#sandman prompt

[haley-lana]

human!AU where Morpheus is an edgy ao3 writer, and Hob draws fanart of his fics

[nualaofthefaerie]

Dear everyone,

This will be the first year of #Nualaday, and we are so excited to come to you with this year prompts!

Nuala has always been connected to Audrey Hepburn's charm, so for the art prompt, we stopped on Audrey's iconic look in "War and Peace".

In order to help with the process, we have prepared a Pintrest board:

For the writing prompt, we stopped on: "We are asleep until we fall in love!" Again a quote from "War and Peace"

Feel free to interpret and relate the prompts in ways that represent your artistic visions! 🪷🩷

Can't wait to share all beautiful stories for the most beautiful girl 🪷

[the-witchhunter]

DP x DC: Clockwork

I’ve been seeing “Clockwork is Chronos” popping up, and I don’t hate it, it’s a good way of connecting Danny to Wonder Woman, but there’s some baggage that comes with him being the literally mythological Chronos that I don’t think most people really want to deal with. AKA him eating his children and the war between the gods and the titans, which probably wouldn’t endear Danny to Wonder Woman

Also there’s a Villian named Chronos in DC comics, with time powers and that confuses things further

An alternative, if I may suggest, is have clockwork just be Time...

Time as in Father Time, the primordial embodiment of time, and father of the Endless from the Sandman series. Not to be confused with Father Time of S.H.A.D.E.

So Time is time and also controls his domain which is time. Time is constantly changing from a young boy to a middle-aged, then an elderly man in a random pattern. Sounds pretty darn familiar, right? Almost as if that describes Clockwork to a T. Time and his partner, Night, or Mother Night, hooked up and the result was the endless. Time and Night are no longer together, though Time misses night.

For those who don’t know, the Endless are embodiments of aspects of reality, beings above mere gods. They are described as “inconceivably powerful” There may be gods of the things they represent, but they are literally the thing they are. The Endless are Destiny, Death, Dream, Destruction, Desire, Despair, and Delirium(formerly Delight). They’re a dysfunctional family with Death being the one that gets along with everyone and the one that most has her shit together.

So what does Clockwork being Time give Danny? 

It would make him the adopted grandson of a cosmic force, as well as give him a bunch of dysfunctional aunts and uncles, one of which is Death herself, who is actually a really cool person. 

This gives him ties to beings that are functions of reality embodied, that even if they are somehow destroyed, only that aspect of them is dead and they Reform as a different aspect, which has only happened twice.

Any member of Justice League dark would shit their pants finding this out about Danny. Hell, this might through some of the regular justice league for a loop. Martian Manhunter has met and recognized Dream before. Wonder Woman might know about the Endless already. Hell, Dream was allowed to waltz right into hell and met up with Lucifer, like it was no big deal, and that was after being incredibly weakened and lacking his tools

So yeah, let Danny be the adopted nephew/pseudo sibling to the Endless. His name even starts with a D so it works on multiple levels

[seiya-starsniper]

"Oh I'm dreaming of you again. If I wouldn't be dreaming and if you would be really here, then I would tell you I love you."

*slides $5 across the table* dreamling. you know what must be done.

Ayyyy I FINALLY got around to doing this one! 😅😅 Starting my birthday off right with a present for you! 💖💖

[AO3 Link Here]

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When war comes to the Endless Empire, Ser Robert Gadling, known simply as Hob to his men, is on the front lines of the defense effort, fighting for his monarch and the love of his life. The second title is a secret he keeps close to his breast, for there are no scenarios in which a Knight would be deemed the type of lover fit for a King. 

The war is long and brutal. The Morningstar Kingdom had timed their invasion well, choosing to strike in the heat of summer, ideal conditions for soldiers who were born and raised in lands far hotter and more unforgiving than Hob had ever known. Their forces are fierce, but Hob’s are fiercer, for they have something to protect, mothers and wives, sons and daughters.

