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orionsangel86 · 1 year

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Hob Gadling - A Queer Romantic?

I have been listening to The World's End chapters of The Sandman on Audible lately and just finished Hob's Leviathan. I didn't pay this story much attention when I first read the comic, as I tended to read through the stories quickly and put more focus into the stories where Dream had a larger role. But one of the reasons I like listening to the Audible book is because it allows me to absorb each story more thoroughly and take my time thinking about each one and the (usually multiple) meanings behind them.

Hob Gadling is a character that fandom has fallen in love with. I think this is clear to anyone that takes even a partial glance at Sandman fandom. This isn't a criticism - Ferdie's performance as Hob in the Netflix show has done wonders for Hob's character. He has made his version of Hob very easy to fall in love with!

But the truth is that in The Sandman comics, Hob is a minor character who we only get to know very little about. The story Hob's Leviathan appears in The Worlds End Sandman book. We only meet him twice before this, once in The Doll's House, where we are introduced to him in Men of Good Fortune, and again in Season of Mists when Dream comes to let him know that he may miss their next meeting. In both these issues, Hob is introduced via the narrator, and therefore I like to think that we are given a fairly honest representation of the kind of person he is. We watch him grow and learn throughout the centuries in MoGF, but one of the major takeaways from this I believe is that he tends to always be on the wrong side of history. He makes bad choices and can be a bit narrow minded. He is rude and selfish and also rather self-absorbed. I actually think that the performance of the voice actor who plays Hob in the Audible book emphasises these character flaws making him even more unlikeable in many ways, though I am aware that this could just be my own experience and opinion.

But Hob's Leviathan takes a different view of Hob. Literally. The narrator of this story is a young boy of 16 called Jim. Jim met Hob on a ship travelling from Bombay to Liverpool in 1914. Jim was working on the ship as a cabin boy and Hob had bought his passage back to England - though it is revealled at the end of the story that Hob actually owned the ship they were travelling on. It is clear that at this point in time, Hob is extremely wealthy.

Jim attends to Hob throughout the journey, and grows very fond of him. In Jim's tale, Hob is a good man, who is kind and thoughtful and cares about others. He saves the life of a stowaway (who turns out to be another immortal). He is shown to be patient, and funny, and very intelligent. Jim waxes poetic about how smart Hob is, and how much he impressed him. It is particularly clear in the Audible book that Jim is taken with Hob, to the point that it could arguably be a crush.

It is fascinating how much more likeable Hob is when narrated from the viewpoint of someone with a crush on him, whether this story is exaggerated through rose tinted glasses is of course something to consider. All the tales in World's End are just that, tales. There is a constant undercurrent of exaggeration and make believe to them where even the other patrons of the inn question elements to each of the stories. We are not supposed to take these stories as absolute fact, rather they are supposed to reveal to us more about the narrators as well as their own experiences existing in this magical and strange world.

When it is revealled that Jim is actually a girl called Peggy in disguise so they can get work on the ships, the quite obvious crush makes more sense to a heteronormative audience, but what I particularly like about this story is its queer potential. See in the comic, it isn't really clarified if Jim goes by Jim because they feel more themselves as a boy, rather than a girl, or if they are disguising themself as a boy just to get work as a means to an end. I would argue that the latter is the more obvious interpretation. Jim tells the other World's End patrons that they are getting too old to keep up the disguise and will eventually have to stop working in shipping, and that when that happens, they will take on a new name, a new identity and do something else, but that for now, the patrons can keep calling them Jim.

*for a lack of clarity around the point in the comic, I am going to use gender neutral pronouns for Jim going forward*

Now from Hob's POV, he figured out that Jim was a girl, and they talk about it briefly along with the sea serpent they saw. I think that at this point, Hob is impressively progressive compared to the previous times we have met him. Now whether or not this is biased storytelling from someone who has a crush on him remains to be seen, but if we take Jim's word as truth, not only is 1914 Hob a fair and honest man who is willing to pay the way of a stowaway and fully respect the secrets of a young girl disguised as a boy so they can work on ships, but he's also totally comfortable flirting with them.

I like that he calls Jim the "handsome cabin boy". I like that this version of Hob, whether real or an exaggeration skewed by Jim's feelings for him, respects Jim's identity. Jim may be a girl in disguise, but Hob doesnt call her pretty, he calls him handsome.

It's all just a bit subtly queer and I like that for Hob (But then I would do, I'm a Dreamling shipper HA)

When Jim finishes their story, they state that they didn't see Hob again after that, but the comics later do give us a possible outcome to Jim's story...

We next see Hob in The Kindly Ones where he is mourning the death of his girlfriend Audrey. He briefly reveals that Audrey was the first person he had loved since Peggy, who was his lover until her death during the Blitz. Whilst it isn't made clear that Hob's lover Peggy is the same Jim that we meet in World's End, it is a bit too much of a coincidence. The timing adds up. If Jim was 16 in 1914, they'd be in their early 40s during the Blitz. Hob remains forever in his early 30s so I'd say its a safe bet that Jim eventually found Hob again and they were together. Hob loved them enough that he wasn't with anyone again until Audrey in the 80s. That's 50 years worth of mourning. A long time not to be with anyone, even for an immortal.

It's funny because we know so little about Hob, but one thing that I have seen commented on here a lot is that comic Hob is deemed to be as Straight as an arrow. Now I admit that the voice actor in the Audible book plays him very straight, but that is still only one interpretation.

All this is to say that I am fascinated with how the Netflix show will adapt this, since Hob in the show already comes across much kinder and more selfless than his comic counterpart. He already has an entire fandom viewing him as queer, and the comics certainly don't outright shut down such interpretations. There are moments in the comics that you have to wonder on. He does call Jim handsome rather than pretty, and when he talks to Audrey's grave he mentions his wives and loves as separate groups. He talks about finding it easy to get sex if you want it, and he talks about it in generally gender neutral terms. In Sunday Mourning Gwen reveals that she thought he was gay when she first met him, though her reasonings were that he knew so many dead people (a dark reminder that these comics were published at the height of the Aids epidemic). He reacts very badly to the news of Morpheus' death. He states on several occassions just how much he liked Morpheus, and he is one of the few people to wake up from the Wake with tears running down his cheeks. I would arguably state that its between Hob and Matthew as to who had the worst reaction to Morpheus' death, showing just how much both Hob and Matthew cared about him, and placing Hob on par with Matthew in the comics is a big deal. He seriously considers accepting Death's gift when she offers it, simply because Morpheus is dead. He doesn't, because at the end of the day, its just not in his nature to do so, and given he then dreams of Morpheus, I like to think that it was a test, that he passed.

When it comes to how the show will adapt all this, I genuinely think it will take a new approach with Jim/Peggy. I think they will be either a trans man, or at least non binary. But I think having Jim be a trans man is the better option. In the comics, Jim's tale is only very subtly queer, Jim clearly likes being Jim, but it seems like its a means to an end, a convenience in order to get work on the ships, rather than being something that is core to Jim's feelings on their gender. Besides, if we assume that Jim is indeed the Peggy Hob talks about in The Kindly Ones, then we know that Jim goes back to being Peggy when they get older and apparently continues living as a woman whilst they are with Hob, otherwise I doubt Hob would have referred to one of his greatest loves by a name they themselves rejected and only used she/her pronouns when talking about them. Nevertheless there is no reason for the show to take this approach, and if they DO decide that Jim should be a trans man, then their relationship with Hob is canonically a queer one. Trans men are men and if one of Hob's greatest loves is a trans man, then Hob is a queer man himself. I genuinely believe the show will take this route and I can't wait to see it.

Going back to my point about narrators bias, if MoGF, SoM, tKO, and TW are all narrated by a neutral third party, then this must be the true Hob. A not overly likeable rather selfish man. He has his good points, and he has certainly grown and changed over the centuries, and carries a lot of guilt for his past mistakes, but he is still quite self absorbed. Jim paints a picture of a rose tinted Hob that is far more the dreamy romantic older gentleman that took a young person under his wing. Which is fair enough.

The show is of course its own adaptation, with changes from the comics as it sees fit, but I do feel it's my duty to remind you that the show also has a narrator guiding the audience through its many stories. Dream of the Endless, Lord Morpheus, King of Nightmares and Prince of Stories himself. Take from that whatever you will.

;-)

#why yes i did just imply that show!hob comes across so likeable because we are seeing him from Dream's POV #what of it?#lmao #sandman meta #the sandman #sandman analysis #hob gadling #dreamling #dream of the endless #the worlds end #sandman comic spoilers #major sandman comic spoilers #the sandman comics

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seiya-starsniper · 1 year

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For the blossoming romance asks: 18? 💜

Cecccciillllllll thank you for this lovely ask, I had so much fun writing it 💖💖

Bit early for Saturday, but this fill does kind of fulfill the prompt "Touch Starved" for Dreamling Week too 👀

blossoming romance writing prompts

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hello/goodbye hugs that linger

Hob Gadling, Dream has found, is rather fond of hugging.

At the end of a long night spent conversing at The New Inn, Hob had wistfully asked Dream “a hundred years, then?” perhaps expecting the same answer Dream had provided him for the last 600 years. But his time imprisoned has changed him, and so Dream instead says,

“I’ve heard that friends meet more often than merely once a century.”

The smile on Hob’s face grows slowly. It starts with surprise and wonder, a slight quirk of the lips, as if the immortal cannot believe what he has just heard. Then it grows into a blinding thing, full of teeth and unrestrained joy.

“Next week then?” Hob asks. “Perhaps next Saturday at 7pm?”

Dream thinks of his duties, of all the rebuilding he must do for his realm, of the still missing dreams and nightmares, and the vortex that is threatening to destroy the very fabric of the universe.

“I believe I shall be able to make it,” Dream answers, a small smile creeping up his own face.

“Wonderful!” Hob exclaims. “I shall see you here again, then.”

