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dragon-kazansky · 2 months

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Symphony of dreams

Morpheus x Female Reader

Death has one more gift for Dream. A friend. A human who will deny death and live forever. Finding the claim amusing, Dream agrees to meet with this man every hundred years to see if he still wishes to live. You had faith in this man.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Warnings: First couple meet-ups are straight from the episode. Then Dream brings you along. Have fun passing through the centuries with your husband 🤭

Chapter Seven - Hob

☆☆☆

1389

The first time Morpheus met Hob, he was with his sister. He had long hair back then. It was around that time he met you. He had left you in The Dreaming to meet with his dear sister, Death.

She had something she wanted to show him.

"Was the girl not enough?"

Death smiles.

"You will come to love her, I promise. No, this is someone different. While I granted your companion immortality so she may spend eternity with you," Dream rolled his eyes, "this case is different."

They head inside the tavern.

He was sitting at a table. Morpheus could hear him quite clearly.

"Look, I've seen death. I lost half my village to the Black Death. I fought under Buckingham in Burgundy. It's not like I don't know what death is. Death is... stupid."

Morpheus was intrigued.

"Novody has to die. The only reason people die is... is 'cause everyone does it. You all just go along with it. But not me. I've made up my mind. I'm not going to die."

The other men at the table laugh at him.

"Hobs, death comes for every man."

"You don't know that."

Dream looks at his sister.

"I might get lucky. There's always a first time."

Or second, in this case. Death had already given you such a gift so he would never be alone. How silly.

"There's so much to do, so many things to see. Women to swive. Ale to drink. People to drink with."

"Why would any sensible creature crave an eternity of this?" Dream asks Death.

"You could find out."

"How?"

I could grant him his wish."

He knew it. Another you. Perfect.

"Do that, and he will be begging for death within a century." Dream says, amused. He was waiting for you to grow board in his realm, if he was honest.

"This will prove very interesting," Death smiles.

They both look at Hob.

"Are you gonna tell him, or should I?" She asks.

"I shall." Dream smiles slightly.

Morpheus appraiches the table. Leaves him to it. This was going to be very interesting indeed.

"Did I hear you say you have no intention of ever dying?" Dream asks the human.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, that's right."

"Then you must tell me what's it like. Let us meet here again, Robert Gadling. In this tavern of the White Horse in 100 years."

Dream looks up at his sister. She nods. He nods back.

"A hundred years' time, on this day?" Hob asks. Dream nods. "I will see you in the year of our Lord 1489, then." Hob smiles.

Dream walks away with a small smile.

Robert watches him go, confused.

☆☆☆

1489

"How did you know... that I'd still be here?" Hob asks, looking at the man he saw a hundred years ago. "Who are you? A wizard? A Saint? A demon?"

Dream looked at the other man.

"Have I made a bargain with the devil?"

"No."

"Then why aren't I dead long since?" Hob asks. "Is this kind of a game?"

"No game." Morpheus says, slightly amused. What he had with you had been a game of sorts. You won. In less than a hundred years in fact.

"But why? Who are you? Why are you here?"

"I'm here because I'm interested." Morpheus tells him.

"In me?"

"In your experience."

"What do I have to do?"

"Nothing. You love your life as you choose. Then, on this day, every 100 years, we will meet."

"Because you want to know what it's like."

A moment passes between them as Hob starts to understand.

"All right. I'll tell you what it's like."

Dream leans in slightly. He is so sure this man will beg for death.

"It's fucking brilliant."

That was unexpected.

"It's all changing."

"In what way?" Dream asks.

"Uh... Chimneys. Not having your eyes watering all the time from the smoke. And now we have these little cloth pieces for tour nose. In the old days, we just used our sleeves."

A man grunts from the next table over. He just lost a card game.

"Oh. And playing cards."

"What will you people think of next?" Dream says, not sounding too enthusiastic. He can almost hear your excitement, though.

"With any luck, something to get rid of fleas."

"But what have you been doing for the last hundred years?" Morpheus asks.

