yes Furina, that is what I want. As long as you want it to." You open your arms letting her hug you again. She was crying, but at least her tears were happy this time.

This was probably the start of something wonderful.

#genshin x reader #furina x reader #angst and fluff #genshin x you

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tj-dragonblade · 4 months

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[FIC] I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: M Word Count: 6949 Tags: fluff, sap, most of this only warrants a G-rating honest, the M is for mild and largely glossed-over spice toward the end, esablished relationship, winter, cold weather, christmas market, ice skating, sleigh ride, cozy cabin getaway, mulled wine, hot chocolate, a couple of things from last Fluffbruary worked their way in here oops, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus loves Hob Gadling, Hob Gadling loves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, mild and inexplicit temperature play

Notes: Written for the magnificently talented and absolutely lovely @rooftopwreck as part of the Dreamling Nation Winter Exchange. Surprise, Vi! I hope you like it! You're such a warm and friendly person, a delight to know and talk to and you can always manage to make me laugh. I'm so glad I got the opportunity to write you a fic! Working with your prompts warmth, hot chocolate, and hearth (which I didn't quite get to but there is a fireplace)

Summary: It's winter in London and Hob is interested in sharing various cold-weather human experiences with his distinctly-not-human boyfriend

On AO3

"That's cheating, you know."

Dream turns to peer at Hob beside him as they walk down the street. "'Cheating'?"

Hob gestures broadly at Dream. "You," he says with a warm smile. "Your whole outside-the-bounds-of-humanity thing, just wandering around like the cold doesn't bother you."

Dream turns his gaze forward again. "It does not."

"But you could let it if you wanted to, right?"

"Is there a reason I should want to, Hob Gadling?"

"Well. I mean. You'll stand out less if you're dressed for the weather—"

"I can alter my clothing to blend in if it will assuage your concerns," Dream interrupts. He is uncertain of Hob's purpose in this line of conversation, or what any of this has to do with him accompanying Hob to buy groceries.

"Still missing the point, duck."

"Please. Enlighten me."

Hob blows out a breath, which clouds prettily around his face in the grey winter daylight. "There's a lot of really fun cold weather things we can do, human experiences that I, a humble human, would like to share with my more-than-human boyfriend. Things that just aren't quite the same if you're immune to the cold." He grins at Dream. "And then some other things that are purely selfish—how can I chivalrously offer you my scarf to stay warm if you don't get cold, for instance?"

Dream gives a put-upon sigh. "The weather is so frightfully cold," he intones, little better than deadpan. "If only some kind individual were to offer me his scarf, that I might warm myself."

"See I know you're just faking," Hob laughs, but all the same he unwinds the scarf from about his own neck, stopping to face Dream and drape it about him gently before continuing, shoulders hunching into his own coat. "It's not just about appearances, though. Isn't your sister always telling you to take more interest in humans and the 'human experience'? Isn't that how we met?"

"It is." Dream has buried his nose in the loop of scarf about his neck; it is pleasantly warm with Hob's body heat, whether or not Dream truly feels the cold as Hob does, and it smells enticingly of Hob as well.

Perhaps there is. Merit, to Hob's suggestion.

"Well, then…let me help you have some human experiences?" Hob is looking at him hopefully. "It'll be fun."

"I am quite pleased by the 'human experiences' you share with me already, Hob." Dream lets his mouth curl smugly above the scarf, tilts his head to glance at Hob through his lashes.

"Additional experiences. Cold weather experiences, outside the bedroom." Hob shakes his head, mock dismayed, betrayed by the smile in his eyes that's fighting its way down to his lips. "Can't believe you're making sex jokes outside Sainsbury's. What even is my life."

"I will. Consider your suggestion," Dream allows, as they enter the store, and no more is said on the subject that day.

~~~ When next Dream visits Hob in the waking world, he manifests his form in much greater human detail than usual. He pays special attention to making certain he has the appropriate body temperature and all of the internal intricacies to regulate it; he releases a breath, and it clouds the air before him.

He shivers.

His usual attire is indeed insufficient in this weather. He will trust that Hob can provide him something warmer.

Just as soon as Hob returns home.

Dream could let himself into Hob's flat, or wait for him inside the New Inn even; he chooses instead to wait outside, in the cold, that he might have the full effect of whatever it is Hob wishes him to glean from the experiment.

It is only a short time later that Hob returns, and his eyebrows shoot up beneath the cuff of the hat he wears to see Dream shivering outside the door at the back of the Inn. "Dream? What are you doing out here, you look like you're freezing!"

"Observant," Dream grits out, teeth clenched to still their chattering, arms tucked tight around himself. His mood has soured considerably in the interim.

"You choose the most peculiar times to take my suggestions to heart." Hob moves close, unlocking the door. "Did you miss the part where I mentioned wanting to share things with you?"

"Hence why I am here, waiting for you."

"Bloody obstinate git, you are," Hob chides fondly, opening the door and ushering Dream inside. The warm air is a relief, and Dream unclenches slightly.

"This is. A miserable experience so far," he says, uncharitably perhaps, but 'the experience' was Hob's selling point and Dream has yet to see what so enamours him of the cold.

"Ah, well, being cold is generally miserable, yes. Which is why you bundle up to enjoy the weather, and why you don't stand about waiting outside without a proper winter jacket when there's a nice heated pub right there, you numpty. Or just let yourself into my flat next time, honestly. Come on up, I'll get you sorted before we head out."

Dream is displeased by the thought of going back out, into the cold, but he is. Trying. Very hard, to be adaptable, to flow with change, to be open to whatever joy Hob thinks he might be shown. He recalls the way Hob's eyes had sparkled when he spoke of taking Dream round to the Christmas market, he recalls the dreams he has touched of such things over the centuries and he finds that he is able to muster a modicum of curiosity to see firsthand how they have evolved in the current era.

Most importantly, he does not wish to disappoint Hob.

It is much easier to brave the cold once Hob has bundled him into a jumper that is only marginally oversized (Hob is slighter than he tends to appear) and a scarf that is softer than the dreams children spin of summer clouds, and thrice as warm. Both smell faintly of Hob, which is delightful, and does a fine job of lifting his mood again.

"Hat, or earmuffs?" Hob holds out both options; after a moment's consideration, Dream chooses the earmuffs. A thick quilted overcoat ('puffer jacket', the collective subconscious supplies) and a fashionably slim pair of warmly-lined gloves finish off the ensemble, and Dream is nearly too warm thus arrayed.

It occurs to him as they leave Hob's flat that everything Hob has dressed him in is black, in keeping with his own preferences, and the realization sparks a different, softer sort of warmth in his chest.

~~~ The Christmas market is a lively, bustling affair, bright with voices and possibilities and fairy lights twinkling in the late afternoon dusk, robust with soft snatches of daydreams that twine and brush against him the way a cat might wind itself about one's ankles. There are children dashing about, parents tugged along behind them, flitting from one booth to the next in a flurry of contagious excitement; young couples and old, solitary visitors enjoying the time alone, groups of friends laughing together and Dream finds himself smiling at the wisps of half-formed fancy that reach him in the wake of everyone who passes by. It is easy to understand, immersed in this festive atmosphere, why so many humans have such love for the holidays.

"We're gift shopping for my staff at the Inn," Hob says, "and a few friends at work too. I like just wandering around to see what I can find—easy to make it personal that way." He gives Dream a wink, rakish and cocksure with the smallest edge of uncertainty hiding beneath it. "I know you're ruler of your own realm, unfathomably More Than Human etcetera etcetera, but if you see anything here that strikes your fancy? Just say so." He tugs lightly on his ear where it peeks from beneath his knit hat, glancing up and away for half an instant. "I'd be happy to buy you anything you like."

"A kind and gallant offer, Hob Gadling." Dream lets his smile curl into a smirk, leaning into coquettish charm to cover how genuinely pleased he is by Hob's generosity of spirit. "You would woo me with gifts, with tokens of admiration, when my affections have already been won?"

"Got to keep the romance alive, haven't I?" Hob shrugs, hands stuffed into his coat pockets, mouth curved in a smile that is brilliant in its sincerity. "I'd woo you a thousand times over if you wanted. Eager to please, always seeking for more, you know me."

"Intimately," Dream purrs, leaning in for a kiss. It's soft and short and chaste, as not to scandalize the other shoppers; Dream's lips and nose are mildly chilled, as are Hob's, but his heart is very warm when Hob returns for another peck before they part completely.

They browse the stalls at leisure, Hob selecting gifts carefully for each of his recipients, Dream rifling through what he knows of their dreams to help Hob choose when he has difficulty deciding. The tote bag Hob brought along slowly fills with packages and Dream has no trouble admitting that he is enjoying their evening, despite the cold.

There is a brooch that catches Dream's eye, a pair of poppies masterfully worked in silver and transparent red enamel, set with tiny black and white 'gems' for the center of each. It is a far cry from the sort of jewelry one might expect of his station, but Dream can feel the care, the dreams, the love of the craft that have gone into the creation of the piece, and it is striking. Hob buys it for him, gifts it to him, fixes it to the folds of the wonderfully soft scarf about his neck, and Hob's regard and affection, his care, seep into the brooch as well.

"Suits you," Hob says, dimpling sweetly, warmth simmering in his eyes, and Dream smiles back with equal affection. Certainly he might have simply manifested himself something similar, grander; the value of this piece, however, lies not in jeweled splendor but in the intent that went into its gifting.

~~~ "I am enjoying our time together," Dream says, while the mulled wine vendor is filling their commemorative Christmas Market mugs and adding clove-spiced orange slices for garnish.

Hob smiles, brilliant, beautiful. "I'm glad." He reaches to flick a light touch to Dream's earmuffs. "Staying cozy?"

Dream considers. Next time he will take the hat, he decides; his ears are warm but he has seen now where he would benefit from full coverage of his head. And perhaps thicker trousers as well; his jeans do not hold heat in any substantial fashion. The cold is not so bothersome to his legs as it is to his core and his extremities, but something warmer would not go amiss.

"The cold is far more tolerable when dressed properly," Dream admits, "for which. I thank you. However—" He pauses while Hob collects the prepared drinks, then continues. "I fail to see how letting myself feel the cold enhances the experience. I would be just as pleased with our evening had I not undertaken your suggestion."

"That's fair," Hob allows, contemplatively. "Thing is—" he offers a steaming mug to Dream "—if you weren't bothered by the cold, you wouldn't appreciate this half as much."

Dream accepts, cradling the mug in his gloved hands, letting the steam rise into his face. The warmth is pleasant but the aroma is utterly intoxicating, heady and fruity and laced with an assortment of spices that bloom behind his palette as he breathes it in. He can feel how his pleasure lights his face, and Hob's chuckle confirms it a second later.

"Try it, I promise it's everything you're hoping for there. Mind, it's hot—"

Dream raises the cup to his lips, heeding Hob's warning; he blows gently across the surface and sips carefully.

He makes a sound that is very nearly indecent, eyes fluttering shut for half an instant despite himself. The flavor is exquisite, bright notes of citrus and cloves and cardamom bursting on his tongue, but the warmth—it suffuses his mouth, flows down his throat with the wine, spreads softly throughout his body. He sips again, a careful slurping mouthful, and the soft heat chases through him delightfully.

"Exquisite," he murmurs, both hands wrapped around the cup, entranced with the steam rising softly into his face.

"See?" Hob's grin is bright and wide, eyes sparkling like the fairy lights around them, and Dream cannot even begrudge him the thrill of triumph that radiates from him. "Sometimes feeling the cold is worth it."

"Perhaps," Dream allows, and sips the wonderfully warm wine again.