When they stand to depart the pub, Dream finds himself suddenly enveloped in warmth and the smell of old wood smoke and beer. He freezes, uncertain at first of what is happening until realization dawns upon him seconds later.

Hob is hugging him.

Dream does not know for how long Hob embraces him, but it is over too soon for his liking when the man releases Dream from his hold.

“Sorry, probably should have asked first if you were the hugging type,” Hob says, suddenly shy and refusing to meet Dream’s eyes.

“I…I am not sure that I am,” Dream answers honestly. “It has been some time since someone last held me. At least a century, if not more.”

Hob’s eyebrows raise suddenly, alarm written all over his face.

“There’s a story behind that, isn’t there?” he asks, and Dream can feel the ache in Hob’s voice as he voices the question.

Dream nods. “I am not ready to tell it, yet. Perhaps next week. Or the week after.”

“However long you need,” Hob reassures him. “I’m not going anywhere, my friend.”

On the evening before their next meeting, Dream is exhausted. He has unmade his favorite creation, killed a dream vortex, fought with his favorite arcana, and discovered his sibling had intervened in his realm in a petty attempt at sibling rivalry. All within the span of a week.

—

It is. A lot.

Dream considers canceling their meeting. Reaching out to Hob in a dream and asking to postpone their appointment until Dream can collect himself and feel less unmoored.

But Saturday comes, and Dream finds himself standing just outside The New Inn, contemplating why he has not yet entered.

“My friend!” he hears from directly behind him.

Dream turns and there Hob is, dressed in an outfit similar but not exactly the same as the one he wore last week. The brown leather jacket is the same, as are the shoes, but his trousers are a different color and he’s wearing some sort of graphic tee shirt instead of a plain white one.

“Hello Hob,” Dream greets, trying his best to smile, despite his exhaustion.

Hob’s brow furrows. “Are you all right, my friend?” he asks, concerns clear in the tone of his voice.

“I am…fine,” Dream answers though he is anything but.

Hob huffs disbelievingly. “No, I don’t think you are,” he says. “Ah fuck it.”

Hob pulls Dream into his arms and Dream gasps at their sudden closeness. Hob still smells like old wood smoke, and Dream wonders if this is his natural scent, or if it is some sort of cologne he wears, whose purpose is to drive Dream to madness with how much he wants to inhale it.

Dream’s exhaustion lowers his inhibitions, and before he can think better of it, he finds himself wrapping his arms around Hob’s back and burrowing his face into the other man’s shoulder. He thinks the wood smoke smell is strongest here, in Hob’s jacket, and he wonders what Hob has done to imprint this smell into the material.

“There, there,” Hob says, rubbing smooth circles into Dream’s back. “I’ve got you, old friend. I have you. I’m here.”

Dream finds himself clinging to Hob, perhaps more than is socially acceptable amongst humans, but the other man doesn’t seem to mind. They stand there, just holding one another, until a bar patron from inside emerges, forcing them to break apart and move away from the entryway to the pub.

“I don’t think the pub is the best place for our meeting tonight,” Hob says, once the other person is out of sight. “My flat is not too far from here, if you don’t mind a walk? I’ve got a bottle of mead old as Queen Elizabeth herself in the fridge. I think you may need it.”

“I believe,” Dream answers, his tongue heavy like molasses in his mouth, “that you may be correct.”

Hob smiles. “And I can hug you all you want in the privacy of my living room.”

“I would like that,” Dream says, and finds that he means it. Already his heart is lighter after Hob’s embrace, and perhaps it will grow lighter still, with each subsequent one, given freely, by his oldest friend.

#dreamling #dream x hob #dreamling week #the sandman #seiya writes #I too would like a hob gadling hug pls #seiya drabbles

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gabessquishytum · 1 month

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The first time Hob Gadling smells Morpheus Endless, he (Hob) had just shot someone in the face.

Hob tries very hard to be invisible. His job is to do various "tasks" for the Endless Organization. He is to be discreet and effective. And under no circumstances are his activities to point back to the Endless family and their (legitimate) dealings.

This is easy enough as an omega -- even in this current age, people still don't think omegas are "violent" or engage in acts that aren't fluffy and sweet. It's almost insultingly easy to be on the "wrong" side of trouble as an omega.

Hob is not the demure sort of omega. He'd just as soon punch an alpha in the face as purr for one. (When he must interact with alphas "like that," heats and such, Hob is fond of tying them down and riding them to his satisfaction.)

Morpheus Endless doesn't smell forgettable, like the rest of his family. He smells like Hob's favorite things, like home. Hob is going to make Morpheus his, and no one (even Morpheus himself) better get in his way.

Oh god, I LOVE a dominant omega.

Morpheus doesn't have much to do with his family's criminal enterprise - in the dynamic of the family, its his job to appear to the public as a perfectly legitimate philanthropist with an interest in art. But that doesn't mean he's not aware of how the money is really made. And it doesn't mean that he's not a target for rival organisations.

He'd found himself damn close to being kidnapped by some of Burgess's goons when Hob seemed to melt out of nowhere and silently, quickly and expertly shot the kidnappers dead. Then he quickly cut the zip-ties from Morpheus’s wrists and grinned. Morpheus - who would never usually even bother to speak to one of his family's "employees" - nearly melts into the floor with overwhelming lust for this dangerous, smiling omega.

Hob takes Morpheus to the nearest building owned by the Endless organisation and insists on checking him over for injuries. He practically straddles Morpheus while feeling his wrists for any damage, checking him for concussion, even scenting him to make sure that he's "calm enough". Morpheus is far from calm, actually. When he puts his hands on Hob’s waist his feels the holster that's strapped under his clothes and very much bulging with various firearms. Hob smells so dangerous and so good and all Morpheus can think about is fucking him...

But Hob makes it quite clear that he's not interested in a one night stand. Nor is he interested in parting as friends. He fully intends to make Morpheus his mate, whatever the consequences may be. Hob is very much used to getting what he wants, and he doesn't intend to give up. If he has to he'll tie Morpheus up and really kidnap him, take him away from his family and give him a mating bite so it's too late for anyone to object. He'll make sure that Morpheus puts a baby in him, if that's what it takes.

And Morpheus really doesn't need this kind of persuasion, but fuck if it doesn't turn him on. The idea of being taken by his omega is so arousing, he nearly cums right there with Hob just sitting in his lap.

Hob won't be purring any time soon, but he will certainly manage a contented hum a few months down the line when he's introduced to the rest of the Endless family as Morpheus’s mate. It's far too late for them to get rid of him, when he's already carrying a little Endless heir inside him. But he packed his favourite firearms, just in case. It does make Morpheus so horny when he sees his precious little omega holding a gun to somebody's head...

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft #mob au #mafia au #cw violence #cw gun violence #cw omegaverse #cw pregnancy

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wordsinhaled · 11 months

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21 24 !! hugs for dream boy !!

thank you for the prompt and i’m so sorry this is atrociously late, i just got done prepping for an exam that is now over! ❤️

from the soft prompts list — “this is a very long hug now sort of hug” and “just really needed a hug sort of hug.” and i threw in ‘i missed you’ as a bonus

Dream has not known himself to be one for hugs, or indeed embraces of any kind.

Of course he understands their appeal, from the slightly removed perspective that is uniquely his as the lord of dreams. He has crafted more than one reverie of nothing more complex than a single, protracted, yearned-for embrace from someone special to the dreamer.

He comprehends—if only academically—that a simple hug can be, under the right circumstances, blissful. Healing. Transformative. So say the psyches of the visitors to his realm.

Still, Dream is not prepared to experience this firsthand. He is not prepared for the unrestrained enthusiasm with which Hob Gadling bounds up from his chair and opens his arms to him, as though this too is part of their familiar ritual.

Nor is he prepared for how much he is pleased by this welcome. For how much he feels immediately eased to be once again in Hob’s presence, even after so short a time.

Dream has surprised him; it is not their usual evening of the week but a Sunday afternoon, and the Inn is mostly empty: only a few patrons sitting at the bar, Hob comfortable at his customary table, sunlight streaming over the papers surrounding him.

It should feel like Dream is trespassing—he is unexpected, and Hob had clearly been busy—yet somehow it does not.

Instead, it feels startlingly ordinary—a tableau of Hob’s day-to-day life; one Dream finds himself pleased to become a part of.

Hob says, “Hello, my friend,” soft and full of fondness, as though a year of weekly meetings has done nothing at all to make a dent in the joy of calling Dream such. He opens his arms wider.

Dream does not normally indulge himself in Hob Gadling’s subconscious, but Hob was daydreaming of just this not a moment ago, loudly enough that Dream could not help but to see flashes of it.

And Hob Gadling’s daydream is thus: Hob would hold Dream’s narrow frame as though each atom of his form manifested in the Waking were cherished, with enough cherishing left over to bleed over into the Dreaming as well. He would squeeze hard enough to lift him slightly from the floor—if Dream would allow such a liberty; for Hob would fain do only what Dream would find pleasing and not a thing more. Hob Gadling daydreams of what Dream would smell like at the crook of his neck, were Hob to bury his nose there; of how Dream’s hair would feel brushing his cheek. He imagines it soft as cornsilk and ephemeral as shadows, which is, impressively, not far from the truth.

And in Hob’s daydream he says “I missed you,” quietly enough that Dream might not hear. But—secret fear, or dearest wish, or both?—there is every chance that Dream could hear, for Dream, Hob knows, does not have the hearing of a mere mortal.

“I missed you too,” Dream says aloud. He cannot help himself. Who is he, if not a bringer of men’s dreams? This one is easy to fulfill. It requires only that Dream offer up a truth he finds suddenly easy to admit, standing here, sharing the same shaft of sunlight that pools in the smile lines around Hob’s eyes.

Dream takes a step towards Hob, until it is only natural that he finds himself within the circle of Hob’s waiting arms.