"Um... Same as before. Soldiering, mainly. A little banditry here and there if I couldn't find a war. Uh, but now, I've started in a new trade. It's called printing."

Morpheus looks at him. He's amused. "So you still want to live?"

"Oh, yes."

Dream stands. He looks at Hob.

"A hundred years then?"

"Oh, yes." Robert nods.

Morpheus leaves.

"You never told me who you are."

Dream does not answer.

☆☆☆

1589

"Who is he?" You ask. Your arm is looped with your husband's as you enter the tavern. It's been a while since you walked among the Waking World.

"A human who has no desire to die. Unless, of course, he has changed his mind this time."

"He is immortal?"

"Granted the same gift you were by my sister. You were given to me so I could love. This man is here so I can hear his experience."

You smile at Dream softly. "I see."

The pair of you pass a table where two men sit, one young than the other. He appears to be an admirer of the older gentleman. You only catch a glimpse of their conversation as you pass. Art and dreams.

It seems your husband heard too.

"My friend!"

You both look up to see a man sitting a table full of food. You look at Dream, who nods at you and takes you over to the table. He pulls out a chair for you and you sit down.

"Hello," the man says, looking at you.

"Hello."

Morpheus takes a seat beside you while the other man, who you presume is Hob, pours some wine.

"I didn't realise you were bringing a plus one."

"This is my wife," Morpheus states.

Hob looks surprised, yet amused. "Is that so?"

You offer him a smile in return.

"You've had good fortune, I take it?" Morpheus asks, getting straight to business.

"The gods have smiled on me as they smile on all England where no man is slave or bonds man."

Hob offers Dream some food. Dream doesn't take it.

"Let's see. Last we spoke, I was working for Billy Caxton. Made some gold from that. Put it to work in Henry Tudor's shipyards. I made a small pile. Then I went north for a year or so, came back as my son. Done that twice now."

Hob requests more wine from the girl nearby.

"When fat Henry had gone for the monasteries, I bought my estates, and a healthy gift of gold to the Crown saw to... a knighthood!"

You look between Morpheus and Hob. Your husband's expression does not change. He just sits there listening.

"That's not all. Here." Hob pulls out a framed painting. "My fair Eleanor and little Robyn. My first son born in over 200 years on this Earth, that I know of."

Hob chuckles softly. "It's funny. This is what I always dreamed Heaven would be like. Way back. It's safe to walk the streets. Enough food. Good wine. Life is so rich."

"God's wounds! If only I could write like you." You hear from behind you. To glance over your shoulder to see those two men you passed earlier.

The younger man is now standing and seemingly reciting a part of a play.

Dream is watching him.

You watch your husband quietly as you listen to man recite the play. People cheer when he finishes.

"I would give anything to have your gifts. To give dreams that would live long after I'm dead," the young man says to the other. "I would bargain like your Faustuas for that boon."

You smile softly.

He inspires to give others dreams. Now you understood why Dream was watching so intently.

"Who is he?" Morpheus asks, turning back to Hob.

"His name is Will Shaxberd. Acts a bit. Wrote a play." Hob explains.

"Is he good?"

"No, he's crap. Now, that chap next to him with the broken leg, he is a good playwright." Hob sees that Morpheus' attention is on the other table. "Anyway, I've saved the best bit for last. The Queen herself slept at my house this summer. That was expensive."

Morpheus holds his hand slightly to stop Hob from speaking. He then placed it on your shoulder as he rose from his chair. You watched him walk over to the other table. Morpheus began to speak with the other man, taking him away.

You turn back to Hob. He watches your husband walk away. You rise from the chair, his eyes flicker to you.

"Who is he?" He asks.

You simply smile and take your leave.

Until next time then.

☆☆☆

1689

You sit beside your husband, holding his hand. He smiles as you talk softly to him. He had grown his hair out again, and you were admiring how handsome he looked.

A ruckus had you turning away from him and looking up. Hob had been brought in looking worse for wear.

A hundred years ago, he had a fortune. Now he was without it.

