#hob finally learns dream's name!
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Should have gone with Morpheus
#dreamling#centennial husbands#centennial boyfriends#hob finally learns dream's name!#too bad he doesn't realize
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in waking dreams? 👀
ever so slowly i work on finishing the final chapter 🥺
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For a moment, clothes in hand, Hob just… stared at him.
His Dream had always had a slim build, but now he was downright skinny. He mustn’t actually need food to live, as Hob doubted Alex Burgess had been opening the cage every day to feed him, but Hob knew well enough that food wasn’t only about need. And besides, one could become gaunt on lack of spirit alone.
Still, Hob fed on the sight of him, fed centuries of longing that had become an endless devouring mouth in his stomach. Centuries of low, simmering hunger, and recent decades of starvation, hunger to see him, to actually see him. He felt as though he was seeing him truly for the first time, knowing the truth of him—though he had seen him before, hadn’t he? If he had been lucid while dreaming, then he must have truly seen him, and just hadn’t known it.
“You are staring,” said his Dream. Hob came back over to him, put the clothes beside him, and took his cheek in one hand, tipping his Dream’s face up.
“‘Course I am,” he said, throat tight. “I waited so long to look at you.”
His Dream’s eyes fluttered shut, as if he knew what Hob would do before he did it. And indeed, Hob kissed him. He leaned down to meet his lips, took that soft, giving mouth against his own. Slipped his fingers into his husband’s hair, and he let out a low moan.
Hob had missed kissing him so much. It wasn’t the same when his dreams were only memories.
“Hob…” his Dream murmured as they parted again. He gazed up at him, wanting, and leaned into Hob’s hand.
And Hob still didn’t know his name.
#hob finally gets to learn dream's fucking name in this chapter 😂#in waking dreams#my writing#ask#anonymous#thank you!#i'm determined to finish this. it's taking so long but i must
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Run Away (But We're Running in Circles)
After a million years I finally finished this one!
Dream doesn't believe he is truly loved- Hob and Death simply love everyone, it has nothing to do with him. Cue those closest to him doing whatever they can to prove that he is, in fact, very very loved
AO3
The past two months have been a whirlwind for Hob Gadling in the best way possible.
So many things he once thought impossible (or at the very least highly unlikely) had come to fruition. His stranger had returned to him, his stranger apologized, his stranger called him his friend. Those three things alone had made Hob's heart feel like a star, burning and bright and alive.
And then the ethereal man had sat across from him, a gentle smile on his face, weary but sincere, before he smoothed his expression into something unreadable.
"I believe introductions are in order," Hob almost squealed like a fan girl as the man hesitantly held out his hand, "Dream of the Endless, King of Dreams and Nightmares. I have other names as well should you find this one unsatisfactory."
It's so ridiculous Hob would laugh if not for the dead serious note in his stranger- his friend's- voice. The idea that Hob would find anything about this being 'unsatisfactory', that he would declare his name not good enough and ask for another. Absolutely ludicrous.
Also a little sad, but he pushes past that.
He clasps his hand, face about to split from smiling so wide, "Dream," it feels so good to say, "a name that suits you perfectly," he adds because it's true. Then he smirks, "I'm Hob Gadling. I'd offer you another name but you've never complained about this one."
A breath escapes the other man, as much of a laugh as Hob has ever heard from him and this is the best day in Hob's very long life.
"Tell me of your life, Hob Gadling, for it has been too long since last we met."
Yes, it has, and for a moment Hob's joy dims. Then why did you leave me? Where have you been? Why now? What changed? Why now? The questions bubble uncomfortably in his throat.
He swallows them back.
Eventually he will allow himself to ask for answers- demand them even, perhaps, he thinks he deserves it- but not today. Today he wants to bask in the warmth of reunion. In the gentle glow of his friend’s shy smile.
So all he says is an earnest, “Yes. I have missed you dearly, my friend.”
When their meeting comes to an end, the sky outside dark and the employees of the inn not so subtly putting chairs up around them, Dream asks if Hob would be amenable to meeting more frequently, wringing his hands in front of him and not meeting Hob’s eyes, as though expecting to be denied.
Ridiculous creature.
And so they continue meeting, and Hob… has mixed feelings. He is glad to know more of his friend, to finally be given the answers he has been gnashing his teeth for. But sometimes when Dream speaks it feels more like bloodletting than sharing- like he is offering himself on an altar, inviting Hob to drive a dagger through his heart, like he needs to make a sacrifice to this thing called friendship.
He feels it most when he learns why Dream missed their meeting.
Hob feels the blood leave his face as Dream speaks of being torn from his realm, bound by magic, stripped and degraded and imprisoned and hurt-
“Dream,” Hob interrupts, his voice choked, “You don’t have to tell me.”
Across the table, Dream doesn’t look at him, “You are my friend.”
“Yes,” Hob agrees immediately, “And I will still be your friend if you don’t want to talk about this.” He tries to catch Dream’s eye, “Being your friend doesn’t mean you owe me anything.”
“Being a bad friend means I owe you everything,” Dream counters, and Hob wants to cry.
Hob does cry, “Fuck, Dream…” He almost missed the prideful and aloof king of centuries past. As much as he enjoys the easy smiles and the taste of a name on his lips, he would give it all away if it meant saving Dream from this pain.
Dream flinches but does not pull away when Hob reaches out to take his hands, “I’m not keeping a scoreboard with our friendship. You don’t have to pay me back if you make a mistake. And you especially don’t have to hurt yourself for me. We’re friends. So I don’t want you to hurt.”
When Dream looks up at him, he looks so confused. Head tilted and brow furrowed as he tries to make sense of the idea that someone does not want him to pay for his sins in blood.
“I do. Want to tell you these things,” Dream explains haltingly, head ducking again as he continues softer, “But perhaps. No more today.”
“Of course, love.”
Dream observes him again, eyes searching his face as though looking at a pile of puzzle pieces. Hob doesn’t know what he finds, or what picture he makes with the pieces, but for now he nods, shoulders slumping as the subject changes.
It gets easier. Or, it seems to at least. Dream tells him about Jessamy’s death quickly and her life extensively. He talks about his realm, his function, his subjects. And, eventually, he talks about his family. Some he only gives the names of, and nothing else. Some he gives brief histories of, or descriptions. And one in particular Hob learns much about.
He learns the most on the day he is given the joy of experiencing Dream having just come from an afternoon spent with his elder sister.
“I do not know why she is so insistent on spending time with me these days,” Dream grumbles, and Hob has to hide a smile behind his drink, because despite being the entities of Dream and Death (which had been quite the shock to learn), right now he is sitting across from a little brother exasperated with his big sister. “We are so different. I find it hard to believe she enjoys my gloom compared to her exuberance. Perhaps she merely delights in tormenting me,” he laments.
Hob laughs, "I think it's cute," he grins, "she clearly loves you."
Dream hums, not unhappily, and moves in a way that is too elegant to be called a shrug, "In a sense."
The tone doesn't match the words, and Hob scrunches his face in confusion, "What do you mean?"
Tilting his head slightly, Dream answers casually, "Simply that she loves me in a way similar to how you do."
And that has Hob's eyebrows shooting up to his forehead because he really, really hopes Death doesn't love her brother the way Hob does. "I'm not following."
Dream hums again, a quiet moment as he chooses his words, "Death has a love for all of humanity," he states, "and all that existence has to offer. Put simply, she loves everyone. It is in her nature. You, too, have a wealth of affection for all that you meet and all that you experience. So it is not a matter of loving me , but rather, simply loving in such a way that happens to include me by default."
There is a stretch of silence as Hob turns those words over in his mind. He struggles to fully grasp them at first, the sentiment conflicting with the way Dream presented it as irrefutable fact, something obvious and common knowledge, something Hob couldn't possibly deny.
But, shaking his head frantically to clear his thoughts, Hob was absolutely going to deny it.
"No!" Dream started at the vehemence in Hob's voice, "That's not true at all!" His voice was firm, and almost angry, which in hindsight didn't help the situation.
"...Oh," Dream's voice was soft, and carefully neutral, "I understand," he conceded. His body was like marble, and Hob could see the way he was consciously trying to mask his sorrow and Hob wanted to punch himself in the face.
"Wait, no, not like that! I didn't mean it like that!"
He hated this. Hated all of it. Hated that his friend believed he wasn't loved on purpose. Hated how quickly he accepted the idea of not being loved at all.
Reaching across the table, Hob clasped his hands around Dream's, sure but gentle. Dream blinked in surprise, staring down at the point of contact, and Hob waited patiently until their eyes met again to start speaking.
"I love you," and this was the true irrefutable fact, the true obvious and common knowledge, the truth that Dream could not deny. "You, specifically. You on purpose. I love you because you're you, and I love you apart from everyone else. And your sister does too, I know it. You are very loved, my friend, and it is not an accident."
Their eyes search each other's. Dream finds conviction, finds honesty, finds something he is afraid to identify as love. Hob finds old aches, finds disbelief, finds something close to fear. Dream looks lost.
“You really did miss me. When I was gone.” Dream whispers with awe, and it hits Hob like a punch to the gut that Dream hadn’t believed him before, had obviously assumed that Hob was just being polite or reciting a social script without really meaning it.
“Yes,” he says, soft and firm, “I really did.”
A soft sound of sand shifts at their feet beneath the table and Hob knows that Dream desperately wants to run away. Instead, he closes his eyes and grips Hob's hands tighter. Hob is so very proud of him.
"I fear I have dominated the conversation this evening," his voice is raspy, forced out between clenched teeth, "tell me of your week, Hob Gadling."
It is a plea desperately masquerading as a demand. There is only so much Dream can take at once, and Hob understands, and Hob loves him, and so he smiles and returns Dream's grip.
"You will not believe what one of my students submitted as their thesis for the end of the semester-"
~~~~
Hob doesn’t actually know if summoning Death is a thing he can do. Dream had, finally, after 600 years, explained the parameters of Hob’s immortality. It was actually pretty much what Hob had assumed given the question posed to him at each of their meetings; He would live as long as he wanted to, and when he no longer wanted to, Death would guide him to the Sunless Lands.
Well, Hob very much did not want to go to the Sunless Lands, but he did want to speak to Death.
“I refuse to look up any sort of magic bullshit for this,” Hob starts, feeling supremely silly for talking to himself in his empty flat. But he didn’t exactly have any other ideas. “So I’m going to assume in your weird Endless-ness that you can somehow hear me. I’m not looking to die today, or ever really, but I’d appreciate it if I could talk to you, Death of the Endless.” He pauses, and then adds on, “It’s about your brother.”
Apparently those are the magic words, as a voice almost immediately speaks up from behind him.
“Oh lord, what has he done now?”
Hob nearly jumps out of his skin, twisting around in his seat on the couch to see a beautiful woman leaning against his kitchen counter. While her style of all black matches her brother’s, that is where the resemblance ends. Bright eyes and glowing dark skin, a warm smile on her face. He hadn’t fully grasped how unhealthy his friend tended to look until this moment.
Shaking off the initial shock, Hob smiles back, “So you’re the famous Death, eh? I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Only bad things I’m sure,” she teases.
“From humans, perhaps, but not from your brother.”
She smiles fondly, and Hob can tell immediately that she cares for Dream. He wonders what Dream sees when he looks at her.
“You said you wanted to talk about him?” Death asks, “Not that it’s not nice to finally meet you, but I can’t be pulled away from work for too long.”
Hob shudders instinctually at the mention of her ‘work’, but he shakes it off as he begins to explain, “Right. So, normally I wouldn’t tell you this behind Dream’s back, but I don’t think he’ll ever tell you himself and I think you should know so that you can… help, I guess.” Death frowns, and her face darkens as Hob quickly recounts the conversation he had with Dream, and his assumptions on the nature of her and Hob’s love for him.
By the end, she looks heartbroken, but when she speaks her voice is dripping with annoyance.
“My little brother truly is an idiot-”
“Don’t,” Hob cuts in. It’s probably not his brightest idea to interrupt death herself, but he knows in his gut that he can’t let her gain momentum on this, “I didn’t tell you so you could scold him, I told you so you could love him.”
“I already love him!” she snaps.
“Love him louder then!” Hob snaps back fearlessly, throwing his arms up. “Don’t be mad at him for hurting! For whatever reason, he doesn’t recognize that we love him, but the reason doesn’t matter , not right now at least. We need to stop the bleeding before we worry about what made the wound.”
There is a long pause, the two simply staring at each other. Death looks a bit shocked, eyes wide and jaw tense. Hob stares back determinedly. He may not have known Dream as long as his sister, but he is positive down to his bones that Dream won’t see the “love” part in “tough love”. He’ll probably just see the admonishment.
He wonders if that miscommunication hasn’t been a wedge between the two siblings for a long time.
Finally, Death seems to deflate, her shoulders slumping even as she quirks a smile, “My brother would appreciate the metaphor.”
Hob chuckled, “Heh, I’ve noticed. It’s helped, honestly, figuring out whatever metaphor works best for him at any given moment, y’know?”
“Yeah. I do.” Death sighs, and for a moment she looks so old . So ancient. And when she meets Hob’s gaze he thinks she looks uncertain. “I do love him. You know that, right?”
“I do,” Hob answers softly. “But I’m not the one you need to convince.”
~~~~
Hob speaks every love language, but if he’s honest, cooking will always be one of his favorites.
He thinks of being a young peasant and his parents pushing food from their own plates onto his and his siblings’ so that they would never feel the sharp pang of hunger, and of the few kind souls during the 1600s who offered food to him, the fellow homeless who nonetheless would split their meager findings with him. Sharing food has simply always evoked the warmth of love for him.
It was part of why the rejection had stung so badly in 1589. A table full of food meant to be shared, and he had been left sitting there alone. A table full of love with nowhere to go.
Now, though, he is more determined than ever. Now he knows Dream, in a way he hadn’t for so long, and he is desperate in his desire to make sure Dream feels the love he is offering.
And so he offers him food.
“Come on, just a bite!” Hob nudges the plate closer to Dream. They are sitting across from each other at the kitchen island in Hob’s flat. He had spent the better part of the day preparing the most decadent mac and cheese he could- creamy and buttery, layers of cheese and pasta folded together with autumn vegetables and a coating of perfectly toasted breadcrumbs on top. Each ingredient was added with Dream in mind, with the desire to warm him from the inside out, to give him something indulgent that might put some meat on his bones.
He’s so thin. Not fragile, exactly, Hob is certain that this mystical being is stronger than he looks, and yet… There is something to be said about how one envisions themselves in dreams. Regardless of his physical capabilities, Hob can’t help but ponder over Dream’s manifestation, and how frail and hurt it looks.
“It’s a pretty standard ritual of friendship to share a meal together,” he says pointedly, smiling when Dream huffs at him. It feels maybe a little underhanded, as he knows Dream is trying very hard to be a good friend, but he doesn’t feel too badly when he sees the soft smile on Dream’s face. For all that he had vehemently rejected their friendship at first (or perhaps because of that initial rejection) he seemed just as moved to be called friend by Hob as Hob was to be called friend by him.
“I suppose I am bound by ritual then.” There is a strange note in his voice that Hob can’t quite place, but he is still smiling, so he wonders if that is just what Dream sounds like when he tries to make a joke.
Either way, he finally reaches forward to pick up his fork, taking a delicate bite of the gooey mess Hob had served him.
“Well?” Hob asks, barely hidden eagerness in his voice.
Dream swallows, his posture becoming impossibly straighter as he looks at Hob fondly, “You are a fine cook, my friend.”
Hob can’t suppress a grin, leaning back casually in contrast to his friend’s sharp and stiff bearing, “I’m glad. It’s a useful skill when you have companions in need of spoiling.” To his delight, a soft, almost imperceptible blush blooms across Dream’s cheeks. If Hob wasn’t so practiced in observing him he might have missed it. He’s glad he didn’t.
The evening is a quiet one, sharing stories between bites, and Hob is happy. He wills the food to fill his friend. He sends a prayer that Dream’s body might become soft with his love.
~~~~
“Come on, I want to show you something!”