He drops his forehead onto Hob’s shoulder, and curls his fists into the thick wool of Hob’s sweater. His hair, shadow-soft, brushes Hob’s cheek, and he knows that in this moment he smells of all that Hob likes best.

(Later, when he thinks of falling in love with Hob Gadling, he imagines he began to realize it then.

For it was a single embrace that set his manifested heart to swaying like a boat settling at anchor; a single embrace that made of him a leaf drifting groundward on a warm spring breeze.

A singular moment of bliss.)

#the sandman #dreamling #god this feels… very rusty but here it is #quite possibly not good at all but i have lost the ability to tell i am 😴😴😴

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im-not-corrupted · 4 months

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Well I gotta send in a request now!

How about 4 - "Well, this is rather cliché" with Dreamling? ❤️ (Happy early V-day btw!)

Oooo this one was fun! Happy early Valentine's day!

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He has, admittedly, been avoiding Hob Gadling for quite some time now.

There is a valid reason, regardless of whether or not Matthew and Johanna believe him. There is simply too much in his head, his chest a mess of tangled feelings, and he knows already how this ends. This is a story he has lived through plenty of times before; it never ends well, and there are some things that are simply not worth it in the end.

Like ruining the friendship he and Hob have now. It has taken years for them to get to this point, and he values his friend's company far more than he'll ever be able to put into words at this point. He decided, when he realised that his own feelings went a little bit beyond friendship, that it would be simple to just--avoid it all. To not think about it.

Not thinking about it is harder than Dream would like. His thoughts turn to Hob constantly, unbidden, and there is no escaping it, not unless he buries himself in his work. In his writing.

Which he has tried his best to do, only Matthew and Lucienne both seem to believe that isn't healthy of him. This, he supposes, might very well be true, but he doesn't quite have the capacity to care.

Until Matthew and Johanna both decide to interfere. Which is how he ends up in the back of Johanna's car, with Matthew singing terribly off-key to the music blasting from the radio, a situation he thinks might very well be his own personal kind of hell. He already has a headache forming and has a feeling it'll only get worse as the evening goes on--he doesn't have a clue as to why he is here, but it cannot be good.

There is a reason he does not often talk to people. Really, the friendships he has with Johanna and Matthew weren't really his choice--they both wormed their way into his life without asking and somehow managed to stick around.

He is not. Unhappy. With that. He has come to value their friendship, too. They care for him, even if he cannot quite understand why.

Still. He does not often talk to people, and that is simply because that does not go hand-in-hand with his own lifestyle. He wishes to remain inside the walls of his apartment, where he doesn't have to think too hard on...on everything. On his own subconscious insistence on ruining almost every good thing he has. Inside his apartment, he can simply...write. Play music. Get out of his own head until its noise doesn't feel quite so overwhelming, until it becomes manageable.

This. Is not manageable. It is not. And though he is fond of both Matthew and Johanna--he is, even if he has some difficulty showcasing it--he already wishes they had not dragged him out.

"What," he asks eventually, when Matthew grows bored of the radio and the silence grows too heavy, "am I doing here?"

It is a question he has asked at least four times already. It is a question he will continue to ask until he gains an answer. If he does, that is. He has never been very good at surprises--he is not very good at surprises here either.

Matthew twists around in the passenger seat, shooting him a grin that Dream can only describe as 'mischievous'. Which, really, doesn't bode well at all. "Oh, you'll see!"

"I hope you realise just how uncomforting that is," he deadpans.

Johanna tells him, "Get over it. This is for your own fucking good."

He almost asks what that means--almost, because his eyes are trained on the windows, and he knows these streets. Has walked them a couple of times before now.

This is the route to The New Inn.

"The New Inn?" he asks, and dread opens up, a chasm beneath him. His stomach drops to the floor of the car. "What--"

"The New Inn," Matthew confirms. The grin on his face has only gotten wider, though that fades when he looks at Dream. He sighs before saying, "Listen. Dream. You can't avoid the man forever."

"I can, if you stop interfering," he points out. He would appreciate less interference, actually. He would really appreciate less interference. Avoidance may hurt--and, god, it does, he has ached and ached since he first realised just how foolish he was being by daring to want more--but it is the best option. The only option, at least until he has his own feelings under some semblance of control. He will not allow this to ruin what he has with Hob, something the two of them fought for painstakingly.

It took years. Of Hob's persistence, and his saint-like patience. It took years of Dream avoiding whatever kindness he was offered, believing himself to be above it all, until his life was abruptly ruined by Burgess.

It took a lot of time to get over that one afterwards. But Hob was there, a shoulder to cry on if he needed it, an anchor in the middle of the storm. Johanna and Matthew, he met those two afterwards, but Hob--he was there since the beginning, and held him through it all.

Dream is grateful for him. For him, and for his older sister Death, who decided to offer him kindness, too. He can't ruin their friendship. What would he do without it? Without the chance to see Hob's smile, warm and gentle and loving, every time the two of them saw each other?

He would rather avoid the other man for a few weeks, until his heart outgrows its foolishness, than attempt to pursue anything. It will not end well--he has a long line of failed relationships to prove that one, and doesn't want to add Hob's name onto the end of that list. He will not be the one to ruin Hob.

Johanna snorts. She doesn't look back at him, for she's the one driving and she wisely keeps her eyes on the road, but if she could, Dream just knows she'd give him a very unimpressed glare. She's rather impressive at those. "Fuck off," she says, her voice sharp. "Have you even texted him in the last fucking week? The man's a wreck!"

"...I texted him," he answers. It is weak, though the answer isn't a lie. He has texted Hob, though only once before he decided the best option would be to simply turn off his phone. At least that way his attempts to get over his infatuation will be undisturbed. But he did. He has a feeling, though, that Johanna meant more than just once.

Then the rest of what Johanna said dawns on him, and guilt flares, ready to swallow him whole. "A wreck? Is he alright?"

"Well, you haven't texted him for what--three, four weeks now?" Johanna asked. "What the fuck do you think? He's asked me twice now to make sure you aren't dead in a ditch already."

"You need to talk to him," Matthew piped in. "So neither of you go insane."

"I'm not going insane," he protests, but it falls on deaf ears. Which, he supposes, might be due to the fact that Johanna is pulling up in front of The New Inn now.

It looks...surprisingly empty, despite the lights on in the windows. He blinks at the sight. It is Valentine's Day, so it certainly comes as a surprise. It isn't necessarily the most romantic of places to take a partner, but it does happen. Dream remembers the bustle of last year's Valentine's Day rather well, and he wonders why it is so empty now.

Perhaps Hob simply decided to forgo Valentine's day celebrations this year and leave The New Inn closed for the day. That doesn't quite fit with his perception of Hob, but it is a good and reasonable answer that fits a tiny bit too well with Johanna's previous statement of 'The man's a wreck', which is...discomfiting.

"Alright, in you go," Matthew tells him.

Dream simply stares at the building and makes no attempt to move.

"For fuck's sake, go," he says again. "We'll be here to drive you back if everything goes as bad as you seem to think it will. You need to fucking talk already. It's either that or we sit here all night."

The thing is--the thing is, honestly, that now that the opportunity is close enough for him to grasp, every part of him wants to walk into The New Inn. To see Hob again, to bask in the light of his company, despite every bit of logic telling him that it is, perhaps, the worst idea he's had in years.

But he has never been particularly great at resisting impulses, and certainly not ones he knows will end badly. So he sighs heavily and simply says, long-suffering and exhausted, "Very well."

It is, in the end, an easy feat to open the door of the car. The evening air is cold, stinging his face instantly, and he shivers in his coat as he makes the walk up to The New Inn, deciding it is simply best to ignore Matthew's far too loud call of Go get him, tiger that Dream is fairly sure the entire neighbourhood also heard.

He stands there for a couple of moments. Now that he is really there, that the door is in front of him, crossing that threshold seems suddenly impossible. He should--he should turn back, should leave before it all goes wrong. What was he thinking, deciding this would be a good idea?

He doesn't get to turn back. The door opens before he can put thought into action, and Hob is standing there, haloed by the lights on inside. He looks--well, he looks just as lovely as always, and the one on Dream's face is one so warm that it makes his heart flip in his chest. He rues that, the ease with which all his attempts to put distance between his feelings and himself are made futile simply by glancing at Hob's face.

"You're here," the other man breathes, and without warning, Dream is pulled into a hug.

It is. Warm. Lovely. Everything Dream has wanted these last few weeks, since deciding avoidance was the best route to go down. And he can't help but to hug back, a little awkward but still heartfelt.

It is over sooner than he wants it to be, but he resists the urge to pull Hob back. That, he thinks, really would make distancing himself from his feelings difficult, and things are hard enough as it is.

"Come on, come in," his friend says, and he pulls Dream by the wrist inside. It isn't a particularly rough grip--he is careful with Dream, gentle, and though the prideful part of him always rears its head at the display of tenderness, for he doesn't want to be treated or seen as weak, he is grateful for it--and he can pull away easily, but he follows along instead, soon engulfed by the cosiness of The New Inn instead of the frigid cold outside.

Despite his earlier theories, Hob did not forgo Valentine's Day celebrations. If anything, he seemed to have gone above and beyond, at least with the decorations--there are red and white decorations everywhere. Heart balloons, streamers, little heart-shaped decorations upon the tables--it is an assault on his senses, one he didn't expect, and he takes a second to take in the sight. It certainly requires some adjustment.

"Well, this is..." he starts, but lets the sentence trail off.

Beside him, Hob snorts. When Dream turns to look at him, he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "Rather cliché, I know," he says wryly. "This was all Matthew. He...thought this would be a good idea? For...some reason? I have to admit, I'm not entirely sure what his thought process here was. I only said I wanted to talk to you, to make sure you were alright, and he did...this."

"...Ah." He has a feeling he understands Matthew's thought process exactly, and resolves to never consult Matthew in such matters again. "I believe I understand what happened."