"I knew you'd be here." Hob gulps from a goblet on the table and stuff his face with the food Morpheus had arranged for him. "Do you know how hungry a man can get? If he doesn't die, but he doesn't eat."

You glance up at Dream quietly. He's watching Hob.

"I lost it all. My land. My gold. My Eleanor. She died in childbirth. The baby, too."

You drop your gaze to the table. You couldn't even imagine losing Morpheus. You'd be beyond lost without him beside you.

"My boy, Robyn, died in a tavern brawl when he was 20. I didn't go out much after that. They tried to drown me as a witch. I'd lived there 40 years, overconfident. I got out with my skin a little more. And then it got worse. And worse and... worse. I've hated every second of the last 80 years, every bloody second, you know that?"

You look at Hob, still silently. Your husband gave nothing away beside you. You found yourself squeezing his arm a little bit for comfort.

"So do you still wish to live?" Dream asks.

Hob looks up at him, tears in his eyes. "Are you crazy?"

For a moment, Morpheus wonders. Has he finally changed his mind?

"Death is a mug's game. I got so much to love for," Hob says.

Morpheus' expression changes subtly. He looks... fascinated. Amused. Just slightly enough for you pick up on.

You smile softly.

Hob winks at you with a grin of his own.

All the while, you're all oblivious to the man upstairs sketching away.

☆☆☆

1789

"I heard something funny the other week," Hob says, sitting across from your husband. You were sitting between them at the small table.

"Bloke said to me, he said, 'If only the French nobles had played cricket with their men the way we do, they'd never have had this trouble.' You know, first the colonies, now France. You ask me, this country will be next for a revolution."

You listen to him talk.

"I've been salting my money away all over the world. Firet sign of trouble, I'll be out of here like that. In the meantime... I'm in the shipping business." Hob smiles proudly.

He had really come into himself again. Hob explains the business he's doing. You and Morpheus listen to him quietly. You narrow your eyes slightly as he explains. What they do does not sit right with you.

"Slavery?" You ask.

"It's a poor thing for one man to enslave another," Dream says, looking right at Hob.

Hob looks between you both. "It's just how it's done."

"I suggest you find yourself a different line of business, Robert Gadling," Morpheus says.

"You're giving me advice?" Hob sounds surprised. "After 400 years?"

"I would take it," you suggest. Hob glances at you.

"What happened to 'live your life as you choose?'" He asks.

"The choice is yours." Morpheus states. "But would you take that choice away from others?"

"I will consider your advice."

You smile at Hob. He looks pleased when he sees your approval. Your husband does not give him much, so when you show your approval, Hob takes it.

"I saw a production of King Lear yesterday," Hob changes the subject. "Mrs. Siddons as Gonreil. The idiots had given it a happy ending."

"That will not last. The great stories will always return to their original forms," Morpheus tells him.

"That lad, Will Shakespeare. He turned out to be a half-decent playwright after all." Hob smiles.

You glance at your husband with a small smile. Morpheus glances at you and then returns his gaze back to Hob.

"You made some kind of deal with him, didn't you?"

"Perhaps."

"What kind of deal? His soul?"

"Nothing so crude."

Hob chuckles. "Four hundred years now, I've been meeting you here, and there is so much I still don't know. Who are you? Truly? What's your name?"

Morpheus stares at him for a few moments. You almost think he's going to answer when someone comes down the steps and stands in front of your table.

The woman wears a long cloak, the hood pulled down.

"I might ask both of you that same question, gentlemen," she says. "Please, please, do not trouble yourselves to rise."

Two men join her.

"These are Michael and Tobias. Smugglers by trade. Although, they're only too glad to augment their earnings by slotting throats. If you move, they'll slit yours."

You glance at the two rugged men.

"They tell of a tale in these London parts that the Devil and the Wanderkng Jew meet once every century in a tavern."

Your companions glance at each other as she speaks. The woman then pulls out a sketch, dated a century ago.

"Is that meant to be me?" Hob asks. "Oh, I look terrible. You look worse," he jokes with Morpheus. You chuckle softly.

