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valiantstarlights · 1 year

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Chef Hob's family and the food truck's origin story

Hob is half-English and half-Indian. His father, Mr. Gadling, is from London. His mother, Mrs. Dandekar-Gadling, is from Mumbai. Hob was born in the UK.

Unfortunately, Hob was orphaned at an early age. And since his father had no remaining living relatives, (his paternal grandparents died a long time ago and his father was an only child), Hob was taken in by his maternal uncle's family in Mumbai.

His uncle, Sanyam Dandekar, is the current head of the family-owned and operated restaurant in Mumbai. It's small but thriving, and is well-regarded in the community. As the restaurant is on the ground floor of the building where the Dandekar family live, it's hard to escape the tantalizing smell of food wafting constantly from below.

It's from Sanyam that Hob learns to love food, to cook well, and to love making people happy through his cooking.

His aunt, Priya, always encourages him to go after his dreams. She was there for him every step of the way when he applied for a scholarship to go to a fancy culinary school in the UK. When he was accepted, she was the first person he told the news to, and she was so proud of him that she immediately called up her friends to share the good news with them. (Hob had had to endure maybe half a dozen aunties trying to introduce him to their daughters and nieces.)

His female cousins, Kala and Daya, love Hob very much and treat him as their older brother.

Kala has always been very intelligent even as a child, and she got bullied for it at school. Hob was quick to put an end to that and told her to reach even higher so she can leave everyone in the ground while she sails among the stars. Kala shyly told him she would build a spaceship for their entire family so she wouldn't have to sail the stars alone.

Daya was the more easy-going sister. She tried her best to teach Hob to dance, and never made fun of him even when he eventually accepted that he had two left feet. When she was rejected by a boy who told her she was so ugly that she'll never find anyone who'll love her, Hob got in trouble for beating the shit out of him, but he has no regrets about it. (Kala did not get in trouble for setting the boy's schoolbag on fire because she didn't get caught.)

Hob was so afraid when he found out that he was bisexual, but his family accepted him and treated him the same as they always did. His aunt Priya even promised not to matchmake him with anyone even though he's such a catch. They'll all just wait and see who he brings home. No judgment or pressure whatsoever.

He misses them fiercely when he gets to the UK. Especially when Kala gets married and he couldn't travel back because he had back-to-back exams, both theoretical and practical.

Still, he pushes himself to study hard, graduates with distinction, and eventually becomes a professional chef at a fancy hotel.

Hob's family are very proud of him and always call him to tell him so. Daya begs him to return and cook for them. Hob says he's still saving up enough vacation days. Rajan, Kala's husband and the current CEO of a major pharmaceutical company, offers to pay for his transportation. He graciously accepts because he's not an idiot.

After a couple of years, he finally accumulated enough vacation days to travel back to India for a long visit. The first thing he did is to cook a feast for his family (which now includes Rajan). He cooks traditional Indian food as well as food from other countries that he thinks they'll like.

(He adjusts the recipes to fit into their religion-based dietary restrictions, and adjusts some more when some ingredients are not readily available. He's a professional chef, after all.)

Daya is all about the taiyaki. Kala is in love with the vegetable lumpia. Rajan has strategically rearranged the dishes on the table so the plate of jollof rice is always close to him. Priya asks him to give his uncle his recipe for the vegetable moussaka. Sanyam is in tears because of how proud he is of Hob and how delicious everything is. He tells Hob that when he dies (far, far into the future), Hob is welcome to take over the restaurant.

Hob spends most of his time in India in the restaurant's kitchen with his uncle, and they experiment and add new things to the menu. Hob gets to talk to customers he's known ever since he was a child. They are all very proud of him and sing praises for the restaurant's new menu items.

Hob leaves India a month later with a much lighter heart.

When he returns to being a chef in the fancy hotel though, he finds that he is increasingly frustrated and unsatisfied. He feels like he should be happy and grateful. Instead he feels burned out.

He calls Kala, who is the closest to him age-wise, for advice. She simply asks him, "What do you want?"

He sighs and says, "I thought I wanted to be a chef. But now that I am one, I feel lost."

Silence. Then Kala says, "May I say something potentially controversial and not have you hang up on me?"