"Well, I'm glad someone does," Hob says with a quiet laugh. It's not as joyous as his laughs usually are. "Listen, Dream--if I did something wrong, if I was coming on too strong, tell me? I can back off. I don't want to drive you away. You mean a lot to me."

Dream...takes a second to process. Stares at Hob, a bit baffled and not entirely sure he heard that correctly, before asking, "...Coming on too strong?"

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, or anything, only I was sure you felt...similarly. I'm sorry if I got that wrong."

He thinks back to their last interaction--the kindness of Hob's smile, the way he took Dream's hand in his, asking whether Dream wants to Come up to my flat, love? We can watch a movie, or I can make you dinner, whatever you feel like, and looks at it in a new light entirely. "You...Want more. Than friendship. From me."

It does not seem possible, not in any sense of the word. But, god, does Dream want it.

He laughs quietly, self deprecating, and tugs on his earlobe. It is an incredibly endearing action, that, and Dream adores him very much. "I didn't make it obvious enough?" he asks, then shakes his head. "Listen. I want--I want whatever you want. If that's just friendship, that's fine with me. But...yes. Yes, I would like...something more. With you."

The smile that breaks across his face is unbidden, but not necessarily unwelcome. He swallows down the nerves, the anxiety, and considers. If...If Hob wants more, too, if his own wants aren't monstrous, undesired...perhaps there will be no ruining their friendship. Perhaps he can take a chance, if only here.

He steps forward, takes Hob's hand in his. "I am not. Particularly great at this," he admits.

Hob raises a brow. "I might've noticed."

Dream glares at him. He doesn't really mean it. Its effect is significantly weakened by the smile that remains on his face. "But. I would like something more with you, too. If you would have me, still."

Eyes widening, Hob says, "Of course I would, Dream. Of course I would. Now that we're on the same page..." His hand tightens in Dream's. "Do you want to come upstairs? For a movie, or for dinner? For both? And to...talk, we should do that too."

He places a kiss, feather-soft and gentle, to Hob's cheek. "Yes. I think I would like that a lot."

Hob beams at him, and Dream thinks that this cannot be anything other than a good thing.

#the sandman #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dreamling fic #the sandman fic #eris writes things #my fic #valentine's day prompts

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starrypawz · 27 days

Text

AO3 What can I say I had an idea

On the shore of The Dreaming he senses something that ebbs and flows with the tide.

Whatever that something is very…

Small

Tired

With a broken heart…

But the heart still beats strong.

Curious.

Gently he reaches out and

A crow? Most curious.

The crow, more than a little bedraggled, tilts their head as they stand.

“Caw?” (weakly)

“Easy now,”

Caw…. Caw?... Caw! (Slightly panicked)

“No you are not, much longer though and you likely would have met my sister,”

Caw!! (Profanity)

Caw (Apologetic)

“That’s an… understandable reaction… although I will say she is actually… very nice.”

Caw?

“I am known by many names but… Often I am known as Dream,”

“Caw!” (Introductory) Dream gives a faint smile, “I am aware,it is a pleasure to meet you Monty the Crow”

He regards the Crow who has just informed him that he is known as Monty (although he knew that already) some more and then asks.

“What was your aim?”

“Caw,” “London?”

“Caw,” and then “Caw?”

“Unfortunately you didn’t get very far,”

“Caw,” (Dejected)

“Agreed, that was a rather foolish idea,” Dream tilts his head, “I must ask why did you undertake this fool’s errand?”

“Caw?”

“I… can only sense fragments, you are rather weak right now,”

“Caw,” (Panicked)

“Do not worry, you are safe here,” “Caw,” (Grateful)

Dream pauses.

“So Monty the Crow what was the goal of your fool’s errand?”

“Caw?”

“I only sensed fragments, you are… rather weak right now,”

“Caw,”

“You are safe here,”

“Caw,” (Grateful)

Monty pauses and the way his feathers ruffle translates as a sigh before he takes a couple of hops that translate somehow as ‘pacing around whilst trying to get your thoughts together’

“Caw…” Another hop, “Caw… Caw…. Caw,” Another hop, “Caw” (Dejected)

“That… that is a rather noble cause,” Dream reaches out and then pauses, “May I?”

Monty nods.

Dream lightly scratches him on the head, feather soft under his fingers and Dream feels a soft rush of affection run through him as Monty leans into his touch and ruffles his feathers and gives the faintest hint of a smile.

“I… I sense you have not been treated kindly,” He offers his hand and Monty struggles to hop up.

“Let me,” He soothes as he carefully guides him into his hand and lifts Monty closer to his face.

“I am sorry that has happened to you,” Dream stiffens, “Who… Who did this?”

“Caw,” “A witch?” He pauses and… feels, “One named Esther Finch, I know of her and… I can sense she has met her long overdue fate,”

“Caw,”

“Maybe that offers you some comfort?” Monty moves his wings in a way that somehow reads as a shrug.

“I… I know what it is like, to be trapped,” Dream sighs, “Taken by someone who seeks power they do not deserve.. Let alone understand.”

Monty tilts his head again.

“Tell me Monty, Tell me your story,”

“Caw-”

“I am fond of long tales…” Dream smiles, “And we have all the time in the world whilst you are here,”

Monty ruffles his feathers and then

“Caw-”

And then after some time.

“That is… quite the tale.”

“Caw?”

“Yes… now what,” Dream sighs, “I think I can aid you?”

“Caw?”

“Do not worry, I would not pull you into such a bargain, I would also not expect you to serve a new master so soon after gaining your freedom,”

“Caw?”

“So…The Witch Esther Finch turned you into a human, tell me Monty do you wish to be back in that form?”

“Caw… Caw…” He pauses, “Caw?”

“I see… Understandable you do not want to be bound to one form… even if you found thumbs incredibly useful,” He gives an amused snort and gently scratches Monty on the head, “I believe… I believe I know someone who can aid you,”

“Caw?”

“No he is not a witch… although I guess he is bewitching in his own way,” “Caw!” (Teasing) Dream swallows, “I am… incredibly fond of him.” Dream pauses, “You… you remind me of him, he is… an incredibly kind soul, eternally joyful,” He smiles, “Even if he is a little foolish at times, His name is Robert Gadling although he prefers to go by Hob, ” Dream pauses, “So Monty The Crow if you agree, once you awake you will find yourself in London,”

“Very well them,” Dream pulls him against his chest, “Now rest,”

Monty rests.

Hob awakes to early morning light through the window and realises he forgot to shut the curtains again as he winces whilst in the background he can hear the ever present drone of the traffic of 21st century London. He finds his laptop in the bed and connects dots he was planning to grade just a couple of more papers last night, but judging from the Turnitin page that greets him when he wakes up the laptop that he’d fallen asleep about a quarter into grading the first one.

Later… later. Deal with that later. At least two cups of coffee later.

He’s just about to pass through to the kitchen when he notices something at the living room window.

Matthew?

No that’s not Matthew.

Wait… that’s not a raven anyway, the beak’s the wrong shape and they’re too small that’s a…

Crow.

Oh.

There hadn’t been A Visit last night (It’s actually been a while but not quite long enough that Hob is worried) but Hob had in that point where reality is a little… loose between waking and sleeping had heard a whisper. It’d been somewhat cryptic (He didn’t expect anything less) but the pieces start to slot together.

Hob shakes his head with an affectionate snort as he lifts the sash window. It’s thankfully a warm morning.

The crow tilts their head at him.

“Well… come on in?”

Hob takes a step back and watches as the crow hops through the opened window, carefully he shuts it behind them.

There’s a pause for a moment before they hop from the windowsill and then

Falll to the ground.

Hob is caught off guard for a second before there’s a ruffle of feathers and then.

So that’s why there’d been something about ‘spare clothes’ that’d sounded rather out of place coming from Dream.

Hob now looks at the dark haired teenager who had been a crow moments ago who sits on the sofa. The borrowed t-shirt and shorts hang loose on him in a way that looks more ‘Handmedowns from an older sibling’ than ‘fashionably baggy’

The teenager looks up at him through curtain bangs with dark eyes that are bright and… oddly captivating.

Just like someone else I know.

“So… Monty, right?”

Monty nods.

“Dream?” They say, voice still croaky, “Sent me to you… somehow? Said you could help me?”

“Hopefully?” Hob clears his throat, “So… are you hungry?”

“I’m starving,”

Breakfast. Right. That’s at least a problem he can fix.

“Ok,” Hob smiles, and hopes it looks less nervous than he feels. “I’ll go make us something and you can tell me all about… whatever’s going on,”

“Sounds great!,” Monty’s voice is bright, almost a little too bright for this time in the morning and gives him probably the softest smile he’s ever seen before Hob turns into the kitchen.

What the hell have you gotten me into this time?

#starry writes stuff #the sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dead boy detectives #monty the crow #monty dead boy detectives #dbd monty #dreamling

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tj-dragonblade · 4 months

Text

[FLUFFBRUARY FICLET] Before I Go

Rated: G Word Count: 849 Tags: Fluffbruary, Fluffbruary 2024, fluff, sap, established relationship, Hob Gadling loves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus loves Hob Gadling, kisses, parting is such sweet sorrow, flower symbolism

Fluffbruary Prompts: Day 16 neighbor desire horse Day 17 magazine tactile curtains Alt prompts: evening, caress

Additional inspiration taken from a couple of these kisses

Title credit and musical accompaniment: Before I Go by Yanni (Spotify link)

Summary: Season-of-Mists-style visit, some time later in their relationship

On AO3

It is a lush and expansive garden where Hob finds himself on a beautiful summer evening—flowers climbing the trees and blooming in every direction, nocturnal birds twittering their songs in the branches overhead, crickets chirping accompaniment in the undergrowth. The stars twinkle brightly in the blue-velvet sky and the moon shines full and brilliant, a silvery wash of illumination over the landscape. The path under Hob's feet winds between flower beds and lovely stone borders, toward a burbling stream running musically beneath the trailing branches of a willow tree. He follows along to a little wooden bridge arching over the stream and across, to a decadent little bower of trellises wreathed in climbing ivy and dripping with twilight-purple wisteria.

