#hob gadling as an uncle

[alteon77]

That Familiar Feeling of Family (or how Hob Gadling ended up as an uncle to his stranger's oftentimes feral children): Chapter 2

It's a pretty universally known thing that families are just strange. As Hob is quickly figuring out, however, this little fact is magnified by AT LEAST a billion when the family in question is Endless.

(A lighthearted story in which Hob Gadling finds out his stranger has married, makes friends with a homicidal maniac/ruler, and manages to become an exemplary uncle to a pack of magically mischievous children. Really, now all he has to do is convince everyone to stop calling his and Dream's weekly meetups "playdates", and then his life will be practically perfect.)

Chapter One here, AO3 here, Masterlist here

In the year 1689, Hob Gadling stumbles into the Tavern of the White Horse dressed in little more than disgusting rags. It doesn't shock him that almost immediately he finds himself having an altercation with the guard they'd placed at the door precisely to keep Hob's type out. But what does shock him is that it's his stranger who intervenes, a passionate fury told on his finely chiseled face that Hob is honestly too tired (and hungry) to overly examine much at the moment. 

"This man is my guest," his stranger says, an authority in his voice that Hob, even in his current state of starvation, guesses is nice enough. With the strange reversal of fortune that Hob's spent the past few decades dealing with, it's reassuring to have someone, anyone, stick up for him. Even if that someone is the enigmatic devil who'd both blessed and cursed Hob with eternal life. 

When he collapses into a chair across from his host for the evening, Hob digs into the bread, consuming it so quickly that he has to remind himself to chew, to breathe as his stomach cramps with its desire to have food in it. And his stranger, usually a bit… well, prudish, only sits back and listens as Hob speaks of his woes, seemingly uncaring of Hob's lack of manners or the solid finger-breadth thick layer of filth covering him. 

Of course, his stranger remains as aloof as he's always been. The cut of his clothing is finely done, making both him and Hob appear as if they're sitting on exact opposite sides of the table in more ways than one given the tattered remnants of Hob's own rags as they hang loose about his body. Though he is also patient this night, speaking pleasantly and pityingly despite that their conversation mainly consists of Hob mumbling things at him around a mouth full of food.

As the meal concludes, Hob is almost… ashamed of the way he doesn't want to leave his stranger's presence. In the years of stormy, utterly bleak upheaval that Hob has known recently, Dream is a bit like a lighthouse on a distant shore, the brightness of him cutting through all the gloom so that Hob is nearly afraid to venture out alone into the gale force winds and darkness of his life now. 

But he does so anyway. 

This is, after all, their arrangement. They meet once every hundred years. No more. No less. 

So Hob stumbles from the tavern, drowsy from his full belly, and finds an alley in which to promptly pass out. For the first time in years, he sleeps deeply. Astoundingly deeply, he'd say. Or he would say, he supposes, were he not practically unconscious and all. In his dreams, he finds himself on a path, its way dotted on each side with large, sprawling trees whose branches hang low with apples, shiny and red and perfect. He plucks one for himself, and despite that he knows he's still full, that he's just gorged himself on a rather large quantity of food during his centennial meeting with his stranger, Hob can't seem to resist taking a bite. 

He moans. It's otherworldly in its perfection, juicy and firm, the taste sweet with just the smallest hint of tartness to it. He chews what's in his mouth, savoring every last masticated piece of it before he swallows. 

When he wakes, the memory of his dream's warmth is still lingering on his skin, and for a moment, it almost feels as if the bright sunshine of that place has followed him here. It's not to last, though. Hob, as an immortal, knows all too well that that's the nature of living. Nothing is forever. 

Well, except for him, apparently. And his stranger. 

Still, the next night it rains, and the deluge that soaks him is bitterly cold. Hob finds another alley, tucking himself as far under the small overhang of a butcher's shop door as he can in some futile effort to stay dry and hopefully avoid freezing to death. It won't kill him, but the thawing of icy limbs is bloody painful, which makes him… reticent to experience such a thing if he can avoid it.  

Sleep takes him again, and he's somewhat surprised to find himself back on that same path from the night before. This time, though, he's starving, and he has three apples before he ventures out from the canopy of trees into a meadow so that he can feel the sun on his skin, can let it warm him in anticipation of how chilled he's sure to be when he's pulled from his slumber to face the harsh reality of his real life. 

A week later, Hob starts thinking that something… odd is going on. His days are still miserable, but his nights are… peaceful, wondrous even, the serene calm he finds in them mending his mind and his body. He aches less. The vicious hunger pains in his belly plague him no longer, as if the apples he consumes in his dreams are sustaining him somehow. But that can't be, can it? How addle-brained has he gone that he's even considering that as a possibility?  

Nonetheless, when next he sleeps, he notices the addition of plum and orange trees. After that, there are pomegranates and pears. And then… one night there's an entire table set with a feast fit for a king. 

And Hob knows he should question this unexpected good fortune after the dismal dreariness of decades of bad luck, but he decides not to. He instead partakes of the bounties he is given and thanks whatever deity strikes his fancy for these gifts of plenty. Even though he is aware that this strange kindness is only a dream. 

PRESENT DAY...

The next night, Hob isn't surprised to find the girl waiting for him.

Aurora is in an embroidered lavender dress made of something like silk or taffeta, the iridescent skirt of it swishing just above the tops of her black boots, boots that Hob's relatively sure are just miniature versions of the ones he'd noticed his stranger wearing the day before. Her pitch black hair is plaited back, though there are a few wayward curls that have worked free and dangle in front of her face. She seems to pay them no mind, however, unbothered by the sure annoyance of them in the way that only children can ever seem to manage. 

"Hi, Mr. Hob!" Aurora greets cheerfully, offering him a brilliant smile as she reaches out to take hold of his hand, using her grasp to pull him with her as she walks. "My mommy sent me to get you."

"Your… mommy?" He doesn't quite know if it's nervousness that he's feeling at the prospect of meeting the newly discovered (to him anyway) Mrs. Stranger. Will she be like Dream? Maybe worse? Maybe more haughty and inhuman? Could she end up hating Hob for being as normal as he is? Might she even try and dissuade Dream from seeing him again?

"Yep. She said Dadda needed a playdate."

Then again, with an answer like that, Hob tells himself that he could be possibly worrying over absolutely nothing. If she's brought him here to see Dream, then obviously it's not to stop them from meeting. Or having a playdate. Which… Playdate? Hob fights his wince, because he can unfortunately imagine the scowl on Dream's face when he hears that particular descriptor applied to their every century gatherings. 

"Well, we're not really due our next get-together for about 98 years," he tells Aurora, careful to emphasize the words get-together so that she might use those in lieu of the term playdate.

"But why?" she asks, glancing up at him with more than a bit of confusion in her shimmery blue eyes, and Hob doesn't understand why exactly they're so… twinkly. He peers down at her, studying them.

"What do you mean?" is his murmured question, and he thinks that… Wait. Are those stars? Does she have literal stars shining out from her eyes?