Dream is becoming more accustomed to his elder sister’s spontaneous visits. After her chastisement, the day she pushed him to reunite with Hob, he had expected to not see her again until it was obligated of her. For all her joy and bright smiles, he could not imagine she would actually enjoy his company. Perhaps because of her joy and smiles.
He did not expect her to willingly subject herself to him.
And yet, she had come to him. She had called to him through their galleries, inviting him into the humble space she called her home when she was not ushering souls to her realm, and inquired about his meeting with Hob Gadling. She had smiled, and squeezed his hand, and told him she was glad he had someone to call friend. He assumed she must be glad that there was someone else to deal with him, and this meeting was merely to ensure that there was someone else out there holding his leash.
Then she called him again.
And again.
It kept happening, and while a part of him felt guilty and selfish, he could not deny that he enjoyed his sister’s company. And so he allowed himself to set aside his quest to understand why she was doing it. His elder siblings have ever been a mystery to him, and whatever her reasoning, even if it was simply to keep him in line, he decided to allow himself this small joy in his sister’s presence.
Today, linking their arms together, Death practically skips as she pulls Dream from his realm. Despite himself, he can’t help but smile fondly at her enthusiasm, allowing her to guide him to the waking and into a large building. He can feel the shroud of Endlessness around them, and knows that they are walking unseen. It piques his curiosity. Death normally insisted on walking among mortals specifically to interact with them, even if only a little. The fact that she now hides them is unusual.
Glancing around, Dream finds that they are in a natural history museum, surrounded by various educational exhibits. There are murals of ancient, long gone animals and cases with their bones, plaques with information and names, interactive screens and displays. Eventually, they enter a room dedicated to plants and flora of the distant past. Death walks purposefully towards the back, glancing at Dream with an excited smile as she points to one of the displays.
“Look.”
On the pedestal in front of them is a small, square piece of amber, and within the amber there is a flower. It is small, five petals floating in the resin that Dream remembers holding in the palm of his hand so very long ago. Not as old as Dream, but older than humans, old enough that no creature on this plane dreams of it.
Dream used to keep them on the windowsill of his bedchambers.
“They were your favorite.”
Death’s voice breaks him from his revelry, and he realizes that he has been standing as still and frozen as the flower for several minutes.
Her words were not a question, but Dream nods anyway, “Yes.” The word cracks just slightly, and it takes effort, but he turns his gaze away from the flower to look at his sister, his brow furrowing in confusion, “You… remembered?”
“Of course,” Death speaks softly, as though to not break the fragile air around them, but still smiles warmly, “You gave me some, once, and I understood why you loved them. They were lovely.”
Nodding again, Dream swallows thickly, turning back to the fossil before continuing, “They faded from the Dreaming when the last creature to remember them passed to the Sunless Lands. They exist now only in the deepest pages of the Library.”
“And here,” Death corrects, tilting her head towards the exhibit, “They exist here, now, too. Humans found them. They’ll remember them,” she puts a hand on Dream’s shoulder, squeezing lightly and grinning a little wider, “Maybe someone will dream of them again!”
But not as they were , Dream thinks to himself. Any dreams of this small, fragile flower will not be the same as the ones Dream kept growing in his window, the ones he tucked behind his elder sister’s ear, the ones he held close to his chest when he was overwhelmed. They will never be the same again.
Reaching out, he lets his fingers brush against the fossil, the golden color hiding the true hues of the precious petals within, and it feels cool and cold like glass and suddenly Dream thinks he sees a hint of his reflection in the amber. Unneeded breath catches in his chest, and he wonders if this is how he would have been remembered if he had not escaped from Fawney Rig. Lost and forgotten and buried only to be dug up like this . Frozen and painted over with someone else’s color.
Assuming he was remembered at all.
His vision blurs, and his fingers tremble as he traces over the shape of the trapped flora, nothing but cold cold cold where once there had been soft and fragrant petals.
“Dream?”
Death moves to stand in front of him, pulling him away from the fossil and blocking his view. He blinks, and realizes that he is crying, but the tears are thick, and slow, and his vision has taken on a yellow hue. Raising a hand to his face, he catches a tear on his fingertips and stares down at it.
He is crying amber.
“Hey, it’s alright, little brother, you’re okay-” Death looks caught between panic and heartbreak, eyes wide and bracing her hands on Dream’s shoulders. It only makes him cry harder. Amber runs down his cheeks, dripping sluggishly from his chin into his cupped hands, sticking to his eyelashes, and he feels half-fossilized already.
Gentle hands run through his hair, guide him to kneel on the floor, and he feels the shift from Waking to Dreaming, his sister taking him home. He thinks it might not be so bad, to be petrified and buried here in the Dreaming. He thinks he might be worth more as an excavated relic than he ever was as a living being.
But. There is still a hand stroking his hair, another wiping the thick tears from his face, heedless of the mess. There is a voice beside his ear shushing him, “Oh, little brother, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.” He inhales, choking on the resin in his throat, closing his eyes as he lets the cool air of the Dreaming reach his lungs and slow his tears.
The resin is drying on his cheeks, and it is a struggle to open his eyes again, shards of amber encasing his eyelashes. He glances down at the pool cupped in his hands, and then sees the resin smeared over his sister’s fingers and nearly starts crying again.
“I. I apologize-”
Shushing him, Death reaches out to take his hands, tipping his palms until the amber pours out, dripping onto the stone floor of the throne room until she can curl their fingers together. Dream’s breath hitches, and he tries to pull away. He envisions the resin on their hands hardening, encasing their fingers together in amber, and how cruel it would be to subject his beloved sister to being stuck with him .
Death holds on tighter.
“It’s alright,” she leans forward, pressing their foreheads together, “take a second, Dream. Everything is alright.”
It’s really not. But reluctantly, Dream takes her advice. He breathes deeply, tries to loosen the hold his anguish has on him, dilutes it with the comfort his sister so readily offers until the resin begins to thin. Slowly, with each breath the amber turns to salt water. He still feels stiff. He still feels trapped. He thinks he simply moved the amber into his blood. Death is still holding him.
He inhales shakily, “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for,” Death responds, soft and casual. They are still kneeling on the floor, and she leans back just a bit, still holding his hands but giving him a little more space, “I didn’t mean to upset you-”
“It was no fault of yours,” Dream interrupts, “I. Appreciate the gesture.” Looking up, he adds on, “I did not expect you to remember such an insignificant detail about me.”
“It’s not insignificant. It’s you. And you’re not insignificant.”
Those words are what finally make him pull away. His movements remind her of a mannequin, stiff and jerky, popping joints back into place after falling apart until he is once more solid and immovable. He folds his hands in his lap, and he does not look at her.
“I am aware of the importance of my function. I have not forgotten your words to me.”
Death consciously holds back a sigh of frustration. Settling back onto her heels, she takes a moment to look at her brother. She thinks of all the harm that happened in his absence, all the dreamers whose hands she took while her brother sat silent in a cage. She thinks of her words to him when they met again in the Waking after his escape. She thinks of Hob telling her that her brother didn’t feel loved, and how she had immediately put the blame on Dream. After all, how could he possibly think she does not love him for him ?
She thinks she’s starting to understand.
“I worry about you, Dream,” she whispers, reaching out to smooth back his wild hair, “I worry that one day…”
One day, Death will have to take the hands of all of her siblings. She knows that.
But she hopes that day is far away.
Dream looks up at her, head tilted like one of his ravens, “But I would still. Be there. Like the flower in the amber.”
“But not the same.” Death closes her eyes, the words soft with heartbroken realization, “Not you .”
Reaching up, Dream gently removes her hand from his hair, “Would that be so bad?”
“Yes.” She doesn’t hesitate, opening her eyes to look at him fiercely and gripping his hand. Dream sighed, but did not try to pull away. He still looks stiff and tense, and he swallows thickly, like there is still resin in his throat.
Death cannot help but laugh wetly. This day had not gone the way she had hoped. “Next time I want to make a point I’ll just get you something in your favorite color.”
“You do not know-”
“Green.”
Dream’s head snaps up, eyes wide in shock, and when Death smiles back, it is smug, but also fond, and sad, and- he thinks, maybe- loving, “I’ve walked through your gardens, Dream. I’ve sat in Fiddler’s Green. I’ve seen the landscapes you’ve created. And I noticed. Because I love you.”
When Dream looks at her, she can’t help but think that he does not believe her, not fully. But there is something in his eyes, a desperate longing. Like he wants to believe her. Like he wants it to be true.
Don’t go , Death doesn’t say, Don’t go. Stay. Stay so I can prove it to you. Stay long enough for me to convince you. Just give me some more time.
Desire used to love me, Dream doesn’t say, and then time passed.
“I love you as well, my sister.”
“Yeah,” she smiles, and only barely fights back tears, “I know.”
~~~
Something is not right with Hob’s plan.
It has become a regular occurrence for Dream and Hob to spend an afternoon or evening together several times a week, making it easy for Hob to guide them to a meal. Lunch at the university cafe between Hob’s lectures, dinner at a new restaurant, pots of stew that Hob had let simmer throughout the day, waiting for his friend to share a bowl with him. Each time Dream smiled and accepted his offers, diligently clearing his plates and complimenting Hob on his choices.
And Dream was getting thinner.
He didn’t notice the thinness at first. No, he noticed the layers first. Dream tended to bundle up, to keep himself covered regardless of the weather, and Hob understood. He himself sometimes caught himself pulling his coat around himself a little tighter when he remembered the details of Dream’s imprisonment. So Dream adding extra layers to his ensemble- sweaters and scarves and hoods on his coats- Hob assumed it was just a result of Dream still working through his trauma.
But as time passed, he noticed the way his friend’s already impossibly sharp cheekbones became impossibly sharper. The way the bones in his hands stood out in stark relief each time he reached for his fork.
Hob didn’t understand it.
Sitting in his flat now, not expecting company since he saw Dream in all his fragile, delicate beauty the night before, he wracks his brain to try to piece together what might be going on with his friend. He is deep in thought, hands steepled as he leans back on his couch, so he nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of loud, frantic tapping on his window.
Glancing at the window, he blinks in surprise at the sight of a large crow or raven that he swears is glaring at him. For a long moment, he simply stares, contemplating whether this warrants a call to animal control or if he should just wait for the bird to leave. He is debating trying to shoo it away himself when it taps on the glass again, somehow even angrier.
“Hey!” An unmistakable American voice projects from the Raven’s beak, “Open up, asshat, I wanna talk to you!”
In the grand scheme of things, this is not the strangest thing to happen to Hob, and yet he still nearly falls off the couch as he flails in surprise.
“Excuse me?” He stands and cautiously approaches the window, “Who, or what, exactly are you?” He demands. Hob may not be the brightest bulb in the shed, but he knows better than to let strange, angry, talking ravens into his home without taking precautions.
The raven huffs, “The name’s Matthew, Hob Gadling ,” he spits his name out pointedly, “And I’m here on behalf of Lord Morpheus, so let me in so I can shake you down properly!” He flutters a bit, letting his talons scratch at the window threateningly.
Perhaps Hob should be even more wary, given that the Raven both knows who he is and is clearly already upset with him for some reason, but the mention of one of Dream’s titles has him throwing the window open.
“Wait, Dream sent you?”
The raven- Matthew, Hob reminds himself, shaking his head in bafflement- glides through the open window to land on Hob’s coffee table, turning back to glare at him again.
“He didn’t send me, I’m here on his behalf ,” he clarifies haughtily.
Tilting his head, Hob riffles through his memories, trying to recall every name Dream has mentioned in his stories of the goings on of his realm between their meeting. Now that he thinks about it, he’s pretty sure he remembers Dream mentioning a Matthew a few times, usually with fond exasperation.
“I think Dream’s mentioned you to me… you’re one of his subjects in the Dreaming, right?”
“I’m not just a subject ,” Matthew replies with great offense, “I’m his raven .” He puffs his chest out proudly, in a way that Hob thinks more than proves that he is someone who spends a lot of time with the Dream King.
“Right, he definitely failed to mention that detail,” Hob teases good-naturedly. There doesn’t seem to be any urgency here, so he allows himself to grin widely, “It’s nice to meet you! I haven’t gotten to meet any of Dream’s other friends.”
“Yeah, I noticed, and I find that highly suspicious,” Matthew declares, “What exactly do you have to hide, huh?”
“Uh, it’s not really hiding, I just… don’t know how to contact you?”
“A likely story.”
“I mean if you tell me how to call you I’d love to hang out more-”
“What’s your deal, huh?” Matthew interrupts, “What exactly are your intentions with Lord Morpheus?”
Hob is suddenly struck by the uncomfortable feeling that he is being given the shovel talk. By a bird. About a man he is, unfortunately, not even dating.
“No intentions, really,” he tugs his ear nervously, “I just. Enjoy spending time with him, is all.”
Matthew’s feathers ruffle in agitation, “Humans are conniving pieces of shit who can’t be trusted within a ten mile radius of any sort of power,” he declares, with the authority of someone familiar with being a ‘conniving piece of shit’ himself, “so excuse me if I’m suspicious that Average Joe over here is just ‘hanging out’ with one of the forces of the universe.”
“I don’t think I’m that average-”
“And another thing! Stop guilt tripping him into eating, you ass!”
Hob’s jaw drops at the accusation, “I- wha- he’s skin and bones!”
“Yeah, and you making him sick all the time isn’t exactly helping the situation, pal!”
“Wait, what?”
“Jeez, you’re slow on the uptake,” Matthew huffs in annoyance, “He’s not human, dude. So human food doesn’t work with him. It’s like… you know that scene in Twilight- the books, not the movies- where Edward eats a slice of pizza? And then in an interview Meyer said-”
“Okay, stop, stop stop stop,” Hob cuts off Matthew’s rambling, pinching the bridge of his nose, “But he takes a human form when he’s here though, right?”
“He looks like a human,” Matthew clarifies pointedly, “That doesn’t mean he functions the same as one. Just because you can fit bologna in a CD player doesn’t mean it’s going to work out for ya.”
A slow dawning sense of horror fills Hob, and it must show on his face because Matthew tilts his head to the side curiously, his tone gentling for the first time since his arrival, “You really didn’t know, huh.”
Hob shakes his head miserably, moving to sit heavily onto the couch, “No. Dream has tried to explain the whole ‘Endless’ thing to me, but it’s so complicated. And he never mentioned that he can’t eat, and he just looks so thin and I just wanted to help-”
“Okay, alright, it’s okay!” Matthew flaps his wings a few times desperately, “Please don’t cry. If you cry, I’m gonna cry, and I’m not ready to find out if dream-ravens can cry or not.”
“I can’t believe this whole time I’ve been making it worse.” He thinks again of 1589, of Dream barely glancing at the spread Hob had offered him. He’s always known Dream wasn’t human. He feels like an idiot.
“I feel like an idiot,” he admits out loud.
“I mean, you are,” Matthew replies, ignoring the halfhearted glare Hob gives him, “but you’re not a malicious idiot, which was really what I was more concerned about. In my head you were like, trying to weaken him before making your move or something.”
The very idea makes Hob sick, and he shakes his head vehemently, “Never. He’s my friend . I get that humans hurt him recently, but I don’t care about his power, I just care about him .”
“Hm. You definitely seem sincere. I suppose maybe I should have just tailed you for a bit before coming in guns blazing. But my job is to protect the boss and he’s been looking a little rough recently, so. Y’know.”
Sniffling, Hob glances up at the raven, watching as he shifts on his feet anxiously. Hob blinks in realization as he speaks, “You really care about him, huh?”
“I mean, yeah, obviously,” Matthew shrugs as much as he is able, his tone becoming more casual, “Honestly it’s kind of hard not to. I mean have you seen the guy? Like, he’s supposed to be this all-powerful force of the universe, but he feels more like a kitten you find hiding from the rain under your car, y’know?”
Hob barks out a laugh, “I don’t think he’d appreciate that comparison, but you’re absolutely not wrong.”
“It’s not like he didn’t care about me first!” Matthew states, almost defensively. He flutters over, settling on the couch cushion next to Hob and he gets the impression that they should be sharing a couple beers right now, gossiping about their mutual friend, “He tries soooo hard to be all cold and aloof, but he knew me for five seconds and tried to keep me from doing my literal job ‘cause he was worried I’d get hurt.”