Hob chuckles and tells her to go ahead and say what she needs to say. In fact, maybe he needs to hear the potentially controversial thing to snap him out of this wretched state.

"I don't think you really want to be a chef."

Wow. "So far, so bad. Go on."

"No, listen: you have always loved cooking for us. You and dad. It's how you show your love. But where you're working currently, it's like you're a machine. Day in and day out, you're just completing orders. How many times since you started working there did you go out of the kitchen to talk to the guests? How often do you get to experiment with new culinary creations without anyone trying to stifle your creativity?"

Kala's tone implied that she knew the answer. "You might say that it will get worse before it gets better, but will it really? If I ask you now what your happiest memory is of your workplace, what will you tell me?"

"I--" Hob clears his throat and blinks away the tears that had snuck up on him. "When the hotel called me to tell me they had accepted my application. I immediately called home and all of you were so proud of me. I even heard Uncle announcing it to the entire restaurant in the background."

"Oh, Hob..." And now Kala sounded like she was gonna cry too. "I wish I were there so I can give you a hug."

"Virtual hug accepted. Is that the end of your controversial pep talk or is there more?"

"I think that's enough controversial things for now," Kala says. "Rajan and I are going to London in a couple of weeks for pleasure. We should meet up so you can show us all the good spots to eat at and then we can talk more."

They said their goodbyes soon after. Hob spends a lot of time that night just looking at the ceiling, not wanting to go to work but inevitably has to when his alarm goes off.

Kala was right. Being a chef granted him all sorts of qualifications and symbolized that he is a master in the field, but he isn't in it for the title. His uncle isn't a professional chef, yet Hob wouldn't claim to surpass his skills. And between the two of them, he knows who the happier one is.

Rajan and Kala arrived with a couple of bodyguards named Vikram and Wolfgang. Hob remembers them from his visit to India. Vikram is as stoic as bodyguards come, but Wolfgang has a different, more dangerous kind of intensity.

Hob shows them all the good dining spots he has discovered over the years, and all five of them eat well.

It was during their outing that Hob notices the food vendors on the street. They look...happy. They work just as hard as the other chefs in the hotel, with the main difference being that the customers are right in front of them, and they get to see their reactions.

It was very heartwarming to see tourists trying the local street food and seeing their faces light up after their first bite.

At the end of the day, Hob tells Kala of his food truck idea. It's almost embarrassing how excited he sounds, but Kala is excited too. She grabs Rajan and tells him about it. Rajan grabs Wolfgang and asks him about it. Hob almost expects Wolfgang to grab Vikram too, but Vikram just looks on, looking amused.

In the end, Wolfgang shrugs and says it's doable, and just like that, they're drawing plans and trying to come up with names.

("What about 'Gadling's'?"

Kala hummed. "I guess...I mean, that is your name. No one can argue that."

"I feel like you just insulted me, my father, and my paternal ancestors."

"Hob, our family restaurant's name is Dandekar. We are all basic here.")

("Glad Tidings?"

Wolfgang huffed a laugh. "No, Rajan."

"I think it's a good name."

"I think you need to go to sleep. How many hours has it been since you slept? Forty-eight?"

"Are you the sleep police now, my wolf?"

"Kala, I'm taking Rajan to bed."

"Alright," Kala says distractedly. She is currently looking at the kitchen plans, specifically the stove set-up. "Have fun. Don't hog all the blankets."

Hob's eyebrows have migrated to the ceiling. He doesn't think they quite know what they let slip, but he isn't going to pry until they're ready to talk to him about it. He looks at Vikram to see his reaction, but the man just looks like this is a thing that happens often and isn't bothered in the slightest.)

They videocall six people all over the world--mutual friends, Kala says--and all of them put their heads rogether to make Hob's food truck idea into a reality.

Hob is overwhelmed by their support. Rajan has promised to fund everything if Hob lets him eat for free when he's in town. Sun from Korea seconds him and agrees to lend monetary support as well, and to help him expand to Korea if the venture is successful. Capheus, the matatu driver from Nairobi, is flying to London to help customize the food truck. If possible, he sounds even more excited than Hob himself. Nomi from San Francisco and Will from Chicago volunteers to get the papers and forms sorted. Actual famous actor Lito Rodriguez from Mexico promises to promote his foodtruck when he goes to London to shoot a movie.