Hob only has his King. Orphaned at a young age, Hob was recruited as a foot soldier into the royal army as soon as he was of age, and his quick thinking and heroics on the battlefield earned him a coveted place in the royal court, right as the Endless family had established themselves as monarchs of the realm. 

Try as he did to be polite, Hob did not fit easily into a life of court politics. He could not hide his brusque mannerisms, his frank manner of speech, and it was that attitude that endeared him to King Morpheus years ago, establishing a unique friendship most other nobles would sneer at.

Hob never cared for noble opinions before King Morpheus, and to this day he still did not. It is his king’s face that he sees in his mind’s eye as he cuts down the Morningstar’s soldiers, pushing their forces further back. It is his king’s voice that rings in his ears as he and his men march through the pouring rain, caked in mud, blood, and sweat. It is his king’s eyes that Hob sees in the moments after an arrow pierces through his armor, knocking him off his horse and rendering him unconscious.

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

When King Morpheus receives word that the battalion Hob was leading had fallen in battle with no known survivors, he nods solemnly and dismisses the messenger, along with the rest of his court to give those who had lost a son, brother, or lover, time to mourn.

What his court does not know, however, is that once the throne room is empty, Morpheus collapses to the floor and weeps. He weeps for his fallen people, for the lives that this pointless war has cost his kingdom, but in particular he weeps for Robert—no, Hob Gadling, his oldest and most treasured friend.

Hob had been one of the only members of Morpheus’s court that did not treat him like the outsider he was when he was appointed king. When the Endless came to power, they divided the small municipalities into their own kingdoms, placing each of their seven children as the reigning monarch. Dream had suffered many cutting remarks and passive aggressive attacks, but Hob had been open and honest with him, even if their relationship did not start off in the most positive manner.

To know now that Morpheus would no longer hear Hob’s laugh, would never again be able to break bread and share stories over a warm open fire with him, that he would never feel the warm touch of the other man’s hand upon his shoulder, was more than the king could bear. He retires early to his bed, and spends the next days alone in bedchambers, claiming a sudden illness, but in truth, he is mourning for what could have been, what he was too cowardly to reach for, what he could have had, if only he’d been brave enough to confess how he felt.

And now, it was too late. 

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

When Hob finally escapes his imprisonment behind enemy lines, he leaves a trail of bodies in his wake, including the head of the Morningstar King. He steals a horse and rides away into the night, desperate to return to his men and tell them that everything is over. The war is over. The Morningstar and their warriors will trouble them no longer.  

When he comes across the nearest army camp flying the Endless flag, he heads immediately for the general’s tent. But instead of finding his second-in-command, he finds King Morpheus there, sprawled across what was once Hob’s bedroll, a cup of some unknown liquid in his hand. When he sees Hob enter, he freezes and drops the cup immediately, and the smell of cheap liquor fills the air between them.

“Oh,” King Morpheus whispers in a broken tone that absolutely breaks Hob’s heart. “I'm dreaming of you again.” As Hob steps further into the tent, he can see the king’s brilliant blue eyes are stained red from crying, and his cheeks too are covered in tear tracks that criss-cross along his face. It is breathtaking and beautiful, agonizing and unbearable, all at once.

“I am no dream,” Hob says softly as he approaches his king. Had he put those tears on his lord’s face? Had Morpheus thought him dead the entire time he’d been imprisoned?

“Oh but you are, for why else would a dead man stand before me and haunt my grieving heart so?” Morpheus replies, his breath hitching now as his body threatens to start sobbing anew. “Why else would I see you, if not as a reminder for every unspoken word, every regret I hold for not confessing to you you my deepest desires?"

Now it is Hob’s turn to gasp, his heart beating wildly in his breast. Surely there was no way that Morpheus was alluding to sharing the same desires as Hob. But then, why else would his king be here, in Hob’s tent, laying amongst Hob’s things, acting as a grieving widow, if he didn’t not feel like one himself? 

Hob takes another step closer, and though Morpheus startles, he does not flinch back from him. Hob then kneels down in front of his king so that they are eye to eye, and steels his nerves for what he plans to say next. 