There's a familiar figure waiting there for him, and he smiles as he draws near. "Hello, love."

"Hello, Hob." Dream's eyes glitter softly like the stars, just as dark and depthless as the sky, just as beautiful. The moonlight illuminates him like a work of art, pearlescent skin and raven-feather hair, smoke-shadow robes draping him in regal refinement. He looks ready to hold court, to receive an audience, and Hob is awestruck all over again that this unfathomably powerful otherworldly creature deigns to be his friend, to be so much more; to accept his affections, to return them. He is so very lucky, and he knows it.

He looks up at Dream, who is currently half a head taller than him, and he can feel the fondness shining in his own eyes. "I'm not awake, am I."

"No." Dream's tiny little smile is both affectionate and regretful. "I apologize for usurping your dream; there is something I must attend to that will keep me away for some time. I did not wish to leave without making you aware."

Hob furrows his brow. "It's not Hell again, is it?"

"No. Nor do I anticipate any danger or risk to myself, my realm, but there may be. Delays. In resolving the matter."

Hob knows better than to ask for specifics in this sort of thing when Dream has not given them, regardless of how curious he may be. "Will Matthew be with you?"

"Yes."

"Then I know you're in good company and I'll hear from you if needed." He wishes, in some deep fundamental part of himself, that he could accompany Dream on these sorts of errands, but in this also he knows better. There are so many things in existence that are far beyond what his immortal-but-still-mundane mind can comprehend.

Dream steps forward, closer. "Dearest Hob. I would bring you with me, were it advisable. But as it is not—" he lifts a hand to Hob's face, touches him in the gentlest caress "—I will bid you farewell, and promise to return as soon as is feasible."

Hob places his own hand over Dream's, holds it there as he leans into it. "I'll be waiting, dove. Be safe."

Dream makes no reply, just gazes at him tenderly, leans in until his forehead rests against Hob's. He tangles his fingers with Hob's, splays them behind his neck and tilts in slowly until their lips meet.

It is soft, sweet, short, this kiss; and then another, a gentle farewell before Dream draws back. His hand drops from Hob's face but Hob can't quite let go, following it down, clinging; he is full to the brim with a dozen different emotions and all he wants to do is kiss Dream again, so deeply and so thoroughly that Dream will still taste him long after they've parted, will carry his love with him on whatever this errand is and know that Hob is waiting faithfully for his return.

He's leaning back in already, helpless in the face of this desire, but redirects at the last second, planting a soft kiss on Dream's cheek instead. He won't demand more than was given, not when Dream has duty weighing heavy on his mind, not when Dream has shown such consideration in making sure to take his leave. He is respectful of Dream's time and Dream's responsibilities and he will not do anything to make Dream think otherwise.

But Dream's eyes flash as Hob draws back, and then Dream has seized Hob's bicep and yanked him back in, is kissing him soundly. Hob can't help a delighted smile, at that, but it's quickly lost in the fierce parting of Dream's lips, the yearning wanting lament of his fervent mouth, and Hob loses himself in returning the sentiment.

That. That is a proper kiss goodbye, Hob very carefully does not say aloud, blinking as Dream lets him go.

"Until I return, devoted mine," Dream breathes, the stars in his eyes blazing, and steps back.

"I'll be waiting," Hob says again, the 'as long as it takes' and 'I'll miss you' and 'I love you' unspoken.

Dream smiles, the tiny kitten-soft smile that Hob knows is just for him, and takes his leave.

Hob stays, beneath the twining ivy and the curtains of clinging wisteria, and watches him go, the music of the crickets rising gently in his wake.

= Drafted: 2/17/24 Posted: 2/17/24

Why did I pick wisteria? Gosh I'm so glad you asked! Because it's pretty, and it made for lovely visuals. BUT then I looked up meanings also, and serendipitously I found:

1. Purple wisteria symbolizes royalty and undying devotion or love that transcends time 2. Victorians would include a cluster of delicate purple blossoms in their bouquets when they wanted to send a message of overwhelming desire and passion. In particular, the Wisteria was considered to say “I cling to you” as it would cling to the branches of other trees. Wisteria sends such a strong message of romance in most cultures that they’re usually best used for declarations of devotion or for wedding arrangements. 3. Wisteria—Welcome; Meeting you means so much to me 4. Wisteria gives a symbolic representation of beauty, love, long life and immortality, grace, bliss, honour, patience, endurance, longevity, releasing burdens, victory over hardships.

(There are relevant meanings to the the ivy (fidelity, everlasting life) and the willow (flexibility, adaptation) as well)

Sources: 1 2 3 4

#TJs Fics #TJs Fluffbruary #Fluffbruary 2024 #Sandman #Dreamling

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magnusbae · 2 years

Text

Dreamling - A Boon Granted - 535w

Hob finally asks for a boon. 😌

▾▾▾

"Dream?" Hob calls, getting the attention of one beautiful pale creature back to him. His eyes are pale blue, speckled with barely visible white spots, an entire galaxy reflected in the calm gaze.

"Yes Hob?" he asks, purrs really. He's always good mooded after a good shag.

"Remember that boon you've offered me?" Hob asks, noticing the way Dream's shoulder line tenses, the way he seems to breathe slower, eyes narrowing just a fraction.

"Yes." his answer is slow, calculated. His lips purse just a touch. "I remember."

He's so guarded. Hob knows why, may Roderick Burgess rot in hell, that old wanker.

"May I wash your hair?" Hob asks, his voice relaxed, hoarser after the love they just shared.

A flinch of Dream's eyebrows, the eyes narrowing a fraction more, his lips parting for a second. Oh, he is baffled. Hob can tell.

Hob lifts himself up to lean on his elbow, gazing down at Dream, beautifully contrasting the black satin sheets. (Smartest purchase, right smart of him.)

"Is that the boon you seek?" Dream speaks first when it's evident Hob is not about to elaborate.

"Yes." the answer comes with an easy smile. His eyes wrinkling with fondness.

"I am not certain you understand the concept of a boon." Dream sounds like he is contemplating whatever he should be amused or not.

"I think I do." Hob shrugs with one shoulder, reaching a hand to Dream's perpetually disheveled hair. "I ask you something..." he says the word slowly "... and you grant me my wish." he chuckles at the shadow of a pout that passes on Dream's face, no longer tense, he just looks bewildered by him. Good.

"It is to be what you'd use your boon on, Hob Gadling, washing hair that needs no washing?" Dream aims for stern, but it's clear from the way his lips are twitching upwards, the lightness of his eyes, that he is smitten by the idea.

Whatever his feelings of showers are, he enjoys the thought of it being all Hob asks for.

"You understand that there would be no second boon." Dream is almost smiling now, voice deep, smooth. "Yes?"

Well, that and perhaps a little bit of shower snog, Hob thinks idly. He's certain that this being would oblige, he is a gracious God, after all.

Despite Dream's insistence of being no God, Hob finds it hard to see much difference.

He is a God to him, would have been even if he wasn't one, if he was only a man of flash and blood. In his bed, as he is, he's God.

"Oh yes" Hob remembers to breathe a reply, leaning in to kiss willing lips, smiling lips.

Dream is humming under him, a satisfied purr of a sound. Dream's arms wrap around him and pull him on top of himself.

He likes it, Hob noticed, being pressed down like this.

Naturally, he doesn't keep any of his weight off of Dream when he lies down on him.

"Very well." Dream agrees, sounding a touch breathless already "Your boon shall be granted, Hob Gadling." his nails drag across exposed skin, following the shivers his voice set.

Hob is indeed a man of good fortune.

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th3archivist · 12 hours

Text

Thinking about Dream and Hob again!! It's dreamling week so my previous posts are getting attention and that has reinstated my feelings about them. Therefor, lil ficlet I'm making up as I go because they are very sweet

A week after meeting his mysterious stranger for the first time in far too long, Hob is still giddy with happiness. His students see it, he knows, and it's impacting how well his lectures go, but he can't bring himself to care.

His thoughts keep drifting to that smile, the damn smile that erased any and all resentment he may have felt for being stood up in 1989.

So naturally, his dreams have drifted in a more positive, if dark and mysterious, direction. He dreams of his stranger almost every night, whether he remembers it or not. The times he does remember lighten his step for hours on end, contentment buzzing in his heart every time he remembers that his stranger said they would meet again soon.

And meet again soon they do, although not how Hob envisioned it.

He had picked up lucid dreaming quite a while ago, so any dreams he had tended to be a reflection of whatever he had thought about before bed. This time is no different.

The bed underneath him is warm and soft, the stranger in his arms relaxed and smiling. They're both still dressed, unlike some other dreams Hob has had, but he's content with that. The closeness is enough, more than enough.

Conversation isn't particularly prevalent in these dreams, the man and the miracle happy in the quiet moments they carve out for themselves. The few sentences they do exchange are ones Hob treasures more than the life he so cherishes. This time is no different.

Really, Hob should've caught on sooner.

Brown eyes gaze into diamond that had softened into coal, and his stranger spoke.

"You still do not know my name, Hob Gadling."

Hob tilts his head.

"No. You've always seemed a bit beyond names." He smiles, a similar tug pulling at his dear stranger's lips.

"Dream." The man murmurs, a vulnerability Hob hasn't seen before painting the words with light. Confused, Hob chuckles.

"Yes, I'm quite aware I'm dreaming."

His stranger shakes his head.

"My name, Hob."

Hob blinks.

Then narrows his eyes and sits up.

"Wait, I'm dreaming. So did my brain just... make up a name for you? I mean, it fits, but it's not real, is it?" His confusion only amplifies when he sees the amusement in his stranger's - Dream's? - eyes. "What?"