"When and where did you meet and befriend all these people?" Hob asks Kala. They all sounded like old friends and had inside jokes that Hob didn't understand. (What in the world is a tequila-squared?) Kala just smiles at him and says, "The internet exists for a reason, you know."

"Let me guess," Hob said in a low voice so the others won't hear. "An online dating site?"

Kala shrieks with laughter and hits him with a throw pillow.

Soon, the food truck is ready and Hob is in awe of everyone who pitched in and helped. He literally could not have achieved this so quickly without any of them.

Kala hugs him tight. "You deserve to be happy, Hob."

Hob hugs her back. Every person they videocalled (and Wolfgang's brother Felix) is coming to visit with their plus ones and twos to try out Hob's menu to taste-test before opening, and will stay until the grand opening a week later to help in promoting the foodtruck. They even have Riley from Iceland going to DJ for them.

"Should we invite aunt and uncle and Daya?"

"Do you really think we could stop them if they want to be here?" Kala asks him incredulously. "Have you met our sister?"

Hob has handed in his resignation notice as soon as the food truck's kitchen had been operational. That had been two weeks ago. He feels like a huge burden has been lifted from his shoulders the moment the e-mail was sent.

It can only get better from here.

P.S. I'm basic as hell at naming, so if you have ideas on what Hob's food truck should be called, speak now or forever hold your peace.

#Chef Hob AU #minor spoilers for Sense8!#you read that right #it suddenly became sort of a Sense8 crossover because I owe Sanyam Dandekar my first exposure to Indian food #gods bless him honestly #he'll be a good uncle and role model for young Chef!Hob #I will have a Rajan-Kala-Wolfgang throuple as a treat to myself #if Amanita can have 3 dads so can Kala's future children have 2 #this is still a no powers AU though #dreamling #the sandman #sense8 #my writing

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cosmic--static · 10 months

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some pictures up around the bakery (bakery au that I have told no one about)

#aka i cannot consistently draw them the same way #but they are soft #and get to be girl dads eventually #and when i inevitably hit this au with the the transfem dream beam then what #'transfem dream beam' is... certainly a phrase #the sandman #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #netflix the sandman #the sandman fanart #cosmo creates #dream (the sandman)#hob gadling (the sandman)#bakery au #in which its also a baking competition au where they start off as opposing competitors and then fall in love and then finish the competitio #and then they open a bakery together #my boyfriend called it Sweet Dream's

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wizardofgoodfortune · 5 months

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Gonna go ahead and ask you #58 on your Spotify wrapped while I'm thinking about it

#58 on my top songs is mirrorball by taylor swift! this is definitely one of my fav songs from her, if not The Favorite; a vivid music video plays out in my head every time i listen to it. here's my favorite part from it, which can definitely lend itself to particular dreamling scenarios... like 1989.

And they called off the circus, burned the disco down When they sent home the horses and the rodeo clowns I'm still on that tightrope I'm still trying everything to get you laughing at me I'm still a believer but I don't know why I've never been a natural, all I do is try, try, try I'm still on that trapeze I'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me

---

When his stranger didn't show up in 1989, Hob spent the whole day waiting for him. The whole night, too. He heard the last call but stayed long after, until the bartender—Ian was his name, Hob learned at one point—had to kick him out so they could lock up. To Ian's credit, he did it with his most apologetic face.

"Sorry, Hob," Ian said as he locked up the front door of the tavern. "Feel free to come back 'round tomorrow. Promise the place'll still be here by then."

Hob, who was hovering listlessly beside him, gave him a smile. "You'll regret you said that."

Ian laughed. "I'll never regret having more regulars. God knows we need it."

Hob frowned. Right. He nearly forgot about that.

"Need a lift?" Ian offered, fishing out a different set of keys from inside his pockets. "You've drunk quite a lot."

"I'm fine, I just need to—" Hob took a deep breath, "—I need to walk it off."

Ian narrowed his eyes. "Sure? I better not read about you in the papers tomorrow."

Hob snorted. "Trust me, you won't."

With that, Hob stood in front of the tavern and watched Ian drive off, until the old man rounded a corner and disappeared.