“What would tell me, my liege, were you not caught in the thrall of a dream?” Hob asks. “What words do you hold in your heart that you could tell me before?”

Morpheus chuckles, and it sounds like shattered glass. 

“If I were not dreaming?” he asks. “If I wouldn't be dreaming and if you would be really here, then I would tell you I love you, Robert Gadling.”

Hob he gives up all semblance of self control and brings his hands to his king’s face. Morpheus gasps at the touch and Hob wants to kiss him, wants to pull this beautiful, wonderful man into his arms and never let him go.

“You’re—” Morpheus breathes, his eyes filled with tears once more. “You’re alive.”

Hob nods. “It is not a dream,” he says. “Touch me, and feel that I am real.”

Morpheus lunges towards him and seals their lips together in a kiss. Hob kisses him back, uncaring of the fact that any random soldier could walk in at any moment. All that matters to him now is that he and Morpheus are reunited, that he is alive, and in love with someone who loves him back. That is all that matters, for tonight.

[fulcrvm]

I am thinking thoughts about airports and flying again. And Dreamling, of course.

So. Human AU. History professor Hob has to fly around a lot for work, perhaps for conferences or smth of the sort so it's always to a small handful of the same nearby cities. He's pretty neutral on the idea of flying in general, though he wishes it was a bit more environmentally friendly, but Hob is a sucker for a nice airport and especially a nice airport lounge during layovers or before boarding.

Hob has begun to frequent a small local airline (White Horse Air, the logo is a coat of arms with a little pegasus, wyvern, and hippogriff on it, haha) when traveling because he likes their service (they've never lost his bags, not even once!) and their flights are never fully booked, which makes them quieter and easier for hob's chronic pains. He always picks seats with no one next to him so he can sprawl out and so it's easier on his knees.

Until, one day, he boards the little plane and there's someone in the seat next to his. Hob's sure that when he booked his seat, the other one was empty. Oh well, whatever, Hob's not going to bother the other man already sitting there for one flight— he'll just have to be a little more mindful booking next time. Hob shuffles into the seat, and notices that the stranger sat beside him is reading Sir Thomas Malory's Le Morte d'Arthur! Hob gets excited because! That's a William Caxton publication! And Hob has so much to say about Caxton! He turns to the stranger to strike up conversation about it and... is immediately lost at how pretty the stranger is. Handsome, gorgeous, yes of course, but pretty, with the shell pink lips and focused blue eyes and slight frown at the book in his hands. Hob picks up his metaphorical jaw off the metaphorical ground and strikes up conversation with the stranger. Though the other man starts off apprehensive, somehow the two hours of flying fly by and the two of them end up talking about all sorts of art, history, and everything in between. Hob learns that the stranger works in publishing, thus his interest in Caxton.

Their flight lands, and the two of them disembark at the gate, still attempting to continue their conversation while Hob tries to wrangle his carry-on bags. (The Stranger only has a small laptop bag on one shoulder and a suit jacket folded over his other arm with him.) Then Hob has to check the time and begrudgingly says that he should probably head towards his next gate soon— this is just a layover after all. The Stranger looks ever so slightly disappointed and admits that this is his actual destination and he needs to meet his sister soon. They part ways, and Hob tries to dwell on the strange warmth in his chest. He thinks about the Stranger for his entire work trip afterwards.

This, somehow, happens a couple times. Turns out they both frequent White Horse Air, and though they're never in booked seats next to each other again, the flights are always empty enough that they can shift to sit next to each other once the plane's in the air. They chat the flight away, and then part ways once they disembark, with the Stranger headed to the baggage claim and Hob to his next flight. One time, the Stranger even requests the hostess to bring out a special bottle of Chateau Lafitte 1828 just for the two of them to share. Hob's in awe. He really enjoys their conversations, it's nice to be able to talk about his interests in a non-academia environment. The Stranger always has the most intriguing and eye-opening perspectives on everything, too. It doesn't really help that Hob thinks... maybe he's developing a tiny, teeny, really inconsequential really crush on his Stranger. He's not in grade school anymore, how does he feel like this about someone he doesn't even know the name of yet!