She blinks, and it snaps him out of his scrutiny like she's just clapped in front of his face and ordered him to focus. "You and Dadda are friends."

"Yes?" He doesn't quite know where she's going with this, but she seems very determined in whatever she's getting at.

"Daniel is my friend, and I see him every we… every week for a playdate."

Oh, no no no. There's that word again. Playdate. He wonders briefly if he should just firmly instruct her not to use it. Would she heed his advice? Is that even his place?

"Your dadda," Hob begins, still not sure how he feels about that word being used in reference to his stranger. "He decided we should have a meeting every century."

"But you're friends."

"Yes. I believe so."

"Mommy said you were."

Even he's not stupid enough to argue with a child about his or her mother and what they've said. When his Robyn had been a small lad, Eleanor's words had been law to the boy, so powerful that his son often acted like they were the building blocks of reality itself. "Oh. Silly me. Then of course we are."

"I think I need to have a talk with my dadda about how he should behave with his friends, then." She sounds resigned, vaguely exasperated, as if she has to do this often with her father. And somehow, Hob thinks that if she were to have that talk, his stranger might actually… listen? It’s an odd thing to consider, this slip of a girl lecturing the unsociable (to put it mildly) Dream of the Endless on how to properly conduct a friendship. Not that Hob doesn't think his stranger couldn't use a healthy dose of lecturing on the matter, since his abilities regarding it are frankly the worst of any he's ever came across.  

"He's very nice," she goes on, and Hob has to forcibly stop himself from laughing at that. Dream? Nice? Hob decides he won't touch that one with a three hundred meter pole. Not in front of Dream's actual child anyway. When Hob gets a chance to properly speak to him, however, he might have a few things to say about his stranger's niceness. Or lack thereof. "And he really tries to always be good, but he… doesn't get it right sometimes."

Sometimes? Pfft. That's an understatement if he's ever heard one, the radioactive icing on a cake made of this poor, naive girl's dross.

Wisely, he doesn't say that either. Instead he asks, "Did your mother tell you that as well?"

"No. But she says that Dadda has as much emotional intell… intell…"

"Intelligence?"

"Yes! She says he has as much of that as the bottoms of my boots do." Aurora frowns like she's thinking over her words very seriously. "Is that something that shoe bottoms have lots of?"

"What? Emotional intelligence?"

"Mmm-hmm."

And Hob really doesn't know how to answer that. He feels like it would be disloyal to Dream were he to confess to this child how… clueless her father is when it comes to interacting with others. Though he wonders why it should strike him as disloyal or why he should have any sense of loyalty at all, since apparently Dream is a repressed git who couldn't even be bothered to tell Hob, his friend by his own admission, that he'd married and had a child. "Er…"

"So… no."

"I dunno, honestly," Hob lies. He refuses to allow himself any guilt about it, either, because sometimes lies are acceptable, especially when they might spare a young child's feelings. "Maybe? Maybe not? I'm not a mum, so I don't even pretend to have any of their mysterious wisdom."

"You might be right, Mr. Hob," Aurora declares after a minute. "My mommy is very smart. And funny. Though Dadda says her sense of humor is horrid."

Ha. Hob bets his stick in the mud personification of a friend understands humor about as well as Hob himself understands how thermodynamic fusion works. And he can imagine that any woman married to Dream would probably benefit from being able to laugh at just what in the hell she'd gotten herself into by wedding and bedding such a standoffish clodpole. 

But he's not going to say that either. The truth is that he's… upset with Dream currently, and he'd rather save all of his anger for when they finally get to have their one on one playdate. He shakes his head, like by doing so he can shake that term from his mind. Not playdate. Meeting. Gathering. Encounter. Literally, he needs to refer to it as anything else besides a playdate. 

Hob tears his gaze away from Aurora, taking a moment to look around wherever they're at, a luxury he hadn't been afforded the day before since he'd been… well, running for his life and all. 

And what he sees there nearly takes his breath away.

He… He knows this place.

Trees line either side of the path they're on, their limbs stretching out over it like a canopy. Amidst the emerald green leaves, apples hang low and heavy, their heft making some of the thinner branches droop, and the scent of the fruit fills up the air, causing his mouth to water with the memory of it. 

It hasn’t changed at all in the centuries since Hob used to find refuge here.

"This is the or…orchard," Aurora supplies, reaching up on her tiptoes to snatch one of the perfect red globes in her free hand before rubbing it on her dress and handing it to him. "You can eat it. The trees are happy to have the weight of them off their arms, and I do it all the time while I'm waiting for cookies to finish baking."

The trees don't… mind? Do they speak here? Is there anything about this place or the being who runs it that's even close to ordinary? But of course not. Hob's known for a long time that his stranger isn't anything close to normal, so he supposes it makes sense that Dream's home would likely be just as outlandish as everything else about him.

"Cookies?" he questions, taking the offering from her, his stomach twisting in remembrance. "Does your dadda… make you those?"

Her eyebrows raise high on her forehead, a look of such childish incredulity on her face that Hob automatically assumes the answer to be a giant no, which is… sort of a relief. The mental image of his stranger wearing a bright pink apron and matching oven mitts while waiting impatiently for a timer to go off is one that could likely make his brain explode in sheer absurdity. 

"No, Mr. Hob. Minnie does the cookies."

"Minnie?"

She grins, standing on her tiptoes again to snatch an apple for herself. "Minnie is one of my favorites. She cooks alllll day and sometimes she even lets me help!"

Minnie… cooks. All day long, apparently. Why is he not surprised that his stranger seems to have his own chef here? His reluctance to consume any food over the centuries certainly makes more sense now. Why in the world would his stranger have eaten at The White Horse when he got to come home to a chef ready to prepare his meals however he liked. 

"Are there… other fruits here?" he questions, unsure as to whether or not he wants the answer given what it might confirm for him, but certain that he has to know regardless. 

"Yep," she supplies. "Oranges and plums and some other kinds I don't like very much."

"Pomegranates and pears, I'd imagine."

"How'd you… know that, Mr Hob?"

"A guess is all." His heart is thudding in his chest though, the realization of why he'd likely had that dream so frequently making his stomach twist in emotion. 

That awkward, aloof…. tosspot. Hob doesn't have a doubt in his mind that Dream had been aware of his escape to this place. Hell and damnation, there's even the chance that he'd started directing him here in some weird show of affection, despite that the plonker hadn't seemed to know what affection was back in those days. Stunned, he thinks over Aurora's declaration earlier that Dream was nice, that he tried to be good.

And kind of hates that she might possibly have been… Well, right.

Not that Hob is an idiot about it. He knows that his stranger isn't exactly a teddy bear or anything. His impression of Dream has always been that the otherworldly entity doesn't seem to much care about others, that the problems of humans are just… insignificant to him, probably as uninteresting as ants milling about on a picnic blanket while they march towards a basket in hopes of plunder. However, to think Dream might have done something so… considerate for Hob, no matter how clueless his stranger can be, makes him feel heavy and light all at the same time, as if he's both touched and overwhelmed by the sentiment inherent in Dream's actions. 