"You return to this pub every 100 years, striking bargains with men, sharing gifts, immortality, which you will now share with me." She says, looking right at your husband.

You feel your jaw clench slightly.

Jealously was not a colour you were used to.

"Well, have you nothing to say?"

"I am no Devil," Dream says.

"And I'm not Jewish," Hob adds.

"Fine. What manner of creatures are you then?" She asks.

"Who wants to know?" Hob asks back.

"I'm Lady Johanna Constantine. You will both follow me, sirs. My coach is without. I can see there is much you can tell me. So much I can learn."

"No."

You glance at your husband. He is staring at her with his ever stoic expression. He is so calm, so unworried.

You do not worry either. You know he will not let anything happen to either you or Hob.

"No, I think not."

Johanna allows the two henchmen forward with their knives drawn. You can not help but look to your husband in slight concern. One knife is pointed at Morpheus, the other right at Hob.

"Get up," one of them says.

The next moment, Hob throw tea up into one of their faces and smashes the cup into the head of the other.

Morpheus watches him. He does not move except to reach for your hand.

As Hob moves over to Constantine, she draws a knife of her own at him. Morpheus let's go of your hand and stands.

"Wait."

You watch as he pulls sand from his pocket and blows it at Constantine. She drops her knife and falls to her knees, muttering away. "No, not you. I'm sorry."

"What did you do to her?" Hob asks, inspecting her.

"She has old ghosts that I've shown to her." Morpheus explains.

Hob looks at him, thoughts clearly running through his head.

"You need not have come to my defence," Morpheus says to him.

"Clearly." Hob smiles. "Stull, I didn't want to be drinking alone here in 100 years' time."

Morpheus cracks a smile.

"I don't suppose you care to find another pub tonight?" Hob asks.

"She may have told others about our meeting. It will not be safe for you."

"I'm perfectly safe. I can't die, remember?" Hob grins.

"Aye. But you can be hurt or captured," Morpheus reminds him. "We must be cautious."

"Always."

You join your husband at his side and reach for his hand. Morpheus looks at you. He brings your hand up to his lips and kisses it softly.

Hob watches you both quietly.

You smile and lean in closer to your husband's side.

"A hundred years then?" Hob asks softly.

"A hundred years," Morpheus confirms. He then gently pulls you along to exit the pub.

Hob leaves in the other direction.

☆☆☆

1889

Morpheus has you on his arm as you both walked down the street. You were stopped outside of the pub by a young lady. She didn't seem to take much notice of you as she spoke to your husband, but Hob called her off you both when he came over. You followed Hob inside.

"Sorry about Lushing Lou."

"Lushing Lou. Is that what they call her?" Dream asks. You were all sitting down now.

"Well, in here, they call her 'The Hospital.'"

"Why?"

"Because she's in 'em a great deal, and becauses she's sent so many men into 'em." Hob explains. "No idea what her real name is."

"Lousie Baldwin. Her father was in the British army. Her cousin raped, impregnated and deserted her when she was just a child." Morpheus told him.

"How do you know all that?" Hob asks, looking at him.

"Your cup is empty. You need more wine," Morpheus dodges the question.

"You knew Lady Johanna. You know Lushkng Lou. You know everyone, don't you?" Hob points at him.

"We saw her again, you know."

"Who? Lady Johanna?"

"She undertook a task for me and succeeded admirably, I might add."

"That might be the only thing I've learned after 500 years," Hob says softly. "People are almost always better than you think they are. Not me, though. Stille the same as ever."

You chuckle softly.

"I think perhaps you've changed," Morpheus says with a slight smile.

"Well, I may have learnt a bit from my mistakes. But, uh... doesn't seem to stop me from making them."

Morpheus smiles slightly.

"I think ita you that's changed," Hob points out.

Morpheus stops smiling. "How so?"

"I think I know why we still meet here, century ayer century." Hob leans forward and his seat. You glance at your husband curiously. "It's not because you want to see whether or not km ready to seek death. I don't think I'll ever seek death. By now, you know that about me."