~~~ Hob takes him ice skating on his next visit; this time, he manifests inside Hob's flat with warm cable-knit leggings, black with hints of silver threaded through, and a slim knee-length skirt that is quilted and layered for warmth. The poppy brooch Hob gifted him at the Christmas Market is tucked into his hand and his usual grey t-shirt is all he wears above.

Hob raises an eyebrow at him. "Got it half-right, at least?"

"I would. Borrow, from your wardrobe, if I may," he explains somewhat hesitantly. "I enjoyed wearing your clothing, smelling you upon me the entire evening. It is. An experience I would like to repeat."

The slow delight that brightens Hob's face as he says it is entirely worth the squirming discomfort of speaking the admission aloud.

"Okay then. You're in luck." Hob beams at him, all but heart-eyed, and goes to rummage through his wardrobe. "Same black jumper as last time, here's the scarf, had them both on for a bit yesterday, aaaannd—earmuffs?"

"Is the hat still on offer?"

"'Course it is. Here." Hob tosses him the hat instead, a black and silver cable-knit thing with a wide cuff and a large and fluffy pom pom on top.

Dream is pleased to have recalled its appearance accurately when manifesting his leggings; they are a perfect match.

He delights in the soft lingering scent of Hob as he pulls on the jumper, as Hob winds the scarf about his neck and pulls the hat snugly down to cover his ears. Dream hands Hob his brooch to pin to the scarf (the delight in Hob's eyes to see it makes Dream doubly-glad he had brought it), and then Hob curls those warm and wonderful fingers lightly around the back of his warmly-wrapped neck and leans in to kiss him, short and soft.

"You look adorable," Hob breathes, and while that is not a word nor an image he cultivates of himself in most circumstances…this is Hob. And Dream does not mind.

"Puffer jacket's in the entry hall," Hob says then, dropping a kiss on the tip of his nose. "Let's get you bundled up and head over to the pond."

~~~ "Have you skated before?" Hob asks, while they are lacing on their rented skates at the chalet.

"I am the king of all dreams and nightmares, prince of stories; I am the entirety of the collective human subconscious. All skills are within my grasp."

"So that's a no, then." Hob grins at him brightly. "That's alright, I'll teach you."

"I do not require instruction."

"Does his majesty know how to skate after all, then?"

Dream opens his mouth for a haughty retort to Hob's impertinence and pauses; certainly the necessary skill is available to him with minimal effort, but the idea that Hob would like to teach him is…appealing. "Perhaps," he hedges, with just enough of a pout to imply that he truly means 'no', and Hob smiles, warm and brilliant.

"Then let me help you out, duck. I promise I'm a very good teacher."

"I did not say that I do not know how," he protests, for appearances, while something in him swoons at the idea of having all the skill that Hob has honed in his chosen profession focused solely on himself.

Hob chuckles brightly. "'Course not. Still. Humor me? Let me feel useful."

"Very well," Dream concedes, concealing his delight, and allows Hob to lead him out onto the ice.

Hob is indeed a good teacher, and Dream basks happily in the casual intimacy of his unnecessary instruction, the focused warmth of his attention. Gliding over the frozen pond with Hob's guiding touch at the small of his back and Hob's other hand clasping his—he feels carefree, lighthearted, happy, and can easily understand why countless stories of young romance have featured this same activity.

Hob leads him about for a good while, offering guidance as he feels appropriate, but even when he deems that Dream has mastered the requisite balance and coordination, Dream is not at all inclined to sally forth on his own. Skating with Hob is the entirety of the appeal, after all; hand in gloved hand they glide and twirl about together, faces rosy with the cold, until the weak afternoon sun slowly relinquishes its place on the horizon to the encroaching evening.

~~~ "Here. Have some hot chocolate; it'll warm you up and the sugar will boost your energy," Hob says, as Dream is tying his boots back on. Hob had taken their rented skates to the return counter and come back with two takeaway cups, one of which he is offering to Dream.

"I do not require sustenance."

Hob rolls his eyes fondly. "Yes yes, I know, but you liked the mulled wine well enough last time, didn't you?"

"Wine is drunk for pleasure, not for sustenance."

"Same with hot chocolate. Well. It's sustenance for the soul, maybe, but not for the body." He presents the insulated cup again, waggling it slightly. "C'mon. Stop being contrary and take it. It's a vital part of the experience."

Dream is being contrary, simply for the pleasure of the way Hob pushes back. He is accustomed to the deference he receives from others as is due his station, but he very much appreciates that Hob treats him no differently having learned who he is. He is both friend and lover first when he is with Hob, and he delights in the many small ways that he can prove to himself over and over again that Hob values him over his function.

But the chocolate does smell enticing, and the memory of how a hot drink warmed his body last time is compelling; he accepts the cup with no further argument.

"It's the common dry-mix stuff, not real hot chocolate, but it's got its charm. 'Specially on the go like this," Hob offers as Dream takes a sip, and he is correct. Dream had tasted what Hob had ordered for them in the back room of the White Horse in 1789; he has encountered enough dreams to know that this is a pale version of the concoction but all the same, it is pleasant enough in its own right. It is a component of the experience he has shared with Hob and is enriched by that association; Hob was correct in this as well.

The warmth suffusing throughout him is as delightful as he recalls.

~~~ "I am. Enjoying, these cold-weather human experiences, with you," he admits as they stroll toward home. He had quietly taken Hob's hand as they left the pond and Hob has made no effort to reclaim it, carrying his drink in the other and sipping from it occasionally. Dream is doing the same, and his admission comes forth with suprising ease.

Hob grins. "It's the pleasure of my sparkling company. I enhance every experience."

"Perhaps," Dream allows with a smile, and Hob's gleeful expression softens.

"I'm glad you're having a good time, love. Thanks for trusting me."

The words warm Dream as deeply as his next sip of chocolate. You are worthy of my trust, Hob Gadling, he thinks, but what he says is, "Of course."

"I've got a great idea for our next date," Hob says then, beaming brightly again. "I'm very excited about it, but I need to make sure—" He squeezes Dream's hand gently. "Would I be able to keep you two days? I mean, I know you don't sleep and you'd probably want to check in on your realm while I'm sleeping instead of just watching me snore but there's an overnight trip I'd really love to take you on, if you're amenable? If it works for you?"

"Watching you sleep would not be the dull experience you believe it to be," Dream says first, which leaves Hob flustered and tongue-tied long enough for him to gather the rest of his words. "I would. Delight, in keeping your company overnight, in spending. More than one day at a time, with you." Lucienne would gladly see to his realm for far longer an absence, he is certain, particularly if she is made aware of why he must be away—her quiet approval of first his friendship and then his romantic relationship with Hob have been a steady source of reassurance as it progresses.

"Fantastic! Alright. I'll get it booked for a couple weekends out." Hob grins, absolutely glowing with his pleasure, and Dream is deeply warmed by the knowledge that he is responsible for putting that happiness there.

~~~ They drive a good long while out of the city when the weekend comes, the heater in Hob's car keeping them warm enough without heavy jackets for the duration. Hob eventually pulls into what looks like a farm in the countryside, and when they exit the car Dream dons the long fur-lined coat that he had manifested at Hob's direction. His boots are tall and fur-lined as well, warm and comfortable; his hands are buried in a cozy fur muff and a warm fur-lined hat covers his head. Beneath it all he has once again borrowed Hob's jumper and scarf, with the brooch Hob had gifted him pinned on, and he deems himself adequately prepared for whatever Hob has planned.

It is a sleigh ride.

They are ushered to a not-quite-traditional one-horse open sleigh, the bed of it still built to accommodate two passengers but an extension in front for a separate driver, allowing for the passengers to simply enjoy the ride. Dream very much intends to do so.

"What other surprises do you have in store for me?" he asks Hob as they settle into the sleigh. The driver flicks his reins and they lurch smoothly into motion toward the open snow-covered field.

"Just a quiet winter getaway," Hob answers, sitting up straight and laying his arm over Dream's shoulders. "We've got an hour or so to ride, and then we'll get to a little cabin in the woods where we'll spend the night. Then we'll catch another ride back late tomorrow."

Dream slouches on the plushly-padded seat just enough to fit comfortably beneath Hob's arm, leans into him with a smile. "You spoil me, Hob Gadling," he declares, soft and sincere, and Hob's laughter drifts away behind them as the horse moves from a slow walk to a lively trot along the groomed trail.

The weak winter sun is making its descent across the watery-blue afternoon sky as they go; the breeze is sharp against Dream's face, but his body is warm. His hands in the thick fur muff are warm, as are his ears and his head beneath the warmly-furred hat. His eyes sting marginally and his nose and cheeks are chilled, which is easily remedied by tucking his face into the folds of the soft woolen scarf Hob had wound snugly about his neck. It blocks the mild wind, holds the heat of his breath quite pleasantly, and most importantly it carries Hob's scent still. Dream inhales deeply, smiling, and leans further into the comfortable weight of Hob's arm around him.

The sleigh ride is uneventful, and quite pleasant for it. It is easy to feel the romantic shape of the story about them, bedecked in such finery, snuggled close against Hob, the air crisp and lively as they move from field to forest on their journey to a cozy private hideaway. There are many stories such as this in the Library, and Dream is unspeakably pleased that Hob would choose this sort of tale to spin anew with him. There will be lovemaking when they reach their destination, Dream is certain of it.