He hasn't the time to think very long on it, however. Aurora, seemingly energetic in a way that Hob has never seen from her father Dream, takes his hand again to lead him further into this odd world. She's quite clearly a tactile child, brushing those fingers of hers not tucked against his palm over blades of grass and flowers along the path while they walk. She hums a tune under her breath like she's talking to the flora they pass, and it's almost as if they're answering, their petals unfurling at her touch, the tightly budded blooms blossoming when she gets near. Still, for as tactile as she surely is, she's also very, very chatty, managing to pepper him with a multitude of questions even as she lavishes attention on the greenery. 

"Do you have a cat?" is her first one, given when she glances expectantly up at him. "Dadda likes cats best, I think."

"No."

"A dog? Like Archibald?" A smile lights up her face. "Does yours turn into a dragon too?"

Not bloody likely, Hob wants to say. It's not that he's a coward, per se, but more that he still has enough of a sense of self preservation to make the idea of even getting near another dragon a properly terrifying one. "No dogs either."

She scrunches her face up like she's trying to think of what other nonhuman companion Hob might have. "A… turtle?" she tries, looking dubious at her own suggestion.

"I don't have any pets, lambkin." He freezes suddenly, sorrow fogging up his mind for a moment. Lambkin. That endearment. It's what he had called his son when he was a little lad, and Hob hadn't meant to say it just then. It had been an unthinking term of affection, one that had rolled off his tongue by sheer instinct. 

When he chances a glance at Aurora, he's alarmed to see that the stars in her eyes have dimmed slightly. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hob."

He can't help his frown. This child doesn't know that the loss of his son still hurts him, that sometimes he remembers Robyn's smiling face and his heart clenches tight in grief. "For what?"

"For making you sad," she offers quietly, and that sense of panic washes over him for only a few seconds before he finds himself feeling… warm and comforted, like someone's given his mind a hug. It's disconcerting but also… pleasant? 

Could this girl… be seeing his thoughts? It seems as if she asks far too many questions for that to be a possibility, but… Hob is well aware that Dream is capable of something similar, that he seems to know everyone. And yet he still doesn't hesitate to verbally inquire after the events of Hob's latest century whenever they speak. 

Aurora appears crestfallen, like she's worried that she's misstepped or said something she ought not have, and Hob forces himself to focus on that instead of the turbulent what if's banging about in his head. 

"You didn't make me sad," he rushes to reassure her. "I made myself sad."

"But… why?" Her expression is one of such confusion that Hob could almost laugh if he didn't fear it might hurt her feelings.

"Well, I didn't mean to. It was an accident."

"I'm still sorry you feel that way." And she seems so… genuine, so sweet in that way of innocent children, that Hob finds himself grinning at her for it.

He wants to say something funny, something charming that'll draw a giggle out of her, but they step out of the orchard then, and the sight before him is too staggering in its wonder for Hob to really concentrate on anything else. 

It's… beautiful. Magnificent. So incredibly astounding that he… he feels almost as if he cannot breathe from the sheer splendor of it, like the transcendence of it has bypassed his brain and wormed its way into his body instead. 

There's lush grass almost as far as the eye can see, a riotous multitude of fragrant, vibrant flowers dotting it. Their colors, deep crimsons and violets, oranges and yellows, are lovely, almost unreal in how crisp they are, in how heady their scents are. The entirety of the greenery ends just on the banks of a great body of water. A river, maybe? He can make out the blue of it from here, a perfect cerulean that glimmers sporadically with light when the sun's rays hit it just so, making it almost appear like it’s sparkling. 

A ship bobs gently in place, rocking to and fro where it floats. And he thinks he spots a… wooly mammoth on its deck? But that would be utterly ridiculous, right? Then again, given what he's came across already in this topsy turvy world of Dream's, Hob tells himself that on further consideration, it very likely is a wooly mammoth there that's strolling the planks, barking out orders at its helm as if it's the vessel's fluffy captain. Which, weird as this is to witness, Hob’s just grateful that it’s not another bloody dragon so near to him.

He continues his perusal, taking his fascinated gaze from the ship and its crew. Stretching over the river is a giant bridge, one of several it seems, but this one is unique in that he's pretty sure he recognizes it. Just like the Golden Bridge in Vietnam, massive sculpted hands seem to cradle the structure itself, the tips of the carved fingers resting near the railings like they're holding it aloft in midair.

But all of this, as lovely as it is, doesn't even begin to compare to the castle, his stranger's castle. And yeah, Hob's never seen such a prideful symbol of status in all his long life, so he knows that it must be where the most prideful bastard he's ever had the pleasure of meeting has to live. 

It stands tall across the water's edge, looming imposingly on what appears to be a verdant island, the shimmer in the stone it's built of causing it to look like a glittering diamond nestled atop rich green velvet. When they walk closer, Hob can make out more details in the architecture. The designs of this castle are ornate, meticulously done, and Hob is reminded of Grecian temples and Renaissance cathedrals. 

There are huge sculptures, finely wrought despite their size, and Hob takes note of a large Buddha statue flanking a giant portion of the structure's left side. The wider towers are capped with onion domes like the kind seen on Russian churches or Islamic mosques, their metal roofs gleaming in the sun, but the thinner towers have spires atop them. The overall style is Gothic, from the pointed arches to the peek of a flying buttress off to the right. In truth, however, Hob doesn't think he could pin down a main influence if he tried, except to say that opulence seems to be what his stranger had been going for. It makes sense in the grand scheme of things, given that Dream himself had told Hob that he'd existed for longer than humans had. How does a being like that relate to just one time? One place? Instead, this show of status reminds him of nothing so much as a collection, like it's just been made of all the things Dream simply… enjoys, as if he'd wandered through the market of humanity's history, snatching the bits and bobbles he found pleasing to bring them back here and cobble them all together, creating a fantastical marvel in the process.

Then again, Hob has the feeling that he could probably say that about this entire world of Dream's. 

"I assume that's yours," he drawls, finally shifting his gaze from the castle to Aurora. 

"Indeed it is, Hob Gadling."

Hob feels himself go still at the sound of his stranger speaking, and he turns back to say something, to greet him, to respond with anything more eloquent than the highly embarrassing dadda he'd uttered when last he'd addressed Dream.

Not that he really gets the chance, however, since Aurora chooses that moment to let go of his hand and make a beeline to where her father's standing. 

"Dadda!" she yells, excitement like a living thing in her tone as Dream readily sweeps her up into his arms. Aurora settles into his hold, perching on his slim hip while she leans forward to plant a kiss on his angular cheek, and the whole scene kind of…. softens him a bit in Hob's eyes. For centuries, this pale, powerful entity has been so untouchable to Hob, so unrelatable, but watching Aurora giggle and press yet another kiss to his stranger's cheekbone is almost humanizing to see. 

Hob would never actually say it aloud, but here Dream is almost like any other bloke, just some simple (albeit gloomily dressed) chap with a family of his own and a child that he obviously adores.