“Yeah, that sounds like him,” Hob smirks, shaking his head fondly.
“I can’t believe I had to die to finally get a good boss,” Matthew huffs, “Honestly that’s the craziest part of my afterlife. Turned into a raven? I can shrug that off. I enjoy my job and love my boss? THAT’S the part I have trouble believing.”
Snapping his head over, Hob blinks for a long moment. Matthew’s feathers fluff up at his staring, “What? What did I do?”
Slowly, a grin spreads across Hob’s face, leaning forward conspiratorially.
“Want to help me with something?”
~~~
When Dream arrives for a visit two days later, Hob doesn’t even bother saying hello.
“Can I hug you?”
Dream blinks in surprise, tilting his head curiously as Hob stands patiently in front of him. When he finally nods, looking confused but not uncomfortable, Hob wastes no time wrapping his arms around his friend and pressing him close. He can feel the shape of his manifested skeleton through the layers of his coat.
“Dream,” he sighs sadly, one hand guiding Dream’s head against his shoulder, “I’m so sorry.”
“Whatever for?” Dream moves as if to pull away, but does not struggle when Hob tightens his grip, “You have done nothing to warrant an apology.”
“I’m sorry for pressuring you to eat.”
Now, Dream jerks back, and Hob lets him go, though he keeps his hands on Dream’s shoulders. He looks surprised now, and somewhat guilty, “What do you-”
“Matthew told me,” Hob explains, “Oh, yeah, I met Matthew by the way. Good guy. Or, raven, or whatever,” Dream scowls, and he quickly continues, “He was worried about you.”
“He need not have interfered,” Dream looks away, body stiff under Hob’s hands, “There was no need for his concern.”
Hob sighs, “Dream. You could have told me you can’t eat food in the Waking.”
There is a pause as Dream considers his words, gaze still steadfastly avoiding Hob’s. “You… enjoy food,” he states, “and cooking. And you. Said it was a ritual among friends.”
“I know,” Hob winces, “I understand how it might have sounded when I said that, but… Dream, we won’t stop being friends just because there are certain things we can’t do together.” Dream doesn’t answer, his body as stiff and cold as a statue.
“Dream,” he ducks his head to try to catch Dream’s eye, “I won’t love you less if you tell me no.”
And that has Dream’s head snapping up, eyes wide with surprise in a way that makes Hob’s heart crack.
“I mean it,” he insists, “I won’t be mad, or- or offended or anything if there’s certain things you can’t do. I’m sure there’s plenty I can’t do because of my humanity that you wouldn’t hold against me, yeah?”
Dream frowns, confusion on his face, “I would not ask you to take part in anything that went against your nature.”
Hob tilts his head back and sighs, his mouth curling in a fond smile, “You’re so close. You’re right there.”
There is a long pause as Dream seems to turn his words over in his head. “You. Also would not ask me to take part in something that went against my nature? Even if it is something you enjoy?”
“Exactly,” Hob grins, “I don’t enjoy it if it hurts you.”
“Despite how I have treated you in the past?”
Hob’s grin falls so fast it hits like whiplash, “Of course not!” He feels his chest tighten in horror, “Is that what you thought? That I would be okay with hurting you because we got in a fight once?”
Glancing away, Dream’s brow furrows in consideration, “It is not… I did not believe you were doing it on purpose,” he admits, which does lift a little of the weight from Hob’s heart, “I merely…” he looks up at Hob through his eyelashes, “I did not want you to think that I do not take our friendship seriously. I wanted. To prove myself. To prove that I am capable of being worthy of your companionship. I have declined your offer of friendship once already. To deny a ritual of friendship offered to me now would be unforgivable.”
“Only because there would be nothing to forgive,” Hob replies softly. Before Dream can say anything else, Hob pulls him back into his arms.
“I. Did not mean to upset you,” Dream says tensely.
“You didn’t.” Hob gives him one last firm squeeze before reluctantly releasing him, “Now, my friend,” he says it again in hopes of reassuring Dream, who still looks anxious and lost, “Matthew didn’t say anything about you having ill-effects from our movie nights, yeah?”
Dream hums, and the slightest bit of tension leaves his shoulders, “Indeed. I have been. Enjoying experiencing this new media with you,” his lips twitch towards a smile, “And you promised me an adaptation of Romeo and Juliet tonight.”
Hob groans dramatically, placing a hand on Dream’s back to guide him towards the couch, “The only reason I’m allowing it is because the setting is different enough for me to almost forget it was inspired by that twat Shaxberd.”
“Technically it was inspired by me.”
“Well then sit down and enjoy the fruits of your labor,” Hob laughs, getting West Side Story set up for them to enjoy. The curtains are drawn to cover the glass panes of the windows, there are blankets and pillows strewn across the couch, and there are no snacks or food on the coffee table in front of them. When he looks at him, Hob thinks Dream looks a little… softer. A little more comfortable.
A little more loved.
~~~~~~~
“What’s on the docket today, boss?”
Matthew lands carefully on the Dream King’s shoulder. He had spent what felt like several hours accompanying Mervyn throughout the castle grounds, pestering him with questions and prodding him for stories as he made minor adjustments to the landscape, and now he felt energetic and ready for a task. Sometimes Matthew felt like he was a better raven than a person. If nothing else he was happier as one.
Dream hums as he walks down a quiet path outside the castle, “I must check in on the dreams of light to see how my newest creations among them are settling. And ensure they do not require more added to their numbers.”
The ‘dreams of light’ were how Dream had explained a particular sect of dreams to Matthew. They were created for dreamers who felt as though they were in the deepest darkness, those who saw no hope for themselves. They were dreams meant to inspire and revitalize.
“So they’re like, the light at the end of the tunnel, yeah?” Matthew had responded when Dream had explained.
“Yes,” he had replied with a small smile, “That is not an inaccurate comparison.” Matthew had beamed with pride at understanding a little more of this new realm he called home.
Meeting the dreams of light had been enlightening- pun absolutely intended- in a lot of ways. Mostly, Matthew learned that Lord Morpheus was deeply uncomfortable with them.
He didn’t think it was a matter of him not liking them or anything. But there was something in the way he had walked and held himself when in their presence. It reminded Matthew of how he had felt the first time he had held one of his friends' new baby; utterly adoring, and absolutely certain he was about to break it.
“I can deal with ‘em, boss.”
Dream turns to glance at the raven shuffling on his shoulder, brow furrowed, “I have already stated that I would do so.”
“Yeah, but I know you don’t want to,” Matthew shrugs his wings nonchalantly, “Unless you have some other important raven errand for me, just let me handle them. I don’t mind.”
With a deepening frown- born of confusion rather than displeasure, Matthew notes- Dream raises his arm, and Matthew instinctually hops from his shoulder to his forearm, allowing them to look each other in the eye. “Wants have no authority within my duty. If a task must be done then I shall do it.”
“Uh huh, yeah, I get that,” Matthew nodded, “but does this particular task have to be done by you ?”
“...I. Suppose not.”
“Great! Then delegate! I mean, I’m offering. Those guys don’t bother me the way they do you, so it’s not an issue, really.”
“I have not expressed that they bother me.”
Matthew sighs, shifting from foot to foot a little nervously, “Listen, don’t file an HR complaint for me saying this, but I love you, and so you are not as subtle as you think you are when it comes to being uncomfortable. To me at least.”
There is a long moment of silence as they stare at each other, Dream blinking in surprise, and Matthew tilting his head back and forth out of some strange raven instinct to view his boss from different angles.
“...We do not have an HR department in the Dreaming.”
“I can’t tell if that’s you telling me you are upset or aren’t upset.”
To his shock and awe, Dream smiles. A small huff escapes his lips, the closest to a laugh Matthew has ever heard in his time as his raven. “I am not upset,” he states regally. “Since you are so insistent, I will allow you to run this errand on my behalf.” He makes it sound like he is the one doing Matthew a favor, which doesn’t actually surprise Matthew all that much. Honestly, he finds it kind of endearing.
“Will do, Lord Morpheus!”
He is still smiling as Matthew flies away. It’s not much.
But it’s a start.
~~~~
Matthew is in the middle of debating whether it would be in poor taste to ask to see Jessamy’s book when Lucienne steps into the library, sighing heavily.
“What’s up, boss lady?” Matthew flies over, landing to perch on the back of the chair next to the one Lucienne had fallen into heavily, “Everything alright?”
“Everything is fine, Matthew,” Lucienne smiles, and he can see she looks more “fondly exasperated” than “distraught”. “I simply just came from seeing Lord Morpheus. He is still on the shores of creation.”
It has been almost two weeks since Matthew had checked in on the dreams of light, and had made some rounds among some other groups of dreams and nightmares as well. His report for the Dream King had been similar for all of them: they were doing fine, there was no true trouble, but could still benefit from higher numbers due to the massive increase in dreamers over the past hundred years.
To the surprise of absolutely no one, Dream had taken that as a great personal failure and had immediately set to work creating rapidly and desperately. Last Matthew had checked on him, his fingers had been bleeding. He hadn’t even known that was a thing that could happen to him.
“Any luck?” Matthew asks.
Lucienne hums, and it’s so similar to how Dream does. It amuses Matthew how alike the two were, and he wonders who influenced the other more. “He is taking a brief break,” she very nearly rolls her eyes, “only to ensure that the quality of his work does not suffer from the quantity.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right.”
Sighing, Lucienne shakes her head fondly, “I love Lord Morpheus but he can be quite stubborn sometimes.”
Her words have Matthew perking up. To be honest he’s a little surprised he hadn’t thought of this sooner. “Actually, funny that you say that. Want to join a group project to help the boss out?”
~~~~
Lucienne is still pondering Matthew’s words (and there had been a lot of them) when she stumbles upon her lord in the Library. He is seated quietly at a small table tucked in the back, hands folded in front of him. There are no books on the table, and he seems lost in thought. Part of her wonders if she should leave him alone, but…
“Apparently he doesn’t think anyone like, actually loves him. Which honestly kind of explains why he always looks like he’s on the verge of tears. Shit, I’ve felt on the verge of tears since that Hob guy told me about it. Like, I just assumed he knew, y’know? How can he not know?”
“Good evening, Lord Morpheus,” Lucienne greeted with a smile, pulling him from his thoughts as he glanced up at her. Despite whatever he had been mulling over, he still smiles as he looks at her.
“Lucienne,” he dips his head in greeting, “I hope I am not intruding.”
It is his realm. It is him . And yet he still considers this space hers.
“Not in the slightest,” she assures him, “Was there anything I could assist you with? Or were you merely visiting?”
“Visiting,” he confirmed with a nod, “I just returned from the Waking,” he explained, “and I felt the need to. Collect myself, I suppose.”
Humming in consideration, a thought occurs to her, “I cannot help but notice you have been spending quite some time with a particular human in the Waking, my lord,” she teases, “Will we be welcoming a new consort soon?”
Lucienne’s voice is light and fond, a teasing smile on her face, and yet Morpheus’ face still drops. It reminds her of a flower wilting, and his eyes are just a little glassy before he turns his gaze to the floor.
“I apologize,” his words are tense, some mixture of frustration and sorrow.
“Whatever for?”
His eyes dart to glance at her skeptically, “I am aware, as I am sure you are as well, how troublesome my. Amorous pursuits are,” He straightens his back, steeling himself, “I shall restrain myself. You have my word.”
For a moment, Lucienne simply looks at him. He has changed so much, and yet is still so very much the same. In the past, he might not have apologized as he did now. But she recognizes the guilt and shame all the same.
Finally, she steps forward, sitting in the seat across from him, “You have nothing to apologize for.”
He snorted, shaking his head in disbelief, “Surely you resent the burden that comes with my being in love. You have every right to be cross with me for succumbing to such feelings once again.”
“And yet I am not.”
Morpheus lifts his head, looking at her more directly, brow furrowed in confusion, and so she continues, “I have never been upset with you. You love deeply, and that is not a bad thing. I have only ever been saddened to see your heart broken.”
“My heartbreak has always been well deserved,” he insists. “ My pain is just. The injustice is the burden I throw on those around me.” He looks down again, fists clenching, “I bring storms with my sorrow, I lose focus on my duty, I become overwhelmed with both the love and the loss.”
Lucienne hummed, “Those things may be true. But they do not make me love you less.”
His head snaps up so fast she thinks she hears a crack. He is wide-eyed in his disbelief, and it makes her want to cry. Morpheus has been prideful, and stern, and reticent with his words. But it was impossible not to know when Morpheus loved you, whether he said it or not. Even when he lashed out and struggled to grant her more responsibility, Lucienne never doubted Dream’s love for her. It pains her to think that he has not felt the same surety with her love for him.
“You are my lord, and you are my friend,” she states, voice even as she recites simple facts, “and I love you. Not because you do not have flaws, but because there is so much about you to love, and your flaws simply cannot deter me.”
Dream continued to stare, blinking slowly, like trying to solve a puzzle in his head. Eventually, he swallowed thickly, turning his gaze down to his own hands as he admitted softly, “You know me so well. Better than most. I was certain that this knowing could only end in your disdain.”
“Perhaps I know you better than you do,” Lucienne responded, a hint of mischief in her voice that Dream could not help but quirk a smile at.
Tilting his head, he recalled fondly, “Do you remember, so long ago, when the stories of the world were scattered through the Dreaming? Every time a page drifted past us, even if we were giving a tour to an important guest, you would fly after it.”
Lucienne laughed at the memory. She remembers how her feathers fluffed with agitation each time, offended at the chaos of it. Every story, written and unwritten, left to float freely through the dreaming, unbound pages swirling in the wind and catching on branches and pillars. Lucienne could never resist the urge to collect them. “My beak would be so full of pages I could barely see where I was flying.”
“How far you have come,” Dream smiled proudly, glancing at the towering shelves of stories around them, “From your little hoard of collected stories in the corner of the palace. To this.”
“Because you allowed it,” Lucienne pointed out. She had been nervous, when Lord Morpheus first discovered the piles of pages she had brought inside and pushed into the neatest stacks a raven was capable of. It only occurred to her decades later that he must have known from the beginning what she was doing. It was only when she began struggling with the size of her hoard, when she was brought near tears at knocking over one of her precious stacks with a stray wing, that the Dream King ‘found’ it.
And he gave her shelves, and bindings, and hands.
He shook his head, “I believe you would have made it happen regardless. A beakful of pages at a time. I merely made it easier.”
“And do you think that makes it count less?” Dream looked at her, head tilted in confusion, and she could not help but shake her head fondly, “Oh, Lord Morpheus, you can try to downplay your love all you like, but those of us who love you back will always see it regardless.”
There is another pause, his brow furrowed as he seems to consider this. Consider the idea that there are those who see him. They see him because they love him, and the seeing only makes them love him more. She wonders how he will take it. She hopes he doesn’t run away.
He doesn’t. Instead, he dips his head and smiles, “I. Am glad. It would pain me. If you did not know my care for you.”
“I know, Lord Morpheus,” Lucienne reached out, laying a hand over his, “I know.”
Squeezing his fingers just once, she leans back, smirking deviously, “Now,” she adjusts her glasses, keeping her tone light and professional, “tell me more about this human who has caught your attention. I must make sure he is good enough for you, of course.”
When Morpheus laughs, he sounds young, and happy, and loved.
~~~
“My friend,” Hob begins cautiously, “is everything alright?”
Dream has always been quiet, but tonight he is distracted . He seems far away and lost in thought, a furrow in his brow that Hob wants to smooth over with his fingers. There is music playing softly in the background, one of their quiet evenings of sharing stories and Hob gently showing Dream little bits of what humanity had created in his absence. He does not seem upset, exactly, but Hob still worries.
“I. Am fine,” Dream responds stiffly, and Hob can’t help but snort.
“For someone who claims the title ‘Prince of Stories’ you are a terrible liar.”
Dream glares at him, but there is no heat behind it. In fact, Hob is almost certain he sees his mouth twitch as though holding back a smile. Softening, he allows himself to scoot a little closer on the couch, until their legs are just barely brushing. “I’m serious, though,” he repeats, “Are you okay?”