Now that he was alone, Hob slumped down on the damp ground and leaned against the front door. They've probably replaced this door more times than he could count, along with the rest of the tavern. Century after century, Hob saw less and less of what used to be here 600 years ago: the chairs, the tables, the mugs, the godawful drinks. The closest thing to permanence this tavern had was its name, and, up until tonight, his stranger. And soon, it wouldn't even have itself.

Hob reached into his coat pocket and took out his lighter and a carton of cigarettes. As he watched London's everchanging skyline glitter above the Thames, he lit a cigarette, the orange of it glowing in the dark. He sat there, waiting, waiting, waiting. He was good at that, at waiting. All you had to have for waiting was time, and Hob had it in abundance. So he waited until the sun rose, until the streets came alive with cars and people, until Ian came back to open up.

"Oi, what happened to walking it off?!" Ian exclaimed, standing over Hob, shielding him from the noon sun. "Bloody hell. C'mon now. Up you go."

Hob let himself be corralled into the tavern's small office and be sat at the small couch that was probably meant for interviews and terminations. He drank the water and aspirin placed in front of him, and he wore the spare shirt lent to him, but he left Ian's questions unanswered.

"Y'know," Hob started as soon as Ian came back in from the bar, "I reckon I could do a good job running a tavern."

"You should be asleep," Ian said accusatorily.

Maybe he should've been. But instead, Hob was sitting upright, wide awake. "I've been in countless taverns, just like this," he continued, "and I reckon I could make a great one. It would be so great that people from all over the world would come to eat and drink there, and say, 'Hey look, it's Hob's tavern, the greatest one around!' And d'you know what the best part about it would be?"

Ian sighed and leaned on his desk. "What?"

"It would be so great that they'd never close it down. They wouldn't be able to. Everyone would rally around it, even the council. And it'd be there for, for centuries. No, millennia. No, forever."

Ian shook his head, smiling. "A beautiful dream."

"A dream?" Hob scrunched his eyebrows. "You don't believe me?"

"Hob, this tavern has been here for centuries. That's a pretty good run, I'd say. Before that, it might've been something else, like a house, or a barn, or something. And before that, it was probably an empty plot of land, or maybe it was full of trees. Maybe bloody dinosaurs lived and died here. Or maybe it was underwater, I dunno. But I'm getting away from the point," Ian said, scratching his scraggly beard. "The point is: things change. That's life."

Suddenly, Hob was reminded of that night a hundred years ago, how his stranger detested the implication that he changed, that he grew to be lonely, lonely enough to seek out companionship. Hob's companionship. Obviously he detested the implication enough to not show up yesterday. But maybe, just maybe, his stranger will show up again today or the next day, just to prove a point, just to say he didn't need him to be his friend, and to say goodbye for the last time. Surely his stranger's not cruel enough to not show up at all, right?

"I, I know, but I can't let this place change, at least not yet," Hob said. His desperation must've plain on his face from the way Ian smiled sadly at him.

"And why's that?"

"My friend and I," Hob paused, thinking about what to say, "this place is important to us."

"You can always find another place."

"He won't," Hob said, voice breaking, "he won't be able to find me."

"How sure are you that he won't?"

Hob put his head into his hands. "I'm sure."

"You don't have his number?"

Hob shook his head.

Ian sighed. "Well, like I said last night, you'll need a lot of money to—"

"I have the money," Hob blurted out.

"What's that?"

"I," Hob repeated, raising his head in realization, "I have the money."

Ian only looked at him.

"I can, I can keep this place alive until he comes back."

Ian regarded him wordlessly for a few more seconds, then said, "I appreciate the thought, I do, but I reckon you can just establish a new one and it'll be less expensive. You can always, I dunno, put up some signs. 'This way to the new tavern' or something. Then when your friend comes around, they'll just read your sign and go to the new tavern."

Hob stared at Ian, mouth hanging open. Then he laughed, feeling a sleep-deprived lightness in his chest. He stood up and held Ian by his shoulders, still smiling. "Ian, you're a genius."

Ian chuckled heartily. "I try."

"And you're a hired genius."

"Pardon?"

"I'll need a bartender for the new tavern," Hob said, grinning.

Ian scoffed in disbelief, but he was smiling. "And what'll you name it?"

Hob thought for a second, then settled on: "The New Tavern."

