#my fav look....1389 Dream....me love....

[virgo-dream]

✨ dreamling / fluff / acts of service / mature ✨

SUMMARY: It’s been 10 days since Dream of The Endless was rescued from Fawney Rig by one Hob Gadling, who takes it upon himself to see to Dream’s recovery. While with Hob, Dream is provided with something he’d been missing even before his imprisonment: to be cared for. read ch. 02: healing waters (2,3k+ words) here or on AO3 AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you all so much for the overwhelming amount of love on chapter one!!! For this chapter and the next one, I wanted to try a role reversal of one of my fav scenes from @avelera's absolute masterpiece, Giving Sanctuary. If you've read that, you'll know the scene when it gets to that point. :) happy reading!

The gentle warmth of Hob's arms and chest as Dream rests on them on his way to the kitchen is a feeling like none other. It matches the warmth of his soul, the one he'd seen shine brighter than any other on a poorly lit tavern back in 1389. He lets his head rest on Hob’s shoulder, curling into the safety of his hold. It feels right, somehow, and while he’s usually able to alter his physical form in whatever way serves a situation best, he doesn’t need to; Hob is willing to adapt for him. What a lovely feeling, to not be the one reshaped for the other. And how good it feels to have Hob want to fit with him.

That was, if that was truly what was happening. Dream had misinterpreted Hob's intentions multiple times throughout their centennial meetings, and while he had a feeling that in 1889 Hob had been inching towards something more than just friendship, Dream was not Dream. He was the Lord of Dreams, King of Nightmares. Mystery shaped as a man. Here, he was as weak as any other living creature. If he'd ever had a shot at anything more than friendship, it would have been back then, definitely not now.

"...Dream?"

Hob's voice snaps him out of whatever spiral he'd been currently descending. When he looks up, it's to find a pair of worried brown eyes, with brows knit upwards and a gentle smile. "Hey there. Still with me, mate?"

Dream tilts his head to the side, nose scrunching up a little in disapproval. Was mate some sort of term of endearment now? He knew Hob had not meant it literally. The twisted expression seemed to garner a chuckle out of his strong armed friend, who still had Dream tucked close to his chest. "Alright, I won't call you that. You okay?"

"...yes." It's an effort to speak, it really is. His throat feels dry, and he'd spent so long without exercising those muscles that his usual low register now seemed more like a faint ghost of its old glory. He cleared his throat, and Hob watched every little twitch of the little muscles on his face like he was cataloguing them. Certainly to be better able to predict his outbursts. Humans acted in self preservation, always.

It was hard to keep that belief when Hob's smile of relief didn't seem to unburden him of some deep seated fear of Dream's menace, but only of worry for him. "Alright, let's get you comfortable." 

Dream noticed how all of Hob's efforts in his care were all planned quite thoroughly. He might not have been sure if Dream would want to eat in the kitchen, but Hob was an optimist, and had already left the chair pulled and placed one of the many throw pillows that usually adorned his brown leather couch on the seat as a cushion. When Hob helped him sit down, it was with incredible precision, as if he had experience tending to the injured. Maybe he did, Dream couldn't know. Well, he could have. He just never bothered to. Regret seemed to pile up in his chest.

Hob then reached for a blanket to place over Dream's legs, lastly grabbing a pair of fluffy slippers that he kept in the little shoe closet in the entry hall, then kneeling down to place them carefully on his feet. "Wouldn't want you getting cold feet." He says, and smiles up at Dream before getting back up on his feet and moving to turn the stove back on. 

Dream liked watching as Hob went about his human motions. He knew of those things, saw them in dreams and in the rare visits he made to the Waking. He'd never experienced them first hand, which gave a whole new meaning to having a home cooked meal made for him. Not just for him, but made by Hob for him. It made him feel warm even before the bowl was placed in front of him and the soup poured into it, before the smell of well seasoned peas and of a plate of newly made slices of toast entered his nose, so different from the violence of the smell of iron blood. It's gentle and inviting. Suddenly, his stomach makes itself aware of its own existence, and he can feel his mouth fill with saliva. Dream reaches for the spoon, fingers still a little shaky, but not without warning. "Careful not to burn your tongue. It's still hot."

As his fingers take the cold metal of the silver spoon in hands, the weight feels completely foreign. Not as light as he remembered, not as heavy as it should have ever been. Of the many inconveniences of human existence, fatigue certainly was one of Dream's least favourite to experience. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying his best to hold the spoon. How could he be reduced to such weakness? How could humans take so much from him, when all he ever did was give and give and give. Endless as he was, his patience was limited. He was limited. He could feel the shape of his sister's hands squeezing his chest, the weight of her palm pressed in the centre, sinking the bone in. 

Dream? 

He wanted to puke, but there was nothing in his stomach yet to fuel it. Maybe the bile of his own disgrace, burning his throat on its way up would better serve the purpose of his little pity party.

Dream…? Come back…

Far away, he could hear the sound of metal falling. Was it iron again? A clinking sound, ringing inside his ears, getting louder and louder.

"Dream. Come back to me, Dream."