"There is no such thing as 'just a dream', Hob. This isn't imaginary, I'd have thought you knew that by now."

Before Hob can formulate a response, Dream leans up and presses their mouths together gently.

The smile he gives Hob is so fond that his heart hurts. What hurts more, however, is the sound of his alarm as it jerks him from his slumber.

Needless to say, the next time Hob Gadling will dream of his Dream, he will have very many questions.

#let me know what you think #I haven't written these two in a while so I have no clue if it's as in character as I think it is #but anyway this is my contribution #I hope you enjoyed #dreamhob #dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #dream x hob #dreamling week 2024 #the sandman #fic post #fluff #tooth rotting fluff #this was so much fun #short but sweet

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lord-morpheus-ravens · 1 year

Note

32. markets - for the soft prompts 💖

Hello! Thank you for being my first ever prompt in this fandom, ahah! Let's set this somewhere after the end of the first season...

The market was quiet when they finally reached it; subdued, in the way of half-asleep things, bright orange and deep blue, already wrapped up in the shadows of the twilight. Few were the people still perusing the stalls, and many a seller had already begun to pack up. It was in times like this, at the threshold between day and night, that the Waking most resembled the Dreaming -its contours were gentled, its sharpness held at bay by the last rays of the setting sun, its roaring crowds reduced to a handful of stragglers, hurrying home for dinner.

Dream watched the dwindling human activity for a few moments as Hob Gadling led him around the little hidden square, seemingly searching for something. Their shoulders brushed, just barely, with every odd step, and each touch (likely unvoluntary on Hob's part) pressed a breath of warmth on Dream's perpetually cold corporeal manifestation. It was... not unwelcome.

"Have I kept you from your chores?" Dream questioned, turning just so to try and meet Hob's eyes, fixed as they were on the closing stalls. "Perhaps you would have preferred coming here earlier."

Earlier, Dream had manifested into Hob's pleasantly cluttered living room, because he had found himself wanting for company and with no pressing duties to attend to; and his friend had gotten over the fright surprisingly quickly, and, accomodating as ever, had put on the kettle for tea, and offered him sweet biscuits and idle chatter and all of his space, his time, his things.

It occurred to Dream now that it was not considered polite in human society to show up unannounced to someone else's place. "I will endeavour to send word beforehand, the next time I visit."

Hob gave him an absent-minded hum and shook his head. "It's fine, dove, I didn't mind, feel free to pop in whenever," he said, and circled Dream's arm around his own so they could be of one pace, hurrying to the other end of the emptied out space. His hair, awash in the blueish light of the growing evening, looked especially soft, and Dream had to blink himself out fixing on the heavy strands, so rich and inviting. "Besides, I know you're not very fond of crowds, so..."

It was unnerving, to be so effortlessly known. But then, when it came to this particular man, to be known was to be cared for. Strange and new, Hob's stubborn crusade to make a person out of him, the way he was constantly asking after Dream's opinions, after his needs, working off the unprecedented assumption that one such as an Endless even had needs... The tension that had snapped his spine straight melted at the first hint of a smile from Hob, and as Dream allowed himself the luxory of slouching just so (just so their bodies slid a little bit closer) he contemplated the wealth of affection given freely and without reserve, and wondered.

They strolled through the quiet marketplace, all the way to the very last stand, which was, in truth, not a stand at all, but an upturned crate, a parasol and a single young woman sitting on a folding chair, who waved at Hob rather cheerfully. "Professor! I wasn't sure you'd make it in time!"

"Told you I would, my dear," Hob replied with an easy grin. Without relinquishing his hold on Dream, he leaned in to inspect the little basket on the crate. "This is Morpheus, a very old friend. Morpheus, meet Nira, one of my first graduates."

They exchanged a polite nod.

Hob huffed, giving Dream's arm a gentle squeeze. "So... Are there any left?" he asked, and then he pulled Dream in, until he was forced to bend over. "Come on, have a look."

Inside the basket were two kittens, fluffed up and fuzzy, curled one around the other as they slept swaddled in an old blanket. One bright orange, the other dappled black, they could not be older than a couple of months; as he did all dreaming beings, he knew them, that they were warm and sleepy but had been frightened earlier. That they missed their mother, and the little sisters that had been adopted earlier in the afternoon.

"My landlord is evicting them," said Nira, perhaps picking up on his consternation. "Old man was fine with one cat, not five."

Hob smiled at Dream and tapped his free hand on the basket, carefully, so the kittens didn't even stir. "I was thinking of getting a cat," he explained. "Do you want to pick one?"

Dream pursed his lips; he glanced at the two siblings, then back at his friend, his open expression, his arm that was still wrapped around Dream's own. "They would be happier together," he said, because it was true, and because surely, surely, Hob would refuse him.

Hob's smile widened, sweet in the way it brought out the lines at the corners of his eyes, and he shrugged. "Alright then, what's one more?" he mused, and turned back toward his former student. "We'll take them both. And the basket, I suppose."

#dreamling #my writing #vale writes #the sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dream x hob #soft asks

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seiya-starsniper · 5 months

Note

I am drinking and I saw the drunken love prompts. So i have to send you one.

Hobrinthian. Number 10!

10 - "I love you. But that's a secret. So I won't tell you about it."

Ooooo friend, this one got a bit angsty, I hope you're ready for it! 😄

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

Alcohol, the Corinthian thinks, is quite possibly the greatest invention humanity has ever come up with.

Though his body may not require food or drink from the Waking World for nourishment, the Corinthian is a creature that is built to consume, and he has consumed all manner of things in the time he has walked amongst humans. And oh, he so very much enjoys the heady warmth that courses through his veins when he drinks a particularly old bottle of wine, or a well distilled bourbon.

That heady warmth, however, is nothing when compared to how the Corinthian burns when Hob Gadling kisses him.

It’s late in the evening, and they’re both flush with the afterglow of a fine whiskey the immortal keeps on the shelf of The New Inn just for him, laughing and giggling as they kiss noisily against the front door of Hob’s flat. It’s a cold winter’s night, but the Corinthian is warm against the heat of Hob’s body, so much that he thinks he may burn up with it if he doesn’t get his clothes off fast enough.

Despite that, the Corinthian is also considering just dropping to his knees and blowing Hob right against the door. It wouldn’t be the first time, or even the second time that they’ve done it, and Hob’s loud moans are always drowned out by the lively chatter and ambiance in the pub below. They’ve only been interrupted once, accidentally even, by a drunken patron looking for the pub’s bathroom. The stairway upstairs is otherwise completely hidden from the public.

But before the nightmare can put his plan into action, Hob turns and manages to unlock the door on his first try, to both their surprises. As soon as he turns the knob, the Corinthian doesn’t waste any time pushing Hob through the threshold and bullying him against the nearest flat surface, which happens to be the wall opposite the coat rack in the foyer. The nightmare ruts himself greedily against Hob’s hips, swallowing the immortal’s moans as their shared arousals press together. Hob grips the Corinthian’s hips, hard and possessive, right before he delivers a vicious bite to the side of his neck around where an artery would be, if the nightmare had them. It’s hot. It’s perfect. The Corinthian just knows the sex is going to be fantastic tonight.

Naturally, this is the point where everything goes completely sideways.

“I love you,” Hob slurs into the hollow of the Corinthian’s neck, his tongue soothing at the point where he bit down on the blond’s throat. “But shhhh, it’s a secret, don’t tell,” he adds with a giggle.

The Corinthian feels a dull roar rushing through his ears once his alcohol-addled brain fully comprehends Hob’s words. I love you. I love you. I love you.

They’ve been sleeping together for a while now (276 days, his stupid mind supplies), and Hob had never hidden the fact that he was incredibly fond of the nightmare. But love? That was different. Different enough to stop the Corinthian’s movements all together and just stare.

“Cori?” Hob asks when he notices the sudden change in the nightmare’s demeanor. The Corinthian immediately shakes off his nerves, and practically slams Hob into the wall with how forcefully he kisses him. He slots his thigh between the immortal’s legs and grinds his knee upwards into the other man’s erection, swallowing every moan and gasp with his tongue.

I love you.

The Corinthian growls and delivers his own vicious bite to the immortal’s neck, lower than where Hob had bit him, because Hob still needs to be able to hide marks. His semester wasn’t over for a few more weeks, the nightmare knew, and since when had the Corinthian ever cared about propriety, let alone trying to accommodate someone else’s?

I love you.

“And how am I supposed to keep a secret from myself, Hob?” the Corinthian asks, when Hob is gasping for air and writhing helplessly beneath him. His voice is teasing and light when he speaks, but internally, the nightmare is grasping for the last shreds of his self control.

I love you.

“...Huh,” Hob says, slowly blinking as he considers the blond’s words. His eyes are still glazed over from the alcohol, and the Corinthian wonders if the immortal truly understands the gravity of his confession at all. His expression gives away nothing and the Corinthian wants to shake him and ask him why. Why now? Why at all? Why him?

“Y’know, I didn’t think that far ahead,” Hob finally answers, giving him a lopsided grin. “But you’re good with secrets, so you’ll figure something out.”

The Corinthian huffs and then shuts his eyes, taking a breath.It’s okay. It’s fine. He doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t mean it. Hob’s probably so drunk he won’t even remember any of this in the morning and they can pretend it never happened. Because the Corinthian will make himself forget it.

I love you.

“Cori?” Hob asks, breaking the nightmare out of his thoughts. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

The Corinthian responds with another hard kiss, and grabs Hob by the front of his stupid flannel shirt that looks too good on him, and dragging the immortal down the hall to the bedroom. He’s determined to continue their night as planned, and he’s not about to let something as ridiculous as a love confession get in the way of the good night he was planning to have.

I love you. ---------

The sex, as always, is so good the Corinthian forgets his own name through his orgasm.

Hob Gadling really was a man who didn’t live his life by halves. The Corinthian has had many bed partners over the centuries, but none of them had spent centuries perfecting the craft like Hob did.