Ian chortled. "You need sleep. Dearly."

---

send me a number and i'll write something based on the corresponding song in my spotify wrapped!

#dreamling #*#*my fic #warning i did not proofread this so uh... sorry in advance. i just realized it's 3:46 am and i probs need to go sleep #btw the bartender doesn't actually have a name so i used his actor's name LMFAOOO #thank you for sending in a number even before i reblogged the post TJ!!!#AND for finding the post in the first place!!! i hope this is a good enough offering in return for the beautiful folktale you wrote #EVERYONE GO TO TJ'S BLOG AND FIND THAT FOLKTALE IT'S A WORK OF ART!!!!#this could be more but i reminded myself that i'm doing this For Fun (tm) and not for it to be structurally good #because that can get real stressful real quick...#(pointedly looking away from my sad dads au which is 60k words and counting...)

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chaosclimber · 11 months

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He spent the entire trip going over what little he’d been told, again and again. There had been an incident. Orpheus had been bullied. And another lad had (rightfully, the vicious, protective animal of his brain cried out!) punched the bully in question. He’d dealt with much the same mockery as a child–of course he had!

When two boys become fast friends, their fathers are tossed together by circumstances.

They stay together by choice.

A multi chapter single dads Dreamling AU. Updating Weekly.

#The Sandman #Dreamling #Hob Gadling #Dream of the Endless #Robyn Gadling #Orpheus (Sandman)#single dads au #all human/no supernatural au

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ml-nolan · 10 months

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[PODFIC] I'll Be a Better Man Than My Father Ever Was - Chapter 4

@chaosclimber commissioned me for the @dreamlingforukraine fundraiser to read Chapter 4 of their fic I'll Be a Better Man Than My Father Ever Was. If you want a very sweet fic featuring Dream and Hob as single dads to neurodivergent kids—get your juice.

(136 words) by The_KickIt_Domain Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Sandman (Comics), The Sandman (TV 2022) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Orpheus (The Sandman), Calliope (The Sandman), Jessamy the Raven, Robyn Gadling Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Romance, Single Dads AU, no powers, All Human, references to violence, Grief, Divorce, The Love Is Requited and They're Not Even Idiots, they're just dads, so they gotta take it slow, Autistic Dream, ADHD Hob, title from Inkpot Gods, Autistic Orpheus, Ableism Summary:

When two boys become fast friends, their fathers are tossed together by circumstances.

They stay together by choice.

#dreamling #dreamling for ukraine #i'll be a better man than my father ever was #single dads AU #human au #the sandman

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gabessquishytum · 19 days

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🎩 🐇🎩🐇🎩

It took a really long time to realize that Robin was magic.

When Robin was with his da, his magic didn't really work - he could be playing alone having his stuffies dance and sing with him, then daddy would come by and teddy wouldn't dance anymore. It was weird, but also not, since it was always the case. Robin didn't even think too hard on it.

Then Robin became best friends with Orpheus and showed him his magic. And Orpheus thought it was cool! Even better Orpheus's father was magic too and he offered to talk to Robin's da and teach him with his dad's okay.

🎩🐇🎩🐇🎩

Hob was a little confused as to why his kitchen was filled to its little brim with his son, his son's best friend and best friend's hot goth father (what Hob's not blind) talking about magic & magic lessons.

Hob is as open minded as the next person, but magic isn't real. And not to be mean about it, but it doesn't seem like they're talking about pulling rabbits out of hats and neither Robin or Morpheus (smoking hot goth) seem to be able to do any "spells" or magic in the kitchen.

Hob (eyebrow raised): performance anxiety?!

Dream (extremely puzzled): I don't,,, this has never happened before...

After "testing," turns out that Hob is the issue -- magic doesn't work around him. That was probably what saved him from being bonked in the head by various toys when Robin was younger.

I LOVE the idea of magic!Dream and anti-magic!Hob (not to go off on a tangent but I would loooove some kind of Black Clover au for dreamling) - just the idea of literal opposites attracting is so delicious.

Morpheus immediately feels so disappointed when he finds out that Hob is so fucking mundane he seems to suppress all forms of magic whenever he's around. Because Hob is kind of sexy, but Morpheus can't be with a man like that. All of Morpheus’s exes were just as magical as him, if not more so.