"Hello, my starshine. Why ever are you out here alone? Given that Archibald is confined to the palace and you need not chase him in an effort to keep him from trouble, I assumed you'd be with your mother."

"Mommy said it was okay. She said we're going to have tea today!"

Dream raises an eyebrow, blatantly studying the girl. "I see. And was this to be before or after she sent you to collect Hob Gadling?"

Now, Hob knows that Aurora was, in fact, sent to collect him, but he also knows enough to keep his mouth firmly shut about it, especially since Dream looks like he's sniffing out some plot against him like it's a truffle and he's a prized truffle hog. Furthermore, Hob has yet to meet Mrs. Stranger, and he thinks it would be a poor first introduction to bring tidings that he had been the one to tip her ornery husband off about her plan, even if he doesn't actually understand what said plan is. 

"Er… hi?" Hob offers instead, immediately fighting the urge to  groan at his apparent inability to speak plainly in Dream's presence these days. He hasn't really been nervous around his stranger since that second meeting in 1489 when he'd been afraid that he'd made a deal with a devil, and he doesn't quite comprehend why he should feel so tongue tied at present. Maybe because he's learning that he didn't know his oldest friend as well as he thought? Maybe because Dream seems so… different now that he's nearly unrecognizable? Maybe even because he's peeled back a layer of the mopey onion that is Dream's personality and found it might actually be… somewhat soft in the middle?

Dream is still a repressed wanker, granted, but Hob considers the possibility that Dream could be a kind, repressed wanker at the end of the day. And the realization of that is more than a bit shocking. 

"Greetings, Hob Gadling," his stranger says, taking a moment to spare Hob a glance. "Am I to assume my wife invited you for tea?"

"Um…" Hob trails off, wondering how in the ever loving hell he's supposed to answer that.

"No Dadda," Aurora cuts in, giggling again. Hob lets out a slow breath in relief. Twice over now he owes his savior for her rescue of him. "I invited him for tea. It was my first real invitation."

"And your mother assisted you, no doubt?"

"Nope. I wanted you to have a playdate."

Oof. She used the word, which is exactly what Hob had been fearing since he'd heard her utter it that initial time. To Hob's surprise, though, Dream doesn't correct her. Instead, he appears as if he's attempting to suss out whether or not his daughter is telling the truth. Which… she likely isn't, if Hob had to guess. 

"Aurora, are you being dishonest?"

She wilts slightly, her eyes going downcast. "No?"

Hob decides then and there that he's going to have to teach this girl the fine art of dishonesty at some point in the future, because her skills in it are sadly lacking. She is, simply put, abysmal at lying. 

"Perhaps it would be best for you to try that anew," is Dream's command, though it's gentle enough that Hob is almost proud of his stranger for it. Has having a child changed Dream that much? Has it allowed him such empathy and love that he is tempering his response to avoid shaming his daughter? 

And Hob is certain that it would indeed shame this girl to be caught. It's plain to see that this child loves her father tremendously, and she's a sweet thing, likely not given to untruths. He opens his mouth to intervene, to have the focus turned on him, only to find out rather quickly that he's not going to have to bother with doing that after all. 

"I love you, Dadda," Aurora tells Dream sweetly, and by the softening in his stranger's features, Hob can see that it's… working? What? How? Never in a million years would he have thought to witness this pouting, emotionally constipated entity felled so completely by an adorable little girl. Granted, she's an adorable little girl who seems to know how to play her father like a Stradivarius, but Hob thinks it's fair to find himself stunned by it nonetheless.

"As I do you, my starshine." Dream drops a kiss atop her head where she's snuggling against him, her tiny face buried in his neck, and they appear comfortable in this embrace, as if they cuddle like this frequently. Almost in a daze, Hob thinks that if he had his phone with him, he'd take a picture of what he's seeing. They're just so precious together that it puts a lump in his throat, one that he swallows down with great difficulty. 

Dream is apparently not as fooled by this cute distraction as Hob had assumed, though, which is evidenced by his next words. "I will, however, have the truth in this matter, daughter mine."

"Dadda, I'm tired," she murmurs. "And you're being rude to your friend. Mommy would call this a bad example."

Hob almost chokes while he tries to smother his laugh at that, especially when his pale stranger merely sighs heavily, his parental exasperation so ordinary and relatable that Hob thinks the mirth threatening to burst out of him on witnessing it is entirely understandable.

"Of course. I should hate if your ability to socialize were jeopardized by any behavior of mine." And… is it Hob's imagination, or is that comment as dry as the Sahara? He doesn't think he's ever heard so much sarcasm laced in a single sentence before. "Hob Gadling, will you join us for tea? I am certain my wife is expecting you."

He doesn't seem angry upon offering this, which surprises Hob. It's quite obvious that this little girl and her mum had absolutely been conspiring together, and despite Aurora's cuteness, Hob had thought there'd be more…. of a temper tantrum? Maybe a bit of storming off into the rain while both Aurora and Hob yelled after him about the virtues of friendship? He can't help but to think that, though. Unbidden, he remembers chasing his stranger when he'd left (i.e. fled) their meeting in 1889, insisting that they were friends, cursing himself the whole while for startling the obstinate, irritable entity by offering him companionship. Which is all to say that Dream assuredly has priors, doesn't he? And who better than Hob knows how ornery his stranger gets when faced with such terrible things as affection and feelings. 

"Come on, Mr Hob," Aurora pipes up, sounding mysteriously no longer tired, which is just further proof that she had been pretending in front of her father only minutes earlier. "You're my very first guest, and it would make me sad if you didn't accept my invitation."

Not that Hob had even been considering not going, but that just cinches the deal for him. After all, it's never been in his nature to say no to a child, especially when that child is as kind and seemingly goodhearted as this one.

And if a shudder goes through him at that realization, if he suddenly feels like that portends some kind of hilarious doom for him, then Hob brushes the feeling aside. It's just a spot of tea with a wildly charming, powerful little girl and her dramatically less charming but probably more powerful father. What, Hob wonders, could really go wrong?

It isn't until two hours later that Hob finds out the answer to that question. And it's… not great. Because as it turns out, a whole lot can (and does) go wrong during Hob and Dream's playdate.

[smallandangry24]

God, I love characters that embrace radical goodness. Like yes, the world can be a messed up place, but no matter how bad it gets, it’s still worth loving. Be the hope you want to see in the world energy.

Update! I'm making this a series. Link for pt 2: ladies edition

radical goodness part 2 | radical goodness part 3 | radical goodness part 4

[euzede]

"Uncle Hob is nothing like Uncle Dream, but that's good too. He has strong arms, and hair that's both silver and brown. On Fridays we have movie nights at his house. He insists I choose the film we're watching - I think it's because he knows I didn't get to watch telly much."

[lord-morpheus-ravens]

Illustration from the first chapter of my new fic My love will testify with married Dreamling. And bonus proud Uncle Dream and Jed wearing matching space shirts!