The thought warms him in more ways than one.

~~~ "Here we are. Proper hot chocolate, freshly made," Hob announces, turning from the stove in the cabin's kitchen with two steaming mugs in hand, carefully making his way to the main room. The fireplace is crackling cheerfully, bleeding wonderful heat into the space around it. Evening is falling outside and with it, new snow; Dream, cozy in Hob's borrowed jumper, is only too happy to accept Hob's offering.

The warmth is again exquisite, and the flavor is indeed far richer and creamier than what they had consumed after ice skating. Dream sips at it with relish and Hob settles on the couch beside him, smiling. "A whole night with the Dreamlord all to myself," he says, eyes twinkling. "What sort of cosmic favors does one normally have to offer to lay claim to your attention this way?"

"Great boons of significant value," Dream replies loftily, in keeping with Hob's teasing tone, but he is thinking of former lovers and their laments of his inconstant attention, and how Hob is always welcoming and delighted to see him whether it has been a week or several months. How Hob is considerate and respectful of his duty even when he is irreverent to Dream himself, how he had assumed that this overnight trip might easily involve Dream slipping away to attend to his duties while he himself slept. How happy he had been that Dream agreed to his request.

"And yet you give it to me just for the asking," Hob says then, soft and wondering and utterly devoid of teasing. "I really am the luckiest bloke."

Dream would like to say something equally heartfelt and besotted, but he is overfull of affection, of soft adoration, and his words will not make themselves known. Instead, he sets his mug on the coffee table, unfolds himself from his corner of the couch, lets himself flow into the tidal pull of Hob Gadling until his arms are around Hob's neck and their lips have met.

Hob makes the softest, sweetest sound, sets his drink aside, settles his hands on Dream's hips up underneath the warm bulk of his borrowed jumper. Dream pulls back the slightest distance, brushes his nose along Hob's, tilts his head and takes Hob's mouth again, sweet and cocoa-warm. He brings a hand to cradle the corner of Hob's jaw, licks softly between Hob's lips, kisses him with all of the words that stir silently inside him. Hob wraps him close, touches him with gentle reverence, kisses back with the same quiet intensity; and as they kiss, and kiss, and kiss, the warmth between them blossoms slowly and steadily into a familiar and welcome heat.

Dream wants, with intensity, ensconced in Hob's lap and secure in Hob's arms around him; Hob so easily, so often inspires him to such wanting and it would be maddening if he did not know that Hob will always and eagerly provide.

"Got an idea," Hob gasps presently, breathless, when Dream's building tension has thoroughly infused his touches and his kisses have grown fevered and urgent. Hob extricates himself gently from Dream's embrace, slides to his knees on the rug before Dream.

The heat in Dream's core curls sharply and he turns, unfolds so that his thighs bracket Hob's shoulders. "I do not believe the proprietors of this cabin intend for sexual activities to take place on the couch."

Hob laughs, bright and beautiful. "You started it, love."

This…is not untrue. "Perhaps."

"Well, I'll just have to be careful not to spill anything, won't I." Hob winks and pulls Dream's hips forward and Dream lies back, willing and wanting as Hob opens his trousers, nuzzles him through his underwear. Hob sits back and works Dream free, then reaches for his cocoa on the coffee table behind him and takes a sip.

And then he takes Dream into his mouth and Dream jerks at the sheer heat of it, makes a stifled wanton sound as Hob's tongue strokes heavy against him within the cocoon of his mouth. It is not the simple human-sex-warm that he is accustomed to; it is hot with the drink Hob has just consumed and the difference is striking.

"Good?" Hob asks, pulling off, and Dream shivers, delighted, aflame with his wanting.

"Yes. Hob—"

Hob takes another sip from his mug; Dream holds his gaze as he swallows and when Hob's mouth closes around him again after, Hob's eyes steady on his as the heat sinks in, Dream cannot help the whimper that escapes him.

Hob smiles around him and Dream is lost. The next few moments pass in a haze of pleasure, the ebb and flow of Hob's heated mouth, Dream combing trembling fingers through Hob's hair as he goes back down after every drink, the renewed heat bringing Dream closer and closer to his peak. He makes no effort to restrain his voice; Hob has told him repeatedly that he loves to hear Dream's pleasure, loves the affirmation that he is 'doing something right down there'. So he pants and moans, clinging loosely to Hob's head as Hob's heated mouth and clever tongue bring him up to the precipice, cries out as Hob tips him over the edge.

Hob spills nothing, true to his word; when the tension falls out of Dream Hob sits back and swallows, chases it down with the last of his hot chocolate. He then tucks Dream back into his clothing while Dream lies boneless and drifting, awash in the warmth of his satiation and the warmth of Hob's affections and the warmth of the fireplace and he is. Warm. And content.

Hob touches his face, gently, and Dream returns to himself, blinks into the bright warmth of Hob's smile.

"Still with me, duck?"

Dream manages a very loose, very satisfied smile of his own. "Perhaps."

"I will take that as a compliment," Hob grins, and levers himself up onto the sofa, settling into the corner. He reaches an arm toward Dream. "C'mere."

He is beckoning Dream into his embrace, to lie against him, which. Is not the next step Dream had expected.

"Do you not wish—?"

"Later," Hob assures him, smile soft, eyes gleaming warmly in the firelight. "Right now, you're so soft, so relaxed—I just want to cuddle you, maybe read to you for a bit, let you tell me the stories behind the stories and such. And let you finish your chocolate, of course."

And so Dream settles himself between Hob's legs as Hob stretches them the length of the couch, leans into the solid warmth of Hob's body behind him, cradles the mug that Hob passes him in both hands while Hob reaches for the book on the coffee table. It is a collection of poetry and folktales from around the world, and Dream offers anecdotes from his own memories of Aesop, of Hans Christian Andersen, of Bharavi in between Hob's readings. Once he has finished his drink, he snuggles in closer, turns a little, tucks his head under Hob's chin and his arm around Hob's waist. Hob wraps an arm around him in turn, drops a kiss to his hairline, continues reading, and Dream allows himself to simply…drift. The warmth of Hob's embrace, the gentle lull of Hob's voice in Hob's chest beneath his ear, the silence of the falling snow out the window—it is all of it so quietly serene, so comfortable, and Dream cannot recall when last he felt such tranquillity.

~~~ When the book has long been put aside and the fire has burned low, and he has lain in the comfort of Hob's arms for long enough that sleep has crept over Hob some time ago, Dream stirs, and Hob wakes.

"Duck? 'M sorry, didn't mean to fall asleep—"

"I do not object."

Hob chuckles. "Naturally the King of Dreams does not object to a little nap."

Dream feels himself smiling and does not resist it. "It is no hardship to lie with you while you sleep, Hob, but your back will not thank you if we spend the whole of the night thus."

"Right you are." Hob shifts beneath him and turns; to Dream's surprise, Hob pulls him closer, wraps an arm behind him and hooks the other beneath Dream's legs before he rises, lifting Dream in bridal fashion as he stands. Dream clings around his neck obligingly, amused and warmly delighted.

"Such gallantry, Hob Gadling," he breathes, as Hob moves toward the staircase.

"Always did wanna carry you to bed properly," Hob grins, and Dream absolutely must kiss him without a second's delay.

He leaves off so that Hob may climb the stairs safely to the loft, where the bed stands laden with a thick fluffy duvet over a velvety-soft blanket and flannel sheets, a sumptuous promise of comfort and warmth. Hob sets him down, undresses them both, ushers Dream beneath the covers and snuggles in after him.

The cabin is cooling down with the fire banked, but that only makes the cozy layers of the bedding and the heat they make beneath them all the more precious. Hob has him slow and languid, ardent and tender and vulnerable in this cocoon of warmth and closeness; Dream holds to him steadfastly, clings fiercely about his shoulders, lies back and lets Hob love him.

For he knows: that is what this is. There is no doubting Hob's affections for him, nor how deeply they run. The way that Hob moves atop and within him, kissing with relentless adoration all the while, stroking reverent fingers through his hair and whispering heartfelt vows and endearments against his lips—it warms Dream through, leaves him grateful and marveling. Hob, who time and again chooses life and living, has chosen him, despite all forewarning that choosing Dream was choosing poorly. Hob loves him, wants him, wishes for his company and his happiness and goes to whatever lengths are needed to ensure both.

Hob, who clings to Dream in his sleep now, after, head pillowed on the dubious cushion of Dream's chest, smile resting soft on his lips, arms comfortably close about Dream's waist and hip. Hob, who waited faithfully when Dream missed their meeting, ensured Dream could still find him when the White Horse closed, welcomed his return without judgment or recrimination of any kind; Hob, who treasures him, warms him, looks to his well-being and wishes to share favorite experiences with him.

Hob, who seeks no power, no boon, has never asked more of him than his company when his duty allows it.

Dream looks carefully at the glowing warmth in his own approximation of a heart, in the whole of his being; tentatively, he names it for what he knows it to be, and trusts that calamity will not follow. He cradles Hob's sleeping form close, strokes through Hob's hair again and again, traces the shape of his smile with gentle fingertips.

Warm, content, he holds Hob and he drifts in his happiness.

~~~ The morning comes slow and lazy, and they are both very cozy in the bed, but eventually Hob must get up to relieve his bladder. Then, with the chill of the cabin made apparent, he starts and stokes the fire before returning upstairs and diving back beneath the covers with Dream. The rest of the morning is decidedly less lazy and quite immensely satisfying, and by the time they leave the bed the cabin is comfortably warmed.

"Shower with me," Hob offers, and Dream agrees instead of simply willing himself clean. The cascading warm water, the simple pleasure of soaping Hob's body and being lathered up in turn, the intimacy of washing Hob's hair, of Hob's fingertips then massaging his scalp and Hob's hands gently tilting his head back into the spray to rinse, these all constitute yet another wonderfully human experience that he can fully appreciate, because Hob wishes to share it.

Hob cooks them brunch once they're dried and somewhat dressed, scrambling eggs and toasting bread in only a pair of low-slung joggers with a short towel draped behind his neck to manage the ends of his damp hair; Dream watches him work, smiling, cozy in Hob's jumper and a pair of fluffy grey socks with his bare legs tucked beneath him on the barstool at the kitchen peninsula.

"Here we are," Hob says, plating him a beautiful omelette laden with spices, peppers, and roasted tomatoes alongside a slice of buttered toast slathered with strawberry jam, and Dream accepts it with equanimity. He does not need to eat in the waking world, it provides no sustenance, but the ritual of sharing meals with Hob is entirely pleasant. Hob goes to great effort to prepare things that Dream will enjoy, and Dream. Is not inclined to see those efforts wasted.

The food is good. Hob's food is always good, and especially when infused with his warmth and love, as this is. Dream savors the omelette, lingers over the sweetness of the toast—Hob has spread it with 'far too much jam' just as Dream prefers—and smiles his pleasure at Hob, who beams back with his mouth full, which is far more endearing than it should be.

~~~ "I'm so glad you let me talk you into feeling the cold," Hob says later, once they've cleared the kitchen and resettled on the sofa. Dream is in Hob's lap, hands stroking through the hair on Hob's chest, bare thighs splayed to either side of his hips. He is kissing up the side of Hob's neck, very much in pursuit of a particular goal; he forewent trousers for a reason, after all. But Hob is still talking. "Gave me a great excuse to ask you here, after all, and I'm very much enjoying all this cozy cabin sex."

Dream draws back and looks at him, amusement plainly evident in his tone. "Hob Gadling. Has all of this, your insistence on sharing cold weather experiences, been merely an elaborate ploy to convince me to come away to the woods with you for 'cozy cabin sex'?"

"Perhaps ," Hob replies, with a ridiculous waggle of his eyebrows, and then he laughs. "No, love, everything we've done has been for its own sake. Including this mini holiday. I'm…" He trails off, tilts his head and tugs briefly at his earlobe. "I'm really glad you agreed, to all of it. I like doing fun things with you—I like spending time with you, full stop, whatever we're doing. But it means a lot that you've gone along with my plans and suggestions and that you've had a good time too." He grins, bright and beautiful. "The Dreamlord, Prince of Stories, King of all Dreams and Nightmares and Entirety of the Human Subconscious lets me take him on dates. Ordinary mundane cozy little human winter dates, and he even enjoys them. I am truly the luckiest bloke in existence."

His pure simple authentic joy is infectious; it seeps into Dream's body and settles warm around his heart, leaves him aglow in happiness, a soft smile on his face as he leans down into Hob to kiss him again.