This all comes to a head when Hob mentions to the Stranger that his layover is a bit longer than it usually is, and if the Stranger is in no rush, they can continue their conversation in one of the airport's lounges. White Horse Air is a bit too small an airline to have their own lounge, but Hob's collected enough miles to get into one of the other airline lounges and is fully willing to pay to get in one if it means more time with his Stranger.

The Stranger is extremely enthusiastic about the idea— which shows up physically as a subtle, coy upturning at the corner of his mouth and a little sparkle in his eye. (Hob feels proud that he can read this reaction so well.) He's so enthusiastic, in fact, that the Stranger offers to get them both into a first-class lounge. Hob doesn't even pretend to hesitate to say yes.

Let's just say they get to the lounge, split some cheese and wine, and the proceed to get even more enthusiastic with each other in a private room. Hob's lucky he brought a change of clothes in his carry-on. (Maybe Hob's not so lucky and can't sit comfortably during his next three-hour flight.)

Hob gets a bit emotional when he has to leave for his next flight (already missing being able to hold his Stranger's face so gently, being able to card his fingers through his soft, smokey hair) and gets his guts together to ask if the Stranger wants to exchange phone numbers or something, so they can be in contact more regularly. Perhaps even, meet on purpose maybe? The Stranger smiles and kisses him lightly on the cheek when he slips a business card into Hob's hand.

Hob's so caught up in it all that he doesn't check the business card until he's fully boarded and sat on his next flight. And he gawks.

Morpheus Aion The Dreaming Publishing House

As in, one of White Horse Air's biggest shareholders? Aion, as in, probably the sibling of Teleute Aion? As in, Teleute Aion, the CEO of White Horse Air?! Hob almost passes out.

In the end, Morpheus and Hob laugh it out. Morpheus promises he never abused his sibling privileges to invade Hob's privacy, but used the sibling perks to frequent White Horse Air flights a little more than he even needed to just for the chance to see Hob again. They're both happy to not need to keep flying just for that chance anymore, haha. Idiots in love! Turns out, while Teleute lives where Hob keeps having his layovers, Morpheus and Hob actually live just a few hours driving from each other from their shared initial departure location. It all works out perfectly, and Morpheus self-restraint from inviting Hob to move in (so they don't have to keep travelling to see each other, no matter how small) lasts not even a year after they officially start dating. Hob doesn't even pretend to hesitate to say yes :)

(Years down the line, much after they're married, Hob finally has enough miles to get them back into those first-class lounges to have more fun. It's all very lovely.)

[phlegmykins]

It is Corintheus Week apparently let’s GOOOO (…I say, knowing I can’t keep up with it after today)

[adventures-in-a-world-of-fiction]

Dreamling fic idea

While Dream is stuck in the fishbowl, Destiny wants to help him but can't directly interfere, at least not without an excuse. But Dream has made a bargain with a lesser being, promising to meet him every hundred years on a specific day. If Dream doesn't show up, he's broken this bargain and is in breach of some ancient rule or other.

Which means Destiny has an excuse to summon him to answer for this "crime" - if the lesser being who the bargain was made with raises a formal complaint.

So Hob is waiting at the White Horse all day and night, just in case Dream shows up, but then one second after midnight, he gets whisked away to Destiny's garden. Hob is accused of breaking a bargain with an Endless and threatened with horrific punishments, because Destiny needs Hob to defend himself and say that it was Dream who stood him up. Hob has not got the memo and is worried that if he says it's Dream's fault Dream will be the one who gets horribly punished, so Hob is all "Do your worst," while Destiny is getting increasingly frustrated and peeking ahead in his book to see if he can get away with just telling Hob what he needs him to say so that he can rescue his baby brother already.