[burnt-scone]

"WTF"

1.

Rose is looking to Dream and asks, "What did they do for you to fight so much?" Desire quickly answers.

"Well, there was that century long imprisonment, -"

2. Desires answer cont.

" -trying to get him to spill family blood, making & taking romances away. (Nada was a mistake)

But honestly, it's probably all the pestering."

They look quite smug and seem to be reminiscent.

Rose looks flabbergasted, like wtf.

3.

Everyone's a bit flabbergasted, even the Unicorn, "What the actual fuck?" She states.

Hob points to himself, most likely asking if he's one of these romances Desire created, they say "No not U"

Rose has scooted closer to Dream and pats hin on the shoulder, he's the only one not flabbergasted.

[greatsnakestintin]

the funniest way Hob’s immortality is found out is because despite moving around a lot one of his uni students recognises Hob because he taught them in primary/secondary school

[darthstitch]

For the record, this was ENTIRELY the fault of Rose Walker, who decided, for the good of ALL HUMANITY and the Dreaming, to push her Uncle towards one Professor Hob Gadling and "finally put an end to the frankly pathetic pining, I swear to God, Uncle Dream, he would be a complete IDIOT if he doesn't pounce on you the moment he sees you like that."

"I have every faith in his intelligence," Dream manages to deadpan, even though he's not quite able to stop his blushing.

"Whatever. Go get your man, Uncle Dream."

Hob Gadling was thoroughly "gotten" even though Hob dot exe completely crashed upon seeing Dream of the Endless not in his usual black. He did manage to recover his wits in time, with some help from his students, all of whom had caught on immediately and instinctively came to the aid of their favorite Shakespeare-hating cryptid professor.

***

**Plot Bunny got loose after I just read the cutest fic. We need more Uncle Dream + Dreamling in this fandom ***

[gourmet-trash]

this is probably gonna be less cohesive than the silly shit i usually post but i cannot stop thinking about it! as always highly, highly self indulgent.

So over the course of the last few months? Years maybe? Human time is ridiculous, frankly. But for however long it's been, it's obvious that they've developed some sort of function in their dysfunctional little group. Corinthian wouldn't say family, because they're not. Not him or Gadling, at least. And frankly Desire is closer in the bloodline, but they're all still tiptoeing around that point.

Well the rest of them are tiptoeing. Corinthian has made several very loud, very clear threats to indicate exactly where he stands on that front. It's one of the few things he and Dream readily and wholeheartedly agree on, actually.

Not the point.

The point is that whatever the hell it is they have, it's something. And it's...good, actually. Caring for things is something Corinthian knows he doesn't do well; it's either not at all or far, far, too much. To a point where it's usually better to shove it back down into the 'not at all' category. But the Walkers have wormed their way under his skin and burrowed too deep into whatever sort of heart he may have for him to deny that he keeps them there.

Sure, he's technically supposed to be doing the work of a Nightmare, pushing other humans to confront their (outrageously well founded, it turns out) fears of dentistry or some shit. But instead, he spends most of his time pushing the Walkers to overcome their fears of other things.

"Why the hell wouldn't you get that scholarship, Rosebud? I've seen the stuff you've written, and what you end up writing in the Library, and it's better than anything those other hacks would submit. Their prose is fucking awful."

"Jed, so help me God, if you spend one more day moping about that boy who looks like a damn toe, I'm gonna make him disappear so you might finally forgot about him!"

He figures he's all right, since Dream hasn't shooed him back out of the Waking World yet. Though there was a close call when he finally figured out about the whole "stabbing the immortal" thing. Apparently having explicit consent still wasn't enough to stab a guy? Ridiculous.

Gadling still lets him, of course. It's their thing.

It's also the only reason he continues to put up with the amount of stupid shit Gadling always feels compelled to talk about. Definitely the only reason.

"Stop making that face at me," he says without turning his head back towards the bar, instead watching Jed hurry to the back to get his bookbag out of Gadling's apartment. With a fucking key, mind you, because they're finally locking the damn door.

"Not sure what face you mean," Gadling lies, and sure enough, when Corinthian finally turns back, he's smirking at him. That annoying expression that says Gadling knows more than he should. Or, at least, that he thinks he does, and is wrong, which is more likely. Really.

Corinthian clicks his tongue, annoyed, and takes another sip of his beer. "You know, I think I remember you being less annoying when we met."

Gadling laughs outright at that. "Oh, really? Because that isn't how you acted."

"Didn't say how much less annoying."

Still chuckling, Gadling leans across the bar and kisses his cheek, because he's a pathetic sap. And Corinthian lets him, but only because why shouldn't he accept the attention of his hot bartender?

"I think it's sweet, is all," Gadling says when he leans back, of course after he's out of easy biting range.

Corinthian would roll his eyes if he had any. "What? Telling the kid to get his shit? Rose is gonna be here to pick him up any minute now."

Gadling is smirking at him again. "So?"

"So?" he repeats, scowling across the bar. "They're meeting that Lyta woman for dinner, and if Jed waits for Rose to get here to get his bag, she's gonna get distracted talking to you about some school shit, and then they're gonna go sprinting out of here late."

The way Gadling's expression softens does not make him any happier to be having this conversation.

"I know, Cor," he says, eyes crinkling in the corners, crows feet he's had since the fucking Middle Ages creasing the skin.

"Then why the hell are you--" the bell chiming over The New Inn's door cuts him off, and sure enough, Rose walks in, checking her watch as she goes. "Hey Rosebud," he calls, grateful for something else to talk about. Or at least someone else to talk to.

"Oh, hey! Is Jed ready?" she asks, looking around the pub.

As if summoned, her little brother -- who has gained several inches in height and will probably need new pants again, Corinthian realizes -- comes barrelling down the stairs and into the main room. "I'm here! I'm ready!"

Rose relaxes, smiling at him, but she turns towards the bar regardless. "Oh, by the way, Professor! I wanted to ask you about that--" "Rose, come on! I'm hungry!" Jed protests, pushing her towards the door.

"Ugh, fine! I'll email you, Professor!" she says waving at them both.

Despite all his previous urgency for dinner, it's Jed who turns around at the last minute and rushes back to the bar.

Corinthian raises an eyebrow. "You forget something kid?" he asks, only to find two gangly arms hooked around his waist in lieu of an answer, squeezing briefly but tightly.

Before he has a chance to figure out why the hell he's getting hugged, much less move to ask (or return it?), Jed is already rushing back out after Rose, calling over his shoulder, "Bye Uncle Cor!"

And just like that, they're out the door, bell jingling behind them, the chime of it ringing in his ears longer than he's ever heard it ring before. Corinthian doesn't even realize he's been staring, dumbfounded, at the spot where they'd last been until there's a warm hand on his forearm, seeping through his jacket and up to his elbow, drawing his attention.

Gadling's expression is soft again, but he can't find it in himself to be irritated by it. There's no room. Not when something else has started bubbling in his chest, effervescent and sharp and too hard to make sense of for him to try right now.