He loves this man, fiercely, completely. It is he who is the lucky one.

~~~ The morning passes into afternoon and stretches closer to evening before they deign to part from one another, and then only because their transportation will be arriving soon. They dress, pack, tidy up, and Dream employs a measure of power to ensure the cabin is presentable (and sanitary) for the crew who will be coming in to clean and prepare it for the next guests.

The sleigh arrives as scheduled and Dream shrinks his form slightly as he climbs into it, the better to fit beneath Hob's arm. He settles comfortably in the warmth of his hat and his coat and Hob's scarf, the warmth of Hob's embrace, and Hob cuddles him close, tips his hat up enough to drop a kiss to his forehead and tugs it back down as the driver sets out.

I know what it is, to love Hob Gadling, Dream thinks as they go, but does not say. He is brave enough to accept the truth of it, but not yet brave enough to speak it aloud. He knows, on some level, that keeping it unspoken does not change the fact of its existence, but there is power in words all the same. Perhaps it makes no difference; Hob is technically no longer mortal, their love has existed for some time whether Dream has acknowledged it or not and no disaster has yet befallen them or humanity.

Still. Dream is nothing, if not cautious.

He moves just enough to glance up to Hob's face, and finds Hob gazing down at him with love shining plain in his kind depthless eyes; he smiles, knowing full well the same shows clear in his own face, and settles, snuggles back into Hob's shoulder to enjoy the remainder of their ride back.

The air is crisp, cold, invigorating, in a way that can only be appreciated when one has bundled up properly against it. Hob has ensured that he is, and so Dream can enjoy it.

He is. Content, warm in his love for Hob, warm in Hob's love for him.

Perhaps, one day, one of them will say it.

Then again, perhaps there is no need.

=== Started: 12/8/23 Drafted: 1/5/24 Posted: 1/8/24

Title taken from I Love the Winter Weather/I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm by Tony Bennett, which dovetailed too perfectly with the themes that developed in the writing for me not to use it

I love the winter weather So the two of us can get together There's nothing sweeter, finer When it's nice and cold I can hold my baby closer to me And collect the kisses that are due me I love the winter weather Because I've got my love to keep me warm

#Dreamling #Dream of the Endless #Hob Gadling #Sandman #Dreamling Nation Winter Exchange 2023 #TJs Fics

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cuubism · 1 year

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I don’t even know if you accept writing prompts, but just *Imagine* this

Dream, has no fuckin idea how Hobs immortality works

His sister just said “you could find out” and gave no other word other than the IMPLICATION that hob is immortal, so aside from knowledge that hob has been withheld from her gift, dream doesn’t know how the whole immortality thing works for hob

Meaning the first time Dream sees Hob DIE

I feel like he’s in for a ride

I always pictured Hobs immortality as a Deadpool kinda thing. He does TECHNICALLY die from whatever killed him, but he pops back as soon as his body heals. Not a fun experience, definitely some trauma involved (being drowned as a being that doesn’t die permanently seems ROUGH) but all in all Hob can walk away from everything pretty alright.

Now if Dream DOESN’T KNOW THAT. If he thinks hob is simply un killable, that could lead to a WORLD of delicious Temporary or Presumed death angst.

*looks at the ancient unfilled prompts lingering in my inbox from years ago* of course i take prompts what do you take me for! :D 😂 i love them, i don't always manage to write them

in retrospect 'you could find out' is QUITE mysterious and ominous, thanks Death.

yeah i usually imagine Hob's immortality working like it does in The Old Guard, where he basically does die but he comes back after a few minutes. i'm still undecided on whether he heals faster than normal, like, for plot purposes it's easier if he does, but there's something compelling also in the idea of hob having to struggle through the same long healing process as other people, just with the certainty that he will heal. i also always ask myself, can hob be permanently injured? like, if he lost an arm, would it... grow back? i don't know the answer to that. i like the idea of him being able to have scars for Symbolism, but him not having scars is also compelling, like, having no real record of anything that's happened.

drowning would... suck, especially as it probably took him ages to break free of his restraints so he probably drowned over and over and over...

dream seems to get in the 1789 scene that hob couldn't be killed by being attacked. but i feel like... like Death is not the only powerful force in the universe and she isn't all powerful. i could see dream being worried about hob being like, destroyed in some other way? like his... Being being destroyed? i don't think there's any being or creature in the story's universe that can't be killed in some way, even Dream can be killed - or, I guess, Morpheus can, is more accurate. so the fear could still be there. either way, seeing hob die would still be a hell of a shock, even knowing it's temporary.

i actually wrote something really similar to this in an as-yet-unfinished fic so i think instead of starting another wip (i have soo many ack) i will just share that scene

[ preface - there was a whole Fight and the Corinthian cut Hob across the throat (rip) and then Bounced because Dream was kind of, well, distracted ]

When Hob woke, Dream’s hands were around his throat.

Pressing, holding. Trying to keep him together.

And he was… just absolutely drenched in blood. It lay slick on his hands, smeared up his wrists, soaked in blacker patches on his black shirt and coat, he’d even managed to get a few droplets on his face. Dear God. Hob had almost forgotten how much blood could come out of a human body. It had, fortunately, been quite a while since he’d had to watch somebody exsanguinate.

Their gazes met. Hob’s bleary, Dream’s swirling with colliding galaxies.

“See?” said a voice out of Hob’s eyeline. “I told you he’d come back.”

Hob craned his neck carefully to see. A woman was sitting on the couch, arms crossed, apparently unconcerned by the scene of theatrical death and carnage playing out before her.

“Dream,” she repeated, when Dream didn’t move. “I told you. Let the man breathe.”

For all that her words were spoken lightly, there was a note of concern underneath them. Hob didn’t think it was directed at him, though, even if he had been to one to get his artery sliced open. The woman’s gaze kept flickering over to Dream.

“I had to be certain,” Dream ground out. His voice rumbled against Hob’s ruined throat.

“You don’t trust my word?”

“I had to be certain,” he repeated.

Hob wrapped a careful hand around his blood-soaked wrist, squeezing until Dream looked at him again, and rasped, “Hey. Can’t die, remember?”

Then his chest spasmed and he coughed up a truly horrific amount of blood. Dream released him, with some reluctance, allowing him to turn on his side, and Hob coughed until his throat was clear.

“Fuck,” he gasped, and spat one last clot of blood onto the absolutely destroyed living room rug. “Goddamn. That was a new one.”

“See?” said the woman, gesturing at Hob. “He even has a good attitude about it!”

Dream did not seem comforted by this. His hand fell to rest on Hob’s shoulder and gripped tight.

“Oh, I’m Death, by the way,” said the woman, catching Hob staring at her and waving at him. “Hey.”

“Um,” said Hob.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Death hastened to reassure him. “I’m not here for you. Or, I mean, I kind of am, but not to collect your soul, just because my brother here is a worry wart.”

Hob looked back and forth between them. “You… were worried Death would take me… so you… called her here?” he asked Dream incredulously.

Death sighed. “Not always the brightest bulb.”

Dream watched him intensely. “I needed to be sure she would not.”

“Dream, I told you—”

“I had never… seen you die before.” He held Hob’s gaze, but his expression wobbled into something close to fear. “It was… challenging.”

Hob supposed that knowing, abstractly, that your friend couldn’t die didn’t hold much water when seeing your friend die.

“Oh, Dream,” he murmured. Dream only looked more pained when Hob said his name. Hob found his wrist again and squeezed it. “Hey, it’s alright, yeah?”

Dream swallowed, a very human, nervous thing. “Evidently.”

“Come on, let him up,” said Death, and helped Dream haul Hob up to his feet. They dragged him over to the couch, where Hob sat, hand pressed to his still-aching neck. What a strange moment this made, he reflected. Two Endless, one covered in blood, dragging a half-dead human across the living room. Hob was going to have to give up on his life making a lick of sense anymore.

Dream’s fingers flexed, still slick with Hob’s blood. He wavered on his feet, then said, “I should— the blood,” and disappeared in the direction of the washroom at a rapid pace.

“Can’t he just—” Hob waved his hands in a gesture he hoped conveyed change his clothes magically.

“Could,” Death agreed, perching on the arm of the couch. “But he’s feeling an emotion so I think he needs a minute.”

“Ah.” Dream’s stricken expression hovered in Hob’s mind. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like seeing that forced split in his friend’s composure at all.

“You’re good for him, Hob,” continued Death.

“Because… I got my throat cut and kind of almost died and upset him?” Hob said, expecting her to correct him.

“Yup!” Death agreed cheerily. Her eyes lingered on the hallway that led to the washroom. “Among other things.”

As if any of that was reasonable. Hob leaned against the back of the couch, rubbing his eyes. “You all are so cryptic.”

Death laughed, but didn’t elaborate on what she’d said any further.

Hob lingered on it, though. You made him upset. Hob hadn’t seen Dream upset before, not like that.

Did he ever get upset like that? Or, rather, did he let himself?

Hob quickly found himself also watching the hallway for Dream’s return. He half-wondered if he’d just bolted back to the Dreaming, or maybe gone after the Corinthian, if he’d escaped after Hob had… died.

When he didn’t return for several minutes, Death let out a long breath and got up to go after him.

Now alone on the couch, Hob clenched his fingers in the fabric of his pants, gritting his teeth as a shiver of shock ran through him. Sort-of-dying sucked, but often, Hob had found that the aftermath was worse – human bodies were meant to either die or live, not land somewhere in between, and each time he’d recovered from situations he should have died in, he’d faced a sort of belated panic response, fight-or-flight kicking in with no danger present.

He stood jerkily, stumbling to his bedroom, where he stripped off his absolutely ruined shirt – he was going to have to burn that, he’d look like a serial killer throwing it away – and jeans, and scrubbed off the blood as best he could with a spare towel considering Dream was still hogging the washroom.

He’d just gotten on a clean pair of jeans and was reaching for a shirt when the door clicked open. Dream stepped in, so quiet he was less person and more shadow. Gone were his long coat, and his boots. His black skinny jeans and long sleeve shirt were functionally identical to what he’d been wearing before, but Hob had a feeling the actual blood-soaked ones from before had been destroyed – if they’d ever existed outside of dreams in the first place.

He stepped quietly, barefoot, over to Hob, and Hob looked up and down at this change in attire. “Planning to stay awhile, love?” he asked, a weak attempt at levity.

Dream stopped before him. His eyes were deep and very dark. “You are shaking.”

Hob chuckled self-consciously, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah, turns out that sort-of-almost-dying is a bit of a shock to the system. It’ll pass, though.”

“It will pass,” Dream echoed, expression unreadable.

“Has before,” Hob said, tension prickling up his spine at the utter stillness of him now. And not the relaxed stillness that Hob had become accustomed to when they sat and drank together at the inn. No, this was the stillness of water about to overflow. Surface tension.

“Before,” Dream repeated, again.

Hob smiled weakly at him. “Promise.”

Dream’s night sky gaze flicked over his face. His shoulders were even narrower without his coat, and the lack of structured fabric made him look softer, human, normal.

But Hob’s friend, his love, his stranger had never felt less normal. He moved in like the approach of nighttime, hovering clouds and darkness and rain, a blanket pulled over one’s head that might cocoon or suffocate.

Hob would have accepted either.

Dream caught him by the jaw with fingers soft as lamplight, murmured, “Promise,” and kissed him.

#this fic is getting long af but one day it'll be done i suppose #ask #aroace-get-out-of-my-face #my writing #dreamling

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f1llory · 6 months

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i know this all started like 11 years ago but i'm still so mad at how the hunger games movies have removed practically every trace of the avoxes that they can. i know that movies can't include everything from the books, but the avoxes are so important to the story and it does a real disservice to the movies by removing them. also, it would have added maybe a couple minutes per movie to include them the way they were in the books.

there are mentions of them here and there, and we do see lavinia briefly, but the only avox who's there in any meaningful way is pollux. and they couldn't take him out of the movie! not only is he important to include with the camera crew, he has to be there because he's the one who leads the group through the tunnels. if it were possible to cut him out of mockingjay, i think they would have.

removing so many scenes with lavinia genuinely detracted from my enjoyment of the first movie. especially witnessing her capture & carrying the guilt about it. when there are avoxes waiting on her, katniss does treat them politely, but i think it would have been so important & impactful to see her truly recognizing lavinia and her humanity and trying to communicate with her like anyone else. fixing this probably wouldn't add more than like 5 minutes to the runtime, but it would be such an improvement.

and don't even get me started with darius being removed from the movies. maybe he shows us a little less about katniss's character than lavinia would, but the mentions of him in catching fire add so much to our imagination of the hob and illustrate just how different peacekeepers were in district 12. this is also the first time this has happened to someone katniss actually knows. i think this would take maybe a minute and a half to fix? at most. really all we would need to see is darius talking to katniss in the hob, then being one of the peacekeepers getting captured when thread takes over.