Destiny eventually manipulates Hob into admitting that he was waiting and it was Dream who didn't show up, and Destiny zaps Dream out of the fishbowl to join them to "face the accusation". Dream realises it's all just subterfuge and his pride is hurt that his brother felt it necessary to rescue him, so he's angry with what he sees as Destiny and Hob conspiring against him when he had everything in hand and would have got himself out of there any decade now.

But Destiny sees that Hob isn't cowed by an angry Dream and has seen how much Hob cares for him, and he's annoyed by Dream being too stubborn to say thank you for the rescue, so he decides that Dream needs to be "punished". He announces that since Dream is being punished for abandoning Hob, the punishment will be a magic bond that ties them together and that means that Dream has to visit him frequently. Not enough to interfere with Dream's job, but meaning that Dream has to spend at least an hour a day with Hob or visit him once a week or something.

Dream is angry because he thinks Hob orchestrated this and he doesn't have time to hang out with a human - he has tools to find and the Dreaming to repair. Meanwhile Hob is thoroughly confused because no one has actually explained to him what the hell is going on.

[landwriter]

Desperate Measures | Dream/Hob | 1.2K | G v silly and fluffy, literally 90% air, dream attempts a romantic gesture, hob is a sap and forgetful, human au, part text fic

for @domaystic drabbles, Day 6: Under the Same Umbrella

---

Dream woke up to 26 texts from Hob. He put on his glasses and began his morning read. It’d replaced Times for him. The editorial quality, he thought, was far superior.

Hob (7:19 am) heading out, gave you a wee forehead kiss and you didn’t even stir. sleeping bloody beauty. love you disgustingly much x

Hob (7:26 am) couldn’t find my umbrella anywhere can you take a look if it’s not too much of a bother? feel like i’ve gone mad

Hob (7:30 am) christ it’s bucketing down!! standing under the eaves just to tell you how much it’s bucketing down

plants will be happy at least so will my goth boyfriend ;) hope your writing goes well today love. extra atmosphere!!

Hob (8:42 am) nevermind don’t look for it remembered that i left it in my office told johanna she can use it since i’m at the archives all day anyway glad i’m not the only one who’d forget their own head if it wasn’t screwed on :) :) :)

Hob (10:11 am) you should’ve seen the look lisa gave me when i showed up had to dry myself off in the men’s w half a forest of paper towels there goes my carbon offset from walking i said christ you’re probably still in bed asleep warm dry!! lucky bastard

wish i could come back already and drip puddles all over you

Hob (10:37 am) if this keeps up i’m going to look like mr darcy in the rain on your doorstep tonight don’t worry i promise not to propose marriage while insulting you xx although i do love you most ardently

...elizabeth

Dream smiled, read them all again, contemplated, and then sent his reply.

Dream (11:01 am) Sir, I appreciate the struggle you have been through

Hob replied moments later.

?? you sound like a customer service agent wait you’re quoting the film you can’t reject me if i’ve not proposed to you!! yet!!!

Dream snorted. 'and I am very sorry I have caused you pain' went the line. They’d watched it last weekend. Hob had cried, and Dream had privately decided that if Hob proposed, he’d say yes. Even if it was poorly done. It wouldn’t be, though. Not if Hob was doing it. He sent a second text.

...and I am very sorry you were drenched by rain.

Then he got out of bed and shuffled into the kitchen. His phone buzzed anew as he made tea and toast. He smiled at the sound. On their first date, Hob had warned Dream that he had a bad habit of annoying boyfriends over text. Dream, on his first date in six years, had wondered what it might be like to be so effusively charming that you could have enough boyfriends to form habits around them at all. He hadn’t known what to say, and Hob had ducked his head, grimacing a little, and said, “Just tell me to piss off, please, if I do? I know I can be a bit much.”

Dream believed it, because the man was telling him about his habits with boyfriends after one date. Not that he minded. And three months in, Dream had yet to tell him to piss off.