Warmth substituted the coldness of the metal in his palm. It seemed to chase away the grip of Despair as well, with warm, circling motions on his back. Dream blinked, and the tears swelling on his eyes finally fell. Blue eyes as sacred as those of a doe targeted Hob. To be powerless and insist on emulating power. 

"...is everything okay? Do you want to go back to bed? We can eat in bed if you'd like."

Such kindness, sweet as honey. But even honey can overwhelm the palate.

"...all is fine." A pitiful try at a lie. A merciful play of belief on Hob's part. 

Hob squeezed Dream's hand before letting go, and the freezing cold that took his palm almost seemed to tell him damned if you do, damned if you don't. His caring friend let out a huff of air through his nose, trying to recompose his sunny disposition. He smiles, like smiles can wash all sins away– and maybe for him they do, because who wouldn't forgive Hob Gadling?– Taking the spoon Dream had dropped and setting it across the table. He reached behind him for a clean one on the top drawer, and turned back to Dream. Unwritten agreements. He'd help Dream eat, and wouldn't ask for permission. Dream would pretend it was for Hob's own benefit and not his own. Now in Hob's capable hand, the spoon made its way to Dream's lips, and when it finally entered his mouth, finally poured its content onto starved tongue, the dreamlord was reminded once again that sustenance is also about pleasure. He hums, and as the silver spoon escapes his lips again, he allows himself to look into Hob's eyes. The pride is there again, but Dream reads it as being proud of a job well done. 

Hob finally lets a breath out; he seemed to have kept it in for a while. Humans forgot to breathe too, sometimes.

˜˜˜

Dream didn't know how many of these contracts of good faith the both of them had signed across the last 10 days. He was reminded now that it included, on Hob's part, an offering of unwavering patience and good humour, a gentleness in his motions and a carefully curated tone to his speech. Still, so much spontaneity; in how happy he'd get when Dream finished a meal, when he asked for a little more, and Hob would heat it up just perfectly, pour it in the white porcelain bowl before him. How he'd spread butter on Dream's toast, or brought a glass of fresh water to parched lips. He'd even clean the corners of Dream's mouth with as many napkins as needed, and not say a single thing about it. He didn't gloat, and he certainly didn't ask for any sort of boon. Dream's part of the contract was just this: allow himself to receive care. And while in previous days the Lord of Dreams and King of Nightmares would be offended by the assumption that he needed assistance in being fed, or in anything else, really, that's not the entity sitting on the soft chair in Hob's kitchen. It was Dream, just Dream. His Dream.

The meal, as the others he recalled having while in Hob's care, was perfectly adequate. Perhaps, more than adequate. He'd maybe fashion dreams around him once he was in shape for it, if not only to be able to keep having those meals in the Dreaming. Hob would certainly not want to cook for him forever. Dream let out a little sigh as he was finally done eating, and Hob let his shoulders relax, putting the spoon down and reaching for his own, ready to eat his own dinner. It was time for Dream to watch him, as he used to do in centuries past. Study Hob, catch up with everything he'd missed, even though he didn't have to. Even though he could have chosen to stay.

It was difficult, chasing guilt away. 

˜˜˜

Hob had sat him on the armchair next to the bed, by the open window. It seemed to always be open when Dream was awake, and the suspiciously good weather would usually make the Endless feel like there was meddling of some sort happening, but this was not his own realm, where his temperament reigned supreme. If anyone was lord of the Waking, it was Hob Gadling, and if the Waking bent to his will, sunny skies and soft summer rain would be all there ever was.

Dream could feel the softness of the last rays of sunshine crawling up their place in the sky, painting the room in gentle tones of gold and orange. The gentle summer breeze caressed his cheek, and he allowed his eyelids to close, resting his tired pupils for a bit. Hob's voice brought him out of it almost immediately, or maybe he'd fallen asleep, because the bed was fully made, sheets freshly changed once his eyes opened again. 

"Hello, sleepy head." There was that smile, again. Sunshine as a soul, shining from within. "Thought I heard you snoring there." 

Dream crinked his nose in his usual expression of disbelief, but there was no anger behind it. Maybe a bit of confusion. He was sure he'd only blinked. "I do not snore."

Hob shrugged, and reached to brush the loose strands of black feathery hair away from Dream's eyes, a mirror of what he'd done earlier. "You said you didn't sleep either, but here we are."

He thought to refute Hob, but there was plenty of evidence that he did sleep. 

"Since we're being adventurous today, what about a bath?"

Dream tilted his head slightly, unsure of what exactly was adventurous about a bath. He would certainly not drown, and there was really no need for it. "My body does not require washing." 

Correction: there usually was no need for it. If Dream were to use his powers to keep his physical form clean, he'd exhaust himself and sleep for the rest of the week.

Hob's expression showed an incredible amount of lovingness, almost as if he was watching a child trying to put together the pieces of a jigsaw, but one was far out of reach and he needed to hand it over. "It's not about your body, Dream, it's about your mind. I know you're probably the cleanest being in all of existence. But your mind could maybe use a bath, right?"

How one bathes the mind was clearly beyond Dream's grasp. Humans were funny with how they bent and reshaped their words into new meanings. "...alright."

