#hob gadling definitely had this kind of dream

[gabessquishytum]

Dream is bored and he'll be the first to admit that his boredom tends to make him an easy mark for his siblings shenanigans. Case in point, his sister Tel has convinced him - cajoled, dared, whatever, to give a few classes at her always in need of funds community center.

Dream is a world renowned international (dance, ballet, artist, designer) star and he has never been know to hang around normal people, but his inspiration is in a ditch, hole, dark empty place,,,,so he decides how bad can it be.......

Well it's certainly not good, there are no supplies for the classes he wants to teach, and the kids have no idea who he is....just that he seems stuck up. After his first disastrous first day [if it's art classes not dance, Dream leaves the center with paint in and covering places he hasn't since he was teaching Del to paint,,,,, when she was 5], he is taken under the wing of (after his sister leaves him to a hoard of children on his own) the cheerful "Mr. G".

Hob "Mr. G" Gadling has been working at the community center forever, and the kids love him. If asked, Dream would say that he is only flustered around Mr. G because he's still finding his way around the community center, not because on top of being nice Mr. G is gorgeous.

This is so sweet - gotta love Dream doing his best to function around normal people!!!

The kids really aren't so bad. They are, for the most part, simply bored. The community centre is a wonderful place but it lacks funding for really exciting projects, and the kids are kind of tired of making macaroni art, ya know? "Mr. G" kindly explains all of this to Dream as they sit in the car park (and Dream vainly attempts to scrape some of the paint off himself so he can avoid dirtying the interior of his fancy car). And Dream realises that he had been kind of an ass to the kids, and patronised them a whole not... maybe he needs to figure out a new approach.

So he recruits Hob’s assistance and together they head for the nearest art supply superstore. Dream buys several carts full of stuff with his own money and Hob maybe tears up a little bit because Dream is so determined and kind and pretty. Hob definitely has a weakness for beautiful men with big hearts.

Art classes at the community centre take a turn for the better as Dream asks the kids what THEY would like to do. It's settled that they'll make a big mural for the reception area, and everyone gets involved doing stuff that they enjoy. Dream and Tel's brother Ollie is persuaded to come in and help out with some woodworking so the kids can even help make new furniture! Hob offers his own assistance wherever he's required, whether that means opening paint tins or comforting frustrated artists. He's much more gorgeous covered in paint than Dream was.

And at the grand opening of the new reception area, complete with mural and custom artworks, Dream has hardly ever been so proud. Mostly because he's found his inspiration: his sketchbooks are full of sketches of Mr. G... and yes, some of them are nude, but Dream just blushes when asked how he knows about the tattoo on Hob’s left buttock!

(He knows about it because Hob showed him, in great detail. But Dream isn't one to kiss and tell about his boyfriend's intimate parts!)

[rosefuckinggenius]

Dream had a call.

He didn’t hear his name clearly, no. At first it was more like a whisper in the wind, weak and far far away, then it became stronger. Some one was calling him.

Dream has always had many name, he lived tons of lives after all, but one among all was quite different.

He followed the call and became curious to know who was the human who desperately wanted the attentions of the Sandman.

In the huge castle, Dream walked and, step by step, the whisper started to be more and more audible, understandable.

“Stranger”.

Dream simply smiled because he now knew who was calling his name, who created a dream about him.

Hob saw his friend’s face though it all. It never happened before but seeing the stranger again after so many years, decades perhaps, made him happy.

But the stranger came closer and closer, dressed only of a transparent and shiny black cape.

“Hob” said Dream. He seemed amused. “Hob” he did again, now more soft than ever. “Do you… desire me?”.

Hob gasped, looking around and trying to understand where he was. It didn’t matter because, yes, Hob was just waiting for Dream to come closer so he could finally touch him.

“Hob” again. “Do you want to… me?”.

Hob was feeling dizzy like he was drunk but he was sure he was sober before falling asleep that night. “You do” continued Dream, opening his mouth and whisper one last “Come here”.

Hob opened his eyes before touching his stranger’s lips.

[seiya-starsniper]

"I love your smile" with dreamling from the gentle prompts

Hello I am 8 million years later answering this anon, sorry for the delay, I hope you enjoy it!!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰

Also available on AO3

----------------------

It’s the kind of perfect spring day that the poets used to write about. Cool in the morning and warm, but not hot by mid-afternoon. There are sparse clouds in the sky, and the air is fragrant with the smell of flowers, of new life, of new beginnings. The fact that this perfect spring day also falls on a Saturday means that Hob Gadling is out with his camera, photographing every leaf, every small creature, happy couple, and passing vehicle that catches his attention.

And of course, his boyfriend.

It may be a beautiful and warm spring day, but Dream Endless is dressed like it's still the middle of winter; black jeans and black Doc Martens paired with a black tee and black pea coat to complete the ensemble. Hob had managed to talk him out of wearing the black scarf, at least. He knew Dream ran cold even in the summer, but the scarf would have definitely been too warm for today. In contrast, Hob is out in just a plain white t-shirt, cargo shorts and sneakers, and he’s certain that the two of them must strike their own kind of picture walking side by side through the park. Perhaps he’ll ask someone to snap a photo of them on his phone later.  

Right now though, Hob’s having too much fun taking photos of Dream. Dream feeding the ducks with the small bag of seeds he’d brought along for just this purpose, Dream stopping to admire the various sculptures scattered throughout the park, Dream stopping to re-lace his boots. 

“You take far too many photos of me,” Dream tells Hob eventually, rolling his eyes as he stands back up.

“What can I say?” Hob laughs, snapping another photo of Dream’s unamused face. “I love your smile.”

“Hob,” Dream says, leveling a flat stare at him. Hob continues to click away. “I am not smiling in any of the photos you’ve taken.” 

He’s right, but only by a technicality. Dream hasn’t smiled once while looking at Hob’s camera. But the ones where he isn’t paying attention to Hob’s lens, well. That was a different story. But Dream didn’t need to know that right now. Later in the day, maybe. 

“I know this may be hard to believe since it ruins that whole tortured poet look you’ve got going on,” Hob quips back at his boyfriend, amusement clear in his tone. “But you do smile.” He says it like he’s sharing a secret, and Dream looks at him in disbelief, before he sighs in exasperation. It's a fond exasperation though, Hob’s learned to tell over the years.   

“Come. We are missing the goslings. We must catch them before they swim away,” Dream says, grabbing Hob by the hand and forcing him to put the camera down to rest around his neck. They walk over to where the geese and their recently hatched chicks are idling, and Dream approaches them slowly, kneeling and eventually sitting on a patch of dry grass closest to the pond’s edge. The geese eye him warily at first, but then Dream pulls out some seeds from his pocket, scattering them away from his person and sitting still as a statue while they slowly approach him.

Hob stays back away from where Dream is sitting; geese seem to hate him for some reason, but Dream has yet to meet a bird that doesn’t instantly take to him. It’s one of the things that Hob had noticed about the other man. 

They’d met a little over two years ago in this very park, and Hob had been enraptured by Dream feeding the pigeons. He’d only meant to snap one or two photos of the strange goth man, but then one of the pigeons had flown up onto Dream’s shoulder and cooed happily as the man fed it straight from his hand. Dream’s smile had been small, but absolutely radiant in that moment. Hob fell in love at first sight. 

Dream, decidedly, had not. He thought Hob to be a nuisance, had thrown a fit about having his photo taken without his knowledge or permission when Hob approached him. Hob had promised to not post any of the photos anywhere, and even offered to delete all of them if Dream saw them and really hated them that much. It would’ve killed Hob to delete such stunning photos, but he would’ve done it. 

Luckily for him, Dream had softened when Hob had shown him the photos, then demanded Hob print them for him for free.  Hob agreed, and then, because he had absolutely no self control around beautiful people, had asked Dream if he’d let Hob buy him dinner as an additional apology. Dream turned him down, and then also refused to give Hob his name when asked. Hob was hopelessly charmed.

After bringing the other man the agreed upon photos a week later, Hob promised not to photograph him if they ever ran into each other again. Dream looked at Hob like he didn’t believe the other man, but Hob kept his word, and for a time they maintained a pleasant, but distant acquaintance whenever they happened upon one another on days when the weather was nice.

It was Dream, surprisingly, who decided to approach Hob with a rather lucrative offer a few months later.

“I’m interested,” Dream had told him.

“In me?” Hob asked, surprised and flattered all at once. 

“In your photography experience,” Dream clarified, though his cheeks had pinked at Hob’s words. “My sibling is getting married in a few months and they have yet to find a photographer they like.”

“Well, I can give you my website so you can show them my portfolio—” 

“They’ve already seen it,” Dream interrupted him, blushing all the way from the tip of his nose down to his neck. “I—they wanted me to ask you if you’d shoot for their wedding. Personally.”

The rest, they say, is history. Hob hasn’t stopped photographing Dream ever since—with permission, of course.

In the present, Hob watches Dream’s patience and gentle tenacity pay off. The goslings eventually crowd around him and chirp happily, while the parental (Mother? Father? Hob can’t tell) goose angrily hisses at every other passing person who gets too close. They seemed to have claimed Dream as one of their own. 

Hob’s camera clicks away until he hears a low warning beep signifying that his memory card is full. 

In hindsight, he probably shouldn’t have taken that 25 minute video of Dream feeding the crows the other day. But well, they’d all crowded around him and he’d looked so happy. The crows looked happy too, probably because Dream may as well look like them. It was cinematic art, and Hob would not be convinced otherwise. 

When Dream eventually runs out of seeds, he bows his head and holds out his empty hands, a universal sign for the end of their interaction. The geese seem to realize quickly he will no longer feed them, and so they wander off into the nearby lake, the babies eagerly and awkwardly following their parent on tiny legs still unused to traveling by land. Hob waits until they’re all safely in the water before he takes a seat next to Dream. 

“Have you finally tired of photographing my face?” Dream asks before resting his head on Hob’s shoulder. 

“Never,” Hob answers with a small laugh. “I ran out of memory.”

Dream lets out a dramatic sigh. “Finally.”

“Oh hush, you,” Hob replies, jostling Dream with his shoulder. The other man groans at having been disturbed, and Hob takes the opportunity to wrap an arm around Dream’s shoulder, before planting a kiss to his hair. 

“Show me?” Dream asks, reaching for Hob’s camera. “I want to see just what it is you find so fascinating about watching me feed waterfowl.”

Hob chuckles.

“Everything, love,” he answers honestly as he pulls up the photos for them to review on his camera’s tiny screen. “Absolutely everything.”

[cuubism]

so many silly rabbit gifts recently. perhaps it's time for the most unhinged crack scene of all. the fulfillment of the silly rabbit name

(the iconic video that inspired all of this nonsense)

--

“So, um… Morpheus…”

Dream quirked an eyebrow at the student who’d spoken to him. Hob’s students had only recently learned his name – the one he had chosen to allow them – and were still hesitant in using it. It was amusing. It seemed even when he was spending his free time being part of Hob’s life, being mostly human, he was still intimidating. Or perhaps they were worried about offending Hob, which was also amusing.

“Yes, Olive?” he said. Dream had been avoiding diving too deep into the students’ dreams because it was more interesting, given he was spending some amount of consistent time around them, to learn things organically. But he still knew all of their names, which seemed to unnerve them.

Indeed, Olive looked unnerved. She was a young woman, a first year at the university. “How, um, how did you and Professor Gadling meet?” 

No one had yet asked Dream what exactly his relationship with Hob was. The students knew that they were together, but no one had asked either of them to define it. This might become interesting, Dream thought.

“In a pub,” he told her, because it was both true and would probably sound absurd, given their dynamic. One of the other students sitting nearby raised an eyebrow. “I challenged him to prove a point.”

Something amusing about knowing someone for several centuries was that Dream could tell them ten different stories about his and Hob’s encounters, all of which would appear to contradict each other but none of which would be false.

Olive’s brow pinched. “What point?”

Dream glanced across the room at Hob, who was at his desk, helping a student with something. “It is of no consequence.” A fond smile tugged at his lips as he continued to watch Hob, absorbed in his work. “I was glad to be proven wrong.”

The students all looked at each other. Dream knew they were making some rather varied and interesting assumptions. He would hardly clear any of those up.

“So then…” started another student, Liam. “Did… he ask you out?”

One of the other students nudged him in the arm, as if to say, don’t ask so directly, but Liam stared at Dream, unrepentant. 

“No, it took quite a while to reach where we are now,” said Dream.

“Which is where?” asked Olive. “Sorry, I feel like this is kind of rude, it’s just we see you around a lot? And the Prof likes you a lot. And we like him.” The other students nodded. “So we were just… curious.”

Dream wondered if this was meant to be a shovel talk. If so, it would be one of the most hilarious things to happen to him in several years, at least.

For all that Dream was enjoying playing around with Hob’s students, he had to admit he’d grown a bit fond of them as well, mainly as an offshoot of their clear fondness for Hob. He’d been steering their dreams in gentler directions, of late. Just a bit. 

Perhaps he should indulge them.

Olive finished, “What are you to him?”

So many curious eyes on him. Dream smiled, raising his voice just a bit, just enough so he knew Hob would be able to hear it across the room. “I do not commit myself to definition, but choose your word. His friend. His lover. His confidante.” He pitched his voice louder. “His sweetheart. His dream. His silly rabbit.”

Across the room, Hob visibly flinched. Olive’s voice jumped up an octave. “His… what?”

Dream smirked. “His silly rabbit.” 

“Is that what he calls you?” she asked, barely a squeak.

Dream leaned back against the couch, arms folded behind his head, smiling. “No.”

“Morpheus, love.” Suddenly Hob was beside him, looking pained. “Can I speak with you, please?”

Hob never called him Morpheus, only around the students because he knew Dream preferred to keep his true name only among his closest circle. But in this context, it sounded like an admonishment. Dream got up and followed him with a smirk on his lips.

“Just what,” Hob started, once they’d turned a corner into an empty hallway. “Just what in the bloody hell conversation was I overhearing there?”

“It’s not my fault if you were eavesdropping,” Dream drawled, leaning against the wall.