Turns out, a bit much was exactly what he’d wanted. Needed, in truth. Someone to tether him to the real world. His phone had become a modern-day lodestone in his pocket, a comforting pull of Hob-ness that would always point him back to life whenever he’d emerge, blinking and disoriented, out of the mire of his work. Work that he loved - creating worlds out of nothing, writing stories that would change people - but, coming on the age of thirty with nothing to show for it but recurring wrist strain and an upmarket flat that never had any guests, work that had also made him spend so much time apart from the rest of humanity that he was sometimes unsure how to rejoin it.

The tipping point had been when his eldest sister had found out that he hadn’t spoken to anyone else in between two of their regular dinners. Which were monthly. It had been mortifying. She’d smiled sadly, which was excruciating enough, and then gotten the gleam of a plan in her eyes, which had been far worse. “I’m setting you up,” she’d said. “I know just the guy. We go way back. I think you’ll like him.”

He had. Now, when his phone buzzed, he found himself frowning if it wasn’t Hob. (An exceedingly rare occasion.) But this time it was, of course. Four short messages sent one after the other:

hahahaha ok fine that was v good enjoy your day x

Five hours later, not even the curtain of rain awaiting him outside could douse the anticipation in his belly. An idea, he knew, was a powerful thing. Dream didn’t have an umbrella - Hob always shared with him, and would’ve apologetically nicked his if he had - so he would make the first leg of the journey as Hob did. He intended to go and get something nice, but once in the cold downpour, his resolve failed him almost at once, and he ducked into the first shop that had umbrellas in the window.

“Hiya,” said the girl at the counter without looking up from her phone.

Dream ignored her, blinking the rain out of his eyes, belatedly registering all the merchandise had a unifying theme and that he’d made a terrible mistake, borne of sheer desperation.

“Would you happen to have any other umbrellas? In black?” he asked. Hidden behind the counter, perhaps. If only you knew to ask.

The girl looked at him with an air of disbelieving reproval only accessible to teenagers and the very elderly. “You could try Boots, you know. It’s just down the street.”

Dream looked out the window. Rain torrented down. Commuters hurried past with their sensibly coloured umbrellas. From places exactly like Boots.

“Or we’ve got rain ponchos,” she added. It sounded like a threat.

“Nevermind,” said Dream quickly. “I’ll take it.”

“Enjoy your visit in London, sir,” she called out as he left.

He stepped outside and flicked open the umbrella with slightly more force than necessary.

Dream waited a few paces outside the archives, wanting to surprise Hob properly. Two separate pairs of tourists had thought he was their London Ghost Tours guide, and he was beginning to regret not holding out for longer, drenching be damned. Then Hob emerged, striding out and immediately stopping to pull out his phone. He was smiling at it. Dream smiled too, in anticipation.

A moment later his own phone buzzed loudly in his coat pocket, and Hob looked up in surprise.

“Oh my god,” he said. Then he said it again.

“I heard you needed an umbrella,” said Dream. He’d had the line already, since he got the idea. It had been very dashing and romantic in his head. It was somewhat undermined by the dreadful costuming choice that had been forced upon him.

Hob looked between Dream and the umbrella, bafflement melting into a happy laugh. He ducked underneath, pecking Dream on the lips. “I’m not sure I needed one quite this badly. Did you rob some poor tourist?”

“Unhappily, I paid for this.”

“Oh no,” said Hob, pulling away and pretending to inspect him for injury. “My poor darling. Your dignity.”

Dream sniffed. “I will recover.”

“Here,” said Hob. “I’ll carry it for you. You’ll only be guilty by association, then.”

They began walking, a bobbing Union Jack in a sea of blacks and greys. After the chief sin of ugliness, it was also a little small for two grown men, but Dream found he didn’t resent that at all, as Hob tucked him tightly into his side to keep them both dry. People gave them a wide berth. Tourists could never be trusted with umbrellas.

“You’ve rescued me, you know,” said Hob, nuzzling into his cheek.

“It wouldn’t do to have you dripping puddles all over the floors,” said Dream.