The Corinthian collapses on the bed, breathing heavily as he basks in the afterglow while Hob grabs some tissues from the nightstand and wipes them both down, before rolling over to lie on his back next to the Corinthian. He shuts his eyes and sighs contentedly, and the Corinthian knows it won’t be long before he falls asleep.

When he feels fully present in his own body and able to move his limbs again, the Corinthian stands and starts pulling together his clothes so he can get back to the Dreaming. Dream may let him go out into the Waking these days, but that didn’t mean the Corinthian could stay the night or anything.

“Where’re you going?” Hob asks, before he reaches out to grip the Corinthian’s wrist. “Stay.”

The Corinthian feels a lump in his throat. He can’t stay. He can’t.

“I’ve never stayed before, you know that,” he replies. “Boss won’t let me.”

“But I love you,” Hob says, his voice practically a whine, and the Corinthian doesn’t have a heart, not like a human does, but if he did, he thinks it’d be thumping in rapidfire motion at the immortal’s words. He almost can feel the ghost of it, the deadly combination of adrenaline, fear and affection all at once.

He needs to get out of here.

“Good night Hob,” the Corinthian says, touching the immortal’s forehead. Hob’s eyes widen before they glaze over completely, and within moments the immortal’s eyes shut as his body gives in completely to sleep. It’s not a power the Corinthian was meant to have, and he knows Dream will have his skull if he realizes that he knows how to use it, but that’s a problem to worry about later.

As he’s stepping back into the Dreaming, the Corinthian suddenly remembers a phrase he used to hear Dream say quite often when he was still married to Calliope, and the meaning of it hits him like a freight train when he realizes he has the cap of the emptied whiskey bottle from earlier that night in his pocket.

In vino fucking veritas indeed.

#the sandman #hobrinthian #the corinthian #hob gadling #sandman fanfic #seiya writes #seiya writes hobrinthian

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gabessquishytum · 3 months

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Morpheus Endless has never had much expectations from his life: he is a third child, so he has always known he'd never ascend his father's throne. Besides, he's an omega, which makes him merely a commodity. He has never been fond of his life at home, his parents ignoring him and his siblings too lost in their own misery and shenanigans, but he was cautious of his prospects, for he has always realized how much he'd be dependent on his future spouse. For once, gods seem to smile at him because Morpheus gets suddenly betrothed to King Robert Gadling, ruler of the neighboring lands. Robert has a reputation as a fair king, although Morpheus finds it very alarming and disappointing that he keeps slaves and that slavery is a norm in his kingdom in general. Still, everyone knows that Robert treated his wife Eleanor with respect despite the fact that she was an omega, and this gives Morpheus hope. What Morpheus doesn't know is that his future alpha has no desire to get married again. He simply has to. His beloved queen died as a result of ectopic pregnancy, and he still needs an heir. And better an heir and a spare. Robert agrees to the union with the Endless dynasty: in fact, that's an incredibly fortunate deal for his kingdom because his neighbors are way more powerful and rich. But for him, it's nothing but a business agreement. That's why Robert is taken aback when he finally meets his fiancé at the wedding: Prince Morpheus is ethereally beautiful. Robert falls in love at first sight and hates himself for it because it feels like he's betraying the memory of Eleanor. He's perfectly polite to his new husband, albeit cold and neglectful, and Morpheus can't figure out what he has done to displease his alpha: he is well aware of many faults of his character, but he really tried to be on his best behavior, and besides, they barely interacted at all. Robert gets drunk at the wedding. Morpheus waits for him till dawn, but he doesn't come to consummate the marriage. He continues to ignore Morpheus' existence till his omega goes into heat, and that's when Robert can no longer deny the pull and longing. And he does need an heir. Morpheus' heat is everything they both ever wanted, days and nights spent in tender lovemaking, and Morpheus dares to hope that from now on, it is going to be different...but once his heat has run its course, he wakes up alone and heartbroken. Shortly after, they find out that Morpheus is pregnant. Robert is excited and torn apart between his feelings for his mate and his love for the memory of Eleanor. He doesn't know what to do, so he does nothing. He only realizes what a fool he has been when Morpheus goes into labor, and it turns out that the baby is not well positioned. Morpheus spends two days in labor, and there are serious fears that neither he nor the baby would make it. Morpheus is barely alive by the end of the ordeal, but he miraculously gives birth to a healthy baby boy - Robyn. He himself is seriously ill, though, and in fever. Robert never leaves his side and prays to every god that his mate will survive so they can have a second chance. He is ready to do anything to make Morpheus happy, from abolishing slavery that his mate resents so much to pandering to his every whim.

OOO this is such a great outline for a story!! You can definitely see both perspectives here. Hob didn't want to remarry, he's traumatised, he feels so many things and everything is moving so quickly. Meanwhile Morpheus is in a completely new place with new people, knowing that he has a duty to fulfil, trying his best... only to find that nothing he does is enough for his new husband.

Morpheus even understands that his pregnancy must be a huge trigger for Hob, so he does his best not to mention it at all. He even hides the bump under draping clothes so his husband won't be reminded of his condition. Hob wavers between spending time with Morpheus and ignoring him for days. He forgets that Morpheus is going through this for the first time, essentially alone.

The traumatic labour does at least snap Hob out of his selfishness. He refuses to leave Morpheus even during the worst, when they think the omega might die. After Robyn is born, Hob takes care of him personally, feeding him and holding him as much as possible, and spending the rest of his time at Morpheus’s bedside. He doesn't deserve his omega, he's well aware of that - but Morpheus deserves to live! And Hob wants a chance to love him, at the very least. He wants Morpheus so much he can hardly breathe. He'd thought it was silly that his omega cared so much about slavery - it's just what Hob’s kingdom has always done. But now Hob would give anything to talk to be Morpheus about it. To be guided by his mate's principles. They could build a better realm together.

When Morpheus wakes up, he's surprised to see his mate beside him, with their newborn baby snuggled up in the crook of his arm. Morpheus hardly recognises Hob. He looks tired and soft and his eyes are full of tenderness. Morpheus wearily asks for water and Hob personally helps him to drink, slow and careful.

Morpheus is sort of expecting a grovelling apology that he'll have to listen to and then he'll have to be the bigger person, to give Hob the balm of forgiveness... but that doesn't happen. Hob just. Does stuff. Instead of making promises. He nurses Morpheus through his recovery, and supports him as he starts to care for Robyn more each day. He brings matters of state and ideas to Morpheus’s attention and asks for his opinions. He sleeps beside Morpheus each night (not in the same bed, but in the same room) until he's finally invited to join his omega. He doesn't even mention sex until Morpheus brings it up. And it's only much later that Morpheus finds out that slavery was outlawed while he was sick.

It doesn't mean that Hob didn't make mistakes. But it does mean that he won't be repeating them. And that Morpheus can finally learn to trust him. He's happy to invite Hob to share his first heat after giving birth. There's no alpha he'd rather have.

And Eleanor's spirit is finally smiling down on them, instead of repeatedly smacking Hob around the head for his behaviour <33

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw omegaverse #cw mpreg #cw birth

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kydrogendragon · 4 months

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For Valentine's Day I think Daniel needs some love too. With Hob, of course, 29.

Daniel does need some love! Thank you for the request, nonny!!

Pairing: Dreamling 2.0 Words: 1039 Warnings: None Ao3 Link Here

It’s been a year since Hob dreamed of his friend’s funeral. It’s been a year since he woke up, having had way too much cheap ale in a run down building at a ren faire only to have Death show up and confirm that it was all true. It hurt. At first. How could it not after all? His dearest friend, the man he’d loved... he was gone.

But, apparently, not truly gone. That, too, took some getting used to. When the doors to the New Inn swung open to an unfamiliar face, but a very familiar presence, Hob didn’t know what to make of it. His friend — Daniel, as he know goes by — greeted him with a hesitancy he’d not seen on his friend before. He was younger, both in looks and in the way he carried himself. It was as if death stripped him down back to his youth, but with it, took all the confidence he used to carry.

It was a strange sight, to see the least.

But Hob told him to stay, to have a drink and to catch up. He told his friend that he’d missed him and his friend has smiled. So Hob talked. And his friend talked as well. More than he’d talked before. He learned of his function, of what he is — something Hob heard very little of in their meetings in the twenty-first century. In some ways, he knew this version of his stranger even more than he had his old one.

The fondness for him, Hob thinks, is also something unchanged.

Daniel sits on the couch beside him currently. They’ve retired up to his flat for the evening after enjoying some... well, we’ll say interesting poetry to be nice, down at the monthly poetry slam they hosted. Most were uni students. Hob even recognized a few faces, but it was nice. And guaranteed some business. Daniel had enjoyed it, given how intensely he’d been listening to each reading. Hob should have figured that, though. No matter what face he wore, he was always a sucker for the arts.

“So I said, ‘If Sarah thinks she’s so much better at reading in Middle English, then she can come and say it to my face!’” Hob recalls, pointing his glass out for emphasis. Daniel smiles, reclined along the length of the couch, their legs just barely touching. Hob tries to not think about that too hard, though. “Of course, that led to talk between the departments and next thing you know, we’re swapping out our lunch break for a Middle English face off. And you know what the worst thing was?”

Daniel hums in curiosity.

“They had the audacity to say that she won! Her! I think it was a setup. There were far more English professors among the votes than History professors. I think it was rigged.” Daniel swirls his own glass of wine — another difference, he’s seen. Daniel will drink. And eat, occasionally. He’s a propensity for chocolate covered biscuits, which Hob ensures to always have stocked.

“Are you so opposed to being bested?”

Hob scoffs. “Yeah, when it comes to matters of my native tongue, I am. You’ve no idea how close I was to screaming out how I should have won cause I bloody lived through it. Didn’t though, but God’s Wounds, was I ever tempted.”

