#hob is mostly amused

[gourmet-trash]

As others have pointed out, I too reject "token straight friend Rose Walker" and instead give you "bad taste in women Rose Walker"

The first time it happens, Hob doesn't say anything. He doesn't even acknowledge, outwardly, that he noticed it at all. Between the Inn and his teaching job and, oh you know, just several hundreds of years of being around children and young adults, he can confidently say he has at least some modicum of knowledge on how to interact with them.

So, the first time, he doesn't say anything. He's cool like that.

He also doesn't say anything the second time.

But the third time he watches Rose Walker making figurative heart eyes at Johanna Constantine, of all people, he can't help himself. He also can't really pretend he doesn't see Rose so busy gawking that she misses the rim of her glass and splashes cider onto her jumper. She's sitting right in front of him at the bar, after all.

"Doing all right there?" he teases, passing a few napkins across the bar.

Rose grabs the proffered napkins quickly, visibly flustered while she dabs at the damp spot on her chest. "Just, uh, clumsy, I guess."

Hob snorts softly. "Or distracted," he says, lifting his eyebrows when she jerks her head up.

"...I don't know what you're talking about!"

Hob makes a little "sure you don't" humming sound and picks Rose's glass up to wipe it down for her while she deals with her jumper. "It's cute," he insists, even though he knows from experience that most young adults don't like to hear it. And judging from the face Rose makes, she's no exception.

It almost makes Hob laugh -- Dream makes a very similar expression when someone tells him he's cute.

For Rose's sake, he swallows down that particular amusement and sets the cider back in front of her. "It is! But you might want to work on being a smidge less obvious with the staring."

Rose clears her throat, passing the damp napkins back across the bar when he motions for them. "...It's that obvious?" she asks slowly.

"Little bit, I'm afraid," he says, smiling apologetically.

Rose groans at that and drops her face into her hands. Hob only just makes out the muffled, "Do you think she noticed?" that follows.

Hob glances to the corner of the Inn where Jo has roped some sorry sap into a game of darts. It's not going well for the lad if the jeering of his friends is anything to go by. "Mmm...she's a little distracted, so probably not this time."

"This time?!" Rose repeats, lifting her head out of her hands to balk at him.

"You've been very obvious about it, poppet."

"And you didn't tell me!? I can't ever come back here!" Rose hisses.

Hob bites back his amusement -- poorly, judging by Rose's narrow expression. "I promise it isn't that big of a deal."

"What is not that big of a deal?"

The next few seconds are spent by Hob and Rose startling, someone bumping the glass between them in the process, and then both of them frantically trying to catch said glass before it spills more cider over the bar. When the glass is upright again and they turn accusatory stares on the King of Dreams, sitting at the previously empty barstool at Rose's side, his expression is nonplussed if not vaguely amused.

"You know, one of these days you're actually going to give me a heart attack or something. And then you're gonna have to explain to Auntie Death why she's here," Rose points out.

"I will take that under advisement," Dream drawls, more obviously amused by then. And when Hob leans over the bar, he obligingly tips his head a bit to accept the kiss dropped against his temple.

"Hello, love. Please don't give any of my patrons heart attacks at the bar."

"I will endeavor not to," Dream assures him. But the scuffle over the cider has not distracted him, and he repeats, "What is not that big of a deal?"

"Nothing!' Rose says quickly -- too quickly -- before Hob has a chance to deflect with a bit more tact. "Hence, not a big deal," she adds, snatching the glass off the bar and taking a long drink.

Dream watches her for a moment, no doubt taking stock of the damp spot on her jumper and the blustering, before turning to Hob, expectant.

But Hob has not been a snitch for many, many years, and he is not looking to revive that particular character trait this century. He flashes Dream a smile and leans back from the bar, already grabbing a cocktail glass. "How about we try a French 75 today?"

Dream purses his lips, though Hob suspects it has more to do with his question being very obviously ignored and less to do with their ongoing game of "make Dream try a new cocktail every time he comes in until Hob finds one he actually likes."

"Hob." 

He hums to acknowledge he heard him, considering the gin he has on hand.

"What are you not telling me?"

Hob grabs one of the bottles. "That I don't think you're going to like the French 75."

He turns his back to fetch the champagne and to hide a grin when he hears an annoyed little huff from the other side of the bar. Dream would deny huffing, of course, so undignified. But he huffed. He was huffy.

"Rose Walker."

"No," Rose says shortly, setting her nearly empty glass back down. "Look, no offense Uncle Morpheus, but it's seriously not a big deal, and it's also not something I wanna talk about. Okay?"

It is not, apparently, okay. Hob can tell the second he turns back around, spots the telltale sheen of emotion in Dream's eyes. Rose probably did too, which is why she's very pointedly looking down at the last of her cider rather than at her Uncle. Because they have come a long way since the rocky start of their relationship, but Hob knows better than most how fiercely Dream wants to nurture this relationship with his niece and nephew, almost despite himself. 

And bless him, but jumping straight into teenagers and young adults, nevermind the complications of a crush, is a tall order for anyone, much less the anthropomorphic personification of dreams. He definitely hasn’t had as much hands on time with young humans as Hob. Or if he has, he’s…rusty, to say the least. 

"You were comfortable to discuss these things with Hob, but not with me?"

Rose groans outright and turns on her stool, however reluctantly, to face Lord Shaper. "No, actually, I didn't want to be talking about it with Professor Gadling, either. So if we could all stop talking about it and pretend this never happened, that would be great!" she said, shooting a pointed frown in Hob's direction for good measure.

He holds his hands up in as placating a gesture as he can manage with a lemon twist between his fingers, and Dream glances between them for a moment before, with obvious reluctance, inclining his head.

"Very well," he says. "It is not my intention to make you uncomfortable."

"Thank you," Rose says, less terse, and Hob sets another cider in front of her at the same time he passes Dream the French 75. Dream eyes the cocktail with no small amount of distrust and Hob can’t help but laugh.

"Oh, come on, don't make that face before you've even tried it."

"Yeah, they're not bad. If you don't like it, we can switch," Rose offers, and while Dream does not look anymore convinced that he'll enjoy the beverage, or that he'd prefer Rose's cider, Hob can tell some of his proverbial feathers (well, currently proverbial, but sometimes more literal?) have settled. 

Heaven help him, but he does so adore this impossible, mercurial creature.

At their encouragement, Dream does eventually take a sip of the cocktail. And while his reaction is not quite as strong as it had been to the martini from last week or the Alabama slammer which, admittedly, Hob had only made as a means of getting Dream to say Alabama slammer, he is clearly not impressed.

"What do you think?" Rose asks, amused.

"It is...palatable," Dream says after a moment, and Rose laughs when he lifts it for another reluctant sip.

"Don't drink it if you don't like it!" she protests, waving for him to put the glass back down, which Dream does with something not unlike relief.

"Starting to think gin might not be your thing," Hob says, glancing over when the bell over the door jingles. He smiles and waves a hand that way. "See? Cor can use the door."

"Didn't you say he broke into your apartment through a window last month?" Rose asks, smirking when Hob shushes her.

But, by that point, Corinthian is close enough to hear. And to reach around Dream to pluck the French 75 off the bar. "And guess who finally got the damn locks on his windows repaired after that?"

"That is not a good reason for breaking into my flat!" Hob protests.

"It's a perfect reason for breaking in! I could've stabbed you in your sleep!" Corinthian argues.

"You have stabbed me in my sleep!"

Corinthian chuckles over the cocktail, half draped against Dream's side, who shifts subtle to make room for him there. "I have done that," he agrees.

"You've what?" Dream says, turning a frown on Corinthian who waves a dismissive hand.

"Metaphorically," he lies, before sidestepping out of the conversation by leaning around Dream again to flash a smile down the bar. "Well, hey there, Rosebud."

Rose, whose attention had drifted back in the direction of the darts game -- new bloke trying his hand now and losing just as spectacularly -- turns quickly back around. "Hey! Where's Jed?"

"Dropped him off at the movies with a couple friends."

Rose frowns. "...What movie?"

"One that I'm certain Jed and his friends were able to buy tickets to themselves, of course," Corinthian says breezily. Rose narrows her eyes a little further.

"If Jed has nightmares all week, it's gonna be your fault."

Corinthian makes a little noise of disagreement over his drink, and Hob starts wiping down the bar to keep himself useful while they bicker. And to avoid letting Dream pull him into any further interrogation about the whole stabbing thing.