“It’s not my fault if you were projecting your voice specifically so I could hear it,” Hob returned, deadpan. “What game are you playing now?”

“They asked me questions. I answered truthfully.”

Hob leveled him with a look. “Uh-huh.” 

“Answer me truthfully: am I not those things to you?” He reeled Hob in by the lapels of his jacket until Hob’s body was caging him in against the wall. “Your friend?” He kissed Hob’s shoulder. Hob braced him by his hips. “Your lover?” A kiss along his throat. “Your one and only confidante, keeper of your truth?” A kiss to the corner of his eye. Hob hummed, closing his eyes, swaying closer. “Your sweetheart?” That, Hob had called him once or twice, in private. 

“Didn’t think you liked that one,” Hob murmured.

“I’ve come around to it.” He kissed the corner of Hob’s lips. “Your… dream?”

“Mmhmm.” Hob fit his hands around Dream’s jaw. “My Dream.”

Dream grinned against his cheek. “Your silly rabbit?” 

Hob lurched back, staring at him, eyes wide, betrayed. “My fucking WHAT?”

Dream just met his gaze, smiling innocently.

“You are the definition of insanity,” Hob told him.

“I do contain insanity,” Dream agreed. “And other things.”

Hob sighed, long and slow, and Dream recognized victory. He touched Dream’s face again, stroking his thumb over his cheek. “You contain everything,” he said. “To me.”

He leaned in closer, the heat of his body pressing into Dream’s even through two layers of clothes. “My wild creature.” He kissed under Dream’s jaw. Dream tipped his head back against the wall. “My bit of chaos.” Dream pressed his hands flat to Hob’s back. Hob’s hands wrapped around the back of his neck, tugging at his hair. “My permanence.” He kissed Dream’s temple. “My storyteller.” A kiss to his forehead. Then finally Hob landed on his lips. “My everything.”

Hob’s words swept around him, held him, a hold that was firm but from which Dream wanted no escape. 

“Yours,” he agreed, and Hob kissed him deeper. There was indulgence and fondness in it, recognition of the many strange things that Dream contained, and love of them. Day in, day out, Dream felt Hob’s devotion like the morning sunlight.

Still, he couldn’t resist prodding just a little more. “Your—”

Hob pulled away swiftly and placed a finger over his lips. “Don’t,” he warned. “Don’t you fucking dare say it.”

Hob had said such sweet things to him that Dream decided to grant him a reprieve. For now.

There was always time later.

[queerofthedagger]

hii oh my god so i have an idea for the ficlet thing: hob taking dream along with him to go grocery shopping <33

Thanks for the prompt! <3 Funnily enough, I've been thinking SO much about Hob just, taking Dream to do the most random stuff? And then I started writing it, and it kind of turned out completely different from what I was aiming for - I hope you'll like it anyway though 😄

Admissions in Fluorescence

The thing is, Hob doesn‘t think it through, not one bit.

Dream has taken to come by the New Inn whenever he so pleases. Hob loves it, of course; enough so that whenever he spares it more than a fleeting thought, his chest threatens to burst with it.

The thing is, his life kind of goes on regardless—papers that have to be graded, business for the Inn to keep up with, patrons and employees that want a quick word here and there.

It’s not really a problem. After the first month or three, Dream seemed content to sit back and watch, to let Hob conduct his life and be a silent, comforting witness in the background.

Hob likes it; he likes it a little more than he should, probably, but then, that isn’t exactly news.

The thing is, he becomes so used to Dream being part of his everyday life that on a bright, bitterly cold day in January, he doesn’t think twice when Dream appears on his doorstep just as Hob is about to leave.

“Come on, I have to get groceries, but you can help me carry stuff.”

Dream blinks once, twice, and then seems to resign himself to his fate.

It takes until they step into Sainsbury for Hob to consider that this… might not have been his greatest idea. Dream is so out of place, it is almost painful to look at.

“Have you ever been grocery shopping?” Hob asks, all casual, as he bites down on a grin.

Dream hums, taking in the rows upon rows of food and other goods. “Not as such, no; occasionally, people dream of it, of course.”

“Of course,” Hob echoes. “Well, always a first time for everything.”

Grocery shopping; he has taken the King of Dreams and Nightmares to go grocery shopping.

“Right,” he mutters. Down the aisle, a toddler is screaming as its mother looks harried, and Hob winces in sympathy.

He looks back at Dream just in time to see his fingers twitch. The child trails off into sleep.

“Did you just…”

Dream raises a brow at him. “His mother was stressed. He was stressed. I do not see the issue.”

Before Hob can come up with an answer to that, a voice behind them says, “Uncle Dream?”

This, Hob thinks as he turns, is turning out to be one of the weirdest days he had in a while.

“Rose,” Dream says, his mouth curling into a smile. “I did not expect to see you here.”

The young woman—Rose—glances between Dream and Hob, her expression less bewildered than Dream in a supermarket should warrant, really.

“Likewise,” she says, but she is mostly squinting at Hob. “Is that…?”

“My friend, Hob Gadling.”

“The history professor,” she says brightly, offering Hob her hand. Beneath the words and the smile, about a hundred things swing along that Hob promptly chooses to ignore.

“Nice to meet you,” he gets out. She glances between him and Dream again, her smile amused and knowing but kind.

“As much as I return the sentiment, I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you to your shopping,” she says, dark eyes sparkling. Her accent is distinctively American, Hob notes through the confusion and the feeling of being caught red-handed. “I’ll see you on Sunday, Uncle Dream—do bring your friend, if you like!”

She is gone before either of them can answer, only the softly humming cheese counter bearing witness to the sudden awkwardness.

Hob clears his throat. “I wasn’t aware that you had a niece.”

“It is a long story,” Dream says; Hob knows he doesn’t blush, but as he glances at him, he thinks it might be a close thing.

“So,” he says. Something bubbles within his chest, bright and giddy and perhaps a little too reckless.

Definitely too reckless for a Sainsbury on a Tuesday afternoon.

“So,” Dream echoes; the anomaly of this alone is enough to make the giddiness spill over.

“You have a niece. You have a niece who knows about me.”

Dream takes a careful, visible breath before he turns towards Hob. His eyes are very dark, despite the glaring fluorescence above them. “Do not tease me, Hob Gadling; not about this.”

In theory, there would be a lot of room to interpret that statement one way or another. In practice, they have spent enough time around each other that Hob can read the admission in the lines around Dream’s mouth.

He slips his hand into Dream’s and tugs him back down the aisle, his own smile threatening to split his face.

“Alright,” he says, easy. “Let’s get out of here; I can always do the groceries tomorrow.”

Dream doesn’t protest; he squeezes Hob’s hand, though, and Hob vows to find Rose some absolutely phenomenal gift of gratitude.

[callunavulgari]

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13. strange fear i ain’t felt for years by Sister | Batman | Tim/Jason | 31k

“Can’t believe a pretty thing like you has to come begging to the Red Hood,” he says against Tim’s neck. “Thought they’d be lining up down the block for you. Thought Daddy would need to get the shotgun.” Heather Says: Oh look, another ship and fandom that I was only peripherally aware of that had me in a chokehold for a good month and a half. I don't even like DC that much.

14. Silver-Tongue by starkraving | Baldur's Gate 3 | Astarion/Karlach | 9k

Astarion fast-talks an abnormal number of enemies into killing themselves in the shadow-cursed lands and the team makes idle (then less idle) conversation about it. Heather Says: Okay, so I STILL have not finished this game. I have however very carefully consumed as much content as I can get my hands on without being completely and totally spoiled. This was the first fic that I really loved in this fandom. It's no surprise that I ship Astarion happily with everyone, but damn is he good with Karlach in this one. Their characterization is perfect.

15. A Sign of The Morning by ToEdenandBackAgain | Stranger Things | Eddie/Steve | 86k

Vecna is dead. The Upside Down is cut off from Hawkins yet again. Steve is trying to go back to normal, whatever that is. He's also trying to figure out exactly how Eddie Munson has managed to fit so easily into his life. Heather Says: Honestly? What can I say about this one? It has 19,000 kudos despite being published last June. It's on a ridiculous number of collection/rec lists. The tension is exquisite. The found family? Even better.

16. Phantom of Truth by Haiju | Danny Phantom | Maddie Fenton & Danny Fenton | 58k

Locked away in a secret government lab with Phantom as her sole object of study, nothing stands between Maddie and the truth... except, perhaps, herself. Heather Says: Oh look, another fandom that I have never ever been a part of. I saw this REALLY NEAT and angsty tiktok (tw for ghosty gore) and basically immediately was sucked into a show that I've never even watched before. The comments lead me to this fic which is perfectly gen, angsty, and honestly absolutely perfect. I cannot get over how much I loved this.

17. Manacled by senlinyu | Harry Potter | Draco/Hermione | 370k

Harry Potter is dead. In the aftermath of the war, in order to strengthen the might of the magical world, Voldemort enacts a repopulation effort. Heather Says: I did the thing. I read the incredibly dark fic that I've been avoiding since 2018. I typically steer-clear of anything that is overly bleak and I do not tiptoe into non-con waters often. But one of our groomsmen who isn't even involved with fandom read this so that his girlfriend would watch Star Wars with him and then spent a good portion of a Halloween party talking it up. So I gave it a shot. Over all, it is too bleak for me. That said, I finished it in a weekend. I loved it. I hated it. I wish I'd broken it up over a longer period of time because the emotional bleed off of it was intense.

18. Ready for Love by @idiopathicsmile | Singin in the Rain | Cosmo/Kathy/Don | 12k

Don and Kathy would move in together. They would have a dog or two and then inevitably, a small parade of adorable little brats who would call him Uncle Cosmo, and they would spend less and less time with him, not on purpose but busy with the rest of their lives, and ultimately Cosmo would learn to make his peace with it because he’d have no other choice and he would have to try to move on and not live too much in his memories. He could picture it so clearly, he figured if the songwriting gig with Monumental didn’t pan out, he could always return to the backwater circuit with a new act: The Amazing Cosmo of the Cosmos—ladies and gentlemen, he sees the future, he reads the stars, he silently pines for his best married pal and all the while tap dancing! Don and Kathy inviting him along on their honeymoon, though—that part was a surprise. Heather Says: I LOVE this movie. It is one of my biggest comfort movies. I watch it to feel happy. I watch it when I'm sad. And I have always shipped these three but NEVER read fic for it. And honestly? I'm glad I waited for a good fic to find me because this one was perfect.

19. A Series of Forgettable Events by @trensu | Stranger Things | Steve/Eddie | 27k

Steve wanted to be a dad more than anything. Unfortunately, he was a single dude in his thirties which meant no adoption agency in the world was willing to give him a chance. Or at least no human adoption agency. Heather Says: Honestly just a delightful little jaunt in a world where Steve wants to be a dad, Eddie is a very overprotective siren, and the kids are, well. Little horrors. I love it. There's a sequel now which I am very patiently waiting to read it until I am less busy in RL.

20. the dry sand of daylight by @andthepeople | Inception | Arthur/Eames | 15k

Arthur is married to Eames for the better part of a decade. Then he wakes up. Heather Says: This fic left me ACHING for the Inception fandom circa 2010-2012. When livejournal was still a thing and the fandom community was alive and thriving. It is so achingly tender and perfect. I had forgotten how much I loved them.

21. brutalist masterpieces by @greatunironic | Stranger Things | Steve/Eddie | 12k

Ten years on, in a town in Nova Scotia, on the edge of the Atlantic, Eddie finds Steve again, and also maybe himself. Heather Says: Maybe that's my thing this year. Achingly sweet tender pieces that leave you reeling in the aftermath. This fic is SO incredibly beautiful.

22. What Made Milwaukee Famous by synthetica | Danny Phantom | Vlad/Danny | 30k

Ten years after establishing a tenuous truce, Danny crash-lands at Vlad's Milwaukee lakehouse with a particularly nasty wound, three days recovery time, and absolutely nothing to do but talk to his long-lost archnemesis. Heather Says: I'm told that this is something of a rarepair. However, from the limited information that I have from the series I can say with full certainty that two ghostly beings locked for years as enemies growing up and meeting in the middle? Fully my thing.

23. then now and always by @raisesomehale | Teen Wolf | Derek/Stiles | 13k

Stiles is stuck. Stiles is stuck in the fucking snow in the middle of bum-fuck-nowhere at night with a broken down car three days before Christmas, and the nearest tow truck company—over fifty miles away—doesn’t open until morning. Heather Says: And here we have the promised third Teen Wolf fic, the most cathartic of the bunch. I am so so sweet on future fic particularly in this fandom with missed chances. And this one is just so syrupy sweet. It's winter! There's horses! Derek's an alpha! They smooch. Anyway, this is how I cope with a series finale that didn't happen and a movie that doesn't exist.

24. Terminus by @rcmclachlan | Loki | Loki/Mobius | 4k

"Keep me here," he begs against Mobius's lips. "You must keep me here." Heather Says: What do you mean you didn't spend all three replays of the Loki series finale weeping into a pillow? What do you mean you didn't spend the next few days trying to find the perfect coda? What do you mean that you didn't find this fic and positively expire from the sheer fucking tenderness in Mobius' voice? What do you mean? What. do you. mean? Anyway, I know I'm not supposed to have number one favorites. This list exists because I cannot condense it further than 25. But guys, this was my favorite fic this year.

25. Eye Of The Beholder by @entanglednow | Stranger Things | Steve/Eddie | 22k

Eddie works himself up to ask Steve if he can borrow his instant camera, because the type of pictures he wants to take are…not the kind he can get developed in town. Heather Says: And to round it out, another Steddie. This one with sexy photos. The tension is killer.