obviously they kept pollux in because they literally couldn't remove him from mockingjay. i don't really have any complaints about his portrayal in the movies, which is kind of surprising given how passionate i am about him. also, the movie actually portrayed castor's death better than the book! it wasn't really in the book, basically castor was there and then he wasn't. so the movie version has a lot more impact.

also, it sucks that we didn't get to hear what happened to lavinia and darius. i always have intense second-hand embarrassment at the fact that in the book, peeta realizes pollux is an avox then immediately starts trauma dumping about seeing lavinia and darius tortured to death. if it were done as written in the movie, i might have experienced literal physical pain. but at the same time, i think it's very important that katniss finds out what happened to them. also in the books, squad 451 hears all the avoxes in the tunnels screaming as the mutts kill them. i feel like that would have been really easy to add in.

anyways we are moving on before i write an entire dissertation on pollux.

it was even worse in tbosas! the movie cut the scene where snow sees dr. gaul experimenting on and torturing avoxes. it would have been absolutely horrifying to see that translated to the screen, but it's incredibly important to snow's character development and his transformation into someone who both allows and perpetuates that cruelty. also, justice for ma plinth! i think it would have been incredible to see more of her and the way she treats people. in the book, she is so kind and caring to the avoxes working in her house. they're able to communicate with her, and she cooks food that will be easy for them to eat. since treating the avoxes as remotely human is so unusual, treating them with such love and respect is a revolutionary act, and goes to show what kind of person sejanus was raised to be. i know that this would add quite a bit to the runtime, but it probably should have been two movies anyways.

i know that side/background characters are cut from movies all the time. it happens. but even without getting a lot of lines, the avoxes are incredibly important to the story. these are people who have been enslaved, tortured, and dehumanized more than basically anyone else in panem. once characters truly see the avoxes, they're forced to confront the true brutality of the capitol and what they'll do to keep people in line. i think the movies don't truly force audiences to confront the brutality of this punishment. any rebellion is punished by literally robbing people of their voices and cutting them off from everything they've known. even if there's someone left to buy their freedom, they're physically disfigured for life--even removal of part of the tongue can have catastrophic side effects.

also, characters' perceptions of avoxes can say a lot about the kind of person they are. avoxes are the lowest class in panem, and treated with about as much agency as a piece of furniture. people aren't supposed to treat them like people. they're only supposed to talk to avoxes when giving them an order. despite this, there are certain characters who choose to show them kindness and love.

anyways i'm gonna end this here before i write a post so long it crashes tumblr but pls ask me literally anything about pollux i am in love w him <3

#the hunger games #thg #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #avoxes #pollux #lavinia #darius #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #sejanus plinth #ma plinth #president snow #coriolanus snow

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give-to-oblivion · 1 year

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Dream of the Endless, person vs purpose

Spinning this off of this discussion about Dream and Hob's 1589 meeting and the disconnect between their mindsets going into it.

(I'll try to make this coherent, but it's been a long day and I rarely write meta outside of D&D things, so I hope this is okay.)

I said, "Like some sort of fucked up velveteen rabbit, I honestly don't think Hob was a Real Person to Dream until he refused to give up in 1689. 1489? Not what Dream expected, but amusing. Hadn't experienced true hardship, though, so not so surprising. 1589? Successful, not interesting by Dream's metrics but of course he's not going to choose to die then. 1689 is when Hob does something so beyond Dream's understanding that he can't dismiss it again."

Here's the thing, though. Hob is the only being in history for whom Dream has always been a Real Person. The entire 600 years of their relationship, Hob never learns Dream's function. He never learns Dream's name, which means he never learns that those two things are functionally the same. Sure, if you knew about the Endless, you might look at Dream and go "yep, he's totally the anthropomorphic personification of the collective dreaming mind," but there's no way for Hob to know that.

In 1489 he asks if Dream is the devil, but when Dream says no, he doesn't push to learn what manner of creature he is. He must speculate, but what actually happens is that lacking any preconceived template about who and what Dream is, Hob simply settles on friend. He looks at this clearly supernatural, but still, essentially, wet cat of a man, and doesn't poke at all of the obvious power and mystery around him, try to take it for himself or lean on Dream to his own advantage. He just calls him stranger and friend. After all, Dream never asks anything of him except for stories about his life. They meet at regular intervals. His friend is aloof and reticent, but still obliquely expresses concern for Hob's circumstances in 1689 and 1789, and even gives advice the latter time, and seems minutely pleased at Hob's evolution by 1889. Hob doesn't know what his friend does outside of their meetings, but it's not hard to extrapolate from the way he asks about Hob's experiences that he doesn't have a lot of casual conversation or undemanding companionship. Which is why it's easy for Hob to identify him as lonely when they meet again in 1889.

And Dream is furious, but when he says "one such as I"? Hob doesn't know! I don't think Dream even realizes it at the time, because Hob is the only person in history who has ever divorced his idea of Dream as a person from Dream as his function. And Dream doesn't know how to separate those things. What does Hob see that allows him to make that distinction? No wonder he storms off rather than reciprocate; no wonder he doesn't offer Hob his name. (What if he told Hob his name and ceased to be Dream-who-is-first-of-all-Hob's-friend?)

And then he spends 133 years alone, cut off from his realm, his power, and his purpose. 133 years where he can't be anything except just himself.

I have to imagine he wondered about the person that Hob saw. I wonder if it was the first time he thought that there was enough of someone left without all of those things to still be a whole person in Hob's eyes.

@landwriter, @moderndaypandora, sorry if this isn't as coherent or in-depth a narrative as you might have liked, but I hope you enjoyed a little more elaboration on these thoughts!

#the sandman #hob gadling #dream of the endless #dreamling #meta

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gabessquishytum · 7 months

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I saw this and immediately thought: Dream "on the ace spectrum but assumes this is the norm for evryone except for Desire, who is an outlier" of the Endless ft. Hob "600 years of life did not prepare me for breaking down asexuality to an Endless" Gadling

https://www.tumblr.com/fuckyeahasexual/729996013402734592?source=share

- 🍃 (that post was a personal attack to teenage and in denial me from 2014-2018 and I'm projecting)

Alskdjfjggk this is very fun and also I feel like we need more ace spectrum Dream stuff!!!

Hob is talking about his sexuality and how he basically identifies as bi but it's a little weird since he's been around since these labels were really discussed. He tells Dream that he used to think about boys when he was young just as much as he thought about girls, and he thought everyone was like that.

"I used to go off and have a wank, thinking about what it'd be like to have both at the same time. To be in between them, y'know? A girl on one side and a boy on the other."

And Dream does his little head tilt thing.

"I too have no preference for gender, but I have never... imagined myself. In between. I had not realised that that was integral to the process."

And Hob explains that it's not integral.

"Some people get aroused by sex, or experience some sexual attraction. They might like porn. They just don't particularly want to imagine themselves being involved in the fantasy of sex. Or want to take part in sex in real life either."

Dream thinks about a lot of things (like people who have sex dreams that involve themselves, and how that never really made sense to him).

And he smiles a little bit.

"I hope you would not be opposed if I were to think of you in that way? And to take sexual gratification for the idea of your pleasure? I think I would like to... experiment. With these ideas."

And Hob doesn't know whether to fall off the couch or offer Dream a detailed photo album of his nudes (yes he has one of those) or congratulate him on finding a part of his identity.

So he does all three.

#🍃 anon #the sandman #dreamling #nsft

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punkeropercyjackson · 1 month

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To explain the problem with how the Atsv fandom deals with Hobie a lot and sometimes with Gwen too............Hobie and Gwen have certain expectations put on them as a slightly older black character and a female character who's the male mc's love interest.Hobie is expected to be overtly sexual and uncommited to his partners('I hate labels' was him being nonbinary,please be fucking serious)and have a huge mean edge to him or either a caretaker to the Spiderband with no personality and stories of his own and Gwen is expected to be a 'normal' straight girlfriend-Hence all the emphasis put on her being a girl and Miles a boy even when it dosen't fit-including the toxicity frequent in white ones with black boyfriends specifically(that's what 'snowbunny' means btw)and her experiences as a friendless abuse victim who's trans and was kicked out by her cop dad for doing activism isn't something that you can ignore,because GWEN can't ignore it either and neither can Hobie with his own lived antiblackness and adultification that are inherently intertwined with eachother

Gwen wasn't written to be a stereotypical hashtag quirky cis white girl with no real problems besides wanting the guy to like her back,Gwen was CANONICALLY written as a usual TRANS girl and those are absolutely different because i known both closely and she reminds me infinitely more of tgirls who're pastel softgirls for gender validation instead of white woman fragility and the only reason her and Margo weren't a trio with Hobie pre-Miles is the same reason Peter B didn't come with Gwen to visit Miles and it's that writers wanted to isolate them from eachother to emphasize Ghostflower as if they didn't pull it off just fine in the first movie and when the only weak points in the second one are FROM them doing that and if you think about it for 5 seconds you'd realize that Margo and her have every reason to love eachother so much and hang out.And Hobie has plenty of interesting traits and potential even without his comics lore and he never shows interest in sex-Rightfully so,because this is a fucking children's franchise!!!-and any 'vibes' adult Hobie bullshitters got was them being creeps who can't turn off horny mode and you can just say you don't ship Ghostpunk and Punkflower instead of making a fool of yourself by denying how much mutual romantic interest and chemistry Hobie has with Gwen and Miles

And y'all WILDIN' if you actually think Hobie's Team Dad status to the Spiderband is something that takes zero toll on him but i know for a fact it eventually does and he tries to hide it because he feels guilty but they find out and let him breakdown and take care of him too starting from then on because he's not their ACTUAL Dad,he's a 17 year old and he's their best friend and that's what best friends DO.Gwen ain't a pick me either,she's a trans legend who didn't magically turn cis when she started passing contrary to how y'all think transfemininity work and Hobie didn't 'adopt' her,him taking her in was intersectionality and solidarity between black people and trans women which has an extremely important history in punk culture and deadass one of the first thing's i learned when i started my research after i decided to go pastel punk.You all look dumb as hell with these janky ass takes,especially those random hate comments i'm always seeing on Hobie x Spiderband posts and the defenses towards the cisfeminization of Gwen and don't even get me started on the Switfie allegations as if Hobie isn't obviously a The Cure fan and Gwen a Tv Girl one,and if you want minority characters to be written offensively with no depth so bad,go back to watching Danny Phantom and Miraculous Ladybug and leave Hobs and Gwendy tf alone!!!!!

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chungledown-bimothy · 2 years

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i've seen a lot of posts talking about how rue is right. but, to put it bluntly, they're not considering hob's perspective at all.

they're projecting their own experiences onto him and expecting the same actions as they took, which is extremely unfair to him.

they took the similarities they saw and romanticized them to the point that they ignored all of the ways that they're different, and then they threw that fact in his face like it was, somehow, his fault?

they knew that he is, before anything else, a soldier of the goblin court. he has fought and bled and watched his fellow soldiers die for the establishment upon which his entire identity and sense of self is built.

he made it clear earlier that day that he still is willing to suffer immensely for his court, that he can't even begin to think about what life without courts would look like.

he had said many times what the broken engagement meant to him personally and as an agent of his court. how his entire mission at the bloom was to find out what happened. and they got upset that he was angry and hurt that it turned out to have been them all the time? when he's made it very clear that he does not share their ideals about romantic love being more important than anything else?

they seem to have not considered at all how enormous of an ask they're making of him.

it's not about whether he loves being major more than he loves them. it's that choosing to put himself above his duties to his court and defy a direct order means abandoning all of his beliefs and values.