Sighing, Dream glances down at his hands in his lap, “I am fine,” he insists, “I simply…” he takes a long moment to consider his words. When he speaks again, it is in a rush, as though he must push the words out before he loses them, “Matthew and Lucienne claim that they love me.”
Hob blinks, “Oh.” He is both pleased to know that Dream is being told, and confused by Dream’s reaction. “That’s good, isn’t it?”
Looking up at him, Dream looks… ashamed, “They are my subjects,” he explains, “I have power over them. In such a situation, is it not immoral to ask them to love me?”
“ Did you ask?” Hob presses, already knowing the answer, “Or did they choose to love you on their own?”
Dream does not answer, and he does not look comforted either. “And Death,” he ignores Hob’s question, “she has said… but is it not obligation to love your family?”
“It can feel like it sometimes, sure,” Hob answers carefully, “but in reality, no. Family can be complicated, but at the end of the day, love is never an obligation. It is in fact very possible to not love your family. If she loves you it’s because she loves you.”
At first, he doesn’t understand it. Why Dream seems to grow more anxious and fearful with each word Hob speaks in comfort. Hob is trying to reassure him that he is loved and yet his eyes are wide, jaw tense and hands clenched into tight fists. He looks cornered.
He looks, Hob realizes, like Hob himself had as a starving man in the 1600s. Like a man who had been given the barest scraps to keep him alive and was now bracing to have it stolen away.
“And you?” Dream whispers, “You have claimed to love me…” he searches Hob’s face desperately, his voice choked when he finally brings himself to ask, “... Why ?”
“Because it’s true.” Hob reaches out recklessly, because it’s too important not to. He laces their fingers together and leans forward to keep their eyes locked even when Dream tries to look away, “Because I do love you. You, Dream of the Endless. I love your dedication to your work, I love the way you speak, I love explaining humanisms to you. I love how hard you try, how you don’t give up even when you’re convinced you've failed. I love how much you care.”
He could go on forever. Reckless, daring, desperate, Hob lifts his other hand to cradle Dream’s cheek, feeling the way he sucks in a breath at the contact, “I love the look in your eyes when you experience kindness,” he strokes a thumb gently against the skin under Dream’s eye, “and I love you so much that I also hate that look in your eye… as if you’ve never experienced kindness. As if you’re not used to it. As if you don’t know what to do with it. I love you so much, and I want you to be loved more . I want everyone to love you.”
Dream does not need to breathe, and yet his chest is nearly heaving with shaking breaths, each of Hob’s words hitting him like a blow. He has to swallow a few times before he can manage to speak again. “I do not want everyone to love me,” he confesses, “I just…” Hob has never heard him sound so uncertain. So small. Dream has to look away before he is able to continue, “I want the love I have to be true . I know I am too much,” his voice drips with shame, “I know I love too hard. But it is because I want so badly to be loved in return the way I love. I do not require quantity. I just… I want… I want the people I love to love me back.”
Timidly, he looks up at Hob once more, and his voice cracks as he asks, “Is that selfish?”
“No,” Hob answered immediately, “That is very, very human.”
“I am not-”
“You are humanity’s dreams,” Hob interrupts, “And I promise you, humanity dreams of being loved in return.” Leaning forward, he pulls Dream gently closer, until their noses are nearly touching and they are sharing breath, “And you are, you know,” he whispers between them like a secret, “You are loved in return.”
“You cannot know how others feel for me,” Dream argues weakly.
“Perhaps,” Hob cannot help but smirk, “I mean, I do, but I know you won’t accept that. So accept this: I know how I feel for you. And I love you. I’ll say it however many times you need. I love you-”
“Stop.”
Dream’s eyes are clenched shut, and Hob can see the moisture caught on his eyelashes. But he’s not pulling away, and when Hob pulls back, he drifts after him. “I’ll stop talking if you want me to,” Hob offers, “I’ll stop touching you, if it’s too much,” He starts to pull his hands away and the tears finally spill down Dream’s cheeks, “But I won’t stop loving you.”
The words are barely out his mouth when Dream crashes into him. He nearly falls backwards, only just managing to keep them both from toppling over, his hands bracing against Dream to steady them. There is salt on Dream’s lips, and they tremble against Hob’s, and he can taste the words on them as clearly as if Dream had spoken them out loud.
Stay, his kiss begs, Stay, stay, stay.
“I love you, too,” Dream whispers against his lips, his hands curled in Hob’s shirt as though expecting him to pull away.
But Hob only pushes closer, wrapping his arms around Dream’s fragile figure. “I know,” he replies, pressing kisses to his mouth, his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, “I know. I know you love me. And I love you back. I promise.”
Holding Dream tight in his arms, Hob knows that he will probably have to convince Dream again tomorrow. He will probably have to convince him again and again and again, and he doesn’t care. He loves him enough to remind him.
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Alright alright. Heres another. How about: single dads au. Dream has just divorced Calliope. Her job means that she's traveling all over the world right now and as much as she wants to be in Orpheus's life, that's very irregular. Dream works from home. He's an artist who does work for himself but also on commission. He hasn't painted for fun since the fighting started with Calliope 6 months before the big break up. He's still taking work painting book covers and such. But it's not fun anymore. It all feels... flat.
Orpheus is in grade school and his thing is music. He has perfect pitch. Dream tries to relate but even music feels flat since his muse left of course.
He goes in for a parent teacher conference. Orpheus begged him to come because he needs to talk to his music teacher and be proud of Orpheus's perfect grade in the class. So Dream comes. There's one other kid there waiting his turn for the music teacher but he looks miserable, and his parent is nowhere to be found. There's someone in the room already so Dream and Orpheus sit down with this kid and wait. Orpheus runs off to the bathroom so Dream strikes up a conversation with the kid, whose name is Robyn and he's just awful at music he says. Dream, who is much better with kids than with anyone else really, tells him a secret - he's not very good at music either. Robyn is mystified how the parent of the best kid in class could suck at music. Dream learns that Robyn's dad is late getting here because he had work. And he won't be upset that Robyn is doing poorly but Robyn thinks he should be, he's upset enough about his grade for the both of them. Just as they're getting friendly, Orpheus cames back with another man, who he has obviously won over and is talking with animatedly.
Robyn lights up and runs over to his dad, hugging his leg. Hob has finally arrived. He grunts as Robyn runs into him and bends down to pick him up, even though the boy is like 8 or so. Hob settles Robyn against his substantial hip, the kid curling a little around Hob's belly. Robyn stage whispers to him that Orpheus is the best kid in music but apparently his dad can't hold a tune isn't that funny?
Dream and Hob look at each other as Hob chuckles, and Dream has two sudden realizations at once. 1) Dream hasn't felt this kind of attraction to a man, ever. He knew he could like men but it seemed just not as strong as attraction to women. But apparently that was because he'd never been attracted to a strong fat man before because holy shit would Dream like to be lifted like that against that belly. 2) Dream needs to get his hands on some clay right now and sculpt him. Suddenly it makes sense his art felt flat, it was literally 2 dimensional. And here is Hob taking up space fully in 3 dimensions and Dream needs to learn to sculpt right now to create his likeness.
🍰🐲
Dad Hob with an actual dad bod??? HELLO. This is a fat dad appreciation blog now.
Dream being good with kids is also such an underrated thing. He definitely puts Robyn at ease about the whole music grade situation (and he definitely thinks that no 8 year old should be worrying about grades, as he keeps telling Orpheus). When Hob sees Dream for the first time, he's immediately so enamoured with him, because anyone who Robyn takes a shine to must be an amazing person. It helps that Dream is drop-dead gorgeous.
Meanwhile Dream is wondering if it would be weird and insane to ask Hob to model for him right now. He's never even done a full sculpture before but he wants to get into his studio, have Hob pose, and just get to work. He's definitely staring at all the soft curves, the beautiful hint of double chin, the lovely slope of his belly. He just hopes that Hob won't get the wrong idea!!
They keep meeting in between appointments with the teachers, and all four of them head to the snack table that the PTA have organised. Robyn and Orpheus take their cupcakes and go play with some of classmates, and Dream is thrilled to be left alone with Hob!!!
"I'm an artist." Dream blurts out. "And i hope this isn't odd or intrusive, but. Looking at you has given me more inspiration than I have found in many months."
Hob blushes, which possibly makes him even more lovely. The colour in his cheeks floods all the way down to his neck, and probably goes even further down his chest.
"Creativity runs in your family, huh?" Hob tugs on his ear shyly. "Robyn loves his art. A whole lot more than music, bless him."
"You would both be welcome to come to my studio. Orpheus will be there, of course." Dream sweeps his gaze once more up and down over Hob’s figure. "I would not do anything to make you uncomfortable, I promise."
Hob leans in close. He smells so fucking good, like winter spices. Dream’s mind is flooded with images in which Hob lifts him clear off the floor and holds him against his own plush form. It's Dream’s turn to blush. Hob is so close, Dream could bury himself in that magnificent soft chest.
"I'm far from uncomfortable. Watching you go through a kind of sexual awakening has been a pleasure." He winks, and pulls away. The kids are coming back over. "I'll give you my number, and we'll arrange something. Okay?"
Of course the main theme of the evening involves both Hob and Dream being proud of their respective sons and showering them in praise. But it would be fair to say that both of them are very much looking forward to meeting again... perhaps in more intimate circumstances?
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oops i saw that video of ferdie watching ads and my brain was all “wake up new dreamling meetcute just dropped” and really ran away with me and became a ridiculous sappy improbable thing
AU where dream is the model in an ad and hob is traveling for an academic conference. he’s watching tv in his hotel room late at night and sees this ad with dream in it. it’s some silly and forgettable TV commercial but the man in it may possibly be the most gorgeous person hob’s ever seen in his life? anyway hob can’t sleep, partially because he’s nervous for his panel the next day, partially because he’s stuck on Gorgeous Guy From the Ad and feels incredibly silly for it. it was a two minute appearance. matthew really is right that hob needs to get out more if he’s crushing on people in random TV commercials now
so he goes down to the lobby bar to get his mind off of things. it’s late and the bar is deserted - the bartender is about to knock off for the night in maybe half an hour. hob orders a club soda and is reviewing his papers when someone slides onto the bar stool next to his. hob is about to be slightly irritated that someone is In His Bubble at this late hour, when he looks up and sees it’s The Guy. the guy!!!
it’s the fucking guy from the ad he just watched, and somehow he looks even more beautiful in person, and hob is like, oh, okay, the stress of academia has finally gotten to me and i’ve lost it because there is just no fucking way
it’s such a ludicrous coincidence that hob sets down his pen and just starts laughing. the way you laugh at things that aren’t actually amusing, because it’s the middle of the night, and everything’s just a little fuzzy around the edges?
“is something funny?” says mr. walking wet dream from the TV, in a voice like slow-melted chocolate, and also with the kind of curiosity in it that makes hob realize he’s being totally socially inappropriate
“no—no, i’m so sorry. it’s just—god, am i dreaming? because you’re here, but i swear i just saw you—upstairs. well. not like—i mean. in an ad on the TV?” (completely not helping himself in the smoothness department)
the breathtaking stranger’s lips quirk up in a sardonic smile. “ah, yes. that.”
“that?”
“unfortunately, you are not dreaming. i did indeed feature in an advertisement several years ago. as my sibling dearly loves to remind me on every possible occasion, lest i let myself forget for even a moment.”
and hob expects the man to leave in a huff, or something. he goes back to his papers, dream orders himself a gin & tonic, but they’re watching one another in each other’s periphery until finally dream says, “i must admit why i sat beside you this evening. i noticed you were reading marlowe…”
to hob’s great surprise this stranger soon doesn’t feel like someone he’s just met. hob talks about his teaching post and the conference and the paper he’s presenting and the panel he’s on tomorrow, and how (“shhh, you mustn’t tell anyone”) his co-panelist tomorrow is an absolute pill so he’s dreading it. he finds himself sharing more easily than he expected in a way that you only can in the kind of liminal space that is an empty swanky hotel bar at midnight. they’re angled toward one another on their barstools so that maybe their shoes knock together or their ankles brush occasionally in a way they both pretend is accidental, and hob does his level best to be calm and collected about it
he learns his stranger’s story over several gin & tonics. dream’s ‘real’ name is morpheus. he wants to be a published author, studied creative writing. his father is the head of a major media/entertainment/publishing conglomerate and dream used to work for the company. when dream said he wanted to pursue something totally different (essentially… be a starving artist) his father saw it as a betrayal, and trapped him into continuing to work for the family for years on the promise of getting him the connections to publish his first novel or help him get funding to stage his first play… provided he could “actually” finish the manuscript
in the meantime his father had dream doing bit parts in forgettable commercials and made for tv theatre productions, partially as humiliation for daring to want to leave. (i really want him to be in a hair commercial where he broods about in silky black robes…) eventually dream lawyered up and severed ties. his father retaliated by setting up a kidnapping attempt on his own son that someone else conveniently took the fall for, and so on…
anyway - to make a long and tragic story short, now morpheus goes by dream, moved cities, has started his life over mostly estranged from the family, and he’s actually working on his novel - but he’s in town for a friend’s funeral and is staying at the hotel too
at the end of this story hob goes, “bloody hell. i’m sorry, my friend,” and it’s a bit over-familiar, isn’t it, for someone you’ve just met at a bar, even if you’ve just shared half your secrets. so hob is all, oh god oh god ohgodohgod, i’ve scared him off now—
then dream is all, “your friend. is that all you’d like me to be, robert gadling?” and he’s Looking at hob like he’s caught hob out in a lie. and hob’s breath is just… gone… gone away somewhere… and he has to admit that he may still barely know this man but there’s nothing he wants more than to know him in every way possible
and maybe they both go up to hob’s hotel room, and when hob kisses dream for the first time, cradling dream’s face in his hands, it’s more tender and intimate than it has any right to be and hob is just. flabbergasted because fuck. he just met this man and it feels like he could be content just to kiss him for hours and hours and hours. ok? like this is some accidental soulmates energy. their first time is slow and thorough after falling asleep curled together on top of hob’s covers and waking up in the blue hours before dawn
ok basically just my favorite thing is dreamling finding one another in very unlikely circumstances and having a Connection asdjfjf
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Hob and Morpheus’ newly turned immortal soulmate being more on the innocent side and Hob and Morpheus being her first time 👀
I love you and your brain my sweet (but not so innocent) anon 😌
When you finally blurted out that you never had sex before, there was almost a cartoonish record scratch as Dream and Hob stared at you. No, it was so much shock - a bit given their love and desire for you because how couldn’t you have lovers throwing themselves at you. But more, a deep rooted primal urge that began to bubble up in their chests.
They adored you. They loved you deeply. They will cherish you to the ends of the earth and ensure you feel their love constantly.
And they wanted to claim you. To know that their dear soulmate hadn’t been with anyone else, and only for them? It was a thrilling feeling, they wanted to be your firsts and they were ready to jump you as long as you said so.
Now, these men of course have been around for a while so they know their way around. They will make sure you feel amazing. Any nerves or fears? They reassure you it’s okay and will take their time. They will have you spread out playing with your body all night. They will constantly check in with you to make sure you’re okay - but to be fair your lovely moans were enough of an indication. They will tease you just a bit too, lots of ‘oh? Do you like that? / speak up dear, do you like when I touch you here? / eyes on me love that’s it watch me now’
The first time you’re with them is absolute lovemaking as they want to bring you to ecstasy over and over again. It is all about learning how to make your body sing for them and in turn you learning how to make them sing for you. Now the times after that? Oh, you are in dangerous territory. They now had a taste of you and they are eager to try new things to see how well you scream out their names. But don’t worry you’re in wonderful hands, hands that will bruise your pretty skin and hold you lovingly afterwards
#the sandman#morpheus#dream of the endless#robert gadling#hob gadling#hob gadling x reader#hob x reader#morpheus x reader#dream of the endless x reader#morpheus x reader x hob#dream x reader x hob#smut#x reader#anon#ask
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The Death of Translation | Dream/Hob | 11K | General | Complete
Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, POV Hob Gadling, Modern Era, Pining, Falling In Love, Languages, Professor Hob Gadling, Banter, Loneliness, Confessions, Requited Unrequited Love, Middle English, Français | French, Česky | Czech, Portuguese, Dead Languages, Happy Ending, Character Study, or: an idiot with an idiolect
One day, in spring, he comes to the Inn.