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

Let Your Dreams Be Your Wings | Chapter 15

Chapters: 15/? Fandom: The Sandman (Netflix 2022, minor content from the Comics) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x F!Reader  Characters: Dream of the Endless/Morpheus, Lucienne, Matthew the Raven, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Hob Gadling, Death, Rose Walker, The Corinthian, other minor Sandman characters, Original Characters. Warnings: 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching, very long chapters to read. Summary: You always dreamed of becoming a successful Fashion Designer, sharing your creations with the world and making your father proud. But with him being very ill and so many costs solely weighting on your shoulders, things didn’t go as planned and you had to take a different path instead. An interesting offer led you to the elder Alex Burgess and you were hired as a new housemaid for a very good pay. However, your kindness and outstanding empathy convinced the man to give you an additional task for a doubled compensation; gaining the trust of Dream Of the Endless, held captive into the basement for over a century. Despite the shock of finding such an ethereal entity stripped of all his clothes and contained into a confined space, you had to accept for the sake of your father. But the more you got to speak to the mysterious anthropomorphic personification who didn’t utter a single word, the more you were lost into his eyes that, conversely, seemed to contain the entire universe. A deep connection formed between the two of you, separated only by a thick layer of glass.

Little did you know, what started like a simple housemaid job was about to change your life forever.

Credits: The moon dividers were made by firefly-graphics

Tagging: @number-0-iz, @emarich7, @jaziona92. If anyone else wants to be tagged in the next updates, let me know! I noticed that Tumblr sometimes won't let me tag everyone for some unknown reason, so if it comes to that I can at least send you a message to notify you.

You can also read this on AO3 if you feel more comfortable!

Warning: This chapter includes some detailed smut.

As the upcoming fashion show loomed and your days became increasingly packed, you found scant time to contemplate anything else. However, the emergence of an unfamiliar figure unsettled you.

Note: I needed to write this now, as I won't have another opportunity later to include Desire again until a certain point. I used the Dreamcast audio as reference again for their interaction.

I honestly don't know if smut can be incorporated during the Vortex part, so I thought to add more of it here.

Hob's eyes widened while gripping his tea cup. Following a few moments of blinking to regain his bearings, he gingerly set his mug aside. Then, fueled by a playful energy, he simulated an explosion by placing his hands around his head and even supplied his own sound effects.

With a smile and a nod of your head, you echoed his sentiments. "It's mind-blowing, I know"

"I might be an immortal, Shortcake, but you have your fair share of supernatural roots.”

"We are definitely not your everyday humans," you agreed, bursting into hearty laughter.

"It must be tough though, isn't it? To know that your mother has been around all this time," he carried on, his tone shifting to a more serious one.

"It is. But, now that I can think about it from a different perspective, I can at least understand why they had to keep it a secret."

It took you several days to digest your newfound revelation, but despite everything, you couldn't stay upset with your father who was merely doing his utmost to protect and care for you.

"You know, Hob, sometimes it feels like I've quantum leaped. It’s as if the reality I'm experiencing now is not the one I used to live in. I know it sounds a bit Star Trek-y, but..."

"No, no, I understand. You've undergone such significant changes recently. It makes me wonder if our dear friend had a hand in all this," he mused.

"Maybe not directly. To be honest, I can't even imagine where I'd be without him.”

Hob gifted you a warm smile, looking at you with a blend of care and understanding. "You truly do love him, don't you?”

"Immensely," you affirmed, your voice teeming with genuine sincerity.

"I could see a remarkable change in him, but I'm certain that you're also to thank for that," He noted thoughtfully.

“I didn’t do anything, really.”

"The only time I tried to get him to confide in me, he shied away. I still don't know exactly how you two met, but he adores you. That much is clear.”

A faint blush quietly spread across your cheeks as you savored your tea. Even though Morpheus typically kept a guarded demeanor, it was comforting to realize that his affection for you was evident to others.

However, an abrupt thought caused you to falter, prompting a moment of hesitation before you ventured to raise the subject. You debated whether it could be inconsiderate to mention it, but your curiosity was as potent as the infamous curiosity that led to the cat's downfall, a sentiment frequently echoed by Ella.

And so, you chose to bring it up.

“Hob, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Shortcake. What is it?”

You glanced downward, your grip on your cup tightening. "Wasn't it difficult for you, having to see the ones you loved grow old and pass away?"

You almost chastised yourself mentally when you saw a trace of sadness cross his eyes. Nevertheless, he composed himself and provided you with his answer.

"Yes, it was. But not once did I consider giving up on love."

"So you managed to move on, to fall in love again... and again."

"I know where this is going," Hob interjected, disrupting your whirlpool of emotional musings. "I speak from experience when I say that he will never truly be able to move on from you."

"I know that he won't forget. It's just..."

"It’s not comforting, I get it.”

You stared at the tea, its still surface seeming to mirror your somber expression.

"It's stupid. I made my choice fully aware of what I was signing up for.”

"We may understand the consequences, Y/N, but they won't be enough to deter us from getting what we want," Hob declared, his voice a blend of wisdom and melancholy. “Look at me. I could have left this city, even this entire Country, long ago. I could have avoided undue stress and accusations of practicing witchcraft. I could have ceased the charade of pretending to be my own descendant, and yet... I made the decision to stay. To meet new people, knowing that I would never get old.”

A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of your mouth as you listened.

"What's the purpose of immortality if it means spending your life alone? You could follow in my footsteps and ask to never die. Wouldn't that be an interesting adventure?" Hob suggested, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yes, you've brought that up before.”

"Have you given it any thought?”

"No, not yet. I just can't envision myself living forever.”

Could you even bear to remain stationary like Hob did? How would you maintain your friendships, career, and every other aspect of life without the incessant need to explain your lack of aging? You truly admired Hob's perseverance, although it was something you likely wouldn't be able to replicate. The idea of being Morpheus' sole love for all of eternity was enticing, yet the choice to accept immortality was not something you were ready to undertake.

Hob tenderly encircled your wrist with his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. His eyes sparkled with a joyful glint as he regarded you.“You never know, my friend. You never know.”

As more days began to turn into weeks, your workload steadily mounted. The preparations for the fashion show were progressing seamlessly and at a satisfactory pace, yet you could palpably sense the rising tide of disquiet in the atmosphere.

You lost track of the times you had to prevent Ella from nervously scratching her skin. As she repeatedly revised the lineup, her anxiety levels soared to unprecedented heights. The event bore great importance for the company, being the first major show in which the Corbyn&Jones brand was participating. You couldn't really blame her for feeling swamped, considering your situation was quite alike.

Your name was slated to be highlighted as the sole creator of the show's exclusive collection, and Ella had discussed the potential this could have in advancing your career as a designer, along with the enormity of the situation that was just now beginning to sink in.

At last able to take a respite from the organizing, you sauntered towards the lounge area with some coffee, hoping to replenish your energy. As you entered the room, you noticed one of your colleagues, Freya, absorbed in her tablet, barely acknowledging your arrival. She appeared to be immersed in deep thought, sighing from time to time, projecting an aura of concern and distress.

She was known for her vibrant energy in the office. Seeing her so dispirited now, you couldn't help but intervene.

"Hey Freya, are you okay?" You inquired, cautiously settling next to her.

Oh, Y/N," she responded, turning her head and managing to conjure up a strained smile. "Yes, I'm fine.”

Judging by the faint redness surrounding her eyes, barely concealed by her makeup, it was easy for you to tell that the truth was far from what she claimed.

"No, something's off. Would you like to talk about it?”

She let out another lengthy, wavering sigh. "I... it's nothing, really. It's ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous if it makes you cry.”

Freya offered a self-deprecating chuckle, hastily blinking away the tears welling in her eyes before meeting your gaze squarely.

"I've received an invitation to a friend's wedding,” she disclosed. "It’s happening in two weeks. We've been close since middle school, you see… and I just know that if I decline the invite, she'll lash out at me.”

"Is there a specific reason behind your reluctance to attend her wedding?”

Freya sniffled, taking a moment to collect her thoughts. She then tapped on her tablet's screen and extended the device towards you.

"This is the dress she selected for all the bridesmaids, including me.”

You stared at the image in disbelief, taking in the red monstrosity displayed in front of you. The design itself wasn't inherently ugly, but to say that it was unsuitable for a bridesmaid would be a gross understatement.

"Wait. You’re joking, right? She expects her bridesmaids to wear this?”

She nodded. "I’d look like shit.”

"That’s not true. The problem here is that such a dress is far from an appropriate choice for a wedding. Does she really want her guests to be focused on you ladies when she's supposed to be the center of attention?”

"She's quite controlling and insists on having everything her way, regardless of others' feelings or opinions. She always had a thing for showy stuff, and her wedding is far from modest too.”

You placed the tablet down. "Have you talked to her about it? If her fashion choices diverge significantly from your style and make you feel uncomfortable, she should respect your sentiments.”

"Oh, I have, but she's as stubborn as a mule.”

She was justifiably upset, but beyond that, you could see how appalled she was at the prospect of potentially having to don an attire that simply wouldn't suit her, or any other bridesmaid with a shred of good taste.

"Freya, this isn't right. A good friend should consider the way you feel. I understand that this is her wedding, but she cannot expect all of you to comply without voicing any objections.”

She diverted her gaze, toying with the golden bracelet that adorned her wrist. "Y/N, have you really taken a good look at me?”

“Yes?”

"All my friends could easily pass for magazine models, while I've always been the black sheep in the group. Quite literally.”

You pursed your lips, feeling a surge of heat coursing through your body. "Freya, you don’t realize how incredible and beautiful you are, do you?”

“You don’t need to flatter me.”

Her voice bore a trace of irritation, indicating that she felt somehow offended.

"It's not a matter of needing to, it's simply how I see you.”

She lapsed into silence.

"Listen, if attending her wedding means that you have to wear something you hate, then don't go.”

“I can’t do that, Y/N.”

"Why? Just because she demands your presence? It's clear that she doesn't value your opinion, or you as a person. So why should you care about her reaction if you refuse?”

"It's..." she hesitated. "...not that simple.”

Witnessing her lack of self-assurance was heart-wrenching, especially considering she was one of the first members of the team who embraced you as part of the family from day one. Freya was kind-hearted, humorous, perpetually cheerful, and tackled her job with a positive attitude every single day. Despite her struggles to recognize her own beauty, you couldn't really pinpoint a single flaw in her.

Consequently, realizing that her supposed best friend was the source of her distress and suffering, fueled your resolve to take action, any action, to restore her joy and self-assurance.

"I assume she's chosen red as the color scheme for all of you?”

"Yes, she wants this thing in red."

"What if you opt for a different dress, one that maintains the elegant yet sexy style and color, but without being as revealing?”

"Oh no, she would absolutely go nuts. She's set on this dress, period. That's just how her mind functions.”

You huffed. "Look, Freya, whether you attend her wedding or not is entirely your choice. But you really shouldn't let her exert this level of control over you. Let me try something, I have an idea.”

Her eyes expanded in astonishment. "Wait, what? You're not planning to design something for me, are you?”

“Why not?”

“Uhh…. because you're already swamped with work between our new collections and the show?”

Getting up from the couch, you dismissed her concerns with a wave of your hand. "I can do it in my spare time, it's no trouble at all.”

"But...”

"No buts. Allow me to do this for you. And if you're not convinced, then I'll let the matter rest.”

Freya found herself flustered and at a loss for words, searching for an appropriate thing to say but failing to find one.

In the end, she acquiesced. "Okay.”

"Just give me a few days, I'll create something for you that will spark jealousy among all your friends. Even the bride.”

As you finished your coffee and exited the room, you picked up the sound of her voice uttering your name. She leaped from the couch with all the haste she could gather, bolting after you, her eyes ablaze with a fresh spark of hope.

"How do you do it?” She queried, her breath labored from the unexpected exertion.

You weren't entirely certain about the implication behind her question. “Do what?”

“You're always attentive and take everything to heart. Even when Maya did all those horrible things, you urged us to forgive her and uplifted our spirits.”

You quietly listened.

"How do you manage to be so compassionate in a world like this?”

You didn't require a moment's thought for that, as the answer was an innate response to you. Now, more than ever, you grasped the foundation of something you had always taken for granted, something that had been ingrained in your being since birth.

And for the first time, after many years of believing it to be your worst flaw that would bring nothing but disaster, you felt a wave of pride in possessing it.

Your smile broadened and your eyes shimmered under the soft lighting of the corridor. "It runs in the family.”

In the subsequent week, your inventive mind remained persistently active during your time at home, outside office hours. You functioned much like a machine at full throttle, failing to switch off, with only brief intermissions for meals or nightly rest. Serving as a maid for Alex Burgess had conditioned you for prolonged hours and demanding tasks. But now, your heart and mind were wholly immersed in the endeavor, and you found immense satisfaction in your accomplishments.

One night, you were so engrossed in your creation that you didn't notice Morpheus silently materializing behind you, moving with the stealth of a cat as he cautiously advanced towards your desk. He tuned into the sound of your pencil gliding across the paper with precision, observing how you swept your hair back and tucked it behind your ear, revealing a portion of your neck that he couldn't help but gaze at. He absorbed your occasional hums as you scrutinized your sketch, and the rhythm of your steady breathing that resonated directly with his heart.

When he softly murmured your name, in a low tone like a tender melody, you lifted your head and partially turned in your chair, discovering the King of Dreams standing near you, appearing contemplative and unsure.

The genuine happiness you felt upon seeing him reverberated throughout your room. "Hi!”

Morpheus pouted. As he typically did. Oh, how much you cherished that expression of his.

“You are not in bed.”

You shot him a puzzled glance. "Uh... no. Wait, what time is it?”

As you extended your hand to grasp your phone, unlocking the screen to inspect the LED, you emitted a startled gasp at the sight that greeted you. The white numbers at the top of the display glaringly read 3 AM.

How could you be so absorbed in what you were doing that you didn't even realize it was well past your bedtime?

"Sorry… I was distracted.”

You closed your sketchbook, pushing your chair back to stand up. Morpheus remained immobile, and as you rose to your full height, your lips came close to his.

“You were not in the Dreaming,” he murmured.

Although this wasn't his first time checking on you for burning the midnight oil, it was undeniably the longest you had kept awake in a considerable while. Knowing his worry about the possible repercussions for you, given his past experiences with Nada, a pang of guilt ebbed at you for not being more mindful.

"I know… I lost track of time. I'm getting ready now, promise. Could you wait for me?”