Daniel chuckles. “You are a fool, Hob Gadling.” There’s affection in his voice that stirs something within his chest. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the way he looks at him from over his wine glass with those breath-taking star eyes of his. They’re green, usually. When there’s other around. But here? Just the two of them? They become like the night sky, but the night sky of old. Where the closer you look, the more stars you can see. No light pollution, just the heavens above.

“Hob?” Daniel’s a lot close than he used to be. Oh... That’s because he moved. He was no longer leaning back against the arm of the couch but was now hunched over his knees, peering up at his friend.

“I’m your fool,” he whispers, his vision consumed in the inky darkness of his friend’s eyes. Hob can feel his heartbeat quicken as his eyes flick down to Daniel’s lips. They part, ever so slightly and there has been nothing more that Hob has ever wanted to do than to lean forward and press his mouth against them.

“Hob…” Daniel’s voice was strangled.

“I meant it, by the way. Still do.” He looks up, away from the rosy lips and back to his friend’s eyes. “I know we never really... talked about it before. You’re not much of a talker. Even less back before, but.” Hob sighs and leans back so he feels less like he’s cramming into his friend’s space. He watches and Daniel sets his glass down on the coffee table beside them. Hob mimics the movement with his own drink.

“Listen, I don’t expect you to reciprocate or anything like that. Never did, I just... I wanted you to know. That you were loved, even if it was just by me. So, just in case it wasn’t clear before, I— that love didn’t end with him, you know. It belongs to you too.”

Daniel is silent and still. Almost eerily so to the point where Hob has to look away because the longer the silence goes, the more worries he grows. It shouldn’t be anything new, just reiterated. Reassured. But when Hob glances back up and there are tears in his friend’s eyes, he’s beginning to wonder if somehow that memory didn’t transfer.

Finally, his friend moves. Slowly, he reaches out, a lithe hand brushes against his chin, raising his face. "I was the fool, before. For not accepting your affections as the gifts they were. I was afraid. But now..."

Hob’s eyes widen as Daniel leans in closer and closer. His eyes fall close as a pair of plush, warm lips brush against his own. He all but sobs as he wraps his arms around his friend, pulling him as close as possible. When they break, Hob pants, his face red. Daniel, looking perfect as ever, says, "Now, I am not."

#dreamling #dream of the endless #the sandman #hob gadling #daniel hall #ky writes #valentine's day prompts

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immacaria · 1 year

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Fluffbruary: February 3 - Coast

Tags: Outsider’s POV; retired!Dream au (kinda); Canon Divergence; Fluff;

There is a little house at the coast, on top of a cliff and the people say that there lives an old witch and his companion. They live their lives quietly, keeping most to themselves, and go down to the village when they really need to. They are good neighbours, friendly with the kids, respectful with the others and, when someone needs help, their door is open all the time for everyone, tea waiting at the table and biscuits in the oven.

One of them, the witch, is tall and pale, lean muscles covering his bones and blue eyes that seem to know anyone's secrets. He says his name is Dream Gadling, a joke he and his siblings had that had gone too far, but more than once the villagers saw strangers call him Lord Morpheus, Oneiros, Lord Shaper and Dream of the Endless. He is strange, but he is kind and his stories help to keep the kids' eyes shining and their laughs loud.

The other one, the companion, is smaller than the witch, but his shoulders are broader and darker than him. His eyes are brown and warmer like honey, surrounded by crinkles that appear every time he smiles. If you ask him for his name, he will say it's Robert Gadling, but insist you call him only Robby because Robert was my father, only the witch called him Hob and their strange visitors called him Hope.

No one really knows when or why they arrived at the shore. One day they weren't there and the other they just appeared, no explanations, no trucks being unloaded. They had just popped into the abandoned house and never left.

Not that the village minds. They are a happy old couple who like to walk on the coast, hand in hand, and tend to the massive garden around their house. It was not unusual to see them walking on the sand, Hob leaning down every now and then to collect seashells and look at particularly interesting whirls of sand and Dream looking out to the sea, eyes closing when the wind surrounded him as if kissing his flushed cheeks.

The people they once helped, the teenagers they welcomed into their home say they are kind and love each other very much. It’s visible in the way they look at each other when they think the other doesn’t notice, the fond look on their eyes that tell them they passed through a lot together and still came out on the other side together and in love. In the way they treat each other, almost as if they know what goes in the other’s mind without having to ask. In this way they are never too far apart from each other, a touch away from each other all the time.

Even when Dream is watering the plants, Hob sitting down in one of the garden’s benches, they don’t look apart from each other, eyes crossing every few minutes. They are the type of couple that always knows where the other is without having to search, the one who spent so many years together that they know every quirk, every sound, every breath the other makes. The type of couple that almost doesn’t exist anymore, the type that stuck together through everything and now is simply looking for a quiet place to rest.

Sometimes, when life goes too quiet, strange visitors appear at the village, looking for the witch and his companion. Too tall women and men with teeth in the place of the eyes parade through the village, following the unpaved road that led straight to their house. They, like the ones they visit, are gentle with the villagers, not minding the questions only small children have the courage to ask.

“Are you a fairy?” Young John asks the dark woman with pointy ears and a raven on her shoulder. The woman smiles and nods, patting him in the head before following the road to where Dream waits for her. At night, sweets and a book full of fairy stories appears in his room without anyone putting them there.

“Can you see with those teeth?” Young Amelia says to the blonde man with teeth for eyes when his sunglasses fall one morning.

“I can,” the man says, hands stopping in the middle way of putting his sunglasses on.

“Don’t they hurt?” Amelia says, her little hand coming up to caress his cheek.

“No, I was made like this,” he whispers, voice almost too soft and eyes closed for a moment. “Are you not afraid of me, little girl?”

“No, not really,” She shrugs and, in a bold movement, kisses his forehead and smiles before adding: “I think you are beautiful and kind, actually,” the strange man stares at her for a moment before smiling and nodding, putting his glasses back on and getting up.

“You are kind, little girl, never change,” he says and leaves, a smile on his face as he walks to the old house on the top of the cliff. From that day and on, all the nightmares Amelia has weren't truly scary, but rather comforting and gentle.

“What are you?” Young Adam inquires one time, eyebrows furrowed and looking up to the new visitor. The person in front of him is tall and could be mistaken for a man and a woman at the same time. “Woman or man?”

“Both, none, woman, man or whatever you think I am, boy,” they say, golden eyes staring at him as they kneel in front of me. “What do you think I am, young Adam?”

“Beautiful as fuck,” He says and the being’s laugh could be heard minutes after they went away, the shock of Adam’s parents forever engraved on their memories. When Adam grows up, his beauty is unmatched and almost everything he desires he conquers.

There are ones that appear more than others, like the little being with colourful hair that talks alone and appears like a different person every time or the tall, albino man with long clothes or the women with pointy ears and the black women with an ankh around her neck and black clothes. Still, most of the time, it is just the two of them, together in that big house on the top of the cliff, and living one day after the other happy and in peace.

#dreamling #fluffbruary #fluffbruary 2023 #my writing #macca writes #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dream x hob #fluff #the corinthian #lucienne sandman #death of the endless #desire of the endless #delirium of the endless #dreamling nation

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7-wonders · 2 years

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Lately I’ve been obsessed with the thought of you and Dream being in this passionate relationship when you’re in the Dreaming. You’re both completely (perfectly, incandescently) in love with each other, his subjects all adore you, the topic of marriage has even been broached a couple of times. You’ve been trying to convince him to come and visit you in the Waking; yes, you know that after the Burgess affair, Morpheus is hesitant to leave his realm. But you’d love more than anything to have him with you in your realm and his. “My waking life is so boring without you,” you frequently tell him.

And then you wake up. And who among us actually remembers their dreams when they wake up? If you do remember, it’s just distant memories upon first waking before consciousness fully invades and wipes those dreams away. When you get up and start your day, you don’t remember that you’re in love with the King of Dreams and Nightmares.

Sometimes you’ll remember certain flashes of dreams you’ve had. The feeling of soft skin under your fingertips, or the way that the sun shines on an unruly mop of black hair. Your head in someone’s lap, or the lingering feelings of pure happiness. Just a nice dream, you tell yourself when those random snippets float through your mind. A really nice dream.

In your waking hours, nothing in your life has changed to clue you in on the fact that you’re basically living a double life, half of which you have no memory of. Sure, your quality of sleep has greatly increased, and you find yourself going to bed earlier for reasons you’re not quite sure of. Besides that and the sudden appearance of crows (ravens, maybe; you’re not an ornithologist) wherever you go, everything is the same.

In your Dreaming life, however, Morpheus has finally given in to your requests for him to come see you. Since his one and only friend Hob Gadling was so pleased to see him for the first time in 100+ years when he appeared in front of him at The New Inn, he thinks it’ll be a great idea to surprise you the same way by meeting you at the coffee shop you like to work in.

Though he’s cool and nonchalant on the outside, Morpheus is eager on the inside. You just look so radiant in your element, head down as you read something at a table with one hand loosely clasped around the cup you’re drinking from. He approaches the table with his hands shoved in his pockets, coming to a stop in front of the empty chair facing you. “Is this seat taken?” he asks.

He’s expecting you to grin at him at the very least, maybe even jump up and wrap him in a hug like you’re always so fond of. What he doesn’t expect is the small smile that you force onto your face and the complete lack of recognition in your eyes as you begrudgingly say, “Uh, no?”

You must be teasing him, Morpheus thinks. That’s the only reason why you’re looking like you’re trying to remember if you’ve seen him before. When he sits down and reaches for your hand on the table, only for you to jerk it back, he realizes something is wrong.

“Sorry,” you say, “do I know you?”

Oh, something is seriously wrong.

Update 12/7/22: This has been turned into a two-shot! Part one is linked here, and part two will be posted soon!

#morpheus imagine #morpheus x reader #morpheus #dream of the endless imagine #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless #the sandman imagine #the sandman

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