and that's not a decision that's easy for someone like him to make.

the fact that they don't acknowledge that at all means they don't see and respect hob in his entirety, and that's not what healthy, true love is.

in practically the same breath, they told him they love him and threw the parts of him that they don't like in his face.

#acofaf #a court of fey and flowers #ruehob #delloso de la rue #kp hob #this got rambly idk if it makes any sense #i'm honestly kinda upset that not many people are standing up for hob

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onehundredandeleventropicalfish · 1 year

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thinking about that time destruction talked about how the endless aren't just necessary for their specific aspect, they also exist to define its opposite - death defines life, destiny defines freedom, despair defines hope, destruction creation, and so on

and when dream is super skeptical and asks destruction what he supposedly defines in this paradigm, destruction guesses reality

and i do think in some ways destruction was right. reality was the right word to use here. but i don't think reality is necessarily dream's opposite

like, the way most of the endless define their opposite is in a very negative space kinda way - freedom exists within the limits of destiny, and acts as a counter to it, and because of this constant battle the two are in, destiny sets a lot of the parameters for what freedom means. despair comes with the loss of hope, and is in turn countered by hope, it's a give and take. and it's the knowledge of death that makes people realise what life means to them

death has a little power over life, but for the most part, the endless don't have direct control over their opposite, they just move the pieces around it

and you'd think the same would be true with dream and reality. and on the surface it is - he's constantly described by people as a being of metaphor, allusion, abstraction, imagination, myth, stories, and if you're john dee, lies. his realm is where things that are not yet real become real. and his power over 'reality' is only through the ways people choose to act on their dreams

(i put reality in quotes because we don't actually mean reality in that particular sentence, we mean the waking world)

but i think about dreams, and their purpose. and i think about how alex burgess always appears in his dreams as a child, how hob always appears as a medieval peasant even in the modern day, how dream specifically told nuala if she was going to stay in the dreaming, she can't wear a glamour, he doesn't want that kind of magic in his home

dreams reveal your true self. the waking world is where you can put on all your fronts, where you can hide and lie and play as much as you like, but you physically can't do any of that in a dream. pretenses just don't work here, in the dreaming you will always be your truest, deepest self. and even if they did, if you could put on a mask while dreaming, how could that dream ever help you, if you can't face who you are underneath it?

it's why dream gets so annoyed when people call the waking world the real world - from his perspective, the dreaming is the real world, the one full of real people

(somewhat ironic that when john dee was trying to get rid of all the lies and pretenses, he was basically just recreating a dream within that diner - except when the dream is shared and it has actual consequences beyond the end of the dream, when the dream happens in the waking world, that's when it becomes a problem)

(dreams aren't lies. dreams are honest, much more so than the waking world - but it has to be that way, because honesty can be dangerous, for a variety of reasons. dreams allow that honesty to exist free of consequence. the waking world requires masks and social rules because that's how people function as a collective, it can't just be one person's unhindered thought process)

if you define reality as what happens in the waking world, then yes, dream fits in perfectly with his siblings

but if you define reality as the truest state of everything's existence, then the dreaming is far more a demonstration of reality than anywhere else. dream creates space for reality to exist, just as much as he creates space for it not to, he's a master of both

and in my ever expanding thesis on how the endless, bar delirium, are unable to experience their own aspect? dream has just as much trouble seeing himself for who he is, as he does hoping for his own future

#dream of the endless #sandman comic spoilers #mine #meta #the sandman

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immacaria · 1 year

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Fluffbruary: February 6 - Trust

Tags: Fluff; A wild appearance of Robyn and Orpheus; Humans AU; College Professor AU; Parent Trap AU; Yes, Robyn and Orpheus are trying to get their dads together; Mediaeval History Professor Hob; Psychology Professor Dream; I’m using my very limited experience on this, be kind; Crack

Please ignore that I am three days late for this one and enjoy Robyn and Orpheus trying to make their dads date. Also, this is for @firemandeanbuck just so you can see that I still write fluff, it just takes longer than the angst.

"Walk, walk, walk, old man," Robyn says behind Hob, pushing him out of the movie theatre with all the force he had. He has been doing this since he was a kid, pushing or pulling Hob with all the force he had in his little, puny arms.

Doesn't mean he is letting his son win any time soon anyway.

"Hey, hey, now, young man, who do you think you are talking with?" Hob says, leaning back against him and bracketing his feet.

"Would you trust me this once, Dad? We are going to lose the freaking cab!" Robyn has turned around, his shoulder replacing his hands as he tries to make him move. "Old man, move!" With all his force, Robyn pushes him and Hob starts to laugh, loud and clear as he stumbles ahead.

The people getting out of the theatre look at them out the side eyes, but Hob doesn't care. His boy is rolling his eyes at him, the smile on his face too much like Eleanor's and his heart is full. Robyn has grown up so much since her death, changed so much and it's so good to see him smiling like this, open and wide, happy.

"I love you, Robyn, you are my pride and joy," he says, his hand coming up to Robyn's cheek.

"Thank you, Dad," he says, voice soft and gentle and Hob knows he knows it's true.

Ever since Eleanor's death, Hob did everything he could, possible and impossible, to make sure Robyn knew he was loved. All the time he could find, he passed with him. School meetings, doctor appointments, all the hobbies.

He tried to do everything he could for his little boy, letting the grief appear only when he was alone. Their kitchen had hidden his tears one too many times until he learned how to live with the hole in chest. Robin, thankfully, turned well, maybe a little bit too much like him but Hob thinks Eleanor would have liked that.

Robyn is in college now, English classics like his mother. He is living at the dormitory, despite their house being only three hours away and Hob going almost every day there because of his classes. Almost every day they see each other at lunch, just to talk or sit together.

"This address, please," Robyn says to the driver, showing the address on his phone the moment they got into the cab.

"Why don't you say the address, boy? Where are you taking me?" Hob says, leaning against the door and lifting an eyebrow.

"It's a surprise, Dad," Robyn says, sitting back down and rolling his eyes at him. Grey eyes stare back at him, one more thing he inherited from his mother, and Hob makes a face at him, pulling his upper lip up and scrounging his nose. A laugh bursts out of both of them when Robyn does the same face, crossing his eyes and shaking his head to the sides.

People tend to say, when they see both of them together, that they do not look like father-son, but rather two friends. Not only because Robyn looks more like Eleanor than like him, but because they apparently joke too much together to truly be father and son. Hob particularly finds that bullshit, it's not because they joke together that there isn't respect between them.

The only one to understand that has been Robyn's roommate's father, Morpheus. Like him, he is a teacher at the college the boys study, one of the big names of the Psychology department. The first time they met was an accident. Robin and him were lunching together when he saw his roommate from far away and called him to sit with them. Morpheus appeared along with him.

After that, there were few occasions when they found each other again. Once when Hob was running from one lecture to another and found the man in the hallway, looking utterly lost, he had to stop to help him. Needless to say that he was late for his second lecture. There was another time where they found each other, but none of them were lost this time.

He liked Morpheus. For the few times they talked, he seemed like a decent guy who loved his son more than anything in this world. More than that, the man was beautiful as fuck, the type to inspire tells and stories about his beauty and eyes.

"How is Auntie Pru?" Robyn says beside him, taking him out of his thoughts.

"Prudence is alright, I think. Didn't see her much this week," Hob shrugs, turning to him. "And you? What have you and Orpheus been up to?"

"Nothing much, studying, planning, plotting. Why didn't you see Auntie Pru these last days? She found a boyfriend?" He asks, both eyebrows up and staring at him with shining eyes.

"That I know of, no, I was just too busy with classes," and thinking about it now, most of his week was spent either in class or talking with Morpheus. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, look we are here!"

Behind him, the facade of one of the most expensive restaurants in London shines right into Hob's face. There are couples coming in and out, families standing at the side while they wait for the valet to bring their car. All of them are wearing designer clothes, some of which he is sure would cost a year of his salary.

This is not a place they usually go and certainly not one he inured Robyn to frequent. So, why the fuck are they here?

"Err, Robyn? What are we doing here?" He asks as his son climbs out of the car and pays the driver, waving goodbye to him.

"C'mon, Dad, it's a surprise! Trust me on this one!" Robyn says and waves for him to get out of the car.

"Everytime you say that, I get more and more afraid of what you are doing," he is shaking his head, trying to decipher what the hell is his son doing when he hears a voice that gives him goosebumps down his spine.

"Afraid of your own son, Professor Gadling?"

"Of his machinations," he says, looking up to see Morpheus standing between Orpheus and Robyn. His hair is as wild as ever, but his clothes seem more soft and casual than Hob has ever seen him using before.

Orpheus is smiling beside him, waving to him, and Hob feels his eyebrows furrow. There is something wrong here, but he can't point out exactly what it is. He just knows there is something wrong.

"What a coincidence, right, Dad?" Robyn says and Hob squints his eyes at him.

"Yeah, what a coincidence..." he says through his teeth and turns to Morpheus. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Morpheus retorts, a smirk on his face, as he helps him out of the car.

"Oh, then the two of them can have dinner with us! We just arrived," Orpheus says, hands deep on his pocket, and turns to Morpheus with a smile on his face. By the look on Morpheus' face, he is finding this just as strange as Hob.

"If you two are hungry, we wouldn't mind," He says slowly, still looking at him.

"Amazing!" Robyn says and then promptly wraps his arm around Orpheus and turns to the restaurant. They watch as the two of them walk in the restaurant talking with the woman at the front - God, Hob doesn't even know what he should call her - and point to them, saying some thing more and nodding before finally disappearing inside.

"What do you think they are doing?" Hob asks, still watching the restaurant in front of them warily.

"I do not know, but it does seem like they are trying hard to make us spend some time together,"

"Should we tell them that we are seeing each other?" Morpheus shrugs by his side before shaking his head.

"No, let's see how far they can go with this." And after a beat, he adds. "Do you want to have dinner with me?"

"Oh yes!" Hob nods and then follows him up to the restaurant.

Let the kids figure out what they want. They have their own plans.

#my writing #macca writes #fluffbruary #fluffbruary 2023 #dreamling #dream of the endless #orpheus sandman #hob gadling #robyn gadling #robyn gadlen #dreamling nation #dean this is for you #i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed yours #you are amazing dean #you are simply amazing

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landwriter · 1 month

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ASK GAME just like love sequel tidbits pleaseeeee :)

I am BUZZIN about the Just Like Love followup interest!! Thank you for indulging me <3 so many people asked about so here's the tag for the rest!

Tidbits:

Immediately following the events of Just Like Love, Hob wakes up to an hotel room that reeks of day-old murder. He’s unsurprised to see the Corinthian gone, and laughs when he sees the scarf left behind. He feels a little giddy until he notices the Corinthian took his lighter, which was very nice and old and stolen from somebody else. Then he’s just fucked off.

When he gets back to his flat (with a Bic lighter he was supremely irritated to purchase) he listens to the Corinthian's voicemail, inviting him stateside with absolutely no identifying information, and hears it for the insane foreplay it is. Still unmoored, and not even certain he's getting another 100 years considering his benefactor never showed, Hob doesn't have to think about it.

Hob makes two calls: one to a journalist friend to water his plants while he's gone and also keep asking around at the White Horse, to try and see if Hob's super-secret very-old-school-no-I-don't-even-have-his-phone-number 'source' shows up again. He'd already been covertly checking all week. Some things can't be helped. Then, he phones a very different contact, and the hunt is on. Slick semi-legal detective work occurs. A noir soundtrack plays in the distance.

Hob does find the Corinthian in America, and watches him for a little bit, because he can be profoundly creepy too. This is how he ends up overdressed for a gay club, following a twink to the bathroom and trying to urgently warn him away from the Corinthian, who is dangerous, and shouldn't be trusted. The twink assumes this is some kinky roleplay between a very sexy 80s, tanktop-and-denim-in-his-element Corinthian, and his questionable choice of partner, who is dressed like an undercover fed and doing a clearly fake English accent. He goes to the Corinthian and tells him he should've just said if he wanted a threesome.