Morpheus nodded in agreement, but held his position without moving.

You brushed his cool fingers with your own, tenderly taking his hands into yours and placing a gentle kiss at the corner of his lips. As always, he softened at your touch, reciprocating your gesture and holding you tighter, his thumbs gently stroking your knuckles.

It was a repeated exchange to which you had become accustomed, but it never lost its charm. His scent, the paradoxical coolness and warmth he exuded, his voice, his mere presence. You craved all of it as much as the air you breathed.

"I'll see you in a bit," you announced, reluctantly releasing him and unzipping your hoodie. The moment you retreated to the bathroom, washing off your makeup, cleansing your face and slipping into the comfort of your nightgown, he had already vanished, evaporated, awaiting you in his realm.

The moment you sank into the mattress, turning off the light and being soothed by the softness of the covers, it was only a matter of minutes before sleep overtook you. You remembered those times when you failed to surrender to your fatigue, the insomnia that Morpheus' imprisonment had caused. It was all gone, nothing more than a distant memory, a story that you hoped no one would ever have to experience again.

You were eager to reunite with him, deep within the Dreaming. A world that felt like home.

When your eyes fluttered open, you found yourself still lying in your bed, your vision gradually adjusting to the darkness. The lights seeping in through the window began to illuminate parts of your room, but as you rolled over, something felt out of the ordinary.

You were unable to discern exactly what was wrong, as everything seemed to be positioned correctly. However, there was an indistinct fuzziness, a sensation of floating that left you questioning the authenticity of your wakefulness.

A dark silhouette emerged at the end of the bed, but before you could react with a heart-stopping scream, you quickly recognized Morpheus, watching you with a dignified posture. You held your breath, barely blinking, awaiting his next move or words.

Then, very quietly, he moved onto the mattress with the agility of a stealthy predator. Yet, you were far from feeling like a frightened prey.

You propped yourself up, the covers sliding down from your chest. "Am I dreaming?”

"You are," he responded, inching ever closer to your form, his right hand tracing the outline of your covered legs.

"You're not an illusion, are you?”

He offered you a faint smile. "No.”

“Good. I’d be disappointed otherwise.”

His hand reached the hem of the covers, shifting them down, further and further, until more of your body was exposed. The nightgown felt peculiarly warm, enveloping you like a cozy bath.

"I'm intrigued. Why choose this setting?”

"I wanted to offer you something more... familiar, for this occasion.”

You chuckled, biting your lower lip as you could already feel the arousal stirring within you. How could you lose your composure in such a way, just by watching his face inching closer to yours?

"And, what exactly is this occasion...?”

Morpheus looked intensely into your eyes, brimming with hunger and love for you.

"You desire me, Y/N," he revealed. "I can sense it.”

As much as you felt inclined to deny it, you realized just how fervently you needed to feel him against you. Given your work commitments and his responsibilities as the King of Dreams, the time you could allocate for each other was rather restricted, let alone for intimacy. Consequently, you were left to savor quick exchanges of affection that only intensified your craving for more.

It was truly maddening, but it couldn't be helped.

And in a way, it was somewhat exciting.

"I could claim that it's not true, but you're in my head right now," you stated, wearing a smile. "And quite frankly, I would never deny you.”

Morpheus moved closer, nudging you back against the mattress with a mere push of his fingers. Your body was under his enchantment, one that you didn't have the slightest wish to break.

"Please, allow me to attend to you.”

You swallowed, feeling your nightgown being lifted, its fabric brushing against your skin as it rolled up.

"What about you?”

"This is your dream," he replied. "All of this, is for you.”

His hands continued to guide the fabric upward until it reached your breasts, allowing it to rest just above your nipples, while he took in the sight of the rest of your body, completely bare, spread out before him like the most delectable of treats.

For a fleeting moment, you wondered about the whereabouts of your underwear, but you conjectured that he might have conveniently made it vanish. Regardless, you had no qualms about it.

“Morpheus-”

“Shh.”

His lips grazed your cheekbone, tracing a path along your jawline, chin, and down to your neck. You felt his middle and forefinger glide down your stomach, lightly tickling your navel and moving lower past your belly. You glanced down, admiring his long digits as they continued their exploration, but just when you anticipated they would venture directly to your sensitive center, they veered off course and moved towards your thigh.

Your breathing quickened, your heart pounded fiercely, and your legs instinctively parted for him when his hand encircled your knee. Your nipples were continuously rubbing against the nightgown, generating an exquisite friction between them and the silky material. His touch was tantalizing, deliberately slow and feather-light, escalating the tension you felt emanating from your core. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he was executing it impeccably well. Never before had you imagined a lustful dream could be so satisfying.

At last, his fingers began to glide forward, and his other hand slipped under the nightgown to cradle the curve of your breast. The sensation you experienced when his thumb just barely swiped over your nipple was electrifying, but the way your body jerked, quivered, and twitched didn't seem to faze him in the least.

Even though your senses were considerably amplified in your dream state, your body had always been especially receptive to a man's touch. Morpheus had ceaselessly demonstrated that your pleasure was paramount above all else, and yet, it continued to feel incredibly mesmerizing. You couldn't tell if it was owing to his magical essence or an exceptional degree of restraint, but his consistent focus on giving rather than receiving was truly exceptional.

Your fingers gripped the bedsheets when he explored your labia, outlining its shape yet not fully delivering the pleasure you wanted. As his other thumb maintained its attentive caress on your nipple, your back curved gracefully. The sensations were so vivid and intense that you feared you might awaken prematurely, preventing the dream from reaching its climax and interrupting what Morpheus had initiated.

You let out a moan, a curse forming between your teeth as his fingers found your clit, establishing a steady, gentle rhythm that you thought would never suffice, but soon produced that familiar tingle that signaled it wouldn't take long for you to let loose. Even with the most tender of touches, with his fingers lightly stroking your clitoris up and down, sweetly, gently, Morpheus was offering you the universe.

Your legs parted even further, his long coat billowing out behind him, as if intending to enfold the two of you. He paused, guiding one finger towards your entrance, probing it gently to reach your delicate spot inside, akin to pressing a switch to light you up. Your pleasure escalated, not quite enough to trigger your orgasm, but sufficient to make your clit pulse and your whole body tremble in ecstasy. He remained so tranquil, so concentrated, so solemn and silent. You felt as though you were one of his masterpieces, sculpted like a work of art, the most exquisite of dream creatures under his guardianship.

He moved back to your hood, lifting it and stroking his moistened fingers over the sensitive bud underneath, yet again, without increasing his pace or exerting any substantial pressure.

The familiar feeling of satisfaction was approaching, teetering on the brink of release, but just barely eluding your grasp. You brought your hand to his chest, feeling the fabric of his shirt, and moving to his collarbones. Your lips parted, silently pleading to be kissed, only to be instantly met by his own in a sensual and heated choreography.

The Moonstone pendant served as a beacon, enveloping both of you and your environment in its radiant blues and whites. It was so potent that tiny particles of light emanated from it, creating a protective halo around you.

"You're amazing," you confessed against his mouth. "Has anyone ever told you that?”

Morpheus seemed momentarily speechless, pausing his movements, but keeping his fingers connected to your core.

"That is not a word I have often heard used to describe me.”

Your head flopped back onto the pillow, feeling defeated. "Seriously, what's wrong with everyone?”

"You may be the first to see me as more than just the King of Nightmares.”

"Nightmares? What you’re giving to me right now is far from a nightmare.”

You kissed him again to emphasize your point, reaching for the hand that was securely cupping your breast. "You are Dream of The Endless. My Dream.”

He inhaled shakily as his eyes gleamed, and his fingers resumed their ministrations on your clit. Despite their touch maintaining a consistent tenderness, barely grazing your skin, the rhythm of his movements hastened. Processing it was unfeasible as the slick strokes rapidly kindled the sparks, triggering your orgasm to erupt beneath his fingertips. It surged up to the nipple he persistently stimulated, and dispersed into a serene state of bliss.

It might have been a dream, but it felt unequivocally spectacular.

He patiently waited for your pleasure to subside, and then, he retracted his hands from you. He grasped the wrinkled fabric of your nightgown, pulling it down, the creases miraculously straightening as it outlined the contours of your body.

Your haziness was intensifying, indicating that the Waking World was beginning to reclaim you. You resisted it, maintaining your focus on him as he observed you, clenching your hands into fists and drawing in a deep breath to anchor yourself.

You felt fulfilled, satisfied, and thoroughly cared for.

However, he did not.

Despite his desire to make everything solely about you, you couldn't accept it as fair. Therefore, you shifted yourself into a more vertical position, tugging the Endless towards you by his coat. This movement prompted him to position himself above you, taking care not to impose his entire weight on your smaller frame.

"Y/N-"

"Shh.”

This time, the roles were reversed, and it was you who hushed him to continue.

"I understand that you wanted this to be about me. But, despite it being my dream, we're still in your domain.”

You extended your hand towards the back of his neck, weaving your fingers through his short tresses. "I'm going to wake up soon, but before I do... let me give you something in return.”

You didn't wait for his reply. By the time he parted his lips, your hand was already making its way towards the button of his trousers.

He made no effort to stop you, allowing you to unfasten his garments, unveiling his eager arousal springing forth, ready and needy. How unfair would it be to leave him unattended, untouched, overlooked?

Morpheus was desperate for you, hungering for your touch.

Your nose brushed against his as you maintained your grip around his neck for support (and comfort), and your fingers promptly encircled the head of his member. His legs, straddling you, tensed and stiffened the moment you glided your hand down to the base, only to replicate the motion several more times. As much as it pained you, you couldn't afford the same level of tender and unhurried strokes. At any second, you could be thrust back into your real bed, and you didn't want to risk waking before he reached his own peak.

The way he groaned, so faintly, imperceptibly, holding himself back, was something you found incredibly appealing. You drew him even closer, accelerating your pace, ensuring that all his most sensitive regions were stimulated.

You continued your ministrations, increasing the speed, feeling the pull of the Waking World, akin to invisible ropes winding around you. You resisted once more, concentrating on the moist sounds your hand produced against his hardness, on his lips tenderly brushing yours as soft as a tender brush on a canvas.

You loved every single part of it.

And just when you thought you might not finish in time, that he would be left there alone, unsatisfied, forsaken in his desires, the perfect touch on his tense underside drove him to that delectable edge that you both longed for. His hips jerked forward repeatedly, his eyes clamped shut, his mouth letting out a few low grunts that intermingled with your breath.

In due course, your hand reduced its speed until it ceased entirely, but it remained connected to him as he softened. You gently scratched his scalp with your nails, playfully tousling his hair, and planted a kiss upon his forehead.

You released a joyful laugh when he curved his lips, looking absolutely content and thoroughly satisfied. You went on to pepper his face with even more kisses, whispering about your immense love for him, your fortune in having him, his talents in every possible way, and more.

It was the most delightful awakening you could ever wish for, a grin permanently etched at the corners of your lips as you left the Dreaming behind.

Freya was in absolute shock. She looked at the freshly tailored red dress laid out for her to see, designed specifically to her tastes and body size. Her eyes had sparkled with excitement when you showed her the initial sketch, but seeing her now, tears of joy streaming down her face, made you feel as though you'd accomplished an extraordinary feat. Unbeknownst to her, you had collaborated with the rest of your team to orchestrate this splendid surprise, with Ella's full backing.

You gently encouraged Freya to try the dress on, assuring her that only by wearing it could she appreciate the full beauty of the sophisticated design and velvety fabric. The moment she emerged from the restroom, you couldn’t believe your eyes. She was even more stunning than you had envisioned, making your own creation appear as if you were beholding it for the first time. The full-length sleeves and high neckline imparted the dress with a modest and elegant appearance, while the front opening tastefully showcased a generous portion of her cleavage. The lengthy gown gracefully traced her curves and swept the floor, and the slit on the right subtly revealed her leg.

She even let her voluminous hair down from the usual high bun she wore and touched up her lipstick, the high heels and earrings she selected that day appeared to be an impeccable match.

It was a day to be remembered, truly. The way she embraced and thanked you, as if you'd bestowed upon her the most anticipated reward. The confidence she exuded by agreeing to be photographed in the studio like a professional model, everyone thoroughly enjoying the occasion, showering praise and throwing a genuine party with drinks and snacks in her honor. All of this warmed your heart, filled you with happiness and fulfillment, and reaffirmed that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Eventually, Freya mustered the courage to send one of her photos to her bride-to-be friend. She expressed her desire to wear the new dress at the wedding, which understandably caused quite a stir. The woman was adamant that all the bridesmaids should be clad in identical outfits. If she couldn't procure the same dress for the others, then Freya wouldn't be permitted to wear something distinctive. You were afraid that this might dampen her spirits and ruin her good mood, but to your surprise, Freya resolved that if she couldn't wear your dress, she wouldn't attend the wedding at all.

You had crafted it solely for her. She was the only one who had the right to decide when and where to wear it. After the party, she chose to reserve it for the night of the show, using it as publicity for both the Corbyn&Jones brand and you.

"You know, Y/N, I think what you do is quite magical," she told you. "You might not even realize it, but you literally create dreams that have the power to transform others.”

“Really?”

“Of course! I mean, just by trying out this dress today, I feel like a completely different person.”

You found it paradoxical that you, of all people, were being described as someone capable of making dreams a reality.

"Let's just say that I have some good inspiration in my life," you confessed with a smile.

Freya lifted her glass, clinking it against yours in a friendly toast. "Well then. Cheers to your good influence and genius!”

The night of the show was a mere two days away. While everyone was busy preparing and setting things up at the designated location for the event, Ella beckoned you to her side, the printed lineup practically attached to her hand. She looked distinctly terrified, while Oliver was able to maintain a more composed demeanor despite his own nerves.

You'd be lying if you said that the impending occasion wasn't impacting you in a similar way.

"I know this is somewhat last minute, but one of our sponsors would like to meet you in person this afternoon.”

You furrowed your brow. "One of the sponsors? Why?”

"Oh, that might be my doing. I may have boasted about you a tad excessively.”

You shook your head in playful disbelief. "Seriously, Ella.”