Hob looks up and he’s there, and the relief is blinding. He thinks tu m’as manqué, fuck, because you were missing from me feels more true than I missed you ever has. English missing was ruined for him the moment he learned the French way of it. Longing is meant to be a reflexive verb.
It would be a bad faith translation, even for him.
He tells himself this is why he doesn’t say it. He thinks at last, and that’s a doable one. So he smiles, says, “You’re late.”
His stranger smiles back and tu m’as manqué, tu m’as manqué, tu m’as manqué rings through Hob like carillon bells.
“It seems I owe you an apology,” say his stranger, still standing. “I’ve always heard it impolite to keep one’s friends waiting.”
His stranger sits down, and after six hundred and thirty-three years, introduces himself, because friends should know each other’s names.
[Read on AO3]
FINALLY it's here thank you so much to @xx-vergil-xx, @fishfingersandscarves, and @wordsinhaled who first screamed with me about this concept in November, everyone who has screamed at me about it since, and everyone who donated language to this bilingual pleb - special mention to @mandolinearts for the massive amts of czech & @virgo-dream for the massive amounts of brazilian portuguese.
#the death of translation#fic post#my writing#the sandman fanfic#dreamling#dream of the endless#hob gadling#dream x hob#the sandman
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This Dream Is Over (Another Has Begun) - Read on AO3 - NOW COMPLETED!
Pairing: Dreamling
Rating: Explicit (Explicit content is skippable)
Word count: 115k
Chapters: 23
Tags: Fishbowl Rescue, Forcibly Retired Dream/Morpheus, Unity Kincaid becomes the new Dream of the Endless, Hob is a good guide to learning how to be human, Getting Together, Proposals, Accidental Cat Acquisition, Calliope Rescue, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending
Summary:
The last person Dream expects to see in Burgess' basement is Hob Gadling, who has apparently been asked to consult on the restoration of the historic manor. He is pleased when his old acquaintance helps free him without a second thought, despite their past squabble, but he is horrified to realise that breaking the binding circle does nothing to return his powers to him, and that he cannot return to the Dreaming after having been released from his cage.
Weak, confused, and distressingly human, he consents to being taken back to Hob's home to be cared for until he can regain his strength. When he falls asleep that night (which he should never have had need for), he finally finds his way back to his palace, only to find someone else sitting on his throne, wearing his ruby, and claiming his name as her own — Dream of the Endless.
#The Sandman#The Sandman fanfic#Dreamling#Dreamling fanfic#This Dream Is Over (Another Has Begun)#TDIOAHB update#fic update#my writing#Dreamling fanfiction
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Based off of this ask for @gabessquishytum
Wanting, Kneading
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 1.7k
Pairing: Dreamling (human au)
Characters: Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless, Orpheus (mentioned)
Tagging: @valeriianz, @chaosheadspace, and @tj-dragonblade ❤️❤️
-> Ao3 Link <-
Dream thought hiring a private chef was a good idea. And it was. At first.
He had just gotten full custody of Orpheus and, after a few weeks of disastrous attempts at making dinner– which resulted in burnt food, dishes in the sink, and, ordering out– he had finally decided on a chef named Robert Gadling, or Hob, as he had enthusiastically insisted Dream call him upon their first meeting.
Dream had realized he was screwed when Hob's warm, brown eyes lit up the minute he saw Orpheus. Taking the four year old's tiny hand in his own to shake, and hanging on to every word that came out of his mouth, few that they were.
The fact that he was handsome, too, didn't help Dream's plight in the slightest.
Which is how he has currently found himself standing over the kitchen island with Hob, Orpheus at preschool, brownies cooling on the counter, learning how to knead bread dough.
"It's really quite simple actually." Hob starts as he clears the island. "A lot of people use stand mixers for it. Which is nice if you're in a rush, but I mean, people have been doing it this way for thousands of years, you know? Why change it up now? Besides, I like using my hands."
Hob directs Dream to stand across from him and starts explaining how to work the dough, but Dream is distracted. The other man's sleeves are pushed up, exposing his hairy, thick forearms. His muscles flex and move deliciously under the skin as he kneads the dough, his instructing voice weirdly soothing.
Dream startles as Hob plops the dough ball down in front of Dream. "Your turn."
Dream covers his hands in flour and tries desperately to scrounge up some recollection of what Hob had been doing, and clumsily tries to replicate it. Hob, for his part, is very patient with him, coaching him through it.
Dream huffs after his third failed attempt. "I can't do it."
"Nonsense. Of course you can." Hob smiles and steps around the table toward him.
Dream's breath hitches and he tenses, but forces himself to relax as Hob moves to stand behind him.
The other man gets close. Warm, strong hands grasp his, moving them in order to properly knead the dough.
"Don't be so gentle. You can be rough with it, it will be fine." Hob's breath is hot on his ear, sending chills down his spine, arousal starting to simmer in his belly.
Hob keeps moving their hands, pressing them together, his fingers interlocked with Dream's. He can feel Hob's calluses, rough on the back of his own hand.
Hob presses in even closer– oh fuck– nearly forcing Dream's body into the counter, Hob's chest meeting his back. He can feel the warmth of him through his shirt. His eyes flutter.
On the next downward motion, Dream pushes himself back and feels Hob's prick grind against his ass. He's hard. He hears a stuttering breath against his ear. Hob grinds back against him a bit.
"Dream." He breathes.
"Hob." It comes out as a whine.
"Fuck. Hold on." He lets go of one of Dream's hands to grab the kneaded dough off the counter and slam it back into the bowl with a metallic clang. "It needs to rest."
In one swift motion, Hob turns him around and slots their lips together, crowding him up against the counter. Dream feels dizzy as Hob's tongue enters his mouth. He moans, flour-covered hands moving up into Hob's hair, leaving streaks of white.
"Fuck, Dream." Hob gasps.
Dream grinds his hips against Hob's, making him groan. Hob's hands move to grab the underside of his thighs, hoisting him up so they can grind against each other. Dream's arousal turns sharper at the display of strength.
Dream pulls away and looks him in the eye. "Fuck me."
From his spot on the counter, he watches Hob's eyes darken. The fingers gripping his thighs tighten the slightest bit.
"Yes." Hob leans in and kisses him again, hands petting Dream's sides and hips. Hob tastes sweet, their tongues sliding against each other. Hob's hands slide up to slip underneath his shirt, Dream shudders as his hands stroke the sensitive skin of his belly.
"You're gorgeous." Hob's fingers are carding through his hair now. He tilts his head back and groans.
As Hob kisses him, he reaches around the other man's back to untie his apron. Hob pulls away from his mouth briefly to pull the strap over his head, and Dream tosses it across the kitchen. He returns to kissing Hob with a vengeance, pulling the other man close by his belt loops. Dream rolls his hips sharply, pulling a low groan from him. A thrill shudders through his spine at the sound.
Hob’s hands are under his shirt now, gripping his waist. His hands are slightly sticky from the dough, but Dream could not care less. He pushes his tongue into Hob’s mouth, tasting him.
He starts to unbutton Hob’s shirt, revealing thick, glorious, coarse, brown chest hair that he wants to bury his face in, though he settles for dragging his nails through it. Hob tugs at the edge of his shirt and Dream quickly pulls away to let him pull it up over his head, letting it fall to the floor.
Dream pushes his chest into Hob’s, rough hair tickling his own bare chest. They stay like that for a little bit, grinding slightly, teasing each other, breathing the same air. His eyes are warm, and fond.
God, he’s fucked.
Dream reaches up, slowly pushing the shirt off of Hob’s shoulders. They're broad, strong, dwarfing his own slight build. Hob kisses him again, this time trailing down to start kissing his neck. He tilts his head to the side, sighing at the rough feel of his stubble.
“You said you wanted me to fuck you, darling?” Hob gusts, breath hot against his neck.
“Yes, please.” Dream huffs a breath as Hob steps away for a second, opening a cabinet and grabbing the olive oil.
He sets it down on the counter, yanking Dream off, spinning him around and guiding him to bend over the counter with one strong hand on his back. The show of strength sets his stomach aflutter, anticipation and arousal melding together.
Strong arms encircle his waist as Hob reaches around him to undo his jeans, pulling them down to his thighs. He settles himself against the table as he hears Hob open the oil, soon feeling blunt, slick fingers at his hole.
Hob takes his time fingering him open, kissing anywhere he can reach and driving Dream crazy by switching between ignoring his prostate and steadily rubbing it until he’s begging.
“Fuck, Hob- please, please.” Hob gives him one final hard pass over his prostate, the pleasure zinging up his spine, making his eyes roll a little, before he pulls his fingers out. He strokes a soothing hand along Dream’s spine as he slicks himself up.
Dream groans out a, “Fuck.” As the head of Hob’s cock presses against his hole. Slowly, slowly, Hob slides in. The oil isn't quite as good as the lube he has upstairs, the stretch burning a bit, but it feels incredible, his legs trembling with it.
When Hob finally bottoms out, Dream is breathing hard, his every exhale tinged with a whine. He feels warm lips press against the nape of his neck, a quiet ‘shhh’ soothing him.
They stay like that for a while, Hob running his fingers through Dream's hair and whispering something that Dream can't focus enough to catch.
“Hob-” Dream whines. Hob runs his hands down Dream’s thighs, coming back up to settle at his waist.
“I’ve got you, love.” He pulls out slowly, cock dragging along his inner walls, before thrusting back in again, holding him in place, hips digging slightly into the counter’s edge.
Dream moans, breath hitching with every hard thrust. Hob’s cock is constantly sliding against his prostate, sending pleasure radiating throughout his body, through his abdomen, down to his toes.
Hob starts a fast rhythm, sending Dream higher and higher, the heat building in his belly at a fast pace.
A chocolatey scent fills his nose, and something small and warm is being pushed against his lips, “Open up, love.”
He does, and suddenly his senses are overwhelmed with rich chocolate. The overstimulation of his taste buds, mixed with the pleasure coursing through his body is nearly too much, he doesn't know which to focus on.
“Please, please.” He begs. Hob grabs his hips and somehow starts fucking him even faster.
“Come for me, darling. You can do it.” He pants, his thrusts starting to get erratic.
Dream keens, back arching. He scrabbles to grab ahold of something, anything. Hob’s hand finds his and he squeezes, surely nearly breaking it, as he screams his pleasure.
He feels the warmth of Hob spilling into him a few moments later. Hob leans heavily onto the counter over top of Dream as they come down.
After a few minutes, Hob starts to straighten up. Dream hisses as he pulls out, and Hob breathes a, “Sorry, love.”
They both stand and silently fix themselves up as best they can. Which isn't much, at least in Dream’s case, he has flour covering his chest and face. Irritatingly enough, Hob looks more put together, if a bit flushed. He chuckles at Dream’s scowl.
“Here.” Hob grabs a dish towel, wets it, and gets to work wiping Dream’s face. His index finger is curled under his chin, tilting it up, and Dream can't stop staring at his eyes, focused on his task.
Hob finishes wiping the flour off of his face, and moves down to his chest before he catches Dream staring at him, seeming to realize he may have overstepped. He freezes, face flushing.
“Uh- I. I think you've got that covered, I'll just- uh. Bathroom! I'll go wash and then, uh, start cleaning up in here.” He rushes off, muttering something about, ‘Going to have to bin those brownies.’
Then Dream is left standing dumbly in the middle of his kitchen, the memory of strong hands and warmth all over his body, holding a damp dish towel.
Shit.
Fin.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bonus:
“Bin the ass brownies” - @seiya-starsniper 2024
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I do wonder if we get the beginning of Brief Lives in the next Sandman Netflix season, specifically with this moment:
If it's going to be played quite the same way? If they end up skipping straight from Seasons of Mist to Brief Lives (which I think is an excellent idea to be clear) it raises a few possibilities:
(cut for comic spoilers & speculation)
Personally I find this moment a bit weird in general because Dream doesn't even name the woman who supposedly just broke his heart and thus launched the action of this arc. Also the fact we later find out it's Thessaly who in the comic at least (the show can always soften the character as they have others) fucking sucks, for her to kick off Dream's sadness roadtrip of self-destruction feels like such a waste. It also feels weird to imagine babygirl Netflix Tom Sturridge Dream going for someone like Thessaly after his whole arc of trying to be a better person and learning important lessons and also just...being a much softer character who is trying to do better, going for someone like Thessaly (who doesn't even like him by her own admission) and who is also terrible feels like a tragic step backwards in his character development. Not inconceivable, just terribly tragic.
Which has me thinking that one possibility is if they go straight from Seasons of Mist to Brief Lives, this moment above could be about Nada, who does choose to pass on after he frees her, even after expressing that she still loves him. That love is just not enough for her to accept his offer to be his queen and stay (after 10k years of Hell, who can blame her?!).
Point is, this moment instead being part of the long tail of Dream's self-recrimination about Nada choosing to pass on would make a lot of sense and be a much more justifiable kick-off for Dream going on a roadtrip that's an expression of his doubts in his ability to change for the better (and therefore, must he die?). Nada's punishment is so heinous I can easily see the Sturridge Dream being conflicted about his own actions for much longer than he appears to be in the comic, leading to this moment after he set her free.
Thessaly is an immortal, so even if/when she shows up, her having an acrimonious "angry ex girlfriend" reaction to Dream need not be because she was the girlfriend who kicked off the Brief Lives arc, they could have just dated sometime in the past centuries and still have vitriol between them.
And finally, and this is just me being a shameless Dream/Hob shipper, I do kind of wonder how one even justifies Dream ending up with an immortal human like Thessaly when Hob is right there.
Look, in the comic, Hob barely seems to remember Dream exists when he's not there, so there's no feeling of "Why doesn't Dream hook up with Hob instead??" when you first learn about Thessaly. But in the show, you've got the 1789 tension, the missed meeting, the devotion of the New Inn. Dream going for another, shitty immortal brunet when Hob is right there feels a bit like a slap in the face in that context.
And let me be clear, it's not because I'm being shipper garbage that thinks Neil can, should, or would alter the story to appease Dreamling shippers or that Dream dating Thessaly in the show as he does canonically in the comic would be an intentional slap in the face to Dreamling shippers! It is beyond wishful thinking to imagine we'd get more than what the comic offers which is a few beautifully rendered, sentimental moments between them for us to build our fanon ship off of. It's not Neil's responsibility to make it canon so don't be fucking weird about it.
It's more that the show is so queer. The comic is queer too but the show absolutely focuses and centers the narrative on predominantly queer couples and people, more than straight ones. They also softened for example the Corinthian and confirmed he's gay and has some non-destructive relationships with men, he's not just a murderer of gay men. So the narrative is even more queer than the comic.
In the 80s/90s when Sandman came out, the idea of Dream as the lead protagonist being canonically queer I think would have been pretty unlikely. He's very, very het in the comics, with the closest we get to a whisper of him not being strictly het being a mention of Lucifer once being beautiful and some speculation they might have had a relationship.
But the show is so very queer and the energy so charged between Dream and Hob (and the writers acknowledged and encouraged it!) that there is no, in my opinion, natural conclusion that, "Sure, almost everyone else is queer in this, but not Dream, obviously." If anything, it would be jarring to have so many queer characters only to slam the door shut on the possibility that Dream might also be queer.
Which is my roundabout way of saying: I wonder how Thessaly will fit into this at all. I speculate she might be removed entirely from this beat of Brief Lives, in favor of making Dream more remorseful about Nada in a sympathetic way. Furthermore, introducing Thessaly when Hob, another immortal who actually likes Dream is right there the idea that he opts for Thessaly (a woman who doesn't even like him to the point where she plays an active part later in his death) instead after being tortured for 106 years is actually painfully heartbreaking.
So in conclusion: eh? Who knows!
But also: DREAM, Hob is RIGHT THERE! Date HIM, not fucking THESSALY?!