"Technically, that would be My Lord's fault, wouldn't it?" Corinthian says, motioning at Dream between them, whose suspicious expression has not wavered.

Rose rolls her eyes. "You know what I mean!"

"Uh huh. Didn't know you were so into darts, Rose."

Hob pauses his cleaning to glance up between them, Rose visibly flustered and Corinthian's eyebrows lifted high above his sunglasses while he sips Dream's drink.

"What?" Rose eventually says, and Hob doesn't wince but it's a near miss. Poor thing, she's usually better toe to toe with Cor in one of his more meddling moods.

"You know what I mean," he drawls, and Rose snatches her cider up to chug. Again.

Rose knows what he means. And Hob knows what he means, even if he's not entirely sure how Corinthian himself knows. But Dream, sitting between the three of them, clearly does not, and he misunderstands rather wildly.

"Would you care to play darts, Rose Walker?" 

"That's a great idea!" Corinthian insists while Rose coughs around her drink. "That gal in the corner seems like she's pretty good, I bet she could talk you through the rules."

And then Dream turns his head and his attention alights on the darts game already happening. "Johanna Constantine is here?" he asks, looking back to Hob for confirmation.

"She's a regular these days, yeah," Hob says, and he'd argue that Dream doesn't stand from the stool so much as he pours himself from it, too liquid in his movements for the human shape he wears.

"Then I shall have to introduce you, Rose," he insists, and Rose only manages a token, squeaked protest before Dream is ushering her towards the darts game.

Hob swats Corinthian with the towel he'd been wiping the counter with. "That wasn't necessary," he points out, trying very hard to tap down on his own amusement.

"Sure it was! This way Dream can figure it out himself, and then he can be the one to tell her there's no way in hell we're gonna approve her trying to date Johanna fucking Constantine."

Hob laughs despite himself and leans against the bar, smiling when Corinthian takes up Dream's abandoned stool to meet him halfway. "She is a grown woman, you know. We can't stop her from trying to date who she likes."

"We can sure as hell try."

"We can do that," he agrees, leaning in to return the quick, sharp kiss Corinthian dips in for. "Does he know how to play darts?" Hob asks, glancing towards the corner when Corinthian leans back.

"I have absolutely no idea." [ ← prev ] [ next → ]

[teejaystumbles]

Against all odds (part 3)

Part 1 // Part 2

After his work is done and Dream finds the time to retreat to his chambers, he pulls out Hob Gadling’s notebook and reads Hob's last journal entry in its entirety.

June 8th, 1989

Dearest stranger, my friend! 

I can't believe I am allowed to call you that! Let me tell you that I nearly fainted when I found your message in my notebook this morning. I've read the words you've written a hundred times by now and still I almost can't believe them to be real. I can’t believe I’m touching the pen you must have held, that I missed your presence in my room

As devastated as I was after you didn't come yesterday, as happy am I that you chose to contact me after at all.

I'm quite embarrassed about my drunken ramblings that you must have read. There's no lie in them, but I would try and put the truth into less desperate words if I could. I must seem like a fool, fixating on you like this, after all we've only met six times so far. Still, what I wrote, that you are my one constant in life, is nothing but the truth. Our meetings are fixed points in time that I measure this immortal life of mine by now. I try not to, but meeting with you has often felt like the start and finish of an era of Hob Gadling, despite it being probably more in the middle of several. Every centennial meeting with you was the most important appointment that I would plan and prepare for (as best as I could) for months, sometimes years. So if writing to you like this is the only way I get to speak to you then I will gladly take it, and thank you for it. 

But make no mistake, dear stranger - I would love to see you again and I hope you will be ready and willing to meet me in person again someday. Because

As we are sharing truths and have both admitted that we're lonely, I would like you to know that I have never been content with our schedule. If you're willing I would love to meet you a lot more frequently. A lot of things I'd like to tell you about are long forgotten again when we meet. I guess this book is a good way to share stories with you more often now, if a regular Friday night at the pub isn't your thing. I kept notebooks like this all my life, to be able to peruse them in preparation for our meetings and choose the best stories to tell you, because I knew I wouldn’t have enough time to share them all. We got cut short so often, I wonder how you appeared to know me so well without me telling you overly much. But then, that is what you do, isn’t it?

Like with Lushing Lou, you know everyone. And now you mentioned that you do not forget anyone. Do you truly know everything about me then? Is me telling you stories of my life more of an amusement than a necessity for you? Could you actually know it all with a glance instead of listening to me ramble for hours?

Please forgive me, my friend, I do not mean to sound offended. You wrote that you enjoy our meetings - and apparently my ramblings - and I know you would not lie to me.

You do enjoy stories, then. Is that it? Are you a collector of stories? Of histories? Or is your interest actually in my interpretation of these stories and events, in how a mere human experiences the things that are so easily visible to you? I remember the spark in your eyes when I told you about printing. I was such a dewy-eyed fool then, it almost makes me laugh to remember. Did you already know what Gutenberg’s machine would mean for the advancement of humanity? Did you see me finally shaking off my rough and bloody persona as a step in the right direction? Or were you simply interested, like you said, in my experience, and how I would change over the years?I admit, waiting for you to finally tell me who you are is hard for me. But I’ve waited this long and I will wait longer, and I won’t be offended if it takes you another hundred years to tell me. We have time, after all.

Much has happened in the last hundred years. Mostly war. Humans have reached new heights of cruelty. We have become even more ingenuous at killing ourselves. We have created weapons to wipe out all of humanity. We are one wrong phone call away from destroying all we’ve accomplished with the press of a button. People are overthrowing their regimes left and right and while that is generally a good thing, I am still looking over my shoulder, metaphorically, stashing money and valuables in uncanny places like a pirate of old, in preparation for what might yet turn into a true apocalypse.

It is stressful, and I admit that the new drugs are very tempting. I have not been able to resist trying most of them over the last two decades, either to be able to relax or to be able to feel something other than dread, to see some colours in all this grey.

I participated in both wars and it left me unable to sleep properly for decades. Not that sleep was anything to look forward to. If I tell you that I’ve not had a dream since before the first World War started you will surely think that I’m being silly. That I just don’t remember them. But let me tell you, about a week ago I had the first dream since, I think it must have been 1916 or 17. It wasn’t anything magical or special, (just something very simple, about lying in the grass on a hill, looking at the sky and watching bright blue birds fly overhead) but when I woke up I cried because I felt such a profound relief! Relief that I could dream again! 

I did dream of something strange soon after, though.I dreamed of a skeletal little man, mad and raving, chasing someone that looked like a weird bird man - and here I want to make clear that I do not intend to insult you, dear friend!, but this man that looked like a bird and at the same time was neither, he reminded me of you. I can’t really put my finger on it. Just something in the way he moved, maybe, or the tilt of his head-

Anyway, it was a strange dream, and I felt reminded of you, which is why I am mentioning it, I guess. I’m sorry for rambling about silly dreams. But their return (for I am certain dreams returned, I did not simply start remembering them again) has made me hopeful again.

Maybe times are a-changin’, who knows. They always are, and hopefully for the better this time.

I could tell you a lot more of the last century, of course, but I don’t know if you care to hear war stories. I do not necessarily want to drag all those unpleasant memories up, as it took me years of therapy to get over a lot of them, if you can forgive me for summing things up like I did.

I will think of better and brighter things to tell you and write to you again soon. I would be very happy if I found a reply from you in the meantime, but please use this book at your own leisure and don’t feel pressured to answer me every time I start rambling at you.

I hope to

Yours, Hob

Yours. Dream swallows and reads the word again, traces it with his finger. Yours.

Hob considers himself Dream’s. He knows it’s just an expression used when writing letters, but somehow Dream also knows that Hob means it to be more than just an empty phrase.

His.

Dream does not know if he wants Hob to consider himself Dream’s. Dream would not trust himself with another, not before and certainly not after his ordeal. Where before his imprisonment he had felt too sharp, too lonely, too easily enraged, he now feels brittle, too thin and too vulnerable. He cannot hold another’s heart and keep it safe. He cannot be trusted with the affections of another. He has learned that, over the last billion years. Every relationship he has ever had has ultimately failed. Because of him.