"I know! But you are literally our leading figure. It's only a matter of time before more prominent people decide to make their move.”

"I'm just a designer, I'm not the one in charge.”

"Our sales have seen a significant increase these past few months, thanks to you. Come on, let me sing your praises.”

You chuckled. "Fine. When should I expect them?”

"You're scheduled to meet the sponsor in the main hall around 4pm.”

“Noted.”

Ella let out a squeal, which she attempted to suppress due to the many people around, hailing from different brands and sectors.

"I'm genuinely proud of you. You truly deserve all the success that's coming your way.”

“Honestly, Ella, I wouldn't be here if it weren't for your call.”

"And I wouldn't have called if it weren't for your email. It's funny how life works, isn't it?”

You found yourself nodding with conviction, reflecting on all the remarkable things, whether challenging or rewarding, that had entered your life since you left the Burgess mansion.

Since you encountered Dream of the Endless. Your beloved Morpheus.

If only you had known that the person you were about to meet wasn't who you expected them to be.

By the time you made your way to the main hall, Ella had returned to the office to finalize the remaining details with Oliver. You had been constantly active all morning, barely managing to squeeze in time for an outdoor lunch, arranging the garments for the presentation, and refining the lineup. You were on the brink of being tardy for the appointment, and you left the backrooms in such a rush that you unintentionally left your phone behind.

Casting a quick glance around the luxurious space, you cleared your throat and adjusted your hair to ensure you looked presentable. You didn't spot anyone who seemed to be waiting, so you opted to sit on one of the vacant couches, taking a moment to observe your surroundings.

You found yourself completely zoned out, watching the staff bustling about and your competitors occasionally strolling past, until a voice jolted you from your trance.

"Why, hello there. You must be Y/N Y/LN.”

You raised your gaze to encounter a distinctive figure standing in front of you. They were attired in a white suit, which exposed a portion of their chest and highlighted an oval pendant suspended from a lengthy silver chain. Their blonde hair was flawlessly slicked back, a pair of round earrings graced their ears, and red lipstick accentuated what seemed to be a sincere, yet cryptic smile.

But what truly captivated you was the color of their eyes, which you couldn't pinpoint due to the lighting making them gleam gold.

"Oh, uh, yes. That's me," you stammered.

Their smile broadened. “It's quite a pleasure to meet you in person.”

Their voice was smooth, calm, and suave.

"Likewise," you responded, sitting up straighter and adopting a more professional tone.

"Do you mind if I join you?" They asked, gesturing towards the empty space on the couch beside you.

"Not at all, please have a seat.”

There was something inexplicably peculiar about this sponsor. They settled themselves next to you, a tad too close for your liking, you might add. Aiming not to appear overly nervous, you swiftly collected yourself and returned their smile.

"I'm surprised that you wanted to meet. Do you have any specific questions you'd like to ask me?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. You could say that I'm interested in your... desires.”

You required a moment to process their words.

"My desires...?”

"Look where you are," they declared, sweeping their impeccably manicured hand to indicate the place. "This must be like a dream come true for you, isn't it?”

You had the distinct feeling that they found this thought amusing, leaving you uncertain about whether they were mocking you or not.

"Well, yes. It certainly is. I've worked really hard to reach this point," you affirmed.

"And yet, I can see that you're still searching for something.”

What were they even hinting at?

"There's always scope for improvement," you elucidated. "I may have come a long way in this industry, but that doesn't mean I can't continue to learn as I progress.”

"Is that what you desire? Greater wealth and recognition?”

You were uncertain whether they were attempting to carry out an unconventional interview, or if their words held some concealed subtext. Was this genuinely the sponsor Ella had spoken to you about?

For a moment, a fear gripped you that you might have encountered the wrong person entirely, perhaps someone dispatched by your competitors to probe and expose your vulnerabilities. But as you threw a cursory look around the hall, you didn't notice anyone else seeking you out.

"I wouldn't say that, no. I engage in what I do because I love creating something that empowers the wearer to feel comfortable in their own skin."

They hummed in ponderation. "Well, I guess that's not too far off from what I do.”

“What is it that you do?”

"My dear, I am in search of individuals who are just like you, drawn to those objects of their desire like a butterfly to a candle's flame.”

That was quite an enigmatic and poetic way to respond. You inferred that as a sponsor, they were particularly discerning about the brand and company they decided to invest in. Possibly, as the one fundamentally in control of the main collections of Corby&Jones, they aimed to painstakingly scrutinize your intentions and authenticity.

It was entirely plausible, all things considered. Yet, there was an odd element that was making you feel uneasy.

“So tell me then, what is it that you want? Don't be shy. Or perhaps I should try to guess?”

Alarm bells started sounding in your mind the moment they edged even closer, their fingers lightly sweeping your hair away from your face.

“You want something sensual, or maybe something precious. Or... maybe someone special. Or maybe you want all three. Yes, I think that might just be the case. ”

The last thing you wanted was for your company to lose one of its most significant sponsors, but your patience was already stretched thin and you could not bear any more of it.

Sporting a nervous chuckle, you cautiously lifted your hand to gently move theirs away as diplomatically as you could, using your left leg to redistribute your weight and subtly distance yourself a bit further from them.

"I’m sorry, but I'm afraid your guess is inaccurate.”

“Is that so?”

"I have a boyfriend. I have no need to seek anything or anyone else, as I've already attained everything I've ever wished for.”

You could almost swear their expression transformed into a blend of disappointment and annoyance, even though they managed to somewhat retain their smile.

"Well, that's unfortunate," they proclaimed. "But you see, all humans are creatures of desire, twisting and bending to their whims.”

You were still unable to understand what all of that was about. Regardless of their motive, you had no interest in discerning it.

"I wouldn't want to come off as rude, but I really need to return to my work. Is there any particular matter you wanted to discuss with me?”

Your attempt to abruptly terminate the conversation and depart clearly took them by surprise, as you noticed them purse their red lips and squint their eyes to scrutinize you. The longer you gazed into those irises, the more the notion strengthened that they were indeed gold. But such an eye color was improbable for a human, wasn't it…?

Eventually, they reverted to their initial politeness. "But of course. I was merely curious to finally meet the famous Y/N Y/LN. Go ahead, continue with your work. I won't hold you here.”

With a simple nod of your head, you excused yourself, standing up from the couch and offering your hand in a professional manner, which they accepted. Their grip was firm, warm, and oddly comforting, yet at the same time, a chill ran through your entire body.

What you experienced in that moment was truly bizarre. A part of you felt as though you knew them, or at least, there was a familiarity in their presence that echoed Morpheus and Teleute. A distant voice in your head reassured you that there was no need for fear, that they could calm your spirit and provide the most exhilarating ride you could ever imagine.

And it terrified you.

The instant they released you, you practically dashed off, fumbling in your pocket for your phone to give Ella a piece of your mind about the situation, only to discover that you didn't have the device with you.

And you were oblivious to the way they continued to gaze at you until you were out of sight, narrowing their eyes and resting their fingers on their chin in profound thought.

"My, what a fascinating mortal being,” they commented with a broad grin, before releasing a prolonged, amused laugh through their perfectly white teeth.

The moment you reentered the backrooms, Freya hailed you and advanced with a brisk stride, extending her hand that was gripping your phone. "I found it on the table next to me. Ella sent you a message, I noticed her name flashing on the screen.”

Speak of the Devil…

"Thanks, Freya. I'll check it right away. I'll be back in a minute.”

She nodded in recognition and gave you a thumbs-up, before resuming her task of arranging the chosen outfits on their corresponding hangers.

You unlocked the screen and navigated straight to your friend's chat, freezing in place as soon as you read her message.

You could feel your blood chilling as you recognized that the person you had just interacted with was, in fact, not the one you were initially supposed to meet. You had found them strange, slightly ethereal even, but overall suitable for that specific setting, notwithstanding their flirtatious conduct.

And now, staring in utter disbelief at your phone screen, you could only conjecture about their real identity, how they knew your name, and most importantly, why they were there for you.

The only logical explanation you could arrive at was your initial assumption about a competitor sending one of their own, but you couldn't dismiss that nagging feeling in your gut that they were someone, or perhaps even something, entirely distinct.

Without a moment's hesitation, you tucked your phone into your pocket and sprinted for the main hall, hoping to still find them there and obtain an explanation. Regrettably, they were nowhere to be seen, as you couldn't spot their elegant attire, blonde hair, or golden eyes.

You came to the realization that they hadn't even introduced themselves to you. You had no name to associate with them, no concrete information about their profession or location whatsoever. You were left without any leads, while they appeared to have a clear understanding of who you were. Could you possibly be dealing with an admirer who had infiltrated the showroom solely to see you?

In the end, all you could do was return to your responsibilities and let the matter slide, even though it certainly nagged at you for the remainder of the day.

With all arrangements for the imminent show complete, Ella and Oliver gave their team a well-deserved day off before the grand event, ensuring that everyone could rejuvenate and approach the coming day with renewed energy. Capitalizing on this chance, you planned another visit to your father, as time with him had been scant since the revelation about your mother. The last time you awoke from the Dreaming, he implied there was something he wished to talk about, but assured you it wasn't pressing and could be postponed.

However, as soon as he opened the door to greet you, it was evident that something about him was off again. He appeared hesitant, leaving you lingering at the entrance without fully inviting you in, his countenance displaying unease.

"Dad? What's wrong? Can I come in or are we planning to have lunch here on your doorstep?”

He exhaled deeply, shifting his gaze towards something in the living room. "No, it's just.... there's someone here.”

"Oh... a guest? Would you prefer if I came back next week?”

"No, no, there's no need for that," he paused. "Actually... they're here for you.”

You attempted to conjure a mental image of who they might be. "Huh...?”

At last, he moved aside to let you in, closing the door behind you and assisting you with your jacket. But before you could proceed further, he gently grasped your arm and placed both his hands on your shoulders.

"Y/N, I didn't plan this. Whatever happens, know that I will understand if you decide to leave.”

“Dad, seriously. What’s going on here?”

Reflecting back, you should have realized that there was only one person who would potentially want to converse with you. You had barely interacted with his friends a few times, and he was the sole family you had left. There was no one else who would wish to see you in his house.

Except for someone you believed would never be allowed to come near the two of you, ever again.

When he remained silent, lowering his gaze, you pivoted and ventured into the living room. There, you noticed a woman stationed by the window, her eyes fixed outside, responding to your entrance with a slight flinch.

You couldn't instantly recognize her, but as she slowly swiveled around to face you, your heart abruptly stopped. You found yourself staring at the woman from your dream, the memory that Morpheus had transferred from your father's mind into yours. She nervously fiddled with her thumbs while clasping her hands over her lap, swallowing hard and blinking rapidly to clear her tear-filled eyes.

You felt a dizzy spell coming on, unable to react, as your father slowly moved to stand beside you, nervously anticipating some sort of response from you.

And then it came, your voice shaky, trembling, emerging as a whisper. "Mum....?"

Upon hearing that, she managed a smile in your direction, summoning the courage to take a step towards you. "Hello, Y/N.”

You began to hyperventilate, your ears filled with a loud ringing noise and a dreadful wave of nausea started to swell within you. She repeated your name, but it became inaudible. Her lips were moving, yet no sound was perceptible, as the unbearable ringing in your ears drowned everything else out.

You had reconciled with that she would only exist as a faint echo in the background of your existence, a distant figure you'd never have a chance to see or converse with. Caught completely off guard, you found yourself in her presence for the first time, a moment you had yearned for since your childhood years.

And you were petrified, completely paralyzed with fear.

Your father gently prodded you, trying to elicit a proper reaction that stubbornly refused to surface. Your breathing grew rapid and strained as you struggled to supply enough oxygen to your brain.

Until everything descended into darkness.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 16 (coming soon) ->

[alteon77]

Updated Masterlist of Writing and Art

About the writer/artist: I like to write and paint. My current obsession is Sandman, but I enjoy most fantasy fandoms as well as anime (I think I’m on season seven billion of One Piece right now 🤣). I'm also weird as they come (and awkward, too), so just please ignore my oddball (coughTERRIBLEcough) sense of humor.

On a more personal note, I have PTSD and suffer from severe manic depressive episodes. Writing and art are my most familiar coping mechanisms, and I need them like I need oxygen. Seriously, there were times in my life that knowing I had to finish a story or a piece of art was the only thing stopping me from ending up dead. So, I don't take part in fandom drama. Having my peace and protecting my mental health are very big deals to me, and I won't risk those for anything if I can help it.

As for my writing, it ranges from short one-shots to ridiculously long novel series. I use third person POV (on longer series) as well as second person (on shorter things). I also try to always exclude physical descriptions when writing main character OCs and assign them nicknames to avoid using Y/N. I love to read Y/N fics, but writing them makes me feel like I'm at work. And who actually wants to ever feel like they're at work when they're engaging in a hobby? Definitely not me.

Lastly, there's usually more stuff on my AO3 page than I have listed here, because I forget to post it pretty often. Oops. I'll get around to moving it all over one day. Probably. Maybe.

Feel free to leave an ask if you want or just drop by my DMs. <3

Artwork links are at the bottom of this list, so if you're here for those, that's where they are.

Sandman 'Verse

All the Precious and Fragile Things (so easily do they break)

After banishing his lover from the Dreaming for her betrayal, Morpheus learns that she is pregnant with his child.

And that she’s been captured by a revenge-seeking Alexander Burgess.

What the both of them are unaware of is that this will set in motion a cascade of unfavorable events, causing a chain reaction that threatens the whole of existence itself.

PART I: All of This Past

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

PART II: These Tender, Loving Mercies

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

PART III: When It All Falls Down

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

PART IV: The Dark of War

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Epilogue

Sometimes He's Sweet

Morpheus hates the holidays.

As excited as she seems to experience the mortal holiday, he's… less so. Much less so. With the entire collective unconscious contained within him, this time of year can be wholly overwhelming, a miasma of too much red and green, too much worry, too much loneliness, too much excitement, too many similarly themed dreams, too many similarly themed nightmares, and far far too many holiday songs. It all bleeds out from the collective unconscious into his own mind, sticks there like weeping sap to a tree until he feels half-mad with the unrelenting presence of it, with his inability to get free from its cloying trespass upon his very being.