Hob and the Corinthian proceed have a fight in the bathroom, but despite their 0 for 1 record for bathroom conflict resolution, successfully end up fucking instead.

There IS a county fair trip, although the Corinthian certainly does not interrogate why he is bent on giving Hob new experiences and sating his appetites and curiosity, and what that might have to do with him being denied the same from Dream. He just wants to. And of course it's not a date. You can tell because they joke about it not being one. They flirt by being both a little too good at rigged carnival games. Hob adores his tour of Americana, and in turn gleefully serves as the Corinthian's unoffical tour guide to humanity and all the splendid pleasures and nightmares it has to offer.

A Spiderman-Pointing Scene ensues when Dream, unwilling to wait for Hob's return, finds Hob in the Waking through his dreams (which, if he'd stopped to pay attention to, might have given him fair warning) and finds him with the Corinthian. Hob says, Christ, no wonder neither of you would tell me your names. This is played for comedy. Then, like a tugged thread unspooling an entire weaving, it all goes to shit.

#asks #wip title ask game #just like love #the sandman #the corinthian #hob gadling #two NORMAL GUYS!#both throwing themselves into each other to not think about the same OTHER GUY!#hobrinthian #(cob)#this accounts for like #the middle and connective parts of Just Like Love II #then there is a whooole third act

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cuubism · 1 year

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I was watching a video on Youtube of someone criticizing the anti-aging advices shorts on Tiktok and my mind went to Hob, the immortal 30-something, being horrified at people being afraid of growing old with a hint of jealousy as he knows that aging is something that he will never experience.

I went down SUCH a mental rabbit whole of "what even is aging, actually?" while trying to answer this. Like, is aging one's relationship with time? Because Hob definitely gets older numerically as time passes, even if his body doesn't change. Is aging about one's relationship with death, and its nearness? Or is aging about one's relationship to their body? Or is it all of the above?

Because if you are mortal, like... all real people, time does leave a mark on the body. But to say that aging is the body's decay is too simplistic because physical disability also changes your body's functioning without being solely associated with aging (though some disabilities do get worse with age so it's not separate either). Aging-related cosmetic content online is focused on not "looking old" but going from a child to a young adult is also aging, and makes you look older but not "aged" so to speak. When it comes to death, aging does bring you closer to death, but death can also come at any time, whether you're "old" or not.

So I thought about it a lot (too much) and I thought about Sandman as a story about stories, and how the story of a life has a natural arc to it, a rise and fall, and how that is what Hob doesn't experience. He lived through the rising arc of his life but there is never a proper falling arc, a conclusion. There are ups and downs, minor climaxes. But it always returns to this plateau that keeps going straight rather than ultimately falling to an ending.

And... I am trying to see whether I think Hob would be jealous of this or not. Curious, for sure, because he's curious about pretty much every experience. And I think there is some melancholy whenever he loves someone and they age past him, some thought of it would be nice if we could stay on the same life path, at least for a while. And I'm sure he's cared for elderly people at various points in his life too, and seen people age, and die of old age, and held their hands and been through that moment with them. And... I do think he would feel for these very young people becoming so concerned over appearance in the sense that it can take away from actually living life. Hob is all about experiencing life, not, you know, avoiding laughing so you won't get wrinkles. In that respect, I think he would want those young people to really live and appreciate those years instead of spending them fearing what's to come.

The only feeling I can associate with Hob when it comes to aging is gratitude, actually. Not even in relation to physical appearance. But gratitude that he gets to continue on and avoid the downward arc of the conclusion of a life. Although I think that very situation is disturbing to Dream, who's in kind of the same boat, I think Hob might say "well why should a story have an ending anyway?"

There's really only one thing that lingers, and it's the question -- what happens after? It's the one subject of curiosity Hob absolutely cannot sate without giving up all the rest. Do I think it haunts him? No, not really. Tickles the back of his mind sometimes, though, probably.

I think of this poem Aging by Rosmarie Waldrop:

Distant galaxies are moving away from us. Friends, lovers, family. Even the sky shifts toward red. Where every clearness is only. A more welcoming slope of the night. And I don't remember why I opened the door.

Pretty much every door in life is open to Hob if he's willing to commit enough time and effort to it. Except for maybe the most major one. And everybody else lives with this inevitability. Except Hob. Which... well, rejecting inevitability is kind of how he got himself into that situation in the first place. So it tracks. And it's what makes Hob's story so interesting because what is a life without inevitability like? Or, you know, a story without an ending?

#hob: stories should just continue forever :)#dream: *EXTREMELY STRESSED*#just thoughts and stuff #ask #anonymous #hob gadling

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rey-jake-therapist · 8 months

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Hob Gadling's wives and girlfriends, the forgotten women of The Sandman

DISCLAIMER: the following posts contains major spoilers for Season of Mists, World's Ends, The Kindly Ones and The Wake.

A couple of weeks I told @writing-for-life my next meta would be about the women who shared Hob's life. There's not much to work on in the comics for most of them, but the fact remains that they exist and that Hob probably loved them all. And his second wife in particular, Margaret/Peggy aka Jim, had a story dedicated to her journey, in World's Ends.

Hob's canon romances always interested me because these women were all mortals, while he was not. We know he had at least one kid who died, and he saw almost all his lovers/wives die while knowing he would never follow them in the grave unless he wanted it. We didn't see it happen with Gwen, but it will, eventually.

It makes me wonder: how does he do it? How does he manage to be completely invested in a relationship knowing that the people he loves will all grow old and die, while he will stay the same and live forever? I would have loved it if the comics had him discussing that, and I still hope in the show he will. We never saw what his last conversation with Hob was, after all... I like to think that Dream stayed a bit longer than usual with Hob, and that they opened up about their respective lives and experiences with love. Audrey is still alive and probably in Hob's life at this point, it would be nice if she showed up, met Dreams and asked him embarrassing questions... but I digress haha

Before I continue I'd like to confess that not being a shipper, I don't read Dreamling fics - I rarely read fics revolving a ship in general... I prefer Morpheus x oc or non romantic fics -, so any comment I can make about the fandom is based on what I see on social media, and not on fanfic contents. I'm sure that Hob's wives and girlfriends are often evoked and maybe sometimes, even more developed there than they are in canon.

Hob's first wife: Eleanor

Eleanor's just a portrait, we don't know much about her except that Hob probably cared about her since in the show he still calls her "my Eleanor" long after she died.

She exists only to show that Hob's situation stabilized after he started making money. Also, their son's death and hers may have been the first time that it hit Hob in the head that while he could live forever, he couldn't prevent his loved ones from dying. The loss of his family affected him very much and yet, he still wanted to live. I'll probably write a meta later about how his situation purposely mirrors Morpheus', about how they both lost everything they loved at some point but reacted in a completely different manner.

Hob's second wife: Peggy/Jim

We meet Margaret/Peggy/Jim in World's End. She pretends to be a man hence why she calls herself Jim, as she did during all the trip during which she met Hob Gadling. It's quite obvious that she did it for safety issues, as she would have probably not been allowed to travel on a boat let alone work on one if she had revealed as girl without a chaperon, and she clearly enjoyed the freedom and advantages she got as passing for a man. It's good to emphasize how brave she was to do that, as if her secret had gone out it could have put her in great danger.

Hob was the only one who saw through her, but he protected her secret. He also confirmed her doubts that he was much older than he seemed, a secret she protected as well. It seems she never believed he was immortal though - see the part about Audrey - .They bonded over having secrets they could possibly not reveal to anyone else, so it's a really sweet love story.

Later, in The Kindly Ones, we learn that Peggy died in his arms, during the Blitz. If they had kids, he doesn't say, but it's obvious he loved her very much and was deeply affected by her death, as he says on Audrey's grave, in The Kindly Ones, that Audrey's the first woman he was with since Peggy died.

Now I know that certain fans want Peggy to be trans or non-binary because she disguises as a man and asks to be called Jim. It's generally not as much because they care about her character or representation,than because it would make Hob canonically queer. Now I have no problem with anyone's headcanons: there are no right or wrong headcanon, no stupid or offensive ones - as long as they're not hateful, homophobic, racist, transphobic etc. - and whatever makes people feel represented and happy is fine by me. That said, I personally believe it's a bit simplistic to reduce a woman's refusal to follow societal norms to her being a man or non-binary, but again, whatever floats your boat guys.

I personally think that Peggy/Jim was written as a strong young woman who wanted to travel and see the world, knew she couldn't do that if she was seen as a woman, so she disguised as a man, took a man's name and enjoyed the role because let's be honest: the life for white men during this period was wayyyyyy funnier and easier than for women. What do you mean, it still is? I don't understand, are you saying institutional patriarchy is still very much a thing? *pretends to be shocked*.

You can find many stories like Peggy/Jim's in modern literature, and of course, in real life!

As for Hob, he knew Peggy was a woman quite early, and when he talks about her on Audrey's grave he says "Peg' ", not "Jim", which tells me he kept seeing her as a woman. But again, that's my headcanon and I won't argue about that, I just feel like Peggy/Jim deserves better than being discussed solely regarding Hob's sexuality. Her story is one of my favorite in the comics :)

Talking about the particular subject of Hob's sexuality is immortal and even though the comics doesn't mention any male boyfriend, he seems open minded and hedonistic enough to have at least tried... I always headcanoned Hob Gadling as pansexual, because it doesn't make sense to me that a man who lived for hundred of years would be straight, simply.

I really hope that the show will give us Peggy/Jim's story on screen, she highly deserves it. I love this character, I just wish it would be clearer in the comics that she's the future Mrs Gadling... I learned through social media that the Peg' he mentioned on Audrey's grave was the Peggy he met in World's Ends. It's very confusing, the way it's written.

Hob Gadling's girlfriends

We of course don't know every girlfriend that Hob had, in the comics we're just introduced to two: Audrey, and Gwen. We learn a couple of other names in The Kindly Ones though: Lisabet and Anne.

Audrey

Audrey's another woman who's never part of the conversations, yet the panel dedicated to Hob's reaction to her death is the first panel that made Hob sympathetic to me. But whenever this panel is discussed, everything that's related to Audrey is ignored so the focus is entirely on Hob's concern for Morpheus. Before I read the comics, I had no idea that Hob had just buried his lover, and begged Morpheus to resurrect her because the pain of losing her was too hard to handle.

A bit like for Margaret/Peggy/Jim, it's not clear at all that in Season of Mists, the woman we see with Hob in bed is Audrey, the woman whose grave he visits in The Kindly Ones.

It's really in The Kindly Ones that we can see how much he cared for Audrey, as he cared for all the lovers he had before but died. The reaction he has, he admits it himself, responds to a question we probably all asked: does he ever get used to it? Become insensitive, with time?

The answer's no:

I always wondered why Morpheus visited him at this moment: was it because he felt his pain and wanted to be here for him? Or was it because he wanted to say one last goodbye and it happened to coincide with the moment Hob was drowning in his grief? Was it because he himself needed a friend, more than ever?

Anyway he certainly didn't expect Hob's request. For the first time that we know of, Hob asked Dream to use his supernatural powers. Hob, the immortal who saw all the people he knew die, not only wasn't used to it but asked Dream basically the same thing as Orpheus asked him: help him to get his lover back. It must have been very painful for Dream, but poor Hob couldn't know that. I doubt he even knew that Dream had once been married and had a son.

So yeah, afterwards he runs after Morpheus and tries to make him confide in him, he even feels his friend's death is imminent and he shows a deep concern, but that's not all that this panel is about. I think it's about saying that no matter how old you are, how many lives you lived, how many people you loved and loved you.... The death of a loved one is always painful.

2. Gwen

Gwen is Hob's last girlfriend that we know of. She's also, in his own admission, the first Black woman he dates. Considering that Hob used to be an enthusiastic slave trader who needed an ethereal entity to tell him that slavery was wrong to think that he should find another way to become rich, I find this information.... interesting. After 600 years, it was about time... did he refuse to date Black women because of guilt for what he did? Or because he remained racist for a long time and didn't think Black women were worth his attention?