He does not want Hob’s and his relationship to fail. He intends to fix this friendship that he knows he does not deserve but cannot stop himself from clinging to. Few are truly loyal to him, Dream has learned, even fewer because they want to. Hob is singular in that regard, in his enthusiasm and friendliness when it comes to Dream, despite, or rather because he does not know him. And there Dream’s thoughts circle back to his predicament again.

He wants Hob to know him and like him, but Dream is terrified that introducing himself to Hob will leave their barely-mended friendship ready to break completely.

With a heavy sigh he stops moving, realising that he has been walking in circles in his chamber while his thoughts do the same.

Maybe it will be better to simply start writing.

[im-not-corrupted]

I was consumed by the idea of Merman!Hob in the last few days and now I'm writing a Dreamling fic about it so have a small, 1.7k snippet from the much larger fic :)

Includes: near-drowning, near death experiences, perhaps many medical inaccuracies because I am not a doctor and haven't edited yet, Merman!Hob, Prince!Dream and some light angst.

---------

He awakes with a gasping, heaving breath. His lungs are greedy things, sucking in air with desperation, and he presses a hand to his chest. Beneath his palm, his heart races. Adrenaline and panic both fill his veins and his hand shakes. His lungs feel full, but as he coughs mostly involuntarily, nothing comes up at all.

It takes a bit for him to calm down. When he does, when his lungs stop heaving and he stops coughing and he is left with nothing but an ache in his lungs, his head and a rawness in his throat, he looks around himself.

He sits on a beach, the sands golden and kissed by the sun. It shines down on him, blessing his face with its light. His clothes are soaked through and no doubt ruined, and before him—before him is the ocean.

It holds none of the fierceness he saw earlier, and he stares at it blankly. It looks as welcoming, as lovely, as it did the day he stepped onto the ship. His mind had been occupied, yes, but he had enough awareness to acknowledge the sea’s beauty.

Not enough awareness to acknowledge its dangers, though. He remembers in startling clarity the coldness of its waters, the ferocity with which it drowned him, the storm that waged and threw him overboard.

He should’ve been more careful.

It is not just the ocean that lies before him, but a man, too. A man, staring at him with honey-eyes that catch the sunlight as though they were made for it, with a curiosity on his face that, if it weren’t for the sudden anxiety twisting his all-too empty stomach, would’ve endeared him immediately. His skin is tan, golden like the sands, and some distant part of his brain wants to press his lips to that skin and find out what it tastes like for himself. Like ocean salt and sweat and the sun itself, he thinks, and then considers the possibility that he may have suffered some brain damage due to oxygen deprivation.

It takes him a bit to find his voice. During that time, the man—sitting in the ocean as though he belongs there, ignorant of its gentle waves lapping at him—continues to stare, head tilted like a particularly curious bird. “Who are you?” he asks, wincing at the hoarseness of his throat. It feels scraped raw, and he thinks he would like to simply not speak for a while, only—only this is rather strange, isn’t it?

The man’s shoulders shake with laughter. He is a beautiful creature, this man, with chestnut hair framing his face. Laughter, and amusement, becomes him. Distantly, Morpheus is aware that he should probably take offence at the man’s laughter, only—only he doesn’t really have the energy. If anything, he thinks he’d much rather sleep. “The one who saved you, obviously. Or did you forget you nearly drowned?"

He has half a mind to scowl at the strange man in the water, but only just has enough energy to narrow his eyes. "You saved me," he repeats dumbly. In his defence, he did nearly drown, and sleep calls to him now. Nearly drowning is, apparently, rather exhausting. "We were in the middle of the ocean. We weren't even close to any land. How did you—"

Come to think of it, he can't recall having seen this man's face before. Though perhaps that's explained easily. He was distracted on the ship, after all, and it wasn't like he went out of the way to remember the entire crew. Both Telute and Lucienne always said he should try to interact with people a little more than he does, but he thinks recent events made him exempt from that rule these last few months.

Still. The man's statement doesn't really make sense. They were in the middle of an ocean, and in a storm no less. It would've been impossible for the man to save him then, at least not without a boat or ship of his own.

Thinking of it made his head hurt more. For a moment he feels ready to simply shrug and accept the nonsensical answer as truth in the hopes that maybe the man would leave him to rest. Logically, he knows that isn't what will happen at all. If this man knows who Morpheus is, if he recognises him, then there will be some kind of demand. A boon for saving the Prince's life.

He can't do anything about that now, though, and the idea of laying on this beach and letting himself wither under the sun's heat seems very appealing. He doesn't even know where they are, or how close he is to his kingdom. How he's supposed to make it back in this condition, he doesn't know. The task seems impossible, in all honesty.

The man does not leave him to rest, not even when Morpheus simply nods stiffly and says, "Sure. Saved me. Alright." He remains in the ocean actually, the waves lapping at his torso, and continues to stare at him blankly as though expecting something a little more. Eventually, he rolls his eyes—Rude, Morpheus thinks, but hardly cares at all in the moment—and moves a little closer. It looks almost like the ocean parts for him, but that's ridiculous.

Then—well, then things get even stranger. Which also seems impossible, but—there they are. The man shifts in the water and brings what looks like a tail out of the ocean, all golden scales and fins. Beautiful, he thinks, knowing he's staring but seemingly unable to help it. Of course the man's tail would be golden. That only makes sense when the rest of him could've been carved from sunlight.

A little belatedly, he realises just what he's staring at. Which is the man, who had a fish's tail.

Hallucinating. He is hallucinating, then. That makes sense. Still, he can't help but laugh quietly—it makes him wince, his lungs still raw and aching, but the pain is temporary and certainly doesn't matter much if he's hallucinating—and says, "You're a merman."

The statement is ludicrous. Morpheus wonders just how much damage nearly drowning can do to a person, and then figures he doesn't want to know at all, actually.

"That is what you call us, yes," the man agrees easily.

Sure. Why not. "Why did you save me then?"

He shrugs softly. “Too pretty for death,” the—the merman, of all things, tells him. It sounds almost petulant.

He is losing his mind. He had swallowed a lot of water. A merman. “One can be too pretty for death?” he asks weakly, his throat hoarse and his chest tight with pain. The ridiculous nature of the question at least makes that pain easy to ignore. It will get him later, he knows that much, but he lets himself be distracted by his amusement at the situation for a while.

The merman blinks at him, expression entirely serious. “You are.”

”Right.” Right. Of course. Too pretty for death. That makes sense. As much sense as a merman fishing him out of the water does.

Whatever energy let him carry this conversation leaves him suddenly and he falls onto his back on top of the sand, his elbows failing to hold him up any longer. The sun glares down at him and he gazes back up at it blearily. Exhaustion clings to him just as the beach does to his sea-soaked clothes. Sleep seems like a wonderful, bright idea.

He let his eyes fall shut. It isn't very effective for blocking out the sun’s rays—it remains insistent, and closing his eyes doesn't give him the satisfaction of darkness that he dearly wants. Still, while that would’ve been a problem any other time, his body yearned for the void, to let the dark take him. It would be easy to simply lay here and wither, until either the tide takes him or someone finds him. Whichever came first. He didn’t mind either way.

Then the merman spoke again. “Are you dying, pretty one?”

It took a great deal of effort, but he grunts, “No.”

”Are you sure?”

He is not, actually. But that is no concern of this mermaid, and he merely answers, “I am certain.”

Silence follows that statement. Morpheus lets himself relax, lets himself hope this is it. He can sleep now, he thought—and is quickly proven wrong, for the merman states, “You look like you’re dying. Does anybody look for you?”

He hardly cares. Distantly, though, he thinks Lucienne might be. Jessamy and Matthew, too. “Perhaps,” he says after a couple of minutes pass, when he realises he has not yet replied. "I would like to sleep now."

The merman makes a considering noise. "I do not know much about humans," he said slowly, and Morpheus can practically feel the concern in his voice now, "but I'm pretty sure that's a bad idea. I'll stay and talk to you until you're found."

"Must you?" he asks, a desperate edge to his voice. The merman's voice is pleasant enough, yes, but rest is the preferred option here, regardless of what he says.

"Yes," he confirms. Morpheus's eyes are still closed so he can't actually see but he can imagine the smile on his face easily enough.

He sighs heavily and wonders what he did to deserve this. Then figures this is some weird, twisted kind of punishment for all that happened with Orpheus and Calliope and resigns himself to his fate. "Very well."