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At first Hob isn't even sure the shop is open. The tiny door inset above a few steps, the utter lack of welcoming signage, the windows packed with unlabelled stacks of books--it doesn't exactly scream come in and buy something. As Hob steps up to the door, he really expects it to be locked, or for a sign to fall from the ceiling reading, abandon all hope here, mortal.
But the door to the bookshop--the name of which he's yet to determine, again with the utter lack of signage thing--just swings open at his touch, and he steps into a narrow hallway made entirely of--of course!--books.
Dust rises from the rug as he carefully makes his way deeper into the meandering corridors. The lightbulbs overhead are dim and in desperate need of replacement. The stacks are teetering and untouched. If he learned the place had been sitting here on this winding side street, exactly the same, for the past seven hundred years, he wouldn't be at all surprised.
And now Hob's marring its mysterious mausoleum aura by opening a jaunty modern coffee shop across the street.
Whoops.
Hence why he's bringing a peace offering before he accidentally starts a war over noise or crowds or god knows what else. Most places would probably be happy about increased foot traffic, but that's not the sense he's getting here.
This is all, of course, assuming he does find an owner, and not just a skeleton manning a till somewhere in this place long gone dark.
Hob doesn't find any customers. He does find several interesting-looking side hallways labelled things like, ~ the occult ~ , Oneiromancy, and "falconry -- advanced" and has to drag himself back into focus because the only thing worse than starting a turf war with a mysterious bookstore owner on his cafe's opening day is accidentally spilling the coffee he's brought--as a peace offering!--all over some ancient magical text.
"Hello?" he calls, finally giving up on the creeping about. "Anyone there?"
No answer. All Hob finds is a rickety set of stairs leading up the next level. So he ascends.
At the top is an even more cluttered room of books. This time in disorganized, unlabelled stacks on every surface. Waiting to be shelved, maybe? And in the center of it all, sitting cross-legged on the floor with several of these books spread out in a confusing array before him, is who Hob can only presume to be the owner.
An owner who is not dead, nor ancient and decrepit as Hob had kind of been picturing. Definitely not decrepit at all. Oohhhh dear.
The lithe, dark-haired, fey thing that is the owner tapes a note inside another book and says, in a distracted tone, "Can I help you?"
"Uh," says Hob, because he came here on a mission but he's gotten really turned around, "do you drink coffee?"
This gets him a raised eyebrow, but the shop owner does turn to look at him, staring up from his position on the floor. Christ he's pretty, spectacles and all. If there is a battle over street noise levels, Hob's going to lose by dint of caving automatically to those eyes. Pathetic.
The bookstore owner looks at the coffee in Hob's hand, then back at Hob's face. "Why?"
Hob thrusts the cup in his direction. "Here."
The owner looks alarmed now, but takes the cup, gingerly, peering at it as if he thinks Hob might have given him pureed nightshade instead. "Why?" he repeats, and then, because apparently his level of self-preservation doesn't extend to things like not drinking random shit thrust at him by strangers, takes a sip, and hums in appreciation.
"I-- fuck, sorry--" Hob sits down on the floor, which only makes him look more like a maniac to be honest-- "I just-- I just opened across the street? The cafe? So I just wanted to say hi and-- holy shit, is your name actually Dream? Were you a stripper in another life or something?"
This because he's finally spotted a tiny nametag pin on the bookstore owner's cardigan-- a cat curled around a book where the cover reads, I am Dream.
"Yes," says Dream, and Hob has no idea if that's in response to the first question, the second, or both. Both is terrifying to think about. As is the fact that Hob even asked that. "The cafe, you said?"
"Mmhmm," Hob agrees, cheeks burning. Oh, he's making a right mess of this, all right.
"Hmm," says Dream, peering at him over the coffee cup. This indicates nothing to Hob about how he feels about the cafe situation.
"I just worried that more noise and stuff might bother you," Hob rushes to explain. "You seem. To. You know. Like your quiet. Is all."
"It is my understanding that cafes and bookstores frequently have symbiotic relationships," says Dream evenly, though he's still watching Hob with unnerving intensity.
Well. That was easy. Maybe Hob was just worrying over nothing. Wanting to be liked when it wouldn't have been an issue.
"Alright," he says, letting out a breath. "Well. Good!"
"Good," echoes Dream, with a tiny, wry smile.
"What is this place anyway? I've seen no signage whatsoever."
"It's called The Library," Dream says.
Hob waits for him to explain. He doesn't. "Um, but... isn't it a shop?"
Dream raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "And?"
"So..." Hob says, "it's not a library."
"Purchasing something is but extended borrowing from the universe," says Dream, like that makes any sense at all.
But Hob decides there's other things he'd rather do with a pretty goth bookstore/library/whatever owner than argue semantics. "What do you carry, then?"
Now Dream preens like a cat. "The Library contains every book in print."
Now it's Hob's turn to raise an eyebrow. "That seems... unlikely? Impossible?"
Dream's self-satisfied little smile doesn't fade. "You are welcome to browse the stacks and let me know if there is anything you cannot find."
And, well, it's true that Hob didn't really get a sense of just how far back this place goes. It looks small from the street, but he's already wandered pretty far in just to find Dream, and has yet to reach a back wall.
"I will definitely have to come back," he agrees. And get lost. Definitely get lost. He's not even sure he can find his way out. He'll probably get swallowed up in Oneiromancy.
"In return I will be sure to visit your cafe," says Dream. He says it so strangely, like crossing into a foreign land. I will be sure to visit your court. "Are you open late?"
"On Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays, yup," says Hob.
"Excellent." Dream inclines his head imperiously to Hob. "Thank you. For the coffee."
Hob figures he should let him get back to his labeling. He has plenty of his own work, too.
"Yeah, sure, any time. Good to meet you, Dream."
And then he scurries away before he can make it any weirder, makes his meandering way out of "The Library," and doesn't get lost in Oneiromancy.
This time.
--
The following night, Hob looks up from the till to find Dream standing across the counter from him. He looks much the same as before, with the addition of a long dark coat over his clothes, and no reading glasses this time. He offers Hob a tiny smile. "Hob Gadling."
Gosh, he looks, if possible, even prettier in the warm lighting of the cafe than in the darkness of his shop. Though to be honest, Hob had half-convinced himself he'd hallucinated Dream's existence. He hasn't seen anyone go in or out of the shop since.
"Dream," he greets, with a smile. "Anything I can get for you?"
"It is I who have something for you." He hands Hob what must be a book, though it's wrapped in brown paper. "Consider it a return gift. Or perhaps. A welcome."
And before Hob can even ask if he wants coffee or something, if he wants to sit down, he slips back out through the crowd and onto the street like a vapor, and then he's gone.
Hob tears open the paper. And then stares at the book in astonishment.
It's the book. Everyone has one. The book once read but since forgotten in the shuffle of time; title, author, too vague in recollection to pin down. Unsearchable. Never found, for all that the heart of the story might have lodged its way in somewhere deep.
It's one of those books that he remembers in blistering detail now that it's in his hands, that he read in uni but couldn't have found for the life of him on his own, and Dream's just handed it to him over the counter of his cafe.
He runs his fingertip over the midnight blue cover, the embossed lettering. In Search of Nightingales. And it's only as he looks up again at the hidden shop across the street, that he realizes he never told Dream his name, either.
#dream: its a library whose checkout term is the rest of your life :) ill get the books back eventually :) hope that clears it up for you hob#hob:.......#random drabble time i guess lol#dreamling#my writing#dream of the endless#hob gadling#bookstore cryptid dream
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Undisclosed Desires
"I have written smut."
"You fucked up a perfectly good sex scene is what you've done. Look at it. It's got hurt/comfort."
When they get together, it comes out that Dream has never been on the receiving end of oral sex before. Hob decides to fix that immediately.
Ao3
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It had been over six hundred years, and Hob still felt like this was happening so fast.
Granted, most of those years had been a one-sided friendship, a rigid dance where he was constantly held at arm's length and then farther after losing his temper in his desperation for connection. He spent a hundred years holding on to hope and then another thirty-three hanging on by sheer stubbornness. He did not live for his stranger, but that did not stop him from missing him.
And then he’d returned and it was like the floodgates opened.
On a random Thursday, not in June, not on the 7th, not in a year ending with ‘89’, his Stranger walked in and apologized. Called him a friend. Hob had spent the first half hour in a calm kind of bliss, a feeling as though he had exhaled for the first time in thirty-three years, finally able to breathe again. He learned his stranger’s name, and then he said it any chance he got. And then they were meeting once a month, twice a month, once a week, and Dream was explaining in a monotone voice why he was so tired, so thin, why he had missed their meeting, and then Hob was hugging him and Dream wasn’t pushing him away.
So yes. Six hundred some odd years was a long time to get together, but truthfully Hob was really only counting the past six months, and yeah some people would call that reasonable but right now, with Dream’s tongue in his mouth, it felt fast .
It wasn’t particularly late, but they had moved from their table in the New Inn to Hob’s flat upstairs once the dinner rush started pouring in. Dream wasn’t one for crowds, and Hob wasn’t one for making Dream uncomfortable. So they had ascended the steps, Hob feeling a slight buzz from too many pints and too few chips, and Dream a silent shadow behind him. Dream humors him and removes his shoes when asked, and even surprises him by slipping off his coat as well. He is still fully covered, a long sleeved black t-shirt revealed beneath the coat, but it is still significant to see him with one less layer shielding him, after everything he’s been through.
Maybe that was why he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from him, the silence stretching as he looks his friend up and down. When he reaches his eyes, he realizes that Dream is staring at his mouth.
Hob has no idea who moves first, but suddenly they are crashing together like the tides. Dream has his hands on Hob’s shoulders, bony fingers twitching like he’s trying not to cling to him, while Hob winds one hand through his wild black hair and curls the other around his lower back, pulling their bodies flush together. The kiss itself starts clumsy, noses bumping together and teeth clacking as they scramble to arrange themselves as close together as they can.
When they are both finally satisfied with the solid press of their chests and hips, they manage to smooth the slide of the lips together, and Dream takes advantage of Hob’s need to gasp for breath to slip his tongue into his mouth. Hob takes a step back, and Dream follows without granting a centimeter of space between them, fingers curling a little tighter as though afraid Hob is trying to leave. But he has nothing to fear, as Hob guides them farther into the living room. He moves his hands to cup Dream’s arse as he drops onto the sofa, grips at his hips and thighs until he has Dream straddling his waist.
Dream brings his hands up to cup Hob’s face as they part. Seated as they are, Hob has to tip his head back to catch Dream’s mouth, biting at his lower lip until he can feel a low moan reverberate through where their chests are pressed together.
“Hob…”
Hearing his name in that deep, breathless voice somehow makes everything so much more real. He has to take a moment to just stare half-lidded up at the gorgeous figure in his lap. Dream's hair is even messier than usual, and there’s a bit of color coming to his cheeks. His lips are dark and slightly swollen, and the look in his eyes can only be described as hungry .
He feels like he should say something- maybe slow things down, or clarify what exactly they’re doing, or just ‘I love you I love you I love you’- but before he gets a chance, Dream is pulling away from him. He has a split second of that old insecurity, the ache of an old wound as he thinks that he’s pushed too far and now Dream is leaving. Only a second though.
Then Dream is sinking to his knees in front of him.
If he could die he’s pretty sure he would have. “Fuck, dream…” His voice cracks embarrassingly, and there’s not enough blood above his waist to say anything more intelligent than that.
Especially not when Dream smirks up at him and runs his hands over Hob’s thighs, letting his thumbs ghost torturously close to his zipper, “Is this alright, Hob Gadling?”
It’s not fair that Dream’s voice is still so even and smooth. Hob lets his head drop back against the back of the couch, letting out a long groan, “Fuck, yes, please -”
That’s all the encouragement Dream needs as he elegantly pops the button of his jeans open, sliding the zipper down. It is a miracle Hob doesn’t come the second long, cold fingers wrap around him, pulling his cock free, but it does destroy any self restraint as he starts babbling before Dream finishes the first stroke.
“Fuck, fuck, you’re so gorgeous, how is this happening, how am I so lucky, wanted you for so long-”
He nearly screams when Dream leans forward to lick daintily at the precum beading at the head of his dick. He gives a soft hum of satisfaction, and then he meets Hob’s eyes and takes him into his mouth.
“OooooohmyfuckingGod-” There is no way this is real. But when he runs his hand through Dream’s hair it feels more real than anything he’s experienced in his centuries of life. Dream starts at a slow pace, sinking down and up steadily while Hob’s rambling becomes rapidly incomprehensible.
At some point, as he pulls back, he presses his tongue hard against the underside of his cock at the same time as one hand slips into his pants to palm at his balls. Hob keens, and his hand tightens in Dream’s hair unintentionally, holding him in place as his hips thrust upwards mindlessly. Dream lets out a choked, wounded noise as he hits the back of his throat, wincing slightly before quickly smoothing his expression.
Hob releases his hair immediately, gasping out through the sensation, breathless but still full of guilt, “Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”
Dream pulls back, lips red and shiny with spit, and blinks up at Hob in confusion, “It’s fine. You need not concern yourself with me.”
Hob opens his mouth to say ‘sex is all about concerning yourself with the other person’, but all that comes out is a long moan as Dream swallows him back down without hesitation. His thighs tense with the effort of keeping himself still, and he brings a hand up to pet Dream’s hair, careful not to grip or tug. Dream hums around him, runs his hands up Hob’s trembling thighs and presses his thumbs into his hip bones.
At some point, Hob realizes he has closed his eyes. He can feel his climax approaching embarrassingly rapidly, and he pulls his hands away, digs his fingers into the couch to prevent himself from gripping Dream. When he opens his eyes, he looks down and sees Dream gazing up at him through long, glistening eyelashes as he sinks down until his nose is pressed against the hair on his belly and that’s it for Hob. His head falls back against the couch, crying out loud enough to vaguely worry about getting a noise complaint, and he thinks he sees stars as he comes hard down Dream’s throat, shuddering as Dream swallows him through it.
When he finally catches his breath, Dream is still kneeling before him, licking swollen lips and waiting patiently for Hob’s brain to come back online.
“Fuck,” Hob let’s out a breathy laugh, slipping his sensitive cock back into his briefs but leaving his jeans undone. Reaching down, he rests a hand on Dream’s cheek, “Come ‘ere, Love.”
He pulls Dream back up onto his lap, but when he leans in to kiss him Dream stops him with a hand on his chest, frowning slightly. “I had you in my mouth,” he says as an explanation.
Hob only smirks deviously, “Exactly.” He grips the back of Dream’s neck, letting his fingers tangle in the soft hairs at his nape, and pulls him forward firmly, kissing him deeply and licking into his mouth when he gasps in surprise.
When he is forced to pause for breath, he grins. “I taste good on you.”
Dream blushes so prettily, eyes wide with something like awe. With Dream straddling him like this, knees pressed into the couch on either side of his hips, Hob can see the way the front of Dream’s skin tight jeans are straining, the outline of his arousal making Hob’s mouth water. Head cleared slightly from his orgasm and suddenly impatient, Hob wraps his arms around Dream’s back and swings him around until he is stretched out on the couch with Hob hovering above him.
With a small, surprised smile on his face, Dream tilts his head, curious like a bird, “Planning to fuck me already, Hob Gadling?”
Hob’s cock makes a valiant effort at stirring when he hears the word “fuck” in Dream’s smooth, deep voice, but ultimately he has to laugh, “My refractory period’s not that good, I’m afraid,” he runs his hands down Dream’s sides, feeling the peaks and valleys of his ribcage through his shirt as he smirks, “But that doesn’t mean I can’t return the favor.”
The smile drops from Dream’s face, and his brow furrows questioningly, “You need not. There is no obligation to reciprocate.”
“I know,” Hob smiled, kissing Dream’s cheek, “but I want to.”
When he pulls back, Dream only looks more confused, “But. You do not have to.”
Now it’s Hob’s turn to be confused, raising an eyebrow, “So you said.”
Dream nods slowly, “So you. Do not have to. Do that.”