“Even if I looked terribly handsome, all wet and ardent?”

Dream bit his lip and smiled a little. “Perhaps you can be wet and ardent in the shower. Instead.”

Hob laughed again. It was Dream’s favourite sound. “Much warmer than the rain anyway. Deal.” Rain drummed down on their private nylon ceiling. “I was thinking chicken tikka masala for dinner?”

And so they made their way home, and although the rain never let up, Dream was so content and warm that he might’ve sworn they were walking in the sun.

[valiantstarlights]

We have all talked about Hob having a thing for goth twinks, but have we considered Dream creating wet dreams that look just like Hob?

Like, every time he gets thirsty for Hob, bam! Another wet-dream!Hob. We have a 1389 mercenary Hob, a 1489 Hob with ink-stained fingers, all up to a 2022 Professor Gadling. But that's not all! Because Dream also has an Ancient Greek Hob in a chiton (inspired by 2022 Hob cheekily calling him "Lord Morpheus," like ONE TIME), a Hob in fishnet stockings, garter belt, and a leather corset with his tits out (inspired by one of Hob's random dreams where he's poledancing in high heels)--there's just, there's a lot, okay.

And, like, Dream can't even send the wet-dream!Hobs out to do their jobs because he gets jealous. So now Dream has a harem--I mean, beg your pardon, Dream has a very respectable group of wet-dream!Hobs in the Dreaming who are increasingly feeling useless and, dare I say it, desperate to please their Creator.

I don't know where exactly I'm going with this, but I'm sure it's in a very spicy direction.

[ml-nolan]

Coffee in bed with Dreamling

You got it! T-rating for this one.

--

When his eyes open, Hob is greeted by high ceilings swirling with kaleidoscopic clouds. It takes no time at all for him to remember where he is. Dream has done a lot to make him feel comfortable and safe in The Dreaming.

"Hello, Hob."

That includes making sure to be at his side every time he wakes in this behemoth of a bed. Sometimes Dream takes the time to lie down beside him, with or without clothes, depending on whether he feels like seduction is necessary. It usually isn't with Hob—he's pretty much game at any time. 

Today though, Dream is perched on the side of the bed, close enough to run his fingers through Hob's hair. It's nice that there's sort of a middle ground for physical affection these days. In the beginning it was a bit hot-and-cold, with Dream either demanding to be ravished or fully disappearing for days on end. But the joy of having been friends first is that, eventually, they both missed sharing the simpler, less heated moments. 

"Is there anything you require this morning, Hob Gadling?"

"Hmmm…" This isn't a question he ever waves off. He's never understood why people play coy little games to be polite. He knows that here in The Dreaming, he can pretty much have whatever he wants. Why not take advantage of that? "Don't suppose you could get us a cup of coffee."

Dream snorts of the very idea that there would be something he couldn't provide. It's subtle, but very cute. Not that Hob would dare tell him that (well, not right now, anyway).

"How would you prefer it?"

"Just a regular cup of joe, a little cream, no sugar." 

Hob can't say it's not delightful to be waited on by a king. To be indulged, more like. With the hint of a smile, Dream goes very still, and then there is a cup in his hand. It's gorgeous in an artisanal sort of way, with starbursts of gold leaf where cracks used to be. He hands it to Hob, its temperature cool enough to hold in his hands.

"Where'd you get this one?" Hob says, pushing himself up to sit against the cool wooden headboard. The coffee is perfect—roasted but not burnt, creamy but not too thick.

"From the dream of a cafe owner who lives in a seaside village," Dream says.

"Uh oh. So does that mean I've stolen some poor sod's coffee?"

Dream turns his head ever so slightly, which he always does when Hob says something that he thinks is silly.

"This dreamer is much like you," Dream says, voice colored with affection. "He is resourceful enough to make the best of the unexpected."

Hob sets his cup on the stone window ledge beside the bed. "Uh oh. I'm not going to lose you to him, am I?"