The merman talks, almost endlessly, until the sun is low in the sky. It is, truly, an impressive amount of talking. Morpheus doesn't remember much of that afternoon. At some point, he regains just enough energy to sit up, to listen more attentively. The merman, whose name he doesn't learn, seems to appreciate that. And just when despair begins to eat at him—I will not be found, he thinks and despite his inaction while he sank into the ocean, the idea panics him, I will die on this beach—there are calls of his name from behind him. They are voices he recognises and his heart picks up its pace when he turns around to see Lucienne, Telute and Jessamy walking down the beach towards him, each of them looking a little rough but all of them alive.

When he turns back to the ocean, the merman is no longer there, and Morpheus wonders if he dreamt the whole thing up. He does not mention it as Jessamy helps him to his feet, as Telute pulls him in for a hug, as the three of them begin to make it back home, to their duties, but he does not forget the kind eyes of the man who saved him from drowning.

[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.

[gabessquishytum]

I watched The Big Short so I'm gonna make it everyone's problem: banker Dream is taken to a strip club by his banker colleagues to celebrate his first day at work.

Dream is really not happy with any of it, but he has been told he too stuck-up and he needs to start making friends if he wants his career to work. (He works at his father's bank but that doesn't matter, his dad is a notoriously scummy man with the heart of a stone)

His colleagues want to prank him tho (a sort of hazing ritual) so they take him to a male strip club, not knowing that he is bi. And then, Hob shows up in a very skimpy outfit which is less fabric and more hopes and glitter. He immediately beelines towards Dream, who is the only one who manages to look incredibly uncomfortable but also obsessively curious at the same time.

(also he is the most beautiful man Hob has ever seen, and he can spot a sensitive heart, especially amongst a sea of dudebro bankers)

Dream gets the hazing of his life and seriously considers switching banks so he can get another hazing ritual ASAP

Dream, obviously having the time of his life: oh noooo please stop this is so terrible I am being hazed so bad right now

Honestly though, Hob is amused and pleased to work on Dream for what's left of his shift. He hates the city boys who come in and act like he's some kind of freak show (and then have the nerve to ask him for a blowjob backstage, the hypocrites). But Dream seems authentic, so Hob gives him a good time. He chats as he works, mostly whispering sympathetically in Dream’s ear about how his banker colleagues obviously suck. Dream struggles to speak, but he does apologise for what Hob has to put up with. Hob just grins, and rolls his arse firmly over Dream’s cock. Having something pretty to look at as he dances definitely makes up for the shitty guys whooping and catcalling.

He tells Dream to join him in the dressing room in 5 minutes, which is against the rules, but Hob is horny and Dream is the most gorgeous man he's seen in years. Maybe he'll also give Dream a few tips about handling his new career. The thing is, Hob used to work in finance before he realised that the whole thing was a scam and was bound to crash eventually. At least stripping is an honest profession...

Hob rides Dream’s massive dick while they both try to stay quiet and avoid the club management. It's the most fun either of them have had in years. If his colleagues in finance had been as pretty as Dream, Hob might never have quit!! At least in this job, he has an excuse to take his clothes off whenever Dream comes into the room...

[th3archivist]

Hob had been very annoyed with the downfall of modern sweets. The chocolate no longer had as much taste, it was just sugar. And all the best candies had been out of production for years. He mostly missed Cadbury’s Aztec bar, but that had been gone since the 70s.

He had been planning on complaining about that to his stranger during their meetup in 1989, but well. That didn’t happen.

So, he’d just gone on with daily life, no longer going out to the store everyday to get his favorite sugar bombs. The only thing that was still good was the ice cream, and every once in a while a cake or cookie. He mostly just stuck with savory foods though.

And then, his dear stranger had returned. And not only had he returned, but he had told Hob his name.

Dream.

It was so fitting that Hob had laughed when he heard it first. And then, later that night, he had murmured it over and over again, cheeks hurting from the smile he hadn’t been able to get rid of since his friend came back.

He hadn’t had the chance to tell Dream everything he’d wanted to that day, but to his surprise and delight, Dream had showed up not a week later right outside his classroom door. He’d almost given the student who opened it a heart attack.

They had walked through the park together, talking amiably. Or, Hob had talked, and Dream had listened attentively, smiling from time to time and adding a thing or two here and there.

It was during this friendly conversation that Hob had remembered how awful modern day sweets were. They had just been passing a shop, and a pair of kids had walked out of it, one holding a chocolate bar and breaking a piece off for their friend.

Hob had looked at them for a second, then remembered.

“Oh yeah, and did you know just how bad all the sweet stuff has gotten?”

He’d gone on like this for around a minute before-

“I really miss Aztec though. That was some really good stuff. Too bad they discontinued it in the 70s, dammit.”

Dream had looked up at him then, brow furrowed and eyes twinkling. He’d left shortly afterwards, to Hob’s immense disappointment. Though he had promised to come back before next century.

For two weeks after that, everything was quiet. No sign of Dream, just regular old brilliant life. Although it would be a fair lot more brilliant with a certain gorgeous pale goth in it.

Now, Hob sat by the window in the New Inn, checking the assignments his students had handed back to him earlier that week. It was around 9pm, only just getting dark. (Thank god for summer, shortens the electricity bill)

Suddenly, a cat meowed just outside the window. Hob jumped a bit, then looked over.

It was beautiful black tom, with silky fur and eyes like the cosmos. Those eyes were very familiar…

With a grin and a sneaking suspicion, Hob got up and moved to the door to let the thing in. It meowed up at him and rubbed against his legs as it entered.

He went back to his spot and sat back down. The cat hopped up on the chair opposite him. For a while, Hob just continued checking the essays, not paying the cat any mind. If his suspicion was correct, that was the best way to prove it, he though.

And he thought correctly.

Twenty minutes in, a slight breeze flowed through the inn.

Another minute later, a quiet cough sounded across from Hob.

Hob grinned and liften his gaze to meet Dream’s.

“Dream! How lovely to see you.”

He teased his friend, amused at how his brow creased with slight annoyance. He knew Dream wouldn’t run off from some casual banter, so he could afford this little thing every now and then.

“What brings you here, my friend?”

Dream blinked silently. Then, he reached into a coat pocket and pulled something out.

“Close your eyes, Hob.”

Hob did.

“Give me your hand.”

And Hob did. He was confused, but interested and eager at the prospect of touching this ethereal creature.

He realized he had never done so before.

Dream’s skin was softer than any silk Hob had ever known, though it emanated no warmth.

Maybe Hob could rub some into it some day.

Hopefully that day would come soon.

A small, plastic package settled in his hand, and cold fingers closed his own around it.

When Hob opened his eyes, he was alone at the table again, holding a candy bar. He blinked a few times, perturbed.

Then, he looked down at the bar and his breath hitched.

It was an Aztec.

It was a damn Aztec.

A laugh escaped him, incredulous and delighted. He pocketed the sweet, determined to get Dream to try it with him later.

And also maybe kiss him senseless as thanks.

This post was inspired by @gabessquishytum’s post, which you can find here

[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.

[avelera]

Come Live with Me and Be My Love ☼: how i came up with the idea :)

Funny enough, I can share with you the EXACT post detailing my thought process back from when I first had the idea!

But to looking back... I think I really just wanted to do a "fake dating/arranged marriage" type AU where Dream is sort of forced to fall in love with Hob throughout the course of pretending to be in a relationship?

Like I truly think that if you put a gun to his head and told Dream "You have to marry ONE living human and stay with them for a year," he'd first scoff at the notion and think it's beneath him but again, gun to his head, would probably be like, "Hob has occasionally amused me in the past and might not be totally unbearable/doomed if I was forced to spend more than the usual amount of time with him so, sure, let's go with Hob." But like... not *really* expecting to get anything more out of it for himself beyond some mildly interesting sex?

But I think Hob is kind of the essence of, "I do much better in the interview than on the application." Like on *paper* as a former peasant etc, he's not really a good match for Dream. But he's *so* resilient, and *so* likable and *so* willing to put up with Dream's bullshit and (in my opinion) so starving for pour all his affection onto someone like Dream (well, *specifically* Dream) who isn't going to up and die on him that once you're trapped in the web of a relationship with him, you're like, "Oh shit, this guy is some grade A husband material, huh?"