You look between the two curiously. Dream's expression has changed slightly.

"So, I think you're here for something else."

"And what might that be?" Morpheus asks him.

"Friendship," Hob says simply. "I think you're lonely."

"You dare..." Your husband speaks with a light warning tone. His aura has definitely shifted. You watch him carefully.

"No, look, I'm not saying-"

"You... dare suggest one such as I might need your companionship."

"Yes. Yes, I do."

Morpheus stands. "Then I shall take my leave of you and prove you wrong."

Hob stands. Before he can do anything Morpheus takes your hand and leaves the pub. You say nothing as you follow him, feeling bad for Hob.

You had assumed yourself that they were friends.

Morpheus leads you down the street, rsin now pouring down. Hob exits the pub and follows you.

"I'll tell you what, I'll be here in 100 years' time." Hob calls out. "If you're here then too, it'll be because we're friends. No other reason, right?'

Morpheus pays him no attention. He keeps hold of your hand as he marches away.

You dare not speak about what happened.

☆☆☆

1989

Hob arrives in the pub. He orders a drink and sits down. He is so sure Dream will show up. He's bound to come in with you on his arm. You and your cheerful smile, and your brooding husband.

Friends. They were friends even if Dream denied it. Maybe Hob will even get your names this time around.

He waits.

And waits.

Neither you nor Dream come through the door. Hob wonders if Morpheus really meant what he said last time.

This was him proving he was wrong.

Robert feels a fool.

Meanwhile, the king of dreams is locked up in a glass prison down in a basement. And you are trapped in a long slumber, unable to wake without your husband.

Hob has no idea how his friend's are suffering. He is left to think their friendship is over.

☆☆☆

Which brings us to today. The New Inn. Unfortunately, the old pub has been closed down for a while. Supposedly it was going to be flats. All those years suddenly gone in the blink of an eye.

However, you had seen the sign on the fence. A smile on your face. You follow the direction it was leading to.

This new place was nice. You could definitely get used to meeting here. Perhaps more than once a century. You head inside and look around. He wasn't hard to find. You smile when your eyes land on Robert Gadling. He was working on some papers in front of him.

Slowly, you walk over to his table. You cough gently into your fist. Hob raises his head.

He smiles and stands up.

"It's you."

You nod. "It's me."

He looks behind you, searching. You know who he is looking for. You smile and get his attention back on you.

"He's on his way."

That's all Hob needed to hear. He gestures to the chair opposite him. You sit down and smile. He orders you a drink.

"I was worried when neither of you came last time," he confesses.

"We are sorry about that. There was a complication."

Hob seems to understand.

You talk with him for a while, waiting for your husband to arrive. You hope all went well with his sister. Hob does most of the talking between you, but you know he's saving the good stories for when Morpheus arrives.

A familiar hand settles on your shoulder and you smile. He is here.

"You're late," Hob says, smiling at the man behind you.

Morpheus chuckles softly. "It seems I owe you an apology. I've always heard it impolite to keep one's friends waiting."

You chuckle.

Morpheus pulls out the chair beside you and sits down. He takes your hand in his and Hob calls for more drinks.

You watch your husband as he listens to his friend. You smile.

Your Morpheus was back.

Happy wasn't enough to describe how that made you feel. He squeezed your hand gently. Everything was okay.

☆☆☆

@missdreamofendless - @mischievousvillainy - @kpopgirlbtssvt - @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy - @emarich7 - @lollipopsandlandmines - @mouth-whore -

#morpheus x reader #the sandman #symphony of dreams #female reader #dragon writes

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amielot · 3 months

Text

This convo was inspired by the lovely @arialerendeair <3<3<3

I need to update the character height chart, cause Unity is.. very short next to Dream.

----------

Unity: "Have you considered that nice people exist?"

Dream: "pfft! sounds fake."