But as he tutors Robin (with Hob in the next room, helping Orpheus with homework or just chilling) Morpheus grows more and more attached to perfectly normal, ordinary (boring) Hob. The way he makes tea without magic. His gentle smile. His cute butt in his worn out jeans...

Sometime Morpheus thinks that maybe the reason all his relationships have failed, is because magic got in the way. Maybe dating a completely normal man would be different? Well, there's only one way to find out.

(Robin would totally try to help get them together, but his efforts to make his dad trip and fall into Morpheus’s arms with magic totally fail every time. Its just as well that Hob is clumsy enough to manage that by himself!)

#the sandman #dreamling

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densewentz · 4 months

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Dense, it looks like you need enrichment in your enclosure, so I thought I'd let you know that I've gone feral for your Dreamling Dads AU. There's like 3 oneshots drafted on my computer. There's a 20K+ longshot fic worked out in bullet points. There's Kian and Matthew playing pranks on Dream. There's a holiday special with family Christmas Cards. There's eldritch powers. There's quality parenting.

Your Kian took over my NaNoWriMo gosh dang it I was supposed to be working on something else.

And yet. Here I am, with a 7000+ word doc filled with thoughts and ideas about this baby boy and his eldritch dad and his slightly less-eldritch dad.

I really want to post something soon, I'll be sure to let you know if I can actually pencil it in amidst the New Years heyday.

This just literally made my entire day I'm going to weep openly wtf??? Inflicting Kian and his Centennial Dads on this fandom has been such a treat for me, and that you guys seem to actually be enjoying it makes me absolutely feral!! I cannot WAIT to read just, all of that?? That is so wild and I'm going to be champing at the bit now. Definitely let me know if/when you share any of it 💕 Have a quicky 2am sketch as a treat!! (kian thanks u for your love)

#brb crying #dreamling #kian gadling #dreamling dads!au #asks #ask reply #classic-blue #look i got this ask on the eve of an appointment Ive been really really dreading #and it was so sweet and i want to just roll around in the love of the dreamling fandom #thank you classic!!!

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qqueenofhades · 1 year

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would you ever write a modern/no-powers au for dreamling/sandman?

"Look, Mee," Hob says, for the fourth or fifth time that conversation. "I'm sure your brother is, uh, great, but I'm not sure -- "

"Come on," his best friend says, also for the fourth or fifth time that conversation. "Honestly, you'd be doing me a massive favor. I can barely get him out of the house most days, so I figured that at least the two of you could faff off and be really pathetic together?"

"Thanks." Hob switches the phone to his other ear and glares suspiciously out at the garden; when you've got two small children and it's quiet, you figure something's gone terribly amiss. Robyn and Alison haven't burnt the place down or gotten run over in traffic, but they're playing with something small, muddy and possibly still alive, and Hob debates whether he has to sprint out and save them from certain death. "You're a great friend, truly."

"I know," Morticia says airily. That does, bewilderingly, seem to be her actual name (were her parents massive Addams Family fans or something?) but with Hob and the rest of her friends, she generally goes by Mors, or Mee for short. He looked it up once. Ancient Roman god(dess) of death, which made him laugh, at least when it didn't kick him in the teeth. "You can thank me later."

"And I want to spend time with your brother... why?"

"Because." Oh God, here it comes. He can hear her trying not to say it, the same way everyone's tried not to say it in the going-on-eighteen months since his wife went into an ordinary central-London NHS hospital to give birth to their second child and didn't come back out. "You know it would be good for you, Robbie."

"Right." Hob's voice turns wry. "Can't have me wallowing alone in my misery? You know I've got the kids to look after, and they're talking about extending my contract at Birkbeck. I'm keeping busy."

Keeping busy. It always sounds stupid, even if it's the truth. Like you can chase overwhelming, soul-crushing grief away just by getting out of bed and making breakfast for the kids, holding Robyn's hand as you trundle off on the school run and tell him to have a good day, the thousand and one ways you think you're massively arsing this up and Ellie would have been so much better. Every time the doorbell rings or someone comes up the walk, he thinks -- for a stupid moment he thinks -- and then of course it isn't. You think about women dying in childbirth like it's something out of medieval times, or some third-world country. Not in England in the twenty-first century. Not in London. Not as if your daughter is beautiful and bright and alive, and every time you look at her, you remember that her mother isn't, and the happiness you feel is poisoned by grief again, cold and blue and endless as the ocean. You laugh with the kids at some Disney cartoon one moment, and the next, you're crying alone in the kitchen, in bed, in the silent darkness. And no matter how much you ask, she doesn't answer. You think she does, sometimes. You're just fooling yourself.