So I was really interested in writing a version of Dream who *isn't* in love with Hob, who doesn't *expect* to ever love Hob, but thinks Hob is tolerable in a "If I had to pick a human" sort of way, only to get smacked across the face with like, wow this guy is actually *amazing* and an *amazing* match for me and wow this is all gone to shit real quick and all my plans are in tatters because this guy I knew who once had *fleas* is a really amazing husband and partner and we're very well suited and oh no, I'm actually really falling in love???

And 1789 made the most sense to put that story in, I want to say, for a variety of reasons, but mostly it seemed hmmm.... It seemed the era where Dream had the most *recent* memory of having been at least a little tempted to sleep with Hob. So if it's within a few decades of that meeting (it had to be decades later, I wasn't going to place it directly in 1789 because Hob *had* to have made some amends for the shipping business before that, he had to be LONG out of that business before I'd cast him as a romantic lead) and Dream, gun to his head, was told he had to pick a human, I figured it was realistic that he'd go, "Oh yeah, Hob and I had that flirty exchange recently. He doesn't seem *totally* unbearable, if I had to pick a human." (1589 or 1889 the vibe would be VERY different and Dream absolutely would NOT have picked Hob, and obviously Giving Sanctuary is my 1689 take on if their relationship started then).

But yeah, mostly it was out of a desire to see Dream give Hob a chance and for Hob to knock it out of the park, and then everything sort of fell into place after that that it would be a wager gone wrong, that it would be post 1789, etc etc because that was the supporting details necessary for this sort of silly wager to occur, y'know?

[roguelov]

Hello luv so Ive had this idea in my head and I want to know what you think about it... I remember this one story about Dream turning into a baby. (for some reason I can't remember) And I was thinking what if the reader gets turned nto a baby for a day and Morpheus is taking care of them? Maybe he also is thinking about having kids with reader if they look as cute and adorable as Reader. Does Morpheus even knows how to take care of a baby? (Since he wasn't there mostly with Orpheus was born) Or would he ask Lucienne for help or Hobs?

This is so cute and I love the shenanigans it would bring

Dream who wasn’t there for Orpheus immediately starts to panic and rushes to Lucienne for help. Lucienne is trying not to laugh but hides her amusement behind a smile and happily helps. Matthew definitely swoops in and coos at you as you try to grab for him. You do get a hold of his tail at one point and he shrieks which causes you to start crying. Dream’s heart shatters and he takes you from Lucienne almost taken over by some buried parental instinct. He whispers softly in your ear and in seconds you’re calmed down

When you look up at Dream with those wide teary eyes and a small smile, he smiles back. His mind does go through the possibility of trying to have a family with you, is he really ready? Does he want it? Would you? It is a conversation to have when you’re normal again

If you’re stuck like this for a few days? Dream gives you the cutest room and Hob so visits so Dream and Lucienne can continue to run the Dreaming. Hob is like the fun uncle and plays games with you and you never laugh as hard as you did with him (Dream is so lowkey jealous of this fact). Hob also so spoils you with gifts lots of stuffed animals and outfits. Hob is a complete natural at this (and he can’t help but think of his own family he lost so this fills a small hole)

When you’re back you barely remember anything and it’s just a crazy blur for you. Maybe you’re a little embarrassed because did Dream change you? Did you throw up on him? Did you throw fits and cry a lot? Yes to all of it. But Dream is just relieved your back and holds you tight. And maybe he’ll bring up the idea of trying to have a family, but for now he just holds you and kisses you

[moorishflower]

10 Sandman Fic Recs!

I was struck by the absolutely heady and incredible thought that I have reached a. 800+ followers, and b. can place upon your dashboards the fics of friends and also people with whom I would enjoy being friends, and who I think should get more attention. There's going to mostly be Not the Big Fics in this particular list (I will rec all the big ones I'm readin later!)

Therefore, in no particular order, and containing everything from gen, to Dreamling, to Hobrintheus (or w/e the name for it is lol), ~fic recs~

I'm so sorry that you have to have a body by Taxonamie (AO3, Gen, Teen & Up)

A different take on Dream's capture; Dream's POV.

I DO love some good old body horror, and this fic does SUCH a good good job of really exploring what it'd be like for something that's supposed to be Endless to suddenly be trapped in a continuously dying and rebirthing flesh suit. EXTREME Lady Amalthea vibes. Immaculate.

2. Holy Palmer's Kiss by quentintoo (AO3, Dreamling, General Audiences)

Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.

I'm pretty sure this was the fic that sparked my intense obsession with longing and like, hand-touching and hand-kissing. Scintillating and sweet.

3. to sleep—perchance to dream by fishydwarrows (AO3, Dreamling, Explicit)

Hob Gadling remembers the night of 1889 well. He dreams and dreams of ways it could've been different, but dreams are often a way of escaping a more terrible reality.

For me THEE Hob whump fic, because if you're going to have an immortal why not make him miserable for a time? Mind the tags, but the payoff is SO, so good. I've read this, I think, at least a half-dozen times.

4. Heat Wave by spqr (AO3, Dreamling, Explicit)

“Sounds like you’re horny to me,” says Matthew.

Somewhat similarly, this for me is THE "Hob Gadling fucks and fucks severely" fic. Everything spqr writes is solid gold, but Dream being Endlessly Horny for his good old friend is both amusing and SCREAMINGLY hot.

5. Eros in Pragma by Delta_Pavonis (AO3, Dreamling, Explicit)

In all his long centuries never had he really done something like this. It was exciting and terrifying and exhilarating and too many emotions all mashed together. He felt like his skin was vibrating. Deep breath in. He could do this. He wanted to do this, desperately wanted to, a desire from deep in his bones. And yet… long breath out. Hob walked over to one of his bedside tables and opened the drawer. There was only one item contained therein and he removed it with shaking hands. The silver buckle jingled softly.

Here's a fun fact! I neither read nor wrote a lot of D/S before I got into Sandman, and now I do, and it's almost entirely because of this fic!

6. I have lately learned the difference by Chthonion (AO3, Dreamling, Mature)

While Dream is imprisoned, Hob dreams of prisons, until, one by one, all of them take the same shape: a glass cage. Hob doesn't realize why until he meets Dream again, and the dreams don’t stop afterward. Trauma, connection, and adventures in accidentally mixing two people’s subconscious demons together in the dreamscape.

This is just. SO good. I love anything that explores Dream's trauma wrt his imprisonment but chooses to do so through Dream's mindscape, and this delivers in spades. Let Hob Gadling smash more snowglobes 2k22.

7. point-set triangulation by therm0dynamics (AO3, Hob/Corinthian, Teen & Up)

Hob knows he is dreaming. He also knows he’s being hunted.

The dynamic between Hob and the Corinthian is FASCINATING -- they're truly mirrors of each other, both hungry for humanity, both wanting, both bound up in cosmic Endless bullshit. This is fairly tame, for the Corinthian, so if you're squeamish I can assure you that this is more psychological than visceral. There's an absolutely smoking hot sequel, though.

8. the pleasant punishment by romanticallyinept (AO3, Hob/Dream/Corinthian, Explicit)

“All right,” Hob says, fairly evenly, he thinks, for what he’s been presented with. “Would someone like to explain what’s going on?” Dream has the decency to look slightly abashed, as if he only just realized that he showed up, unannounced, in his friend’s flat, with a nightmare in tow. But it’s only slightly, because he’s still Dream. “I would not ordinarily involve a human in the discipline of one of my creations,” he says, inclining his head slightly, “but you are no ordinary human, Hob Gadling.” One day, one day, Hob will learn to keep his fool mouth shut.

Hey you know how I said I didn't used to be into D/S dynamics

Well if you weren't either, give this one a try. Gentle dom!Hob punishes a recalcitrant Corinthian while Dream watches. Surprisingly tender, incredibly sexy, lots of feel good subdrop soothing afterwards.

9. A Dream of Stars by jehannaford (AO3, Gen, General Audiences)

After the events of Watership Down, Fiver has a dream and is offered a choice. A very short story.

This is super short, super sweet, and super poignant. It's like 200 words, and it's worth every second of your time.

10. as long as this body shall endure by andunetir (AO3, Dreamling, Explicit)

Hob loves eating pussy. (He knows he shouldn’t be thinking about this at school, but it’s free period and the Year Elevens are more than capable of supervising themselves, so sue him, he’s bored.)