#unity kinkaid #horse girl au #dream of the endless #hob gadling #we're so back #the sandman #GOAT unity kinkaid #centaur!dream

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thisisnotthenerd · 5 months

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and the other half of round two, the sidequests!

feel free to give reasoning/propaganda as you like!

the intrepid heroes poll

quick episode descriptions:

volcano of violence: all of the lotr parallels in one place. leiland being a cringefail after casting circle of death. markus negotiating with an eagle. the combination of grasping web and reverse gravity. balloon elf. sokhbarr raising the lava mog. the concept of galfast hamhead. efink facing her father and husband and beign conflicted

the great chase: caravan chase, mad max style on the teenager's bed. ti wants to blow up the boy. car-go and bean are remarkably effective. boomer is a boarding party. jizz balloons. lots of toy vehicles. car-go transforms with felix inside.

the horizon beyond the squall: marcid attacking a chimney. you wrote a whole song just to be mean to me. cheese, prince bitch. no kings for this captain. nat 20 medicine check to revive myrtle. destroy undead. beating a motherfucker with another motherfucker. bob's inflict wounds. ending with cheese getting a ship and the buccaneer buddies sailing off.

unfinished business: splitting up to resolve the mystery. buckster's legendary nat 20 persuasion to give advantage on stealth. daisy and the vicar sneaking in. sylvester failing at climbing the tower. lars killing the constable and pretending to be a ghost for lucretia. gangie and the vicar undulating. daisy and sylvester simultaneously arriving. shitting out of a window to "provide a cushion". daisy getting her story with sylvester's help. gangie falling into mrs. molesly's room. sylvester almost dying but getting a nat 20 death save with buckster's help. a wedding and bacchanal.

we're the heroes: one of these things is not like the others. collecting the bag of socks. jammer crying about weights. sam and philtrum. dates at the questing beast. the tournament. dream's cinderella moment. where did those mice get lithium. you don't get wet fire. i disavow you. what do you want me to tell your family. he had enough. blast him to the underworld. you can gps a phone. my girl just glinda'd your ass! that's some american magic, bitch! evan and dream lock up tallulah's wand in an orb.

i fucking love you: no one is surprised. incendiary cloud. OSTENTATIA'S DIVINE INTERVENTION ON A 19. god wants a bag from ostentatia. antiope will not submit. penny texts i'm in. nta 20 counterspell on finger of death. nonna wallace approves. katja trips a snake. i didn't even know you could trip a snake. antiope's incredible action surge turn that ends with showing her ass. sam is power word killed. that's my sister. danielle channels anima. revivify. bringing talura through the doorway in death. ending with graduation and 'take us to the book!'.

waylaid by werewolves: the werewolves are girls. zarb mini with six buttholes. chewing gum mist. fifi. shooting through the flamethrower. losing dracula. drago was the star. fifi becomes a werewolf. reading a letter in the middle of battle. florina under the carriage. enraged frenzy. i've heard of a cat scan. i make the horse fly. something seems very familiar about her. the dog is my wife! izzy holds with disappointment. a monster has been eating my letters to you.

duel on the southern lawn: rumor phase. rue writes the letter and commands wuvvy to burn it. i drank tea and went to bed. letter to wrackingspelt. rue's assistant. hob getting clocked by rue. wuvvy demanding satisfaction. andhera demanding satisfaction. wet wrestling. this is the biggest stretch of a fuckin' lifetime. nat 20 to be a slippy boy. hoisting andhera up by his taut cotton pants. accepting the hand of friendship.

yonder where the fruit do be lyin': quichei. deli's perception roll. raphaniel as a youth pastor. giant radish head. colin is covered in blue. extremely realistic fake orange. rick perry, you dog. silence. queen's losing it. raphaniel gets the orange down. banana boat guy. come on provolone! deli attacks queen pamela rocks. subtle spell shatter in the carriage. brennan kills pamela rocks again. you died for nothing. chasing and murdering the mushroom guy.

in the heart of death: brennan walks jujubee through an optimized turn. 49 damage immediately. troyánn slips. keekee starts falling. scorching ray. the devil works hard, but d20 works harder. buddy bear shoves zaria into the pit. lightning javelin in the titty. fireball. princess does like 70 damage and pushed kerwyn into the abyss. troyánn goes down. princess gets keena. nat 20 counterspell. twyla crits on morgan to end the battle.