Anyone would clock the smile on Dream's face now. He shakes his head. "You are still singular to me, Hob Gadling. I would have no one else. Besides," his expression drifts slightly, "his existing partner figures heavily in his dreams. I would be loath to interfere."

With a thoughtful sound, Hob scoots closer to Dream, straining up to kiss him. Obligingly, Dream leans into it to meet him halfway, letting his soft, cool lips linger on Hob's. There's a flutter in Hob's stomach, the same way there always is when he wakes up under Dream's attentive gaze.

They break from the kiss. "How long will that coffee stay warm?" Hob jerks his head toward where he'd left the gilded cup on the windowsill.

Dream's eyes flash, darkening from sea green into that clear black sky. He sets a hand on Hob's chest and eases him onto his back.

"As long as is necessary."

--

This piece was brought to you by these Soft Prompts. I've got a lot of great ones in the queue, but please feel free to send an ask for Sandman, The Magnus Archives, or Malevolent ships (or any of my OCs)!

[youcalledsworld]

Danny Finds a friend in Death

Death loved Amity Park, with its abundant ectoplasm so could interact with the world and people without there being a dying person.

She even got to meet the Halfa who embodies her concept better than anyone in the universe. She can say she liked being around him, he treated her as a friend and not someone to be feared.

Danny can honestly say he never had a friend quite like Death. Of course like every sane person he feared Death but as he got used to being a Halfa and his chaotic hero life he became less sane.

So when a woman came up to him calling herself Death how could he deny it when he's seen stranger things. So instead of fearing her, he instead wanted to let her experience the world without having to guide some soul to the afterlife.

[designtheendless]

For Meowpheus Monday, could you do one where Dream is licking an injured kitten that he had rescued from a mean owner who was going to throw it into the river.

Mmmmmmmondayyyyyyy.

[mattmurdocksscars]

I gasped when I saw you were doing blurbs, so I'm thinking

“that’s the first time i’ve ever seen you smile.”

“that’s the sixth time you’ve complimented me today.”

For Dream, maybe?

*posts this and fucking books it*

"Your eyes are really pretty." It had started as a simple sincere compliment and had quickly turned into a fun past time. The King of Dreams and Nightmares was apparently unused to receiving compliments if the amused glances and occasional blush told you anything. At first, you did it just to see his reaction but now you were doing it to see if you could finally get him to smile.

See, you'd known the Dream King for some time now and yet you'd never seen him smile. Sure, you'd seen little smirks and the occasional uptilt of one corner of his lips. But you'd never seen him actually smile.

You were determined to change that.

Morpheus glanced at you from the book he was reading, amusement dancing in his eyes and a light pink dusting his cheeks.

"That is the sixth time you have complimented me today. What is it that you want?" At that you raised your brows.

"I only wish to see you smile, Dream." You admitted. If anything, this confused the man even more. His brows furrowed and you could see the question in his eyes so you shrugged and looked away, suddenly shy.

Yet to your surprise, Morpheus didn't let you. His hand came up and gently coaxed your head back to face him by your chin. You gasped as you caught sight of him once again.

There, across his lips, was the first smile you'd ever seen from him and you told him as such.

"That's the first time I've ever seen you smile, Morpheus." You whispered. "You're beautiful."

Once again, pink dusted his cheeks at your words.

"And that would be seven times you have complimented me, dear one. I fear I am quite behind. I shall have to remedy that immediately."

"It's not a competition. You don't have to."

"Perhaps not. Perhaps I merely want to return the affection you so kindly share with me." He muttered. Butterflies exploded in your stomach and you grinned.

"Well, in that case, I cannot wait to see what you come up with."

[wysteria-clad]

Y/n: I can fit the whole world in my hands

Dream: That's impossible

Y/n: *moves closer to him, and cups his face slowly and gently*

Dream: *eyes widens slightly, blushes*

Lucienne: My Lord- *stops herself witnessing the scene* I'll come back later *walks away with a knowing, small smile*

Dream: I-I..*clears throat* Get off me, I have a reputation