Gadling doesn't say anything, but when he leans across the bar again, Corinthian dips closer, feels lips against his forehead and warm, warm, warm.

He'll pick it all apart later, he knows. Tear at the nuance until there's nothing but shreds and doubt left behind. And further down, tucked away and rarely looked at, he suspects the Walkers will unknowingly bandage all those little shreds back together until there's nothing left to do but accept the way they've rebuilt their world and built all of them (him?) into it.

Whatever the hell it is they have is something good. And maybe even better than that.

[ ← prev ]

[q-ueen-potato]

So where are the 'The Addams Family au'?

[littledreamling]

Snitches Get Stitches sounds like fun. I'd be so down for some Prof Gadling gossip 😄 I'm sure his students would go wild with theories, especially when Rose throws oil into the fire.

I like to think that Hob's students definitely know something's up with him but it's the history department's best kept secret. Rose definitely throws oil into the fire, but when she starts insulting Shakespeare, suddenly her history professor is the last person she needs to worry about

[ceaselessbasher]

Hob and Jed interactions where Hob endeavors to be The Cringiest Of Uncles, starting with "Your uncle whose definition of "cool" got stuck in the early 2000s", but the more Jed resists embarrassment, the farther back in time Hob's "cool attitude" goes (while also making the wildest shit up), until Hob's asking him "Played any Go Get Lost In The Woods Chasing Runaway Sheep recently? Oh, Go Get Lost In The Woods Chasing Runaway Sheep was it when I was your age. It was like The Fortnites. Ask the tiny folk that live inside your scrying tablet for the closest woods to get lost in chasing runaway sheep."

[euzede]

what if Hob's surname for Jed was Jelly. and his surname for Rose was Bud (Rosebud)

[moorishflower]

That long lost!Addams ficlet is a delight. You KNOW Gomez would be so absurdly proud if his new great x100 uncle then managed to bag an actual eldritch terror as a partner. Wouldn't even miss a beat.

"Hob Gadling," Dream says, and Hob makes a frankly embarrassing sound -- not a shriek, nothing like that, but maybe a startled yelp -- and jerks off the side of the bed and onto the floor. Dust from beneath the bed settles immediately in his hair, and the floorboards creak alarmingly under his weight, but, after a tense and breathless moment, nothing happens. Hob exhales, and finds himself looking up between Dream's long and slender legs. He's wearing skinny jeans, Hob notes, and he can't resist the urge to grab hold of both of Dream's calves, just above the ankle, and Christ, but he's so skinny Hob can nearly get his fingers to touch.

Dream only raises an eyebrow at him. "Why do you keep the company of witches?" he asks, and Hob strokes up the length of his legs, as high as he can reach, humming softly. His heart is still hammering with excess adrenaline, and he's got to channel it somewhere. Lust for his lover (partner? boyfriend? they haven't really discussed --) is as good a cause as any.

"Hello," he says, attempting to maintain some manner of social nicety. "Good to see you, darling, how's your day been, mine's been fine --"

"Hob."

"-- I only learned that I've apparently got relatives, still," he finishes, and Dream's other eyebrow joins the first. Hob uses Dream's ankles to hoist himself further from the edge of the bed, and then picks himself up gingerly, brushing dust from his hair, his shoulders. It falls down from him in a grey cloud, and he's not able to suppress a sneeze before he says, "Loads of them. From my mam's side of the family. Apparently she had a sister."

"And you decided to visit."

"There were extenuating circumstances," Hob says, thinking of the diary, the bidding war, Gomez's unflappable enthusiasm for the esoteric. "But yes. What's this about witches?"

"Many of your relatives are. Though this explains, somewhat. How swiftly and easily you took to immortality."

Witches are real? sits on the tip of his tongue, and Hob only narrowly swallows it back. "Am I a witch?" he asks, half-fearing the answer. It'd make his drowning in the 1600s a lot less poignant, maybe. If he's been a witch this whole bloody time, if 'witch' is a thing that's somehow separate and distinct from human...

"No," Dream says, and all the tension leaves Hob's shoulders at once. He sits back down on the bed with a shuddering sigh. It's a nice bed, a four-poster with a canopy, and Gomez and Morticia had reassured him that this room did not contain anything that lived under the mattress. The sheets are heavy velvet, in deference to the cold Chicago winter, and yesterday morning he'd woken up to the sight of Wednesday Addams standing over his bed with a morningstar in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other. She had been contemplating the best way to wake him: by cutting his hair (he'd needed to explain to her that it would take time to grow back), or by caving his chest in (requiring a totally different, but no less important, conversation of its own).

"Good," he says, and Dream makes a low, thrumming noise, and straddles Hob's lap.

"You did not tell me where you were going," he murmurs, and strokes his thumbs down Hob's cheeks, catches his nail on Hob's bottom lip and pulls it down slightly to expose his teeth. "I felt you, still. In the Dreaming. But The New Inn was bereft of you."

"I didn't realize I was coming here until the second I did it," Hob admits, and Dream seems to take this in stride. "Besides. I've got no way to contact you. I sort of hoped you'd just...feel where I was."

"I did. I do. And yet. To hear it from your lips would also be...pleasing."

"You're allowed to say you're miffed, love," Hob says, and lays his hands in the cup of Dream's hips. Thin and bony and his. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you where I was going. Maybe we can figure out some way we can talk not through the Dreaming, in future. Dunno if you get cell service there."

He means it as a joke, but Dream tilts his head to the side, considering. His thumb sweeps up from Hob's lip, touches just below his eye, the firm bone of the orbit.

"I will consider it," he says, and then bends down and gently covers Hob's mouth with his own. His lips are soft, and Dream always runs closer to lukewarm than he does body temperature, but now Hob gasps because Dream's mouth, when it opens against him, is chilled. Sweet and cool as wintermint, and his tongue licking at Hob's lips is like a round of ice that thaws and melts and slowly slips inside, until Hob can drink him the way he would snowmelt, held in the cupped chalice of his tongue --

"Dios mío," comes a familiar voice at the door, and Hob frantically pulls his hands from where they had been inching over Dream's arse, and then just as frantically tries to rearrange himself so that his erection isn't immediately visible. He's not sure how he manages this last, since he feels hard enough that it could be seen from space, but if that's the cross he must bear, then so be it.

Dream, as always, is utterly unflappable, and turns to the bedroom door looking every inch a king; he's wild-haired, Hob realizes, and the skinny jeans aren't so much gone as they are flickering, like a projector caught between two slides, flipping back and forth between Dream's usual peacoat and jeans, and what Hob's become used to seeing him wear in the Dreaming, what he thinks of as Dream's robe of office, flowing like ink, black as the starless sky.

Gomez, standing in the doorway, looks between Dream and Hob, and then a wide and cheery grin nearly splits his face in half.

"Mi querido niño! You did not tell me you had a paramour! And who is this enchanting creature? Gomez Addams, my friend, at your service!"