case closed: the party converges on oblongata station once more. they're facing down the don and madam loathing, who can turn them against each other. imelda and dan flash the gangsters to wildly differing results. ivana rolls a 59 on hunch and he still comes back. elias punches his boss. dan goes down. the fix eats the key. conrad rolls a 57 [the number of heinz varieties] to bring down madam loathing. elias steals a birthday cake and runs out into the street, gets a date and reconciles his childhood trauma as he goes into witness protection.

evolution & revolution: warning the populace. pitching scam calls. driving the truck. phoebe is jaegering dr. wenabocker in a very gross maxi. the ground collapses. revenants are charmed. viola is very efficient. thorn calls lightning. tula attacks her son for 67 damage. ava attacks the groun for 109 damage and a long rest. jaysohn gets phoebe. lila fireballs. viola crits twice and kills one guy with paladin/fighter shenanigans and then kills the rest by kicking the trigger of a gun and hitting a gas tank. tula heals jaysohn, lukas, and herself a little bit. battle is over in 1.33 rounds.

#dimension 20 #battle episode of all time #escape from the bloodkeep #tiny heist #pirates of leviathan #mice & murder #misfits & magic #the seven #coffin run #a court of fey and flowers #the ravening war #dungeons and drag queens #mentopolis #burrow's end #d20 poll #dimension 20 spoilers #d20 spoilers

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qqueenofhades · 2 years

Note

When Hob said "I think I have been stood up", I full on expected the barkeeper to react to that as if Hob's date hasn't showed and telling him not to be worried because he has seen many couples fight and make up afterwards and is sure Hob's relationship will survive it. Like, I was genuinely so surprised when the barkeeper talked about "friends" haha

Okay okay okay okay but. I gotta say something SO IMPORTANT about this from my position as Tumblr Old and Local Queer Historian, because.... yes. And that is:

That scene takes place in 1989.

Why is that important, you say? Well, because this is the end of an entire decade of the AIDS crisis. There has been endless fearmongering and conservative attempts to paint gay men explicitly as disease-ridden degenerate pedo Threats to Your Community who might infect your children with AIDS and make them dirty homos by so much as LOOKING at them, pretty much. They are literally toxic people, they are generally shunned, nobody knows what to do and is terrified of the fact of how quickly AIDS patients usually die with no effective treatment. And oof it makes me feel Some Kinda Way for Hob, born in the middle of the Black Death and who was haunted by that shadow all his life, experiencing this as a queer man in the 1980s. Like, he almost certainly lost several friends to it at least, watched them die, probably went in there to the wards when few other people would, both because he's immortal anyway and he doesn't think it's right to leave them alone.

Anyway, in the UK, it was literally only 2 years before, in 1987, when Princess Diana opened the first dedicated AIDS unit at London Middlesex Hospital, and publicly shook hands with a man who had HIV -- which was shocking because many people still thought you could get it through casual physical contact. So while on the surface, Hob looks like your average 1980s douchebro -- he's got the brand new Porsche, the slicked back hair, the giant brick cellphone, the works -- he is still going into public to have a date with a man he is in love with, regardless of whether either of them will ever admit that or act on it. (And given how 1889 ended, if Morpheus does show up, they ARE kinda gonna have to talk about it in some way.) Hob is, in this moment, incredibly vulnerable. Emotionally and socially for sure, and if the local macho assholes clock him as a Fag, probably physically too.

So that conversation when Hob says he's been stood up is absolutely LOADED with subtext, things he isn't saying, and things the bartender understands about him and tries to support. They're British, so by nature they're not huge on talking about their feelings, but Hob says he's been stood up. He doesn't use pronouns, he doesn't say it was by a girl, and if the bartender used the word "couple," it would generally presume that he too thought Hob’s date was a girl. So he goes for the most careful, also-has-a-long-queer-history use of "friends." He implies it's more than that, but he doesn't say so or put Hob on the spot for probably dating a man, because again, it's not safe.