I feel very protective of Gwen, first because I dislike how she was written as a moral caution for Hob, as she absolves him for his sins but without knowing the extent of his sins - she has no idea he's immortal and was a slave trader - . When she appears in the show - and I really hope she will! - , I hope she'll be written in a way that she doesn't exist solely for Hob to express his guilt while being too coward to tell her the truth about what he did.

I was going to say something very personal about me, but I'm not sure the comparison I want to make would work, so I prefer keeping it for me, finally. If anyone's interested in knowing me better they can join me in private though :)

The second reason why I'm very protective of her is that as Audrey, on social media she's generally treated as non existent by the fandom - who focuses entirely on Hob's grief regarding Morpheus' death - . I recently saw a wish regarding Gwen that made my blood boil and almost made me hit the 'deactivate' button, but I'm not here to start a war, let alone to point fingers. I just really wish some people paid more attention to what they wrote, because some stuff I've read these last days came off as very insensitive.

And I'll conclude with one last panel featuring the gorgeous Gwen:

Also tagging @violetoftheendless and @tickldpnk8 , in case you're interested in discussing this subject :)

#sandman women #hob gadling #hob gadling's lovers #hob and women #the sandman #season of mists #the kindly ones #the wake #sandman comics #sandman spoilers #the sandman meta #fandom misoginy #fandom racism #fandom critical

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whisperprime · 2 years

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Note: Archdemon from previous entries now has a name. If you get to the end of this and wonder, “Who’s Mammon?” that would be him. I’ll be editing previous entries to include the new change.

Hob allows himself his pity party, unfair that it is to call it that. He has been through a traumatic series of experiences and he understands the necessity of allowing himself time to recover.

In so much as recovery is ever possible after nearly a century of being tortured by a literal demon.

It likely doesn't help that he can't quite decide if staying in his friend's home for any prolonged period of time is a good or bad thing for him.

Oh, he is more than aware that you don't turn away a safe haven when you need to rebuild your life from neatly the ground up.

He's also aware that being in this house when his friend who has very much never stated they are indeed friends in this timeline is going to tear his fool heart to pieces.

The first night after Dream left, Hob had made his way back to the master bedroom, listless and restless at the same time. He'd found himself staring at the bed until his eyes burned, first from not blinking, then by the first hint of tears.

He is many things over his beloved, but he has not been brought quite this low for him.

Hob had taken the clothes from the wardrobe and set up base in the guest room downstairs. The bed didn't hold a candle to the one upstairs, but his dreams were haunted enough without the reminder of whose bed he was sleeping in.

Hob begins the arduous task of rebuilding his life in stages. It has been a very long time since he had to build it up from quite this near to from scratch.

He always had his contingency plans. They all had the emergency plan built in if he needed to disappear for a hand full of decades. Most humans that might hunt him would either have long given up or died by then, not having the same gift of a long life span like him.

He could afford to be patient when all he had was time.

A hand full of decades, though, is a very different beast than a century, though. Not the worst, but hardly the best, though.

It will be more trouble than worth to come back as a relative of who he was back during World War I. Better to start off fresh. It will be good to clear up any loose threads he might have left laying around. He is only sorry for the effects that he will have lost in the process. Some of those objects he had originally managed to hold onto, even into the 22nd century.

The best thing he has going for him is that he has already lived through this time period once before. The outside world isn't going to blindside him with technical advances. If nothing, it's going to feel a bit primitive.

But that's him getting ahead of himself.

After dragging himself out of the three day old cocoon of blankets and pillows he's made for himself, Hob feels ready to tackle the next stage of his plan: figuring out where Dream's house actually is and how much travel it will take to get him to one of his caches. Most of them are in the UK, but there are a few scattered between the United States, France, and Germany, respectively. As long as he’s not too far from any of them, it shouldn’t be too hard to get to one.

He goes out to the kitchen, grabbing himself a banana to snack on as he stares at the leather pouch that had appeared on the counter the day Dream left. He had found it along with a pantry full of food to easily last a single man several weeks, even with a generous appetite. It contains a generous amount of money, more than enough for transportation and lodging, but Hob does not want to dig into it if he doesn’t have to. His cache will be more than enough to get him back on his feet while he reestablishes himself.

There is only so much he can stand to accept. The clothes on his back, the roof over his head, the food in his belly, they are more than he could have asked for. Any money that he accepts will be only what he needs to get to his cache and to carry it with him back to London.

With a grunt, he grabs a bottle of water and then the pouch, the latter of which he stuffs into the pocket of his sweater. He finds some shoes that fit him as perfectly as everything else by the door. A key ring with a key to what must be the front door is swiped from the hook it hangs off of. He is all set to go, and yet he still lingers, a hand hovering over the door knob.

He hasn’t been outside in over a century. The thought is sort of mind boggling. Oh, he’s gotten near the windows, but he hadn’t felt like opening them just yet.

And now he’s going outside. Completely of his own free will. There is nothing keeping him here beyond the general effort it takes to open a door and walk through it.

Needless to say, he stops hesitating and near throws him outside.

He pauses on the door step, breathing in the crisp air of what appears to be either a fall or spring day. Whichever it is, he has caught it on a sunny day, and he feels no shame as he tilts his head back and lets the light of it soak in.

Humans are creatures of the light. They need it to combat fatigue, boost their mood, and to strengthen the density of their bones. Although Hob does not have to worry about the last on the list, he has felt the lingering touch of what felt like an ever lasting seasonal depression.

If it didn’t feel like it was 7°C out, he would absolutely go sunbathing about now.

He reigns in the urge, shuts the door behind him, locks it, and then makes his way down the drive way. Halfway down the driveway, he pivots to get a good look at the house. If he’s not mistaken, it appears to be a Victorian era style house. Old enough to be from that era, from the looks of it, although effort has been made to upkeep it. Hob half expected it to be predominantly black in color, but it’s blue-grey walls and dark grey roof tiles are more color than he thinks he’s ever seen from his friend.

Not by much, but still more colorful than black.

The house isn’t secluded, but it isn’t right up on top of any other properties, either. At the end of the drive way, he glances left and then right. Neither particularly look more promising than the other, so he simply shrugs and picks a direction. He makes note of the house’s location and starts walking.

It’s not a terribly long walk, but his ankle is still smarting by the time he reaches civilization. It doesn’t take long from there to figure out where his old friend dropped him and he has to laugh a little.

His friend has property in Scotland, as it turns out. Aberdeen, to be exact.

Oh, this is not nearly as terrible as he had feared. He kind of hoped he’d be closer to London - that’s still a eight hour trip one way by train - but at least he’s still in the United Kingdom.

It’s easy enough to get his hands on some luggage. Everyone is sympathetic to the story of the traveler who’s luggage has gone missing. He thinks it helps that he’s wearing what looks like high end clothing, because nothing Dream makes can be otherwise, apparently. The cashier who rings him up regales him with a time her husband had the same thing happen and how they never did see that suitcase ever again, thank goodness nothing of true value was in it.

He parts from the shop feeling better for the pleasant chat with a friendly soul. He lingers around the shops, buying some lunch and a simple pay-as-you-go phone to tide him over until he can get one with a plan. He chats with some more friendly locals and reacquaints himself with the early 21st century.

The sun is setting by the time he drags himself back to the house. While making dinner, he considers his next move. He is tempted to remain another day. To linger in the library or hide away in the guest bedroom until he is forced to leave. The offer was made that he could stay as long as he needed.

But if he stays, he will not want to leave. And what he wants most, he will not find here.

The next morning, Hob goes through it and clean the areas he's inhabited. He saves the upstairs bed - Dream’s and, for a single night, Hob’s bed - for last, pulling the sheets off, dragging them down to the washer and dyer on the first floor. He takes them back upstairs and erases the final traces of his visit as he sets the bed back to right. He laughs at himself in self-deprecation because here he is getting worked up about a bed his friend who is not his friend has likely never even laid in.

He takes a few changes of clothes for himself, packs his necessities along with the phone and pouch of money he will have to find some way to return at some point, and leaves the house, locking the door behind him. He forces himself to walk away, never once looking back no matter how much he wishes to.

By 9:52AM, he is sat on a train on a one way trip headed for London. By 11:00PM, he has found his closest cache and a room for the night.

Over the next several months, Hob pieces together who he wants to be for the next 20 years. On paper, he becomes Robert Gadsen, 31 years old. He’s just moved to London after getting his Master of Education in Teaching and Learning in the United States. He tacks on a Bachelor of Arts in History to have an excuse to get him in the door for history classes when he applies to teach at a local college for some teaching experience.

His biggest risk, he is aware, is when he purchases the building that, in another life, had been The New Inn.

He had not been surprised when he went looking for what had become of the White Horse Tavern and had found it completely gone. In this timeline, Hob had not been there to slow down the closure of the tavern. No one had petitioned for it to be declared a historical site, which had tied the hands of the demolition team for the better part of a decade. Eventually, Hob and his team had lost, but not before delaying things long enough that The New Inn was up and running with a sign pointing from the old meeting spot to the potential new meeting spot for Dream to find.

Because he does not want to have to dig another cache too soon, he decides to move in to the building from the first day instead of living in his own flat near by. When the Inn is up and running, he might revisit the idea of moving out, but for now, he will save money where he can.

The first day after moving in, Hob sits on the floor he has just finished sweeping and simply allows the moment to sink in.

He does not know why he is insistent on doing this. There was no indication that Dream will meet with him in 2089, as there was no indication he even came to the 1989 meeting. This could all be for nothing.

But Hob had built The New Inn the first time on nothing more than a hope and a prayer, the offering little more than an out stretched hand should Dream ever wish to take it. And perhaps it will become that again, in this new timeline.

Most of all, it had become his lode stone, after Dream’s death in the other timeline. It was the place he returned to when the loneliness of his immortality got the best of him and he needed to reflect on why he wanted this life. He hadn’t always lived there or even near it, but knowing it was there - this place where he had once been able to be honest with who he was and how he lived - was enough.

And so, the next day, he hires a contractor and got to work. Like the first time, he is just as involved with the construction and the creation of the blue prints. The contractors are a little skeptical at first, but it helps that this time, he knows what he’s doing. Remembers what worked and hadn’t worked. It saves time, even if it takes out some of the charm of the original build.

It is six months to the day of his rescue from Burgess’ henchmen that things take another turn.

The construction of the New Inn coming along nicely, his teaching job secured and ready to begin with the fall semester. The flat above the Inn has not received quite as much love as the pub, but it is not that far behind it. He is bone tired and he is almost asleep before his head hits the pillow.

In the time since the seal broke and his ability to dream like every other person returned, Hob has revisited the basement at Fawney Rig quite frequently in his sleeping hours. He visits it nearly as often as he does not get rescued and finds his way to the bottom of the English Channel instead.

He has tried his best to keep up his ability to lucid dream, but with the Dreaming now fully able to draw him in, he finds himself able to move around his dreams as if they are mere sets rather than events he is reenacting. He hasn’t gotten the hang of changing things, but he takes what he can get.

On this night, however, he does not open his eyes to a familiar basement with Mammon standing over his naked self, unable to escape the archdemon’s wrath for the binding circle. Nor does he find moments from being from some horrific death he will not stay dead from. Nor does he find himself moments from a dip in the water.

No, on this night, he opens his eyes to what is still that familiar basement, but instead of an angry archdemon, this one has a glass and metal sphere hanging from the ceiling. A stone walkway provides a way to cross the moot that has been built to isolate and protect a circle painted in yellow under the orb.

Hob presses his back to the metal gate behind him and stares, horrified, because this nightmare is not based on a memory that belonged to him.

It is based on a memory that belonged to the Dream of the other timeline.

Interlude

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