You know, Hob thinks. Maybe it would be good for him. At least it would let him spend time with (if Mee's account is anything to go by) the one man in all of London more pathetic than him. It doesn't have to be anything more than that. Even if she is trying to set him up, she wouldn't admit it. She isn't, surely? Trying to match her brother off with her best friend, widowed-single-dad-part-time-lecturer who's clinging onto sanity by the bare edge of his fingernails? Right? Fuck. Should never have told her that he's bi. Doubled her meddling possibilities at a stroke. And yet. He's so lonely, he almost doesn't care.

"Fine," Hob says resignedly. "I'll see if I can get a sitter for the kids. And it better not be that grotty brewery in Shepherd's Bush you dragged me to last time."

"No." Mee sounds like she's laughing at him. She probably is laughing at him, or else she thinks he's become such a pathologically undatable freak that his only chance for happiness ever again is with her equally pathetic little brother. "Nice new Asian-fusion place. Hammersmith. Fifteen minutes from you on the Tube. Don't chicken out, Robert."

And with that, well --

There's pretty much no choice.

Hob finds a sitter for the kids, promises to pay her twenty quid an hour (it's London, after all), and grumblingly picks out some clothes. He's not good at this. It's been almost ten years since he was dating anyone, and Eleanor was from a rich enough family that there was no chance of ever impressing her parents; he could have turned up in anything from Savile Row to a bloody dishcloth and they still would have hated him. Then he finds himself fucking around to the point where he's going to be late, the Tube will be a nightmare anyway, and panics again and rushes out the door with barely a word about what to feed the kids and when to put them to bed. Is nice Olivia from down the street judging him? She almost surely is.

Hob grimly toddles off to Hammersmith, exits into a light rain, and spends an inordinate amount of time searching for the restaurant. When he finally steps inside, he's not quite sure who he's looking for. Mee texted him a picture of her brother, but Hob has trouble believing that such a pale, pasty, and terminally uncharismatic twink could ever be related to her. One of them has to be adopted, and he's laying money on this one, whose name is -- no, seriously -- Morpheus. Morticia and Morpheus. What is wrong with their parents? Determined to doom their children to an eternity of primary-school torment?

Hob contemplates turning around and leaving, but now he's come this far, Olivia will definitely judge him if he returns within the hour, and frankly, he's judging himself. Even worse, he's fairly sure he's just spotted his man. Morpheus (come on, really?) is sitting by himself at a corner table, looking appropriately dark and broody, in his emo-goth dark coat and toilet-brush hair. Just like the photo. He's admittedly not bad-looking in person; he's got a pale, chiseled beauty that is briefly arresting, almost unearthly. Still, though. Definitely a wanker.

"Hello," Hob says, deciding to bite the bullet. He strides over, hand outstretched. "I'm Robert Gadling, and I think you're the bloke I'm supposed to be meeting? I know your sister."

Morpheus's mouth makes a small lemon-sucking motion. He rises to his feet, regards Hob's hand as if not certain what to do with it and/or wondering if he can get away with not touching it, and finally shakes it, brief and cold and dry. "I am," he says curtly. "You may sit."

Well, good. Glad they got His Majesty's permission. No unauthorized sitting happening here, no sir. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Hob puts his bag on the floor and slides into the chair across from Morpheus. Like every Londoner at a loss for a better opening line, he reaches for the weather. "Shame about this piss, isn't it? And it was all the way up to twenty degrees last week. Did you have to come far?"

"No," Morpheus says, still not displaying any particular delight in being forced to spend this evening in the presence of another human being and looking as if he is very much hoping the floor will suddenly open up and swallow him. "Not far."