This is just a little sweet fluff for the holiday season. It takes place between chapters 19 and 20 of "All the Precious and Fragile Things". No spoilers here if you've read that far!

The Dog Debacle (or how best to sneak a dragon into the dreaming)

Morpheus' daughter gets a new dog.

Well..... kind of.

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

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 would be practically perfect.)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

The Maker, the Muse, and the Sundered Song

In his temple, what remains of Orpheus waits in trepidation. Something is changing. Something that he knows might alter the very fabric of the world as he understands it.

Finally freed from captivity, Calliope struggles to make any meaningful changes to the laws that saw her bound and taken in the first place. When the strange woman appears on Mount Parnassus and offers help, Calliope knows she would be a fool not to accept it. Even if she thinks that she's being lied to.

Meanwhile in the peace of the Dreaming, Morpheus grapples with guilt over his son's fate. As he basks in the love of his new children, he can't help but to regret his own failings where Orpheus is concerned.

And as for May, she's really just got a job to do. And her own traumatic issues to deal with. And if it's all hella awkward because she's having to work alongside her husband's ex-wife, she'll see it done anyway. There's even the small possibility that she might eventually admit to Calliope the truth about her identity. That is if she can ever actually work up the courage to say it aloud.

Chapter 1

Nothing in This Closet but Boots and a Boy

Morpheus is wildly protective of his daughter.

That's probably bad for the boy in said daughter's closet.

AU's and Other Stuff in the Sandman 'Verse

Of Exes, Hellhounds, and Waffle Fries

Morpheus shows up to rescue the woman he probably loves (though he won't admit it) from hellhounds and ends up getting roped into helping with her family. This is one of those extras that doesn't fit into the main story, but it's fun, so I'm posting it.

The Bizarre Breeding Habits of Anthropomorphic Personifications

It's a tale as old as time.

Two idiots fall in love. Two idiots fall out of love.

Neither one of them is expecting a baby to come along and derail their unhappily ever after.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Original Fanart

I like to play around with different styles and to try new things with my artwork. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't. I'm still learning, and I am so far from being a professional that it's laughable. But I only post things that I think look decent or that I think others might enjoy.

The Lover's Argument (Morpheus x oc)

Oneiros (Morpheus in Grecian garb)

Because I could not stop for Death, she kindly stopped for me... (Regency era Dream and Death)

[audhd-nightwing]

ok but what if dream was a vampire

i mean he dresses, looks and acts like one already so…

let’s say he was turned when he was 30ish, some time long before 1389. he was adopted by a pack of vampires (at the time he was turned it would only be destiny and death). before he met them though, he was ostracized / hunted by humans and saw the worst of humanity.

(death and dream drink human blood but avoid the elderly, sick people, and women and children. also they often forget their original names so they just chose dream and death and stuck with it)

time skip to 1389. dream and death are visiting a local tavern because death wants to convince dream that not all humans are bad. there we meet hob gadling, who was granted immortality by the gods because he saved someone important or smth idrc. he’s freshly immortal and chose to live on earth rather than in the realm of the gods.

hob, the self-sacrificing idiot he is, had decided to become a vampire hunter. which leads us to hob boasting about being a slayer of bloodthirsty beasts of the night (which no one really believes but he’s funny and a good storyteller so who cares) in the pub, and dream and death overhear. dream is amused that a puny human thinks he can kill a vampire and death is just amused.

dream decides to fuck with hob a bit, for funsies, and death is like “if it shows you some of the good of humanity, go for it” and sends him off. dream wanders over to the table hob is sitting on while he spouts tall tales and buys him a drink. for a bit he listens to the stories until the crowd dies down and he takes his opportunity to lean over hob and whisper in his ear to meet him in the alley behind the tavern. then he turns away and leaves a flustered hob to scramble after him as he stalks out the door.

hob is tripping over himself to get there because holy shit that was the most beautiful man he had ever seen in his life and he was fancy and probably rich and definitely flirting with him

dream is leaning against the wall nonchalantly because he’s graceful no matter what and hob kind of stands there dazed for a moment staring at him. then dream grabs him by the shirt and pushes him against the wall.

dream had originally planned on just bleeding hob dry but doesn’t resist when the other man pulls him into a searing kiss (because who doesn’t love entertainment with a meal?). so they kiss for a bit until dream starts pressing kisses down hob’s throat and hob tilts his head to give him more access. dream smiles against his throat and hob only has time to think ‘wow his teeth are really sharp’ before things (literally and figuratively) sink in.

hob, who knows he’s immortal, doesn’t give enough of a fuck to struggle out of the pretty stranger’s grip so he just holds onto the man as he starts to black out.

dream licks his lips when he’s finished, satisfied, and is almost sad to leave the man behind. alas, he must leave before someone finds him, so he lets his subconscious take over and kisses the man’s cheek before turning into a bat and flying into the night.

when hob gasps back to life the next morning with the lingering feeling of warm lips against his own and a heart set on a certain ebony haired stranger, he knows he’s fucked. and yes, it probably says a lot about him that he’s falling for a vampire who literally killed him when he’s supposed to be a vampire slayer, but that’s something to unpack another time.

[littledreamling]

Can you imagine the crisis of faith that Hob Gadling must’ve had when the reality of his immortality fully sunk in? He’s Catholic; everyone in England in the 1300’s is and even if he’s not fully devout, it’s at least the religion he was raised with, it’s the religion his neighbors and friends practice, it’s deeply rooted in who he is because religion is hard to shake. He definitely thought Dream was the Devil or perhaps even an angel, he probably thought his soul was damned, he might’ve thought he was the second coming of Christ or some kind of prophet of God. And then, once he got over all of that, can you imagine the Catholic guilt ™ that ate at his soul when he realized that he was in love with Dream, who he didn’t fully understand and definitely wasn’t Holy, or maybe he was, but definitely not of the same Divinity that Hob had been raised to worship. Can you imagine his fevered prayers to an Almighty he might not believe in anymore for forgiveness, for absolution for straying so far?

And then, can you imagine a modern-day using that same level of devotion to worship the Lord of Dreams, who has replaced the Lord Almighty in Hob’s mind, in Hob’s prayers, in Hob’s single-minded loyalty

[gabessquishytum]

The Honorable Mr. Dream Endless is engaged to Mr. Hob Gadling, and while he’s perfectly happy to be so, part of him can’t help feeling just a little disappointed. Don’t get him wrong, he’s head over heels in love with the gentleman, and is confident in Hob’s love for him. But he’s always been a voracious reader of novels, and when he had first entered into society a part of him had been hoping for the type of wild and dramatic romance he’d always read of.

But their courtship and subsequent engagement, while lovely, was rather sedate and lacking in drama. Both of their families approved of the match, and neither Dream nor Hob had any other jealous suitors or past entanglements looking to separate them. There were no financial or class issues that could be obstacles to their marriage, and no buried secrets or scandals threatening to come to light. Neither of them even had any dubious acquaintances or access to properly mysterious locales that could provide such excitement.

When Dream confesses such to his sister Death one evening, he reassures her that he is definitely, wildly happy to be engaged to Hob. It’s simply that he’d had such delicious fantasies of rogues and abductions and intrigue, and it’s a little hard to let them go now that he’s settling down, even if it is with the love of his life.

Death comforts him, but he completely misses the thoughtful and mischievous look that appears on her face, and he also misses her quiet scheming with Hob later the next day.

Dream does think it’s odd, a few days later, when she suddenly suggests that the three of them go visit the couple’s new estate—their soon-to-be home after the wedding—for a time, and Hob immediately agrees but claims that he still has some business in town that would keep him behind a day or two. But Dream shrugs and agrees to the plan anyway, and he and Death set off.

He’s completely taken by surprise when the carriage is stopped, about half a mile away from their destination, by the sound of a gunshot and a vaguely familiar voice shouting “stand and deliver!” He’s alarmed and a little excited, until he turns to look at his sister and is instead suspicious, as she seems not at all worried or even surprised.

The carriage door opens, and there stands a dark figure dressed in black, holding a pistol, with a handkerchief tied around his face. It’s not enough of a disguise, however, to conceal for longer than a moment or two that this sudden highwayman is in fact his fiancé Hob!!

Indeed, upon seeing Dream’s recognizing him, the “highwayman” winks at him before turning to Death (who is clearly trying to fight off a grin) and declaring that he can see they have no real money or jewels for him to steal, so instead he’ll be taking the lady’s lovely companion with him as compensation. He then pulls Dream from the carriage and whisks him past all the drivers and footmen—who do nothing but look indulgently on—to a waiting horse, before carrying him off into the woods.

——

Hob and Death had indeed thoroughly planned the whole thing out in order to give Dream the kind of romantic escapade he had longed for. They’d planned exactly where Hob would intercept the carriage, and had informed all the necessary servants in advance so that no one except Dream would be taken by surprise. Hob had waited by the side of the road with his face bare until he and the carriage driver had made eye contact and clearly recognized each other, to prevent any mistaken identity shenanigans, before tying on the handkerchief and getting into character. He’d only had the one pistol with the one shot, which he’d fired into the ground, to minimize the possibility of accidental injury or damage.

The estate has a cottage in the woods, close enough to the house to be easily reached by horse in case of an emergency, but far enough from anywhere else that it was unlikely to be accidentally disturbed. They’d made sure that the cottage was fully supplied and prepared to have Hob keep Dream “captive” there for a day or two in order to thoroughly ravish him, before Hob escorts him to the house and drop hims off. He “threatens” Dream to keep his mouth shut about this experience and any other visits the “highwayman” might be inclined to make in the future, lest his husband-to-be “discover” that Dream was now ruinously compromised, before riding off and returning again as himself, inquiring with a grin and a twinkle in his eye if anything exciting had happened while he was gone.

Dream hadn’t thought he could possibly love his fiancé more than he already did, but after the deliciously thrilling experience he’d been so generously given, he feels like his heart could burst with emotion. In response to such a cheeky question he can only wordlessly throw himself at Hob and kiss him with all the passion he possesses, before remembering to play along and pulling back to claim that nothing particularly interesting had happened, he had just missed his betrothed so very much.

(Already Dream is looking forward to the next spontaneous appearance of The Highwayman, and wondering if there were any other roguish characters from his novels that Hob could also be convinced to masquerade as. Certainly he no longer has any concerns about the rest of their marriage being disappointingly sedate!)

-🪽anon

This is utterly wonderful and so delightfully written, I had so much fun reading and imagining the shenanigans.

Dream has so much to think about as his wedding day approaches that he almost forgets The Highwayman altogether. Certainly on the day of the nuptials he's thinking only of Hob, of their love for each other, and the deep contentment that he feels in the knowledge that they are forever united. Even better, Hob has planned a honeymoon at the seaside, which is something Dream has always longed for. Their wedding night is unspeakably perfect, and the morning after is even better. Dream is sure he could get used to being pleasured by his dear husband every morning.

For the duration of the honeymoon they stay at a very pleasant inn, and several days pass in utter bliss... before Dream wakes up one morning and Hob isn't there. He's disappointed, but only momentarily - the door creaks open and standing on the threshold... its The Highwayman!

Hob enters the room with a roguish grin and puts his (empty) pistol down at the end of the bed, before pouncing on Dream. He growls that he'd been laying in wait for a moment to catch him alone, that he needed to be sure that Dream would "behave" and not inform the authorities of his previous kidnapping. He says that Dream’s husband must be very unattentive to leave such a pretty little morsel waiting in bed...

It's a very nice wedding present, and Dream enjoys his second visit from The Highwayman almost more than the first. Hob allows himself to be a little more rough in this persona, and Dream loves it. Having all of his husbands strength let loose on his body is the most excellent treat. And after their morning adventure in bed, Hob sweeps him up and takes him on a long horseback gallop across the beach, which leaves Dream feeling thoroughly sore and sated. He's honestly pleased to be treated gently for a day or two after!

Hob has other characters he plans to debut later (The Pirate, for example), but The Highwayman will always be an old favourite. And of course, Dream loves his husband best, out of all the characters he may play <3

[seiya-starsniper]

26. creating art inspired by them <3

Altair you brilliant wonderful genius, you’ve given me the perfect way to ring in a fill for “Episode 6 continuation” for Dreamling week.  We shall ignore the fact that I have already have already completed an omegaverse fill that I will be posting tomorrow LMAO-

blossoming romance writing prompts

-------------

It is late in the evening of their reunion when Dream finally notices it. Along the back of the New Inn’s wall behind Hob Gadling, there are multiple works of art, framed lovingly, and displayed proudly. It is not the one directly behind Hob that catches his eye, but one to the left of it, and once Dream realizes what it is, he cannot stop looking at it. 

It is a portrait. A portrait of Dream himself. 

Dream recognizes the style of hair and dress to be from their aborted meeting in 1889, when Dream had stormed off into the night at the thought of being called a friend. The portrait should stir something negative in his gut, a sour reminder of how poorly Dream had acted that night, but it does none of these things.

Because in this portrait, Dream is smiling. It is subtle, but it is there, in the quirk of his lips, in the tilt of his eyebrows, in the way his eyes shine in a way Dream has not seen on himself in at least an eon. It is a portrait that makes him look kind instead of cold, warm instead of aloof. 

Was this how Hob Gadling saw Dream in his mind’s eye? Even after how cruelly Dream had treated him before?  

Hob pauses in the story he had been recounting, clearly noticing that something is amiss. He makes a questioning noise, but Dream cannot find it in himself to speak, too dumb struck to form any coherent thoughts or words. It is a rare thing indeed, for the Prince of Stories to be found wordless. And here Hob Gadling has managed to do it with a simple charcoal drawing.

Hob’s eyes eventually follow Dream’s line of sight, and he must realize what Dream is looking at, for he whips his head immediately to the portrait and inhales sharply. 