There's not a ton of fic that explores gender through Hob's point of view, but this is one I keep coming back to again and again. Trans!Hob gives me ALL kinds of life, and this is a fascinating exploration of immortality and transness. Also, again, it's super hot.

[arialerendeair]

A Knight’s Favor

Okay hear me out.

Renaissance Fair - Hob drags Dream along for the fun of it all, mostly for an excuse to wear some of his oldest clothing, and his replica claymore (with dulled edges), attracting attention from everyone as he and Dream move together. 

They watch performances by the dozen, and take in the tournament matches, when, after it’s all over, the master of ceremonies steps forward and says that he’s going to need everyone’s help to coax someone to do an exhibition match.

Hob’s eyes are widening and he’s cursing as Evan looks up at him, smirking wide and he’s nearly scrambling out of his seat when Evan gets the crowd shouting his name in a chant, demanding he come down and put on an exhibition. 

Dream, of course, is watching all of this in amusement, and Hob’s just, embarrassed (in a proud way) and sighing.  He explains that it’d disappoint people if he didn’t, so he steals a quick kiss (which gets all of the AWWWs from the audience) and heads down to the arena.  He and Evan are kitted up, and have their weapons of choice (longsword vs. claymore was always an interesting one, since neither of them bother with shields).  

Hob is just settling into position, when a ROAR goes up from the crowd and he sees Evan laughing and gesturing behind him.  His breath catches at the sight of Dream standing there, holding out a ruby, a clear replica of HIS ruby, on a shimmering golden chain, a faint smile on his lips.  He’s approaching before he realizes it. 

“I believe it is custom to bestow a favor on the knight one wishes to win,” Dream says, his voice soft as he bends down and drapes the chain over Hob’s head, settling it against his chest before tucking it into his leather jerkin.  “Do attempt to win for me, valiant sir knight.” 

Hob’s flushed (and it has nothing to do with the light armor he’s wearing), and staring at Dream, who has the smuggest smirk on his face that he’s going to kiss off as soon as he’s done winning the battle.  But he nods, because of course he will win this fight for Dream and he turns back to Evan. 

Evan is smirking and Hob resolves to wipe that smirk off his face, and settles into a stance he hasn’t used in far too long.  He doesn’t hold back, not for a second.  He’s not going for a killing blow, only disarmament, but he can see the surprise on Evan’s face as he twists and wields the claymore in a way that only masters of it can. 

The fight is quick, brutal, and the crowd is roaring their approval. 

Hob can feel the heat of the ruby against his chest as Evan tries to push him back, forcing him into tighter combat.  A quick twist of his hips, faking dropping to one knee and Hob was able to toss Evan over his shoulder, sword and all, before spinning to point the claymore at his throat, grinning. 

Evan will laugh of course, and as the crowd cheers, he hugs Hob and thanks him for the match, and Hob turns to Dream who is...

His eyes are almost as hot as the ruby burning against his chest, the ruby that stands out against the white linen shirt he’s wearing under his armor, and Hob is grinning, triumphant and victorious as he strides towards Dream and reaches out for his hand, bowing low over it in a courtly bow before yanking his Dream into a kiss.  There’s another roar around them, but Hob forgets all of them as Dream kisses him hard enough to have him forgetting his name, let alone any silly old tournament. 

[doodledgalaxy]

Initially I wasn’t going to do anything else with Death of the Endless!Daniel Hall, but I thought the idea of immortal man meets child of death was sort of funny. So have a mini comic about him meeting Hob as a kid:

*Death did not so much as “adopt” Daniel but kept visiting him and Lyta when he was a baby with the excuse of checking if he was still mostly human. Death was good at taking care of him, so by the time he was 3 Lyta said nothing when Death called them both the mom.

**Hob thought it was funny at the time to not tell Daniel he was immortal. The face the child made trying to fathom how old Hob was amused him too much. Really, he did plan on telling him next time. Except there was no “next time” as Lyta was less than pleased that Dreams babysitting featured a bar.

He thought nothing of it till over a decade later when Daniel walked into his college lecture. That same angry face and a loud “YOU” tipped Hob off exactly who it was. This started an originally one-sided, petty rivalry. Hob accidentally messes up a date in a lecture and Daniel’s hand is shooting up to correct him. In turn, Daniel is always the person chosen when Hob asks a question and the whole class is silent. The class has started a bet on why exactly the two are in a feud.

Assumptions include: Hob must be family or a family friend (Hob saying Daniel has always been an odd goth person, Daniel already knowing he owned the local bar, and Hob once memeing a young picture of a child who looks way too much like Daniel-courtesy of Dream-contributed to this), the two having met before (theories range from Hob having taught him before to they were in a bad production of Shakespeare together, purely from how much glee the boy seemed to take in his professors rants against the bard), or two of the nicest people on campus just met each other and it was loathing at first sight.

BONUS:

Death visits Hob days later just to show him her seemingly endless amount of pictures. He’s too polite (or fears upsetting the literal personification of death?) to ask her to stop and sits through them all.

[whisperprime]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

The good news was that Burgess did not summon Death.

The equally good news was that he also did not summon Dream.

The not so great news was that he did summon something.

What Burgess has brought down on himself this time is demon, and not just any demon, but an Archdemon. A Prince of Hell, loyal only to Lucifer Morningstar himself. Burgess seems to have figured out he's really done it now, but let no one say he isn't an arrogant asshole. He tries to bargain with the demon, who just laughs in his face and asks what Burgess could possibly have that an Archdemon could possibly want.

Burgess flounders for something to say when the Archdemon spots Hob

"You've captured Robert Gadling?"

Burgess looks between Hob and the archdemon. "Who?"

The archdemon did something between sneering and laughing that was mostly just baring his teeth. "You've kidnapped a human who's learned the secrets to never dying and yet you demand immortality from demons."

Hob would like to point out that he hadn’t learned how to do anything and his immortality had been sheer dumb luck, but he doubted that would be helpful at the moment.

Burgess looks at Hob like he’s reassessing his value. Hob could care less about him. He's more worried about the look the archdemon is giving him. It makes him feel naked in a way that has nothing to do with his literal nakedness.

"Allow me out of this circle so I may learn about the seal hiding him from Death and no one residing under this roof shall age another day."

Burgess narrows his eyes as if looking for a loop hole on the deal. He looks at his other "guest" to see if he can find any seal. He doesn't find one. Still, anything that can hide someone from death sounds interesting "Teach me the seal as well and you have a deal."

The Archdemon smiled in a way that sent a shiver down the spines of anyone who saw it.

"Deal."

The circle holding the demon is broken and Hob tries to keep his cool as he's left to the mercy of an archdemon. He's equally worried over the idea that anyone else could recreate the seal The Other Man had placed on him, only imaging what others might do if they couldn't be seen by the Endless.

The archdemon sets upon Hob in an instant, curious to get closer to this seal. Hob does not hold it against himself that he shamelessly attempts to scramble away from the archdemon, animal instinct driving him even when he barely has any energy at all. The archdemon, who introduces himself as Mammon when Burgess gets around to asking for a name, is content in the beginning to leave Hob’s binding circle intact, mostly because it amuses him when the immortal human attempts to escape him and runs right into it. Hob doesn’t have much energy to begin with, so he tires easily and frequently, adrenaline only able to take him so far.

The seal, however, does not give up it’s secrets easily. Mammon is furious when he realizes that this will not be as easy a task as he hoped. This will take time.

But time is what everyone in Fawney Rig suddenly has and a new routine is established.

Over the years that follow, the humans above all begin to notice that anyone who spends significant time within the manor doesn’t age. They also just as quickly realize the trick is that they have to be in the manor to enjoy. Burgess is furious when he discovers this, but the archdemon is unmoved. He has kept his word, how it is his fault Burgess wasn’t listening?

Ten years in, Alex petitions his father to allow him to go to an expensive college in another part of the country. Burgess thinks his son wants to escape his shadow. Hob thinks it’s really because the kid has realized that he’s going to start looking significantly younger than the man he loves. He doesn’t fault the kid for wanting to get away before the gap in their age gets too large.

Hob himself passes the time in between Mammon’s experiments and a new kind of boredom that comes from never knowing when he’s going to come under attack by attempting to learn lucid dreaming as a means to escape the Waking World for a while. It takes a while, but he manages to get the hang of it. Most of the time.