Hob waits, in vain, on the chance that Morpheus might elaborate. He does not. Well. This is going swimmingly. Are they on a date? Did Mee tell him that they were on a date? Is Hob sure this isn't an extremely elaborate prank, and she just plucked one of her single friends from the vast and bewildering mystery of her acquaintances? Truly, it is no wonder that Morpheus is, in fact, unattached. He's got the personality of a soggy rag and the face of -- well, not that. He is pretty. But Hob is not that shallow. Thanks very much.

Conversation suffers badly until they order drinks and food; or rather Hob orders, and Morpheus says that he'll take just a glass of wine. He does loosen up slightly as they talk; Hob does most of that, but Morpheus listens with cool, intent attention. From time to time he asks a question, but he doesn't interrupt, and finally Hob, trying to make it as light-hearted as "my wife died eighteen months ago and this is the first not-date I've been on ever since" can possibly be, admits it. He braces for Morpheus to get up, to run, to fire off an indignant text to Morticia or anything else, but he doesn't. He just nods once. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I know that it is... difficult."

All of a sudden, Hob is forced to consider the startling and unsettling possibility that Morpheus himself knows something about this. He can't say why or how that might be, but life is full of mysteries. "I -- yeah." It's an abject relief to say it and to have someone acknowledge it simply and matter-of-factly, not smother him with sympathy or cluck about how hard it is. "So if I'm off my game, that, uh. That's why."

Morpheus thinks about that for a long moment. Then all at once, out of nowhere, he smiles. It completely transforms his face, it twists like a fishhook in Hob's gut, and all of a sudden, he wonders in alarm if he is, in fact, entirely that shallow after all. "Believe me, Hob Gadling," Morpheus says. "It has very much been my pleasure."

#anonymous #ask #fic prompts #dreamling #dreamling ff

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dsudis · 6 months

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I hope this isn't weird, but you posted that and my brain threw this up for you:

Dream only listens with half an ear at what Hob is saying down the line, especially once he picks out "I'll come down but," and ignores the rest. He can pay whatever bonus is needed, and throw in some more.

Hob is, surprisingly, worth keeping. It's not just the skills but the fact that he seems to have, for a lack of a better word, a way with Orpheus. An understanding. With everyone else his son is difficult, he's Dream's after all, but he gets on well with Hob. It's a strange relief he hasn't felt in so long he might never have experienced it to know, for once, that when the weekend man is sick and Desire is making sure to harangue him and make up some reason Dream is needed immediately there is someone he can call. Someone reliable.

Which is why he feels almost nauseous with what feels like a betrayal he has only half a right to when he finally gets back to the house and gets his foot on the stairway and realizes the child's laughter he's hearing doesn't belong to Orpheus at all. Rare as it is, he knows his son. He takes the steps up two at a time and collides inelegantly with the doorframe, like a cat misjudging a corner, to peer into his son's room to see something so extraordinary it feels like a dream.

There's an unknown boy on the rug, building something complicated with Orpheus as if he spent every Saturday helping him erect a mishmash of Lego and Duplo and wooden blocks balanced on the belly of a stuffed once-white rabbit. Orpheus, who has prompted more calls and teacher's notes about the importance of sharing than Dream can count, and is now smiling while telling a fantastical story that seems to fascinate the other child. The one that looks just like Hob Gadling, who is watching them with a soft warmth in his face Dream has never seen, mastering a trick Dream can't get the hang of: being present but not intrusive as his son plays.

There's a rush of something, in his ears and his chest, warm and familiar and unwanted. He'd felt it last when Calliope had first held Orpheus and looked down at him, pink and roughly formed. He hasn't seen it since, much less felt it. He remembers, all over again, the way he does when Orpheus pushes his curls behind his ears in a mirror perfect imitation of his mother, who he can barely remember, because she'd left. She had not looked back. Hob is paid to be here.

"Mr. Gadling," Dream says, and pointedly does not waver at the vague and quickly hidden surprise on Hob's face at the address. "You may go now, I no longer require your services," he finishes, hardening his heart at the boys' pleas to be allowed to play, just for five minutes longer. "For today you mean?" Hob says, too calm, and Dream hears himself say "Clearly," without realizing he'd made a decision. He feels, strangely, that he doesn't regret it.

[Because he's gonna fall in love ho ho ho]

😍😍😍

#yes please #this #dreamling #the sandman #bodyguard hob #modern single dads au

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