“Yeah, we’ve established that,” Hob huffed, “And I appreciate you not wanting to pressure me or whatever, but I want to.”
“It would… bring you pleasure?”
“I mean, yeah? In a sense…” Hob trailed off, narrowing his eyes as he tried to piece together what was going on in Dream’s head. “Do you… not enjoy oral?”
That would make sense, not everyone enjoyed everything, and regardless of the familiar, hard shape he had seen pressing against Dream’s jeans, that didn’t change that he wasn’t actually human. Maybe he needed something different.
For a long moment, Dream stared unblinkingly just over his shoulder. Hob didn’t rush him, and eventually he answered slowly, “I do not know.”
When he looked back, Hob was sending him a questioning look, and so he reluctantly elaborated, “I have. Done this for others. But never. Experienced. Receiving it myself.”
“You’re shitting me.”
The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, the pure shock of it barreling through his filter. Dream stiffens below him, something like hurt in his eyes as he purses his lips and moves to stand.
“Perhaps I should go-”
“ No! ”
Dream somehow manages to tense even more at Hob’s exclamation, and Hob is quick to run soothing hands down his arms, trying to coax him back to softness, “I’m sorry, don’t leave, please. I shouldn’t have said that, I was just…” he allows himself a huff of laughter, “Honestly I’m shocked. I can’t fathom anyone getting you into their bed and not begging to get their mouth on you.”
A blush spreads across Dream’s face, even as his expression remains stoic, and it’s so endearing that Hob can’t help but bring a hand up to stroke one gently flushed cheek bone. He can practically see the wheels turning in Dream’s head, and so he lets him take his time to choose his words.
Eventually, he lowers his gaze and says, “That is not… what I am for.”
Hob tilted his head and frowned, “'For'?”
Nodding, Dream continues, still not meeting Hob’s eyes, “I am. A fantasy. A vessel for other people’s pleasure. And while I do find enjoyment in doing these things for you, that is not the point of it. It is not… about me. It's for you. I. Am for you."
Sometimes Dream does this. Explains something casually, stoically, as if it doesn’t matter. As if he doesn't matter. As if his words don’t slice Hob’s heart to the quick.
Slowly, Hob cups Dream's face in his hands, tilting his face up to look at him before leaning down to kiss him softly. Dream sighs into his mouth, and manages to relax ever so slightly as Hob pulls just far enough apart to speak against his lips.
“You're not a vessel , you’re my friend . And I don’t want to scare you off, but you’re also the love of my very long life. You’re not ‘for’ anything, not to me. I want to make you feel good too, because I love you, and you deserve to feel good."
He can feel the way Dream wants to argue, so he kisses him again, stroking his thumbs across the cold, smooth skin of his jaw. "I want these to be things I do with you, not to you.”
Dream's frowns, brow furrowed and looking at Hob as if he has handed him some nonsensical puzzle. He brings one elegant hand up to run through Hob's hair, sliding until he can rest his icy fingers on the back of Hob's neck.
"I enjoyed bringing you pleasure."
"I believe you," Hob nodded, "and I'm glad. So maybe you can understand how I would enjoy bringing you pleasure?" His voice tilts teasingly, raising his eyebrows pointedly, and he is rewarded with a quirk of Dream’s lips.
He leans down to kiss the corner of that tentative smile, "We don't have to. But I would be honored to be the one allowed to bring you pleasure for once."
A shuddering breath escapes Dream, Hob feels it as he nuzzles against his cheek. They’re both still tangled up together, Hob letting just a bit of his weight press Dream down into the worn couch cushions. He knows what he wants, but in truth, Hob would be over the moon even if Dream asks that they spend their night doing nothing more than this.
"....Okay."
Hob tries very hard to reign in his enthusiasm, but he still probably sits up just a little too fast, grinning in excitement, “Okay? You sure?”
Dream nods, cheeks coloring again and avoiding Hob’s eager gaze, “Yes. I… Yes.”
There is still an air of uncertainty to him. A nervousness that makes him seem almost young, and Hob just wants to take care of him. To give him every good thing this world has to offer.
“Come on,” he gives him one last peck on the lips before tugging him up to stand, “you’re not having your first time on my shitty, thrift store couch.”
“‘First time’?” Dream snorted. His haughty tone was betrayed by the vice grip he had on Hob’s hand, “I am no virgin, Hob Gadling.”
“Virginity is a construct,” Hob winked, leading them into his bedroom, keeping the lights dim, “I just mean that this is your first time experiencing this particular sex act, and so I want to make it as perfect as my human self possibly can.”
A big part of that, he doesn’t say out loud, means making Dream comfortable, which he has come to learn is not something that comes easily to him. And he doesn’t blame him- he’s got the entirety of humanity’s unconscious held within him, and he was very recently very terribly hurt. He understood why Dream struggled to relax, he did. But still. He wanted to be a safe place for him, a harbor where he could rest and be taken care of.
It’s with this in mind that he kisses Dream’s knuckles before guiding him to lay on the bed, pushing aside the crumpled sheets that he hadn’t made in the morning and moving his pillows to cushion Dream's head and neck. It feels like arranging a mannequin, every inch of Dream’s body coiled and tense, keeping himself perfectly still wherever Hob places him.
Even when Hob crawls on top of him, holding his weight carefully on his forearms and slotting one knee between Dream’s thighs, Dream remains unmoving, looking up at Hob with a deliberately neutral gaze.
Not exactly ideal. But they’ve got time.
“This position does not seem conducive to your goal.”
Dream’s tone is almost condescending, but it doesn’t hide the way his entire body feels like he’s bracing for something.
“My ‘goal’? You mean my most honored task of focusing on you and making you feel good?” Hob grins teasingly, stroking Dream’s clenched jaw and leaning down to capture his lips before he can argue.
The kiss starts soft and slow. Dream seems to like kissing, doesn’t seem to overthink it too much, and all he wants right now is to bleed some of the tension from his frame. To get him out of his own head. It takes a few minutes of just petting Dream’s face and sucking gently on his lower lip before Dream finally hesitantly raises his hands from the mattress, resting them shyly on Hob’s waist.
It’s a stark contrast to the Dream of earlier, confident and bold, and Hob wants nothing more than to reward his participation, to encourage him to reach for what he wants. Bracing himself more steadily, he presses the knee between Dream’s legs against his crotch, deepening the kiss when Dream gasps into his mouth. He can feel the hard press of him as Dream unconsciously grinds down against his thigh, just for a moment, before he catches himself and stills again.
Hob breaks away to begin mouthing down the pale length of his throat, nipping at his skin as he murmurs, “Come on, now.” He pushes his leg more firmly against him, sliding his hands around Dream’s lower back to rock him against his thigh, “Let go for me, Love.”
Dream’s fingers curl into his shirt, and Hob sucks at the spot on his throat where he can feel his breath catch. Running his fingers just under the hem of his shirt, Hob can feel that some of the tension has left him, and he kneads at the skin of his waist and hips, pressing his fingers into the coiled muscles until they release under his ministrations. He feels more than hears a deep whine in Dream’s chest when he slides a hand up to twist at his nipples.
“That’s it,” he grins against his skin as he moves to bite at Dream’s earlobe, relishing in the way it makes his whine pitch higher.
He is so focused on leaving a mark on the inhuman skin behind Dream's ear that he almost misses the hand sneaking down to palm at his crotch, where he’s managed to get half hard without his noticing. That said, he is alerted to the touch by his own gasping breath, and he’s quick to wrap a hand around Dream's pale, cold wrist and pin it into the mattress before he gets too distracted.
"Ah, ah, ah," he scolds, leaning back to raise an eyebrow, "it's your turn, remember?"
The being below him pouts, furrowing his brows in frustration, "But. What can I do for you?"
"Nothing."
Dream shifted below him, a tinge of genuine distress coloring his expression, "That hardly seems fair."
"Hmf. Funny…” Hob drawled, snagging Dream’s other wrist and pinning his hands on either side of his head, pressing them into the mattress as he leaned down to whisper against his ear, “you didn't have a problem with me sitting back and doing nothing while you sucked my brain out through my prick."
He can feel Dream shiver below him, and when he responds his voice is a little weaker, "You speak. Very familiarly with me."
Hob laughs, "I am very familiar with you." Dream huffs, but doesn’t say anything else. Possibly because of the way his chest hitches when Hob returns to his task of marking up his neck and massaging his arse through his jeans.
"Relax,” Hob whispers, “Just relax."
This time it is less of a shiver and more of a full body shudder, a long moan escaping Dream as his back arches just slightly, searching for more friction. Hob begins a slow descent down his body, grazing his teeth across his collar bones and pressing a wet kiss to the hollow of his throat. He kisses down his chest, pushing up his shirt just enough to kiss at his stomach. Hob wants nothing more than for them to press together with nothing between them, just skin on skin. But he remembers the way Dream’s voice had wavered when he described his captivity in Fawney Rig, and tonight does not feel like the night to push at that boundary.
Comfortable. He wants Dream comfortable.
That doesn’t mean he doesn’t also want to rile him up a bit.
Biting at the skin just above the waistband of his jeans, Hob situated himself between Dream’s legs, his chin brushing against the bulge there, “I’ve been drooling for you since 1395.”
Dream tries to bite off his groan, but Hob can still feel the way his thighs tremble on either side of his body, and when he glances up he sees Dream’s hands clutching at the bedsheets, head thrown back and panting.
Hob grinned deviously, maneuvering Dream until his legs are resting over his shoulders. "The second I saw you, heard your voice… God your voice just drips with sex, I wanted to get on my knees then and there. Wanted to rinse out the taste of shitty ale with the taste of you."
“Hob-”
He got the impression that Dream was trying to sound affronted, but ultimately he slapped a hand over his own mouth when the word came out thin and needy. Hob tutted, and reached to pull the offending hand down, placing it on the back of his own head.
“Let me hear you, baby.”
Even grinding his teeth together couldn’t silence his whine as Hob finally got Dream’s jeans open. After so long getting him worked up, Dream couldn’t help but exhale a shuddering breath as his prick was finally released from the restrictive denim.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Hob swallowed thickly. Dream’s fingers spasmed in his hair, not quite gripping. “You can tug a little, it’s okay,” he sucked a mark on the space where his thigh creased, feeling Dream’s hips stutter as his cock brushed the scruff on Hob’s cheek, “I like it, promise.”
He moaned as Dream got his hair in a proper grip, not painful, but there. Satisfied with the purple mark blooming on his pelvis, Hob finally turned his attention to the long, flushed cock in front of him.
A soft whimper escaped Dream as Hob’s breath ghosted over the sensitive flesh, voice soft and desperate and lost as he offered one last time, "You don't-.... You don't have to-..."
"I want ."
And with that, Hob couldn’t hold back anymore, sinking down in one smooth movement, a firm grip on Dream’s hips keeping him pressed into the bed even as he cried out and clenched both hands loosely in Hob’s hair. Hob himself couldn’t help but moan loudly around Dream’s prick, feeling his own arousal spike at finally getting to taste the strange, salty sweetness of him.
Dream’s voice cracks as Hob pulls back to swirl his tongue around the head, “Hob, Hob, Hob-!” and he can feel his legs trembling violently around his shoulders. Gripping his arse firmly, Hob sank down again, pulling Dream closer until he feels him bump against the back of his throat, and then he swallows.
The sound Dream makes can only be described as a wail, and his hand scramble for purchase around Hob’s shoulders, desperately seeking an anchor as Hob hollows his cheeks and picks up the pace. Hob finds himself rutting against the mattress, his cock throbbing and aching for stimulation.
“Hob,” his name comes out on a sob, “I- ahhhhh, Hob I will not last, I’m, I’m-”
In all honesty he’s lasted longer than Hob expected, so now he simply hums encouragingly around him as he lowers himself one last time to take Dream as deep as he can go. He can feel the way Dream’s muscles tense, his knees locking around Hob’s head as he comes with a long, drawn out cry, and when he finally reaches a hand between his own legs, it only takes a few frantic rubs before Hob is coming in his underwear right along with him. Hob swallows around Dream’s orgasm, milking him dry until his whimpers border on pain from overstimulation.
Pulling off of him, Hob takes a few deep, gasping breaths, feeling full and floaty and satisfied. Looking up, he falls even more in love as he watches Dream’s body melt into the mattress. He is still panting, and his shirt sticks to his chest from sweat. There are little purple and red marks on his neck and hip, his softening cock shiny with Hob’s spit, and he looks boneless and soft in the dim lighting.
Tucking him gently back into his underwear, Hob ignores the sticky discomfort in his pants in favor of crawling up the bed to cover Dream with his body. Hovering over him, he sees Dream has his eyes closed as he catches his breath, and fresh tear tracks are running down his face. Frowning, Hob brings his hands up to wipe at the tears with his thumbs.
"Hey…Are you alright?" He whispers.
Dream nods without hesitation, and Hob lets out a sigh of relief. After a few more deep breaths, Dream opens his eyes, gazing up at Hob and looking almost embarrassed.
"I… I have done this for others. I know the experience from dreams. I… understood what it would feel like. But it was still… a lot."
Hob doesn't think right now is the best time to explain touch-starvation to Dream, so he simply hums sympathetically, kissing the corners of his eyes gently, "That makes sense. Knowing something and feeling something are very different experiences."
“Indeed,” Dream huffed.
After a moment of hesitation, Hob quietly asks, “...Good, though?”
Dream’s laugh is a soft thing, but his smile is genuine as he blinks up at Hob fondly, “Yes. Very.” He pauses before adding, “...Thank you.”
Chuckling, Hob couldn’t resist leaning down to kiss him, “Nothing to thank me for, Love.” For a long moment they stay pressed together from lips to thighs, relaxed and loose and sated. When they pull apart, Dream smirks
“I taste good on you.”
Hob lets out a barking laugh, his cheeks coloring as he ducks his head against Dream’s neck, “Oh, someone learns quick I see.”
Dream smirked, petting his hair, and his every touch seemed to radiate affection. Unfortunately, they eventually have to disentangle so that Hob can clean himself up, a revelation that has Dream staring at him, wide eyed and confused.
“You…? But I didn’t…?”
He cuts him off with a kiss, “Don’t overthink it.” It’s an impossible request, but Dream at least seems content enough post orgasm to let it go for now. Before Hob leaves the bed, he takes a moment to catch Dream's eye, whispering a quick plea, “Stay?”
Dream gazes at him in wonder, looking at Hob as though he has performed some great feat of magic, “Yes. Please.”
It is hard to break away long enough to change, but eventually Hob reluctantly manages it, fixing himself up in record time, and when he returns to bed Dream has swapped his jeans for dream-soft joggers. Hob straightens the sheets, and Dream curls into his side, resting his head over Hob's heartbeat. He is still soft, still relaxed, still here.
All things considered, Hob thinks it might be his favorite part of the night.
#the sandman#dreamling#dream of the endless#hob gadling#my writing#nsft#I can't believe this was the fandom that finally got me to try writing smut#and I STILL had to add some h/c#what am I doing with my life#(answer: my best)
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After being freed from the fishbowl dream goes to visit hob…and his scent sends dream into a long-overdue rut!
OOOOO YES. I like this a lot.
His rut didn't start in the waking world with Joanna because she's an alpha too. And it didn't start when he was out with Death because her "family" scent overpowered everything else. But sitting with Hob, who is a very available and very attractive omega? Dream has no chance. The fact that Hob has feelings for Dream makes the mating compulsion even stronger.
Hob sees the signs and barely has time to drag Dream into the "staff only" area before Dream is on top of him. He lets his oldest friend scent and lick him, guiding him slowly up the back stairs. They make it to Hob’s front door, but apparently that will have to do because Dream is rapidly losing control. His clothes have vanished and he's rutting between Hob’s legs frantically as his temperature rises and rises.
Hob struggles out of his own clothes and soothes his poor friend, leaning against the door and allowing Dream to hoist him up with a low growl. Before he can take a deep breath, Dream is thrusting into him. Thank God for the slick pouring out of Hob - he doesn't tear, and he just hangs onto Dream’s shoulders while he does what he needs to do.