Dream blinks slowly, and Gomez, to his credit, does not come forward with a proffered hand or, thank God, a hug. Only beams at Dream from the doorway, until Hob's increasingly eldritch lover breaks the silence at last.

"I am called Morpheus," he says, "Lord of Dreams and King of Nightmares. Shaper of Form and Prince of Stories." He inclines his head slightly, and Gomez looks as though he might faint with delight. "And lover of Hob Gadling."

"You did not tell me you were royalty," Gomez says. He strides into the bedroom, and thankfully it's Hob he's bound for, Hob's hand that he grabs. "Royalty! Why, the Addams haven't hosted a king since good old Henry!"

"Which Henry?" Hob gets out, as he's forcibly removed from the bed and dragged, almost bodily, towards the door. Gomez is strong. He keeps forgetting.

"It doesn't matter! They're all quite dead. But yours isn't! Come, my liege! Allow me to escort you and your Prince Consort on a promenade of the grounds! Have you ever been to America before, sir?"

"I am a representation of all sleeping minds, and of the dreaming subconscious of all living things," Dream says, sweeping behind them, stately and imposing. "So. Yes."

"Oh, splendid! That means I don't have to explain baseball."

"What is happening," Hob whispers, as he's manhandled out into the hall. His mind is caught somewhere on prince consort and doesn't quite want to let go of it, but he feels like that's a conversation he ought to have with Dream in private.

And Dream looks at him, smirking faintly, his starlit eyes flicking from Hob's mussed hair to his kiss-pinked lips, and down to the way that Gomez so effortlessly steers him by the shoulder out into the manor proper.

"Family," Dream says, and reaches out, and laces his fingers with Hob's.

[gabessquishytum]

There was a story or post I read years ago about two different girls who became pregnant by the same guy around the same time, decided to move in together (I think? They definitely get involved in each other’s lives more than the father) to co-parent the two half-siblings, and the girls ended up in a relationship together. I remembered it recently (I tried to find it again with no success), and immediately thought of t4t dreamling.

Hob discovers that he’s pregnant by his recently ex-boyfriend. He’s pretty pleased and excited to be a dad, though he’s not thrilled to have to inform his ex, who he’d dumped for cheating on him (the relationship wasn’t going anywhere so Hob’s not broken up about it, but it was still a dick move). Still, he feels obligated to reach out and let his ex know, just in case he wants to be involved in their kid’s life beyond just child support.

A few days later, he answers his door to a gorgeous but furious man he doesn’t know (Dream), who immediately launches into accusations of man-stealing and baby-trapping, and how he isn’t going to lose his boyfriend to some gold-digging side piece.

Once Hob is able to get a word in and calm him down (learning that Hob had been dating the guy first, meaning Dream was the side piece, does a lot to take the wind out of his sails), inviting him inside to sit and talk, the whole sad story comes out: Dream is also newly pregnant, by the same guy, and dearly wants to keep the baby. But he really doesn’t have the resources to be a single parent, so even though he’s not really invested in the relationship anymore, when he found out about Hob he panicked that he was going to lose the guy as support and thus have to give up his kid. His parents are transphobic and wouldn’t approve of the baby out of wedlock, so no help there, and while a couple of his siblings would be glad to help, at the moment they’re all financially dependent on their parents and at risk of being cut off if they help him. So if Dream wants to keep his baby, his options are pretty limited.

Something something Hob offers up a room, Dream also dumps the boyfriend and moves in, and they get ready to raise their kids together. It’s a bit of a slow burn to get to know each other (and start to pine for each other) over the course of nine months, but they’re remarkably quick to fall in sync as upcoming parents; they accompany each other to all the doctor appointments, are completely on top of each other’s medication or dietary needs, and an easy topic of conversation for them is the pregnancies or the kids themselves, comparing their ongoing experiences or discussing plans for the future—from the moment Dream moved in there was an unspoken agreement for both of them that they’d be parenting both kids together, essentially as partners, which does funny things to both their hearts once they begin to fall for each other. People who meet them start to assume that they’re a couple pregnant by a surrogate, and as time goes on it starts to feel more and more like the truth, though neither Hob nor Dream really talk about it (idk how involved the ex is, but its definitely seldom in-person enough that everyone often forgets that he had anything to do with the pregnancies)

Robyn and Orpheus are born on the same day, timed absurdly perfectly to allow Hob and Dream to be there for each other without being in active labor—like Hob gives birth in the early morning with Dream holding his hand, has a bit of a breather, then is available to hold Dream’s hand while he gives birth in the late evening. It’s sometime soon after, while they’re still a little high off endorphins and painkillers, that they confess to each other and tearfully kiss as they watch over their newborn sons.

A couple years down the line Robyn and Orpheus are considered the Gadling twins with two dads (the ex is either essentially not in the picture or has somehow managed to settle into the weird uncle role), and Hob and Dream may or may not be considering giving the twins another sibling or two, maybe giving themselves a chance at all that pregnant sex they missed out on the first time (unless we want to make them real dumb and have them providing each other orgasms during their first pregnancies, all in the name of good prenatal care, while they were pining for each other… haha jk… unless? 👀)

-🪽anon

I certainly love the concept on t4t dreamling having simultaneous pregnancies (completely by accident).

Hob is incredibly excited to be a dad. He wishes that he'd picked a better set of genes for his kid, as he's still very angry at his ex. But this is what he's wanted for a very long time. He's excited to do all the pregnancy things and to document all the changes that he's about to go through.

And then Dream turns up. Poor, soggy, wet cat Dream who wants his baby but doesn't feel at all capable of coping alone. Their hormones come together and combine into one big soup, and they spend the evening sitting and intermittently crying, bitching about their mutual ex, and have brief moments of zoomies where they get really excited about being pregnant. They never really talk about it but just mutually decide that Dream is moving in and they're going to do this together.

They have drastically different pregnancies. Poor Dream is so sick. Hob is glad to take care of him, keeping him hydrated and stocked up with anti nausea meds. Somewhere along the line they start crawling into bed together each night to cuddle. And then when cuddling is no long comfortable, they just lay next to each other with their pregnancy pillows.

(Sleeping together also means that they are essentially mutually masturbating next to each other each night. Another thing that they don't talk about, lol.)

When Hob gets hit with big mood swings, Dream is the only person allowed to speak to him. Somehow he can always cheer Hob up with a cup of tea and a back rub. Dream is also the only person in the world who smells good to Hob while he's pregnant. Everyone else is disgusting to him. Hob is never grumpy with Dream. Everyone else runs away when they see him coming though.

They do all the trendy pregnancy things together. Maternity shoot, gender reveal, baby shower. Dream admits that he never thought he'd be able to do any of this and he's just so happy that Hob bothered to organise it all. They have their first kiss at the end of the maternity shoot, right at the very end of both their pregnancies, and mutually agree to talk more when the babies arrive. They're pretty much partners already, but it will be nice to sit down after the stress of labour is out the way, and actually figure out where their relationship stands!