“Oh, uhm, that,” Hob says sheepishly, bringing a hand to rub at his neck. Dream tears his eyes away from the portrait in time to notice there is blush blooming along the immortal’s neck and face. Hob is still turned to the portrait, as if transfixed.

“You know,” Hob says, eventually turning back and meeting Dream’s eyes. “I’ve been drawing you for a long time,” he admits. “I’ve lost most of the sketchbooks and paintings, after…well, you know when. But that one in particular is special to me. I drew it after you missed our appointment in 1989.”

Hob’s smile is shaky, as if he expects Dream to get up once more and flee The New Inn, as he had in 1889. But leaving is the furthest thing from Dream’s mind. 

“You would draw me so kindly?” Dream asks, voice barely above a whisper. “After we parted so poorly that night?”

Hob’s smile becomes more confident. “That’s how you always looked to me,” he says warmly. “A kind stranger who’s given me the greatest of gifts, a long fulfilling life, a chance to learn and fix my past mistakes. A…” he pauses, then huffs a small laugh. 

“A friend,” Hob says definitively.  “My oldest friend.”

Dream lets out a choked sob. He hadn’t even known his eyes were watering but now tears are flowing freely down his cheeks. He is overcome with emotion at Hob’s devotion to him. And he does not know what to do with himself. 

“Shit!” Hob exclaims, palming at his jacket and jeans until he finds what he is looking for. He pulls out a handkerchief and makes an attempt to first offer the item to Dream, but then changes his mind and moves to wipe Dream’s tears himself. 

“Please no tears friend, this was supposed to be a happy reunion,” Hob pleads, pressing the cloth gently into Dream’s skin. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Dream shakes his head and places his hand over Hob’s, stilling the man’s ministrations. 

“There was no offense,” Dream says. “You just continue to surprise me, Hob Gadling. My friend.”

Hob’s returning smile is blinding. “I don’t think I’ll ever tire of hearing you say that. I would wait another 133 years for you just to hear it again.”

“You do not have to,” Dream replies. “I will call you thus for as long as you will let me. And…” Dream purses his lips, trying to form the correct words for what he will say next.

“Perhaps moving forward,” he continues, “we no longer need to only meet once a century. It is my understanding that friends meet more than that.”

“They do,” Hob replies. “And friends also invite one another into their homes to break bread and drink wine. As it so happens, my home is above this lovely establishment. Would you…would you like to come up?” 

Dream smiles and nods, before they stand and he follows Hob upstairs. 

[cuubism]

*puppy eyes* might we have a little more silly rabbit au? as a treat?

i'm rapidly running out of scenes to share 😂 i'll have to write more

---

Sage Advice

Beth was not usually a fiend for gossip. Usually, she kept her head down, did her work, focused on her own life instead of other people’s.

But, oh, did Professor Gadling’s class provide such excellent gossip.

“Do you think he’s a student?” whispered Dylan at her side. They were, ostensibly, at a lecture event on medieval warfare. In reality, they were watching the Professor Gadling and his goth boyfriend show.

Beth squinted in their direction. Their professor was leaning against the wall several meters away, talking animatedly with a drink in one hand. His boyfriend – a word which felt insufficient somehow, though Beth couldn’t think of anything better – stood close to his side, just in his space, and, as she watched, leaned in to whisper something in his ear. “I don’t think he’s young enough to be an undergrad.”

“Grad student, then? But also, there are older undergrads, too, returning student things and whatnot?”

“Do you really think Professor Gadling is that kind of person?” Beth asked.

“I mean I wouldn’t have thought but you know what they say,” Dylan affected a dark tone, “you can never really know another human being.”

Beth snorted.

“He’s definitely way younger, though,” Dylan continued. “It’s a problem.”

“Oh, undoubtedly younger—” unless the guy just had a really excellent skincare routine “—but why is that such a huge problem for you? They’re both adults.”

“I just wanna know,” Dylan insisted.

“You need more excitement in your life.”

“This is my excitement.”

Beth was about to give up and go do something that didn’t involve creepily staring at her professor from across the room, when Professor Gadling rested his hand on his boyfriend’s hip and his boyfriend leaned in and said, just loud enough for Beth to make out, “You always offer such sage advice, Professor.”

She met Dylan’s gaze, both of them equally horrified.

“Is he fucking one of his TAs?” Beth hissed.

“Is he that guy’s advisor?” Dylan squeaked in return.

God. This was just getting worse and worse by the moment.

But also so much more interesting.

-----

“Your students are gossiping about us again,” Dream murmured in Hob’s ear, voice rumbling so low Hob could swear his wine glass vibrated at the tenor.

“Only because you’re inciting them,” Hob grumbled back. “I know what you’re doing.”

“Contrary to what you believe, I am not manipulating their dreams. This is a game of the waking world only.”

“Why? Why limit yourself?”

“Because it is more of a challenge.” A sly smile cut across Dream’s face. “It has been a long time since I have worked with such raw material. Material that I cannot simply bend to my will. It is far more thrilling to succeed when the difficulty is greater.”

“Material? They’re my students, not clay.”

“That is where you are wrong.”

“So what exactly are you doing, then?” Hob demanded.

“I am crafting a story,” said Dream, and he lit up with such vibrancy at the words that Hob couldn’t bear to tell him to stop even if this all felt more like a mad science experiment than it did storytelling. “But I am not telling it, no. My materials are assumption and implication and I am letting the story tell itself.”

Hob was both impressed and frightened by the prospect of this. “How, exactly?”

Dream’s eyes glinted as if he had just been waiting for Hob to ask. “Like this.”

He leaned in next to Hob’s ear, and Hob caught him automatically by his hip. Dream said, louder than before, “You always offer such sage advice, Professor.”

Hob couldn’t stop his blush at the sultry tone of it. He watched out of the corner of his eye as the two students in the corner started whispering furiously at one another. Dream smirked, victorious.

“Before you say I am manipulating,” he said, back in his lower tone, “ask yourself, did I speak a false word?”

“Assuming you do in fact think I occasionally offer good advice, then no. What’s your point?”

“My point is this: blame me not for weaving lies in their heads. I speak no lies. Weak stories are built upon lies. Real stories grow from a seed of truth.”

“Like dreams,” Hob said, begrudgingly, and Dream nodded proudly. “God, your mind terrifies me sometimes,” Hob added, and knocked back the rest of his wine.  

[hardly-an-escape]

well @nyxneon, this fucking website ate your original ask, but I FINALLY filled the prompt you sent me weeks ago. sorry it took me so long, I accidentally took "anything involving intoxicated Hob + sexytimes, be it dream sex, a fantasy, real, whatever" and... turned it into like nine pages of tender emotional sexy feelings? and dancing to old jazz music? whoops?? | rated E for sexytimes | 2900 words

- - -

Kind of Blue, a kind of fire

- - -

Some people might think that after six hundred-odd years of immersing himself in human pleasures, Hob Gadling would have calmed down about some things.

Those people would be wrong.

Food? Get out of town. The quality of food, the sheer variety that’s available within walking distance of his flat — it boggles the mind. Hob still dreams about the first time he’d had really good sushi. The part of himself that will always be a medieval peasant almost weeps every time he buys strawberries and pineapple in the middle of winter. He loves it all — gourmet four star restaurants and the cheapest fish-and-chip shop in the neighborhood. And one definite perk of being immortal is that he never has to think too hard about his cholesterol.

Alcohol? Obviously. There’s nothing like that particular soft fuzzy feeling that comes with a few glasses of wine or a good whiskey. Hob’s favorite day of the month is when the staff of the New Inn gets together for a taste test to choose the next round of beer and wine specials (things occasionally get raucous). He’s tried everything, from mead to absinthe to bathtub gin to the finest wines, and he’ll try them all again. And again… immortality benefits include not worrying overmuch about his liver or his blood pressure.

Sex? Well… perhaps the less said there, the better. A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, after all; and whatever else he is, Hob would like to think he’s still a gentleman. Suffice to say he has had plenty of experience and very few complaints.

Of course, it just happens to be during one of those New Inn taste test evenings that Dream walks through the door. Hob immediately waves him over to the table where the staff are gathered.

“You are busy,” says Dream, sounding almost uncertain. “I will return another time.”

“No, no! Join us, by all means,” says Hob eagerly, kicking out a chair for Dream and carefully ignoring the significant looks several of the waitstaff are exchanging as he introduces everyone. By now they’ve seen his mysterious friend enough times that the rumors about Hob’s Man in Black are rife. “You might even come in useful. Do you know anything about wine?”

- - -

It’s some hours later, after many rounds of tasting, after his staff had been poured into taxis and Ubers, that Hob finds himself in his own living room, one last nightcap of very good whiskey in his hand, flipping through his record collection while his oldest friend, the Lord of Dreams, reclines on his comfy old couch.

“I think the last thing I put on for you was Duke Ellington, yeah? A couple of weeks ago, was it?”

Dream has shed his stiff coat and his arms are distractingly white and slender in the gentle lamplight of Hob’s living room. One ankle rests on the opposite knee and a glass tumbler of whiskey dangles from long fingers. Hob has never seen his friend look so… decadent. So relaxed. He tries not to stare.

“Ah! Here we go,” he says, emerging from his shelf of records with Kind of Blue in hand. “I haven’t played this for you yet. This was… 1959. It doesn’t get much better than this.”

He pulls the record from its sleeve, places it reverently on the turntable and gently drops the needle. A moment of static; then quiet, warm piano chords fill the room. Then the drums and the soft thrum of an upright bass. Then the first clear notes of Miles Davis’s trumpet pierce the air like arrows.

Hob feels marvelous, soft and loose-limbed. The wine and the whiskey buzz through his veins, softening the edges of the world and wrapping everything in velvet. He takes a sip from his glass and lets the music seep into his muscles like a warm bath as he starts to move to the rhythm. Hob lost any semblance of self-consciousness about four hundred years ago and he takes the idea of “dance like nobody’s watching” very seriously. Even if the nobody who is watching is the mystical being he’s been more or less in love with for centuries.

So he carefully doesn’t think about Dream watching him from the sofa. He deliberately doesn’t notice the two tiny spots of color blooming high on Dream’s devastating cheekbones.

Things between them have been different, somehow, since Dream’s return, but this feels… different. Almost dangerous, as though Hob is full of something flammable and Dream is an open flame.

Hob is just drunk enough to decide he doesn’t care. He tosses back the last sip of his whiskey like he’s throwing gasoline on a fire, sets aside his glass, and holds his hand out to Dream.

“Come on,” he says, a little breathless from the long swallow and the liquor and the music. “You can’t listen to Miles Davis and not dance.”

And Dream, in turn, drains his glass and puts it down, and takes Hob’s hand, and allows himself to be pulled to his feet, allows Hob’s hands at his hip and on his shoulder, and the spots of color on his cheeks bloom infinitesimally larger.

With the grace born of inebriation, Hob hooks one ankle around the leg of his coffee table and kicks it to the side, clearing a dance floor for himself and the man in his arms, pretending he is not staring, pretending he is not thinking about gathering Dream closer to himself, chest to chest and hip to hip and thigh to thigh.

For several long minutes they sway decorously together, inches apart, as the strains of “Blue in Green” float through the air around them. Hob tries very hard not to gaze into Dream’s eyes and is, again, just drunk enough to convince himself he’s doing a very good job.

“Well?” he says eventually, throwing an arm over Dream’s shoulder, emboldened by alcohol and jazz. “How do you feel about Miles Davis, then?”

There’s a pause.

“The music puzzles me, somewhat,” says Dream. “I suspect I will need more time with it.”

Another pause. Dream’s next words sound as if they are being dragged out from somewhere deep inside him.

“You puzzle me, Hob. I do not quite… understand how I feel when I am with you.”

“Do you need to understand? Is it not enough to just… feel? Or maybe you need more time with me, too,” he says teasingly.

“Hmm. I am not sure that time would bring clarity.”

They shuffle through a few more quasi-dance steps. Hob takes a breath and dares to draw Dream ever-so-slightly closer.

“Describe it for me.”

There is a long pause, during which Hob is not sure whether Dream is thinking or plotting his escape route. Finally, he speaks.

“I feel… warmth. Impatience. Contentment and dissatisfaction in equal measure. Calm, and yet…”

He trails off. They are very close now, feet stilled, but hips and chests swaying minutely yet to the music. Hob has stopped trying not to stare into Dream’s eyes.

“God, you’re beautiful.”

The words slip out before he can stop them, but he can’t make himself regret it, or try to take them back.

“You’re drunk,” says Dream fondly.

“Ah, but in the morning, I will be sober,” says Hob. “And you… will still be beautiful. Besides,” he adds. “You’re a little drunk too, don’t lie.”

“Perhaps,” murmurs Dream. Hob stares and stares. The spots of color on Dream’s cheekbones have spread across the stern bridge of his nose and down the slopes of his cheeks, a pink blush like sunset reflected on snow, and his pupils have almost swallowed the pale blue-grey of his irises.

“Dream…” says Hob. Their faces are close enough now that he can feel the other man’s breath on his cheek. “If I’m reading this wrong, stop me, but I think if I don’t kiss you right now I’ll—”

He doesn’t have to figure out the end of that sentence.

Dream leans forward, closes that last scant inch between them, and their lips meet and it’s (God, it’s perfect) it’s soft and gentle and — it’s not a chaste kiss, exactly, Hob thinks he has maybe never felt less chaste in his life — but their mouths aren’t even open, no hint of tongue, and Hob still feels as though he has suddenly developed a high fever.

And then Dream pulls back, and his mouth is very pink. Hob’s hand has drifted up from Dream’s hip to rest on his chest and a distant part of his brain wonders why it’s heaving under his fingers, why he’s even breathing when he doesn’t need the air. Everything in Hob wants to lean in, to chase after Dream’s mouth, capture it and keep it captive for as long as he’s allowed.

But before he can do that, Dream’s hand comes up to cup his face, long fingers stroking down the stubbled strong line of his chin; and this, too, is soft and gentle, until (until) the pad of Dream’s thumb catches on Hob’s bottom lip, and pulls it down, and something dangerous flashes in his eyes, that same flame Hob saw when he put down his drink and held out his hand to pull Dream off the couch.