Hob can't even count the amount of orgasms he has there against his own front door as Dream fucks him hard and fast. He's covered in scratches and he has a horrible feeling that Dream's rut may even be triggering his heat. He feels dizzy and hot, and he can barely think. When Dream finally begins to knot him, Hob cums so hard he hears it splattering on the floor. It's the best knotting he's ever had and he thinks he might cry if it ever ends.
And Dream? He's far from coming back to his senses. He has a hundred years of rage and humiliation being channelled into his rut. This isn't going to be "normal" and he isn't going to stop until Hob is properly his.
If they make it into the flat, it'll be a miracle. And Hob makes it to the end of the week without being mated or getting pregnant, it'll be a double miracle.
And he's crazy enough that he'll be thrilled that this is the way his old stranger has finally come back to him. Maybe he'll finally learn his alpha's name!!!
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The first thing Hob became aware of was his headache. It started from his forehead, until slowly all he felt was the pain. He closed his eyes for a little comfort, but it barely seemed to help at all. He sat down on the edge of his bed and held his head in his hands. Damn.
It happened all of a sudden. One minute he was in his own bedroom, the next loud noises could be heard all around him, the smell of ale hit his nose and he felt the tickle of a beard between his fingers. He let go of his head and opened his eyes, much to his own surprise. He gasped, eyes wide at what he saw.
He was in The White Horse. In the 14th century.
Now, he knew this wasn't possible. It couldn't have been happening. Did he fall asleep? Was this a dream? Where was Morpheus?
One of his friends poked him with an elbow and a laugh Hob had not heard in a long time, he forgot what the man sounded like. He forgot his name. He still retained some memories of the people around him, but 633 years was a long time. He didn't keep a journal back then.
"Hey Hobsie, you alright?" asked the one across him, another voice that was buried deep in his mind, barely recalled. It was spoken in a language he had not heard in such a long time, but one that would always remain in his heart. His mother tongue, Middle English. Oh, he missed it so much.
"You went all silent on us for a moment there," added the third one at their table.
Hob decided to roll with the punches. He was immortal, he had to learn to go along with things until he could figure out what to do. Sometimes it landed him in a pile of gold, sometimes a pile of shit. He coughed a bit and laughed, trying to hide his unease.
"Uh, yeah, I was just thinking," he said and looked down at the mug in front of him. That really took him back. He decided to try the ale inside, the burn in his throat familiar as he gulped it down, and fuck — he was really in the past. Before he met Morpheus.
To be more precise, minutes before he met Morpheus. He didn't like it, he didn't like it one bit. Would he need to insult his sister to restart their entire journey? Did he need to make a fool out of himself as the two Endless entered the inn?
"Don't lose your head doing it now!" More laughter rang out around him table, and the conversation was going in a very familiar way.
Hob sighed. Soon, Death would enter the tavern, followed by her little brother, and after a few moments Hob would need to repeat history for them to meet. He didn't really like it, nor the idea that their relationship needed to start from the beginning all over again, but he would try. Didn't mean it wouldn't hurt to not see the recognition, familiarity and love in those starry eyes, but hey, maybe the clean start could leave to a better future.
The door opened, then in walked the siblings, Death in her own elegant robes and Dream, Morpheus in his own black clothes with the ruby hanging around his neck.
Hob's grip on his mug became desperate, and he almost looked away when Morpheus glanced at him. Did that happen the first time they met too, or was he just hoping for something unbelievable?
The conversation around him continued, and Hob knew he needed to pick it up.
Sorry Death, you're lovely, but I need to do this, he thought as he opened his mouth to speak.
"Look, I've seen Death." And this time he meant it. The family visits with her were the best, and he finally got to thank her for granting him immortality — of course that all hasn't happened yet. And would not happen if Hob didn't act like he did all those years ago. But the time for panic would only come later, he needed to focus on his current mission.
Gain immortality and get noticed by Dream.
Hob continued with as much as he could remember, he wasn't sure if he jumbled it all up (when did he fight under Burgundy? Was it before, or after, he could not recall, it had been so long) but he still tried.
"Death is... stupid," he said with a finality to his tone. I'm sorry, he added in his mind.
He saw both of them turn around towards him in the corner of his eye, and he continued with the conversation. His friends laughed at him, just like they did the first time — except for them, this was the first time.
"What would you do with immortality?" asked one of his mates, clearly tipsy, and Hob remembered the words he said to that.
"Get better friends than you, that's what." Well... He got better friends than them. And worse friends. The centuries following were ever changing, just like Hob had become, and the years of experience inside his old body didn't sit right with him.
He could see Morpheus slowly walking up to him, and he anticipated the next words, almost mouthing them alongside the man.
"Did I hear you say you have no intention of ever dying?" asked Dream and Hob looked up at him in wonder. He looked cold, more distant than ever, his eyes betraying the familiarity he saw when he looked at Hob and—
Wait.
Familiarity?
"Uh, yeah, yeah you're right." Hob squinted to try to get a better look at Morpheus and his expression, why was familiarity there? At that point in time Dream should have looked upon him with disdain, or like an experiment he wanted to fail. What was the kindness doing there? And what was the pain doing there?
"Then you must tell me what it's like," Morpheus continued. Hob wanted to laugh, because this was actually happening. He needed to start from the beginning.
"Let us meet here, Hob Gadling, in this tavern of The White Horse, in one hundred years," he said and Hob froze.
Hob Gadling?
Didn't Dream say Robert Gadling in 1389?
He gazed into Dream's eyes, and stood up suddenly, surprising both himself, his friends and Morpheus himself.
"You know who I am," Hob whispered out, eyes wide, which in turn made the man before him freeze. "Are you here as well? Or is this a dream?"
Hob knew he needed to give a clue, but he also didn't want his friends to realize what was going on. It could have been the work of a demon, or something worse. Who knew what other creatures existed?
"You... remember?" Morpheus asked, almost worried for an answer.
"Everything." Hob nodded. "We need to talk."
#the sandman#hob gadling#morpheus#dream of the endless#dream x hob#dreamling#morpheus x hob#kinda time travel?#idk this idea didn't want to leave my head#i might make it longer and put it up on ao3 but idk i need to finish my other wips first#or at least i want to finish my other wips first lmao#but yeah this didn't leave my head#and it could be such a funny concept#no idea if anyone has ever done it?
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tfw u have a Complicated™️ Relationship With An Otherworldly Creature
First of all, I would like to point out that I DID NOT REALIZE WE HAD THAT DISCUSSION ON APRIL FOOL'S DAY.
All I remember is being delirious from lack of sleep and you indulging me by listening to my ravings about a Venom AU for dreamling aND THEN MAKING AN ACTUAL MEME FOR IT!!!
While I don't remember much of what we said that morning, and this meme being perfect for Canon AU also, I will focus my efforts on elaborating on this Venom AU no one had asked for but everybody will be getting!
◘ ◘ ◘ ◘ ◘ ◘
"It's not human, but it's given me things no girlfriend ever could."
Hob Gadling is by no means a man who lacks options. He had fucked, and he had fucked a lot. He dated, he had even married once. He did all there is to be done, from casual to serious and yet... nothing comes close to this, to this bond he shares, to this otherworldly creature living within him, sustaining him, enveloping him, devouring him.
"Beloved," Hob says, feeling the instantaneous warming of his chest. Dream, (That is his name.) (Oh, what a lovely name it is.) often responds in such a manner to terms of endearment. He enjoys them more than he would ever care to admit. All the more incentive for Hob to use them as frequently as humanly possible. Which is to say, a lot.
The low frequency rumbling inside of his chest cavity lets him know that Dream is very much aware and chooses to remain silent on the matter. He is so sweet, actually the sweetest creature in the entirety of existence. It's hard to remember a time when he had thought otherwise, a time in which he was actually terrified of the creature that had decided to use his body as a free-ride.
Yes? Dream finally speaks, tired of waiting for Hob to verbalize his thoughts. His voice is a deep thunder inside of Hob's mind, closer to a loud thought than an actual audible sound. An intrusive thought he would never wish to get rid of. Hob. Strict, impatient, amused. He feels like Dream cannot decide if he's more irritated or amused by Hob's wandering thoughts. Speak.
Hob huffs out a laughter, shaking his head and opening his fist in an invitation. The empty spaces between his fingers are soon filled with claw-like ink black fingers. Dream's hand, firm and strong.
"I was just thinking," Hob closes his hand, squeezing Dream's hand in his, feeling the tightening of Dream's hand in turn. "how it's our anniversary tonight" he closes his eyes, thinking of a year ago, miserable and lost and terrified, with nothing in this world left, running into an alien that by all means was supposed to devour him long ago.
Expect for the miraculous part of them being so perfectly matched that Dream decided to preserve him instead. Tend his body, strengthen it, keep it safe. The only price being that he also gets to live in it. See humanity, learn of it, understand it. It's what he told him, however Hob suspects, knows really, that it was something far more personal.
Dream had filled spaces Hob didn't even know he had. Voids so small you don't know them but you ache them. And if Hob does even a fraction of what Dream does to him— well then, there's the reason.
Yes. Dream rambles, pleased. Anniversary, like marriage. the last word is purred so quietly it's almost like it's Hob's own thought.
"Hold your horses," Hob laughs again, cheeks warming up, he's smiling wide enough to ache "I expect to get properly proposed to, who do you think I am? I ain't cheap, you know" he feels a hand brushing his hip bone, an intimate, possessive gesture that sets a shiver down his groin.
Yes, of course. Dream's finger trace's down the 'V' lines, claw gentle but ever present. Not cheap. Proposal. Indeed. Dream is amused again, the cheeky creature is making fun of him, and that, is damn hot.
Whatever response Hob was about to give is swallowed down with a yelp when Dream takes him into his hand. Hob breathes out, mind blanking as the decidedly inhuman hand starts working on him.
Conversations about propriety can wait. After all, this is so much more interesting. Whatever else you can say about dating a formless alien who resides inside of your body, there's undeniable benefits to them literally sharing your own pleasure. Makes for a very good partner indeed.
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Written in one go without editing because if I allow myself even a single more hour of thinking how it needs to be PERFECT I will die LMAO.
Brief explanation of Venom for those who didn't watch it! >> under the cut.
Generally speaking, I would imagine that Dream's initial reason was to study, understand, experience a different existence than his own. He had no regard for human life (still doesn't, not in the way a human would) he was perfectly fine with riding human bodies and living their lives until they expired.
Expect Dream had found Hob, a perfect match, a human body that accepted every single cell of him with open arms, way before Hob even realized he loved Dream, his body had already accepted him.
This can have over-complicated plot, and it could be a simply fun-little au. It can have a "fish-bowl" rescue of reported Hob breaking into the Lab where Dream was being experimented on, and it could be Hob's homeless era when on top of everything else going wrong with his life, he also gotten jumped by an alien symbiote in an alley.
It can be anything you wish to imagine, but bottom line is— imagine the intimacy, the bond, the tenderness of sharing a body with a creature that envelopes you whole, who loves you whole, who cares and wants you whole. Body and Soul and Mind, literally, figuratively, everything.
A bond so close you feel like a single being, bond so close you feel you would die if separated. Hob didn't even know he needed it. Hob thought his life was complete, even if shitty at times, he didn't feel any lackings, and yet..... when Dream came into his life, he realized it was an empty shell compared to what it is.
And Dream, who had never felt a connection, only felt rejection after rejection, and then in the case of the lab-trab, the experiments and cruelty. Being loved and accepted and wanted so fully he betrays his entire species to be with Hob.
-----
Essentially, Venom is one specimen of a symbiotic life form that finds a host and bonds with it. It's not easy to find a proper host, if the host is not right, the symbiote would slowly devour the body and eventually kill the human. In the comics canon, a human named Eddie and Venom form a bond, eventually fall in love, and share a very intimate relationship. It's a VERY half-assed explanation, but basically, the symbiote literally lives inside of the human host, and it makes for some......fun dynamics. considering it's a literal alien.
#I will NOT be rereading it so unless I made some horrid mistake it IS WHAT IT IS#it's been in my inbox longer than it should have gavregbaet but i couldn't just 'post it' with a LOL and that's it! I haD TO ELABORARE.#thanks for the MEME it's pefECT !!!#dreamling#the sandman#dreamling venom au#I GUESs?#buns.w#buns.all#cuubism#msg
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1889 drabble
Continuing from this post
~
Time goes by faster after that. Burgess grants him a few days to get his bearings and strength back.
Hob gets a room - with barred windows, but with a bed, a bath and food and drink. He takes full advantage of everything Burgess offers, if only to make him think him a grateful fool. Better the man thinks his will broken, Hob muses. It will make playing him a lot easier. And so he puts on a meak demeanor and shows respect, as if he's afraid to go back to the cellar. He is, but not as much as he lets Burgess believe - or so he tells himself. The first nights in a bed in over a month have him dreaming repeatedly about Burgess with a dozen arms, every one carrying a knife, coming for him from all sides, cutting out parts of him, labeling them after careful inspection while he chokes on his blood. Every night he jolts awake with a scream and lies awake for the rest of the night, terrified.
~
"My Lord. Don't you think it is time to check on..."
"Lucienne." he warns, but she huffs and continues brusquely: "With all due respect, sir, I believe whatever it is your... acquaintance and you have argued about, you will not like the fact that his dreams are-"
"ENOUGH!" Thunder rolls through the throne room as the Dream Lord rises to a fearsome height to tower over his librarian.
"Must I forbid you from touching his books? Or will you stop speaking about this like I ordered you?" Dream seethes. Lucienne stares back at him in defiance. She clutches a book to her chest. He grabs at it.
"Give that to me. You will not talk about him to me again, have I made myself clear?"
She releases the book and Dream pulls it from her hands and throws it behind himself onto the steps of his throne.
"Yes, my lord." Lucienne grits her teeth and stalks out without his leave. He lets her go.
The book has fallen open on its latest page onto the steps and Dream gives it a dark look, contemplating setting it on fire. Destroying a dreamer's book would be equal to erasing part of their memory, though, and so he holds himself back. Despite himself he steps closer to the book and a few words catch his eye.
be safe
Dream frowns and finally picks up the linen-bound tome and reads the latest dream thoughts of Hob Gadling.
I can endure. I can endure anything as long as you are safe. Please be safe. I don't care if you'll never see me as more than a peasant, but I can't bear to think of what they'd do to you if they catch you.
I'm running. I've been running towards you all my life. Is it still far? How much farther must I go? Where are you? If I stop he'll catch me. If I stop he'll cut me open. I don't know what to tell him. I've told him all I know, all I've learned over the centuries, but I haven't told him about you. He wants to know more. He wants to cut the secret out of me. The knifes are everywhere, they reflect in his eyes when he asks me how I am not dead yet, again, again, and I say I don't know.
I am running. If I reach you, will he catch you, too? Don't let me reach you then. Don't let him catch you. I can endure.
Dream's hand shakes and he almost drops the book. He grabs it tightly and flicks back through the pages quickly.
Dream after dream, nightmares really, have Hob running and falling, terror and pain spilling from his words. And interspersed with them, again and again, are pleas addressed to Dream (he knows, even without his name), but not for his help, no, but for his safety, to not fall into the same trap as Hob.
You can be hurt, or captured.
Dream has sunk to the stairs while reading and the light in the throne room has gone dim and reddish. He closes the book with a thud and stares at the golden thread stitched across its cover.
Robert Gadling - Dream Journal
1889-present
Dream presses his lips into a tight line and puts the book into his coat. Then he rises and steps towards a small side door, opening it to the library (he is impatient and so the library is right behind this door at this moment). His librarian is nowhere to be seen but he speaks into the library anyway, knowing she will hear it.
"Lucienne. I..." he searches for words but can't bring himself to voice an apology. "I acknowledge that your concern towards a certain dreamer seems justified. I will attend to the matter in the waking world. Please send Jessamy if there is any urgent business."
He doesn't wait for an answer and steps back into his throne room. He pulls out his pouch and pours sand into the air to form a portal.
I can endure. Please be safe.
He pulls on his helmet and steps through the portal with clenched fists.
#Lucienne is invested#dream feels like a huge asshole probably - and he should#own writing#dreamling#1889#1889 drabble#the sandman fanfiction
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