His success also means that he’s able to learn the full extent of what it means to not be able to be perceived by the Endless. The first time he successfully lucid dreams, he tries to interact with one of the Dreams nearby and utterly fails. He has no voice to speak with the creature. He cannot been seen by the creature. Worst of all, he cannot even touch any of the denizens of the Dreaming.

He remembers that the Dreaming is an extension of Dream of the Endless and it appears that although he can enter the Dreaming (and has been all this time), nothing within the Dreaming can see, hear, or touch him.

”Such a pale face, Robert Gadling. Did a nightmare visit you in your sleep?” Mammon asks him when he wakes next.

Hob doesn’t say that it was worse than any nightmare. So much terribly worse.

He sticks with his attempts anyway, once the horror of it wears off. He would rather be invisible, but in the Dreaming, than awake and under the archdemon’s tender mercy.

(Hob tries once to find Dream with this new skill. Follows the pathways that lead him back to the castle and to the heart he left behind all those years ago. He makes it as far as the doors to the throne room, before his courage runs out. He tells himself it isn’t right to spy on his old-friend-who-isn’t-his-old-friend, but the truth is that he can’t handle the idea of seeing Dream but Dream not seeing him.)

The years drag on. Mammon continues to not figure out the seal. Some days his wrath threatens to bring the walls of Fawny Rig down around them. He takes it out on Hob in ways that Hob knows is going to haunt him when he can experience nightmares again. Burgess checks in on occasion, but it’s mostly to see if the archdemon is still in the basement. He seems content to wait, as long as he gets more time.

Time within the basement seems to merge together in a seemingly endless muddle of hunger, thirst, and pain, only broken up by the occasion escape in lucid dreams. Hob doesn’t even know what day it is until Mammon, chortling to himself, tells him that it looks like he missed his meeting with Dream. “Oh, how sad for the Dream Lord to be dinning alone tonight,” the archdemon had said.

Hob merely stared at him, something he refused to name growing in his chest. Despite telling himself he wouldn’t think about it, Hob wondered if Dream had gone to the meeting.

Had he held to his pride and not gone? Dream had said he would have if he could, but how much of that had been because of the humbling his imprisonment had forced upon him? Was it truly better if he had gone, only to find that Hob was not? Would he worry? What were the rules of interfering, even if Dream discovered something was wrong? He would not find Hob if he looked, was it not better if he did not look at all? 

A selfish part of Hob wanted him to have gone. To worry, even if he could not look, because it would have meant that Dream wanted them to be friends of his own violation. It was a part he held close, even as he smothered it. 

Hob had made his deal. He’d given up that timeline, with all it’s unique hurts. Let this one play out as it will. It was far too late to go back now.

Part 4

[gabessquishytum]

Okay so hear me out, Hob made choices and he got into a bad way when he lost his family, but he was good/is good at being a doctor. He managed to just barely hold on to his license, so his little clinic isn't selective about the people he treats. He might, through no active solicitation on his part, become a/the doctor to the 4 or 5 Mob families who run his city.

His clinic is mostly protected neutral ground, and he spends his nights taking out bullets, sewing up knife wounds, and setting broken bones. He's used to treating the flunkies and muscle, he never expected one of the princes of the city to grace his table, but when Matthew brought Morpheus Endless to him bleeding out of at least 2 holes in his body, Hob couldn't worry about his status and had to worry about fixing what he could.

He definitely isn't expecting to be summoned (picked up while he was out getting his morning coffee and danish; he really wanted that coffee) and brought to an audience with Morpheus. He certainly looked better than the last time Hob saw him, and seemed to be healing. Hob offered to check him over, just to stop him from pontificating about not wanting to be in Hob's debt.

Hob didn't need or want anything from Mr. Endless - and was actually amused he was being so insistent. Hob guessed he could use a friend, but doubted Morpheus was in the market for a friend.

Assddfghjj yeah, this is great!

I’m imagining that Morpheus agrees that yes, he’ll be Hob’s friend. Just so he doesn’t Hob owe anything. They can meet weekly for coffee and have… friendly conversations. Just for a year, and then the debt will be absolved. It’s all pretty funny to Hob, and he’s happy to agree.

Each Saturday morning Hob arrives at a coffee shop (one of the businesses under Morpheus’s protection), orders his cappuccino, and waits for the pretty mob boss to show up. Morpheus is always accompanied by his body guards, who take seats at another table and do their own thing. Morpheus is forced to attempt conversation with this random middle aged doctor who he neither knows nor cares for. Of course, Hob ends up doing the talking. He tells stories from his clinic (all stories that Morpheus probably already knows, since Hob is talking about HIS flunkies), about his family a little bit, about the city. Morpheus contributes very little, and always leaves after an hour.

Hob doesn’t mind. He uses it like therapy, and it’s nice not to be lonely. He knows that Morpheus doesn’t give a shit about him but it’s better than talking to himself, right?! It’s all fine until he has the gall to suggest that MORPHEUS might be lonely, that he’s showing up to coffee with Hob because he craves companionship.

After that, Hob doesn’t see Morpheus again. He doesn’t show up on Saturdays. In the clinic there are hushed whispers about a kidnapping. One of the big families had a son taken by a rival mob. Hob knows better than to ask questions. He just stitches wounds and shows up at the cafe on Saturday, hoping for the best.

It takes years. But one morning, Hob is sipping his coffee and waiting as usual. And suddenly there’s Morpheus, right in front of him. He’s thin and pale, and there are no body guards. Hob lurches up and hugs him so tight he’s afraid Morpheus might crumble. He takes Morpheus straight to his home above the clinic, no questions or hesitations, Morpheus is pathetically grateful. He curls up on Hob’s couch like he never intends to leave.

And Hob doesn’t pretend to understand. Just rests Morpheus’s head in his lap and strokes his shaggy hair until he falls asleep. He’s not sure now if his friend is the most powerful man in the city, or nobody at all. But it doesn’t matter anyway. He’s home.

[doctorhouse5343]

Fields Of Dandelions (Chapter 2)

It was to the sound of Ricardo's croaking mixed with death metal music (it was mostly the 'let it burn' part that terrified him out of his mind) that Dream Endless woke up, scanning his surroundings as he remembered where he was. With a sigh, he rubbed his tired face as he got out of the bed before getting dressed and making his way to the kitchen. "Good morning"  The ravenette yawned as he sat down at the table, watching the farmer make a fresh pot of coffee. The dark haired male yawned again with a smile, he really could use a good roast right about now "Something smells delightful, what is it?".

His comment brought a smile to the tattooed farmer, answering him with a happy hum "French toasts, I thought you would like them so I made some but I think that I might have went overboard" He gestured to the sweet breakfast pilled up on a plate with an embarrassed expression as he went on "If you want, there's homemade jams that Hettie made, they are really good".

Dream's eyes light up at the sight of the small jars filled with the sweet, fruity spread. His mouth watered as he inhaled the aroma of one that he opened, eagerly spreading it on the fluffy toast and letting out a delighted sound at the first mouthful. He began to eat with a happy sigh, it had been so long since he tasted something as sweet as this, his reaction brought a smile to Hobo Heart's lips once again as looked on. The sight of the city boy being happy instead of tense like the day before warmed his heart, making it flutter as he began to pour dark coffee in two mugs. The farmer shook his head a bit, he had to focus on making sure that the farm hand was comfortable and felt at home. Now was not the time for butterflies, so it was with that in mind that he gave the other his mug as he spoke "For your tasks I will be there to help you so if there is anything that you are unsure about or if you have questions, just ask and I'll answer". The pretty goth nodded in understanding as he finished his meal, a bit of jam at the corner of his lip. He frowned a bit when he saw the farmer suddenly struggle to hold a laugh in "May I ask what it is that you find so amusing?" He asked, a scowl on his face that didn't fade even as the farmer approached him.

"You have something on your face. Right...here" Hobo Heart murmured in the beautiful man's ear as he wiped off a bit of jam from the corner of Dream's lips, watching the male's face become flush as he sucked the bit of spread off his finger. What really almost made the dark haired beauty grab this skeleton looking farmer by the collar and drag him into a heated kiss was the way that he smirked before saying, in a casual manner "Now I understand why you made those sounds : it's really good". He then sipped his coffee, as if he didn't lit a fire in Dream's heart. The ravenette tried to regain his composure, clearing his throat as he settled his nerves "Thank you for bringing that to my attention, I will be more mindful of it in the future." He said calmly as he watched finish his coffee before prompting "Shall we head out to start our morning, sir?" His question was answered with a brief nod and soon the pair went outside the cozy home to begin the tasks that needed to be done. After Gertrude and the other animals were fed, the farmer cupped his hands around his mouth before yelling out 'Sweetheart!' and smiled as he heard the clatter of a bell, watching Hob run towards them. When the brown haired cow was in front of them, the white haired male was immediately kissed all over, earning a few chuckles out of them and some well deserved pats were given to the very good bovine hybrid.