He wondered if saying yes to Hob had always brought such wide smiles out. How he wished he'd stayed to listen when he had the chance. "I'll get the water ready then!" 

The excitement in Hob's voice made Dream allow himself a smile too, and it seemed to stop Hob from saying whatever it was he was following with. How terrifying it was, to be seen. The smile was gone, and Dream's brows knit close. "Have I done something wrong?"

"–No! Of course not, my friend. It's just. Nice. Seeing you feeling better."

Hob's honestly felt like a caress to the cheek, and perhaps it was the warmth of the imagined touch of his hand on Dream's face that caused it to be tinted in a soft pink shade. Maybe Hob had felt the will of Dream's hand to reach for his cheek, because it now matched Dream's in shade. "I'll. Get the water started."

Dream watched as Hob hurried to the bathroom, and maybe there was awe in his eyes. His own frail palm went to investigate the warmth on his cheeks. I need to be more careful. I would not have him think I wish to take advantage of this arrangement. Of his kindness. Hob is my friend. Hob is my friend. Hob is my friend. I am his Dream.

The sound of water running underscored the speed of Dream's overthinking, and same as the tub, there was no release for the current of thoughts filling up his mind. Dream had always been very attentive and alert to his surroundings. It had been impossible to surprise him, because surprises were never good, and there was only so little distaste he could handle in one endless lifetime. Still, he never had to exercise attention for 100 years straight. That muscle was also strained. When Hob walked up to him, it took Dream a moment to realise he was there. "Hm?"

"Bath is ready." Hob's sleeves were rolled up over his elbows, and his hair was now loosely tied in a short ponytail. He reached out to take Dream's hand. The walk to the bathroom was much shorter than to the kitchen, and Hob had said before that Dream needed to make the effort to walk, even if just a little bit every day. "If you try to walk to the bathroom, I'm granting you with left side of the couch privileges for the rest of the week. You know that's my favourite side." Dream chucked, and Hob's expression seemed to melt, again, into a loving one. "I shall accept your most generous offer."

Their hands were linked once again, and Dream felt a lightness that had been foreign to him even before his imprisonment. He felt like if he was holding Hob's hand, there was nothing he couldn't do. It was time for a bath.

[moorishflower]

Hello dear, I wanted to take the time to also tell you about how much I love your works! After you started us off with Isaiah 45:23 and made poppies our dreamling flower I think "That I should wedded-be" has left a really deep impact on me and will always be one of my favourites. The whole eating of the heart and the way it is referenced throughout the series of follow-up works as the way they are connected is just. So. Good. For me. I haven't read the latest installment but I'm looking forward to it! (I want to have the time to enjoy it so it's still on my to read list.)

Maybe sprout wings is my the second fav, I have worried so much over these two over the course of reading, it was great to follow along and be able to read it as you publish it. I usually prefer reading fics when they're completed, but with this fandom I have found dedicated writers whose fics I gladly follow along while they are written, you among them. :) I could go on which of your fics I like but I'd have to list all of them, and there are so many! I will have to reread a few! Vampire Dream! Slutty dress Hob! Power bottom omega Hob! So many great short stories!! So many brilliant ideas! SIREN DREAM my dearest heart <3<3<3 The most I hope to see more of are your two unfinished works, If I please you and The Whole of Love Contained. 1389 Hob has a special place in my heart always and forever and I am very invested in his journey to Canterbury, also I am dying to know what happens to hurt Hob with fretting Dream and all his siblings. I'd also love more of the Wine-dark sea!

Well, this has been my love letter to you without much poetry because I'm not that good at words and not a native English-speaker. So instead I will share a poem of dear George with you because I am currently down a romantic rabbit hole of Byron's works:

When I dream that you love me, you’ll surely forgive; Extend not your anger to sleep; For in visions alone your affection can live,— I rise, and it leaves me to weep. Then, Morpheus! envelop my faculties fast, Shed o’er me your languor benign; Should the dream of to-night but resemble the last, What rapture celestial is mine! They tell us that slumber, the sister of death, Mortality’s emblem is given; To fate how I long to resign my frail breath, If this be a foretaste of Heaven!

Ah! frown not, sweet Lady, unbend your soft brow, Nor deem me to happy in this; If I sin in my dream, I atone it for now, Thus doom’d, but to gaze upon bliss. Though in visions, sweet Lady, perhaps you may smile, Oh! think not my penance deficient! When dreams of your presence my slumbers beguile, To awake, will be torture sufficient.

Tashina words can't express how touching and how beautiful and how KIND this message is, and how kind YOU are! I look forward to every comment you leave me, and your art and your fic is SO SO good, and deserving of most effusive praise <3 If I Please You is coming along steadily, and Whole of Love is sort of on the backburner at the moment but I don't have any plans to abandon it, there's just SO MUCH that I want to write that it feels like I'm an overfull helium balloon LOL

Thank you for the BEAUTIFUL poem, gosh Byron was an insufferable man but he damn well knew how to write love poetry ToT And I hope you have a fantastic new year my dear!!!