And then Dream surges forward like a wildfire. And Hob is the one held captive, and this — oh, this — this kiss is hot and wet and promising, Dream’s tongue slipping into Hob’s mouth and Dream’s teeth catching on Hob’s lip where his thumb had pressed down, Dream’s arm snaking around Hob’s shoulders to crush them closer together and Hob’s hand trapped against Dream’s chest and flexing helplessly in the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer still.

Dream tastes like whiskey and a clear, high trumpet note.

Hob is dizzy in a way that has less to do with liquor and more to do with the way Dream is shoving a thigh between his legs and grinding their hips together as though he’s trying to fuck him through two layers of denim.

- - -

They do make it to the bedroom, eventually, although Hob is dimly aware that he will have to replace the glass in at least two picture frames that they knock off the wall during their progress down the hall. Half of their clothes have disappeared along the way: Dream’s boots to some ethereal netherworld and his t-shirt yanked unceremoniously over his head by Hob’s hungry hands; Hob’s button-down shirt hanging open — half the buttons gone now — his shoes kicked under the couch and his belt already loosened.

Dream tumbles to the bed first, one arm above his head, one knee canted up. He looks like a painting — although Hob’s distracted brain can’t quite place the artist — his pale skin covered in blue and orange from the combination of moonlight and sodium street lamps streaming in through the bedroom window. A thumb caught provocatively in the waistband of his black jeans.

Hob pauses, there, swaying slightly under the power of the whiskey in his veins and the man in his bed.

“Is this real?” he whispers. “Is this really happening?”

Dream frowns, a miniscule line between his brows.

“Have I underestimated your level of intoxication?” he asks.

“No… no, it’s not that. Not at all. It’s just…” Hob places a hesitant knee on the bed. Clears his throat. “It’s just that I’ve had this dream before, so many times. Of you; of, of this. And I know you’ve said that dreaming is just as real as waking, but… I just… have to know for sure. That we’re in my world.”

Hob is horrified to hear his own voice break, to feel the beginnings of tears gathering in his eyelashes. He is unprepared for the smile, warm and genuine and a little sad, that spreads across Dream’s face.

“Oh, Hob. My friend. Come here to me,” he says. “Let me show you.”

Hob crawls up the bed and into Dream’s open arms the way a drowning man might crawl onto a dry shore. Kisses him, open-mouthed and hungry, like gasping for air.

Dream draws his shirt carefully down the lines of his shoulders, casts it aside, tightens his arms around him, drops gentle kisses on his cheeks, the corners of his mouth, his teary eyes.

“How long?” asks Dream, voice tender and rough. “How long have you known? How long have you waited for me, my Hob, my dear heart?”

“I think I’ve been waiting for you my entire life,” Hob says, laughing damply into the crook of Dream’s neck, kneeling at the confessional of love and liquor. “I think… I think this is the reason I wanted to live forever. To be here, now, with you.”

“I’m sorry,” he sniffs. “This should be fun, and, and sexy, and I’m being all wet and emotional.”

“No. Do not apologize,” says Dream. Hob’s fuzzy brain finally makes the connection: the light through the window is blue and orange like a Van Gogh. His hands on Dream’s skin like sunflowers, like wheatfields. Dream strokes long fingers through the soft strands of Hob’s hair. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

- - -

In the living room, side A of Kind of Blue has come to an end. The record spins quietly and inevitably on Hob’s turntable; only the slightest catch of static on each rotation indicates that it is still moving at all.

- - -

In the bedroom, both men’s jeans have been tossed into the corner. Dream has two fingers inside Hob and is on the brink of adding a third; Hob twitches and gasps softly under his ministrations as Dream drags his mouth delicately along the hard length of his cock.

“Fuck. Fuck—” Hob pants. “Dream. I need… I need you. I need you. Please…”

“Patience.”

“Don’t you fucking — tell me — to be patient — ah! — you fucking ass.”

Dream withdraws his fingers, twisting them as he goes, adds the third as he thrusts back inside, crooking them in just the right way to have Hob whining at the stretch and pushing his hips desperately up, first into empty air and then onto Dream’s tongue as it circles lightly around the head of Hob’s weeping prick.

“Oh, but you are so good at waiting,” croons Dream into the soft skin of Hob’s thigh. “My patient, constant Hob, waiting for me. So good.”

And fuck, Hob should not find that as hot as he does, but oh, he does — the combination of praise in Dream’s voice and pleasure from Dream’s fingers making him bite hard on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from coming on the spot.

He reaches down blindly, filled with the need to feel, to touch, strokes through Dream’s hair and along the softness of his throat and the sharpness of his collarbone, grips his shoulder and draws him up. And Dream is kissing as he goes, kissing Hob’s hipbone and the comfortable divot of his waist, kissing his ribs, nosing through the soft hair on his chest, grazing a nipple with sharp teeth, and Hob would be embarrassed at the noise he makes if it weren’t for the fact that it was swallowed immediately by Dream’s mouth on his, warm and wet and wanting.

Dream’s fingers withdraw again, and he pulls back from Hob’s mouth and sits back on his heels where he is kneeling between Hob’s thighs spread wide. Hob drinks in the sight of him, thin and powerful and painted in ethereal light, and then Dream grabs the bottle of lube and slicks his hand and strokes himself, twice, three times, dark eyes pinning Hob to the pillows, and Hob’s brain shorts out, just a little bit, like a candle flame flickering.

When Dream slides inside him it is slow, careful, a scant tender inch at a time, a plush and slow series of piano chords. When they move together it is a little faster, like a jazz rhythm, slightly syncopated, halting here and pushing there, the percussion of breath and heartbeat driving the meter of their coupling. When they come it is a crash, a crest, a not-so-silent wail of an inner trumpet reaching its peak.

- - -

After — several minutes after — Hob (who, again, would still like to consider himself a gentleman) reluctantly detaches himself from the mattress and Dream’s clinging arms and fetches a large glass of water and a warm wet flannel, with which he gently cleans both Dream and himself before tossing it toward the laundry hamper.

He slides back between the sweatdamp sheets and Dream immediately shoves up against him, an arm across his chest and a leg twined around his and a lovely pale face pushed into the crook for his neck.

“Wouldn’t have picked you for such a cuddler,” Hob says drowsily, pulling the blanket over them as Dream tightens his hold.

“Hmm. I will endeavor to continue to surprise you,” Dream says, and his lips move against Hob’s pulse in a way that almost makes him want to do it all over again. Almost. The spirit is willing, et cetera, but the flesh is… sleepy.

“Do you sleep?” murmurs Hob, halfway gone now to Dream’s own realm. The blue and orange shadows in his bedroom have blurred together and faded into warm shadows. “Will you stay?”

The fire Dream sparked and fed inside Hob has been sated, banked, put to bed to glow in waiting for another day.

“I will stay.”

[Read on AO3.]

[ibrithir-was-here]

So the basic idea that came to me late at night for Baby Dream was more of less this weird little mash up of Matilda/A Little Princess and Definitely Platonic Dream and Hob : 

Baby Morpheus who's like, 6, is from a family with innate magical gifts, that are related to their canon ones but nowhere and near as strong

And one day  gets kidnapped by Roderick Burgess, who was trying to get his older sister Teleute but his henchmen grabbed the wrong one

So now Morpheus is being held in the basement (not in a glass case just in a locked room with some magical protection around it that keeps him from leaving)  while Burgess tries to figure out what powers he has and how they can be exploited

Morpheus in this stays silent out of terror/trauma more than any stubbornness, and he himself doesn't fully understand his powers so he doesn't know how to answer Burgess's questions anyway

His only source of comfort is his raven plushie Jessamy, who he held onto when he got grabbed

So of course one day Burgess rips it in two in an attempt to intimidate Morpheus into speaking

That night Morpheus in despair crafts himself a dream that when he closes his eye he'll wake up somewhere safe, where he'll be cared for and loved and never made to feel afraid (his home of course wasn't too great either, Night and Time are still terrible even as mostly human parents)

And so he goes to sleep, and dreams that he wakes up in a cozy bed in a room made just for him

And the kindest man he's ever seen is in the kitchen making pancakes

Hob Gadling would normally be surprised to see a tousle haired tot shuffling into his kitchen but this is clearly a dream so he's not that weirded out, and while he doesn't understand why this sad but sweet little Dream child is here--he doesn't look anything like the son he lost-- but he's still happy to play caretaker again for this one night

So he makes pancakes and plays games and reads stories and slowly draw the little Dream boy out of his shell until at last Hob tucks him into the little bed in the room that exists only in this dream--and the Dream child finally smiles up at him, and it's the sweetest thing Hob's seen in a long while

Hob wakes up wondering what on earth could have prompted such a dream, but happy overall he had a nice one where he got to take care of a child, instead of the nightmares he usually has about the loss of Robyn

And then it happens again, and again. Each night for a few months Hob dreams he's taking care of a tiny boy with the messiest hair and bluest eyes he's ever seen. And though he never says anything each night the Dream child becomes a little less fearful, a little more happy and open, and Hob finds his heart opening more and more to this little stranger who's come into his dreams

Morpheus meanwhile is still trapped, still subject to Burgess's abuse, but at least now each night he has an escape with the kind man in his dreams. Each night he "wakes up" in his room in Hob's dream version of his flat excited for the time they'll spend together and he's always desperate to stay in the dream as long as he can, dreading waking up for real to the dark reality around him, knowing that at this point the people who know he's missing have long stopped looking for him 

Hob however has started looking. He's sure this recurring dream must have some sort of meaning, he's never dreamed like this before, so consistently, so clearly. So he starts looking for clues online, if anyone else has had similar experiences. Finally he even has someone draw the child from his dreams, making corrections until it's as close as he can get it

And the picture once posted leads him to discover the disappearance of six year old Morpheus Endless

The moment Hob sees the child's photo he knows it's his child, the Dream child. And he knows he has to figure out how to help him. He doesnt know if Morpheus is dead--he hopes to anything he's not--but he's determined to find him and save him from whatever it is that puts the sadness back in his blue eyes each night 

Que Hob trying to wheedle things out of baby Morpheus each night about his location, as much as he can with Morpheus being six and  locked away and still not speaking

And Morpheus not being sure whats happening, his dreams are supposed to be his safe place where he doesn't have to think about the bad place he's in

And Burgess finally starting to reach the end of his rope with this stubborn silent child who's been more trouble then he's worth

 But of course Hob finally manages to discover where his Dream child is, and bursts in good old fashioned Fishbowl Rescue style and breaks down the door to Morpheus's prison

There's this long moment where they both just  stare at eachother, each not quite aure they're not still dreaming--and then Hob scoops Morpheus up in his arms, whispering that "it's ok now little Dream, you're safe"

And for the first time in months Morpheus actually believes it 

Hob takes him back to his flat that night. Morpheus's room doesn't exist in the waking world but he makes him a bed on the couch and tucks him in tight and safe, and that night Morpheus for the first time in months doesnt need to craft a dream to help him sleep 

(And once they've called the police and Morpheus gets returned home and Hob sees what a wreck it is there he gets him out legally (probably all the other Endless kids too) and gives Morpheus (and the others) a real home) 

[valeriianz]

Robert Gadling is a character just BRIMMING with possibility. The lives he’s lived, the cultures he’s been a part of. The turning points in history that he’s witnessed! He’s into printing in 1489, imagine he was in Germany when Gutenberg invented the printing press? Why not! (He probably still owns a copy of Gutenberg’s Bible). Hob goes through an art phase and is there for the unveiling of Michelangelo’s David (imagine how fucking immaculate that statue looked in 1501). And then, Hob stays in Italy, obsessed with the renaissance and maybe befriending Michelangelo, gifted with the privilege to witness him working for 5 years on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel in Rome. Hob’s life is rife with history, with experience. He’s traveled the world, I bet he joined Ferdinand Magellan’s expedition to circumnavigate the globe (because Hob would, HE WOULD). He lived on that ship and drank piss ale and rum and stepped on land he never dreamed of exploring. 

Hob’s there for the steam engine. Can you imagine him ranting and raving to Dream about how they managed to remove water from flooded mines and convert it into energy? “The power of steam!” Hob raves, gesticulating at Dream with a huge grin on. The birth of rail transport, the invention of the telegraph, the suffrage movement “women are finally fighting back!” I’d love to read something where Hob gets smacked with an appreciation for women, because you know he must’ve been some kind of problematic womanizer, back in the day (century). On and on and on it goes!

He's lived dozens and dozens of lives, different names, shifting personalities. Everything you can think of, Hob’s done it. I love when fic writers just let their imaginations run wild with Hob, the deeper the introspection the better.

He strikes me as a man of adventure and consequence. He’s smart, so fucking smart. Imagine the schooling this man has had, imagine the life experience. Imagine the people he’s taken to his bed too. This man is a literal definition of “fuck around and find out.”

Imagine the loneliness at times, knowing each relationship never develops. He makes friends, lovers, and has to break their hearts. Hob probably starts accidentally falling in love with Dream because he’s his only constant in life. He probably bites his tongue every time they meet, wanting to beg for more than one visit a century. By the 1600s Hob’s desperate for companionship. He loves the gift of immortality freely given to him, he treasures every second on this green earth, but god damn can it get lonely. 

I want to read Hob speaking foreign languages, communicating effortlessly and fluently with anyone. Striking up a conversation because someone catches him reading a worn copy of The Odyssey in its original ancient Greek or something like that. Can you imagine the tracks he has to switch in his brain when he has to converse in Yiddish? Turkish? Japanese? It probably takes him a full minute to rifle through his metaphorical filing cabinet, like a slow Internet connection because you have too many tabs open.

Imagine all the work he’s done, the jobs he’s taken up, good and bad. Morally gray or just immoral, so bad Hob can’t bear to remember. (He’s been in the mob, he’s been in a gang, he's been a marksman, he’s been a private investigator, he's been a doctor and an archeologist, on and on and ON). I can see him loving a position as a museum curator.

Oh man, this got long. 

TL;DR: I go absolutely insane for a Hob character analysis that explores his time through history and how it has changed him as a person.