But oops, apparently they can't wait. Somewhere around due date time, they start making out and Hob is gently getting Dream off with his fingers... only to accidently tip him into labour. Seeing Dream deliver Orpheus into the world is enough to set Hob off as well, and Robyn is born just a few hours later. They're both perfect. They look adorable in their cribs side by side, in the nursery that Dream designed so beautifully. Hob could actually burst with pride!

Let's face it, they don't manage to have any sex for a while... recovering from birth, taking care of the twins, and getting back on track with hormone therapy is a lot to juggle. But the pregnancy pillows are out, and they're back to cuddling whenever they have a few moments of peace in bed. Both of them have separately texted their mutual ex and thanked him for his help in facilitating their relationship.

Maybe they'll give him a call in a year or two. When the mutual baby fever sets in, and they decide that pregnant sex is worth it <3

[writing-for-life]

The Ultimate Sandman Character Tag List!

I recently published a tag list for all female Sandman characters I have written about or posted art for (I’ve just added to it and tidied it up. The tags auto-update, so feel free to bookmark it if you want to stay in the loop about the Sandwomen), which made me think:

Why not do that for all the characters for quick reference?

So if you’re interested in one particular character, you can just quickly go to their tag on my blog. These are character tags, so you’ll find anything from metas to fics/poetry and art in no particular order. If you are looking for something more specific, please have a look at my pinned post.

I will not pretend I wrote and posted equally for all of them (some might just have one entry), and a few are missing (I’ll add tags when applicable). But right now, I have roundabout 100 Sandman characters waiting to get explored, and existing tags will auto-update whenever something new gets added, so feel free to bookmark this post.

I tag pretty consistently (some characters have two tags because I initially didn’t 🙈), but the odd one might slip through and float around on my blog without being tagged; you can also try to use the search function on my blog.

So without further ado, here they are (and now I’ll need to lie down):

The Endless

Destiny

Death

Dream or Morpheus

Dream/Daniel or Daniel Hall

Destruction

Desire

Despair

Delirium/Delight

Dream’s Lovers

(Yes, they get their own space for quick reference, but they’re also under their applicable headers)

Alianora

Calliope

Killalla

Nada

Thessaly

Titania

Denizens of the Dreaming

Cain and Abel (Cain here, Abel here)

The Corinthian

The Cuckoo

Eve

The Fashion Thing

Fiddler’s Green/Gilbert

Gault

Goldie

Gregory

Guardians of the Gate/Gatekeepers

Jessamy

Lucien (comics)

Lucienne (Netflix)

Martin Tenbones

Matthew the Raven

Mervyn Pumpkinhead

Gods and (Fallen) Angels

Bast

Calliope

Duma

The Fates (Furies, Kindly Ones, Hecateae etc)

Hades

Ishtar

Loki

Lucifer Morningstar

Mazikeen

The Creator/Presence and Glory

Persephone

Remiel

Fae

Auberon

Cluracan

Nuala

Titania

Immortals and Long-Lived Humans

Bhartari

Hob Gadling

Mad Hettie

Orpheus

Thessaly

Mortal Beings and Humans

Alex Burgess

Alianora

Augustus

Barbie

Barnaby Farrell (Uncle Barnaby)

Carl/Carla

Chantal

Clarice Farrell (Aunt Clarice)

Ethel Cripps

Foxglove (Donna Cavanagh)

Gwen

Hal Carter

Hazel McNamara

Hope Beautiful Lost Nebula

Jed Walker

John Constantine (Comics)

Lady Johanna Constantine (Comics)

Modern Johanna Constantine (Netflix)

John Dee

John Hathaway

Joshua A. Norton/Emperor Norton

Killalla of the Glow

Lyta Hall

Marco Polo

Nada

Paul McGuire

Prez Rickard

Rachel Moodie

Richard Madoc

Roderick Burgess

Rosemary

Rose Walker

Ruby

Unity Kinkaid

Wanda

Wesley Dodds

William Shakespeare

Zelda

Other

Barnabas

Night

Time

[darthstitch]

Fic Snippet: Uncle Meowpheus

In her defense, Rose was very new to this fame business.

She hadn't expected her first book to do so well, let alone the sequel.  It helped that she had the actual Prince of Stories challenging her when she felt stuck or tempted to tapdance past a particularly difficult scene or plot point.  That imperiously raised eyebrow was like a challenge she couldn't resist.  And then, she found herself writing the next few scenes without any issue.  

And of course, King Somnio was a joy of a character to write and if she indulged in a few in-jokes at her Uncle Dream's expense, then that was just a bonus?  In fact, Calliope herself blessed those efforts and laughed loudest at the "wet of cat" line, to the point of tears.

Today, Rose was on her way to class - Professor Gadling's lecture today promised to be very interesting - when she was joined by a magnificent-looking black cat. She reacted as any sensible person would.

"Awww! Hello, meow! Where'd you come from?"

"The Dreaming, although if one must be perfectly truthful, I did walk all the way here from the New Inn. It's a rather lovely day, isn't it?"

Rose was very proud that she did not scream. It was a near thing, though. Coherence was, unfortunately, not something she could manage at the moment. "Uncle Dream?!!! Cat?!! You?!! OMG?"

"Calm yourself, my dear Rose. Yes, it is I. And yes, sometimes, I am a Cat. The King of Cats, to be precise."

"How?!! Why?!!" Rose was rather glad that they seemed to be alone at the moment because she really needed to sit down. There was a nearby bench that she thankfully sank into. Her ridiculous feline Uncle gracefully leapt on the bench to sit beside her, fluffy tail curling elegantly about his legs. Naturally, he treated that bench like it was his throne.

"I must confess that everyone's daydreams seem to be a little... loud these days, especially when I walk amongst them in my human form." If it was possible for a cat to sigh, then Uncle Dream certainly managed it. "It is a trifle disconcerting, to attract so much attention."

Rose blinked. "Attention? What do you mean by that?"

"It is no concern - it will pass, as these things tend to do, eventually. I would much rather follow the daydreams of the one dearest to me." Mischief glinted in those unearthly blue eyes, that now held the slightest bit of feline gold. "They are far more... interesting."

Rose snorted. "I'm gonna stop you right there, Uncle Dream, before you go into TMI territory. Does Professor G know that you can turn into a cat?"

"No." That was a very definite feline smirk. "This should prove most amusing."

"Great, good to know your husband has charge of the brain cell today. Please try not to break our professor, Uncle Dream, we still need him to teach us, y'know?"

"I shall send Matthew your regards as he is indeed with Hob right now. And alas, I make no promises about breakages. But I shall wait after his class for that." Dream hopped off the bench. "Shall we?"

Rose shook her head and groaned. "How is this my life?"

On the bright side, Rose was glad that Dream had graciously allowed everyone's favorite history Professor to complete his lectures for the day in peace. It must be noted, however, that Robert Gadling did emerge from his office at the end of the day looking very rumpled and quite dazed. His husband, "Thomas Murphy," was wearing an expression that could only be called "cat-that-got-the cream."

Rose absolutely refused to think about this any further.