The trio soon tackled the rest of the tasks as a team : all the wood -cutting was done by the farmer and the firewood was soon carried by the farm-hand his lovely helper and the harvesting of the vegetable patch was done with the help of Mervyn the gardener, who brushed off all of the male's protest "My back's alright kid, there is still plenty of strength in those bones of mine" He grinned, wiping his sweaty brow with an handkerchief while Matthew, the lad who took care of the corn field, snickered behind his back. "You are lucky the boss is here because believe me Matt, I will shove up a corn in ya, where the sun don't shine!" The older man grumbled, chewing on his toothpick as he then chatted with the farm hand "Nice to meet ya, Dream" He shook his hand while looking at Hobo Heart "Hey boss, isn't that Corin fellow planning to come with his Jeep to bring a few stuff to the market?". The frown that appeared on the young farmer's face when the question was asked told the gardener everything he needed to know so it was with a jolly attitude that he said "You can leave the rest of his training to us boss, go and take care of whatever is needed. We got this" Matthew soon chimed in, eager to take a load off the skeleton-looking boy's shoulder. After the pair insisted that everything was good, Hobo Heart went off to go see Corin, already dreading it. When he arrived, the blonde haired gentleman with his signature black round sunglasses (He wanted to break them so badly) was already out of his vehicle..*smiling* at him. The sight made his skin crawl but he did his best to hide it when the guy walked up to hug him as a greeting "Heart, so good to see you again! How's everyone? I bet they're doing well for themselves" He happily chatted away while placing the crates in the back of his Jeep, talking about the weather and such as if life was a breeze

It took every ounce of strength in the farmer's lanky body to not start letting out a death-metal scream that would have made Ricardo go green in envy, luckily the last crate full of cabbages was now in the back of Corin's car, which meant that he was finally going to leave "You know, there's this new restaurant that opened up in town, maybe we can go there when you aren't too busy. As friends of course, don't worry" The blonde smile, not seemingly aware of the glares that Hobo Heart was giving him and it was just as he was about to yell his head off that he heard Mervyn and the others chatting away, getting close to them. "Honestly, good on you kid for refusing to be near a creep like that Rogrick Burgress" The butchering of the name brought a smile to Dream's lips, which soon became wider when, while the gardener was arguing with Matthew over the correct pronunciation, he saw the tattooed farmer look at him with what he assumed was fondness, one that the male standing next to him seemed to have caught on "So this is the farm hand you hired, Heart? I honestly wasn't expecting you to hire a brooding pretty boy but hey, appearances can be deceiving" His tone was light but his face showed a hint of hatred that he tried to mask with a chuckle as he went on "Bet he doesn't mind getting his hands dirty, huh?" Corin then patted Dream on the back, earning himself a scowl and a glare from the brown haired cow standing next to him

"I would appreciate if you would refrain from touching me in this manner, as for if I am or not qualified for this job, it is up to the judgement of Mr. Heart. Not you, good sir" The handsome goth's reply made the blonde scowl a bit before grinning "Wow, you have quite the sharp wit kid but I wouldn't rely on it too much if I were you, Dream : not everyone likes a pretty thing that bites" His tone was less friendly but he still kept the playful grin as his attention shifted towards the cute bovine hybrid, who was still glaring at him "Speaking of things that bite, you really should watch your cow, Heart. Wouldn't want him to get himself hurt or hurt someone else. You might just have to tie him so that he doesn't run away" With that advice, the blonde bad his goodbyes to the farmer, whispering to him that his offer still stood before driving off into town in a cloud of smoke. Everyone was quiet until the farmer went back to the patch with the others in tow, Hob mooing while giving Hobo Heart and Dream affection to make them feel better. While the pale male giggled and gave the brown eyed cutie some well earned pets, the white haired male with the skull tattoo on his face was frowning : something was telling him that it wouldn't be the last time that he would see the man that plagued his existence

[queerofthedagger]

Fluff #10 for Dreamling!! My AO3 username is wynnebat 😄

Ahh thanks for the prompt Wynne! This really is just utter ridiculous softness, I hope you'll like it! <3

In Bold Letters

“I am going to marry you one day.” In Hob’s defence, he is just this side of tipsy, is a little too drunk on expensive wine and Dream’s presence and the high spirits of the wedding reception they are just stumbling out of.

Well, Hob is stumbling. It also wasn’t their wedding reception, of course, but that of one of his closest friends—this lifetime—and, truth be told, he still isn’t entirely sure how he ended up here with Dream, of all people.

“Will you now,” Dream says, one sharp brow raised. He looks amused, but if Hob were to go out on a limb, he would say that it was fond. Mostly. Perhaps a little intrigued, too, if Hob were to indulge in wishful thinking.

It does horrible things to his already loose tongue, and he links their arms together. The cool night air is doing wonders for his head, but not quite enough yet to make him second-guess his words. Not quite enough yet to make him worry that Dream might storm off again, despite him not having done so in roughly one hundred and thirty-four years, or fifty-one meetings (not that Hob is counting or anything).

“Well, I got you to come with me to this one, didn’t I?” he says with a grin, gesturing behind them where music and laughter are still tripping into London’s streets.

To be fair, mostly Dream had turned up in the New Inn as he is wont to do and found Hob in the process of getting ready. Whatever reckless madness got into Hob today, it precedes the alcohol, because he’d asked, not really expecting a positive answer, ‘You could come, if you liked?’ instead of telling Dream to come back tomorrow.

Weddings and alcohol or not, Hob has never once been reasonable where Dream is concerned; at the end of the day, it always seems to pay off.

Dream pulls them to a halt and turns to face Hob properly. His eyes are very dark in the dim light of the streetlamps, but there is something warm to them, something unnameable that nestles comfortably beneath Hob’s fourth and fifth rib.

“I will admit that humanity’s habits and customs often elude me,” Dream says, stepping close enough that Hob can see the night sky in his eyes, “But I do believe that I would be correct to point out that commonly, couples would be expected to spend a period of time courting first, would they not?”

The air shifts, and Hob’s throat goes dry. Well-worn fear tries to climb up his spine, but Dream is still looking at him with something awfully close to affection, and so Hob swallows the urge to take back his words.

At his lack of answer, Dream smiles, just a tick of his mouth. “And further, I do believe that commonly, proposals of marriage are not only posed as a question but also involve a certain sort of ceremony and gravitas, do they not? Humans do have a great many nightmares about it, I recall.”

Hob is… well, actually, for once he isn’t quite sure; Dream is teasing him, but what he is saying would also imply—

“I would court you,” Hob says, jumping off the precipice without bothering to measure the distance. “If you let me, there is nothing I would rather do, weeks or months or years of it. I’d take you to art galleries and theatres and readings. I’d gift you jewels and flowers, or simply cook for you and make you tea. I would propose with all—”

Dream kisses him, effectively cutting off what Hob could have easily spun into a speech. Dream kisses him, with enough force that Hob almost stumbles, twisting his hands into the lapels of Dream’s coat. Dream kisses him, gentling after a moment, and Hob thinks if this is how he dies, that would be quite alright, actually.

“We could start with this, if you are agreeable,” Dream murmurs once he draws back, just far enough to breathe the words against Hob’s mouth.

Before Hob can answer, Dream is kissing him again, tender and hungry and devastating. His fingers are cool against Hob’s jaw, and Hob pours his answer right down Dream’s throat, clenches his fingers into dream-spun fabric upon narrow hips, and thanks whatever gods are out there for his big, big mouth.

“Yes,” he laughs, once they pull apart, just to make sure, just to say it, and see the pleased joy spread across Dream’s face.

“Yes,” he repeats, much later but not as many months as it could have been when, of course, Dream beats him to the actual proposal. “I already told you months ago, did I not?”

Dream huffs, but Hob can read the affection underneath as if in bold letters.

✨December Gift Ficlets ✨