After that is when Hob orders a drink, and the bartender tells him that people in this country can do anything if they have money. He's trying to subtly communicate that this is a safe place and he won't judge, and Hob picks that up immediately, which is why he is so shocked to hear that the White Horse has been sold and is going to be torn down for condos. Hob is losing not just the one place he can be assured (well, until now) of meeting his Stranger, but a place that has been subtly communicated to be safe for him personally, as a queer man in 1989. That is undoubtedly part of why he immediately refuses to countenance the idea of this actually happening, buys the pub, makes giant signs, hangs out in the New Inn until Dream actually does come back, etc. So like... there is so much going on in that scene, and maybe only 25% of it can be said aloud. Which I think is absolutely critical for you younguns to understand, so. Yeah.

#sparklingrainbowdragon #ask #hob gadling #dreamling #listen my feelings about 1989 are Many #for Many reasons #but absolutely this

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cuubism · 10 months

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literally just smut, dreamling, prince/knight dynamic, uh. lowkey virginity kink. lowkey degradation kink. yeah.

The war camp is dark, the tent only barely lit by a few scant candles, but Hob is wide awake.

It had been a fantastically successful battle, that day. Much needed after a string of losses. They’d absolutely destroyed the enemy, Hob’s only just managed to clean most of the blood off himself—and he’s still riding that high hours later, blood pumping, restless energy racing as he occupies himself cleaning his armor and his sword.

Technically, he could get someone else to do these menial tasks. He’s a knight, he’s of high enough rank to request it. But Hob’s always believed a man should tend to his own weapons, should know every piece of them. It’s the same reason he takes care of his own horse, and his own tack.

Besides, the repetitive motion of the cleaning is taking the edge off.

There’s another thing that can cut the edge of the battle high.

Sex.

How fortunate, then, that Hob is on good terms with so many of the working ladies of the camp.

Not that it’s really so hard to be on good terms. The bar is so low that simply not behaving like a total dick seems to do the trick—but the fact remains that when Hob calls for one of the messenger boys who hang around outside to send for whoever’s working that night, he knows someone will come by. He pays them well, he gets along with most everyone, and it’s really not that hard to get one’s prick wet under those circumstances.

He’s just finished oiling the final leather straps on his armor, is hanging it up to await the next fight, when he hears the entrance flap of the tent, to his back, swish open and shut again. The rush of cool night air into the warm, close space.

“Be right with you, luv,” he calls, tying off the last strap, and a deep, sonorous voice responds—

“Please, take your time, Ser Gadling.”

Hob whirls around, nearly falls over like a buffoon he goes so fast. Standing there is not one of the working girls he’s come to know. It is, in fact, Prince fucking Morpheus, dark hair tousled by the wind, wrapped in a long velvet cloak that sparkles like stardust where the light catches it.

“My prince,” Hob stammers, trying to decide whether he’s meant to bow and managing only a dip of the head. It’s Prince Morpheus’s fault, this awkwardness, Hob would have managed with perfect politeness the sudden arrival of one of his siblings, or even the King himself. It’s only Morpheus that fells him so. “I—”

“—called for a whore?” Morpheus finishes, quirking a brow. Hob can only describe the look in his eyes as mischievous.

Anything Hob might have possibly managed to say is derailed by the rush of interest to his dick. That look, that phrase in Morpheus’s pretty, proper mouth— and what is he implying—?

“That’s… not the word I’d use,” Hob finally manages, throat tight. “Did. Did you need something, my prince?”

“As I’ve said,” repeats Morpheus, taking a fluid step closer to him. And he’s— he’s fucking barefoot in the grass. Lord have mercy. “You called for a whore.”

Hob should step back. Instead he’s rooted to the spot. Paralyzed by a swirling mix of fear and arousal. “That’s not— you’re not—”

Morpheus keeps advancing on him, liquid and predatory. The deep vee of his robe suggests he’s wearing nothing underneath. He’s got some kind of glitter under his eyes. And he’s— he’s so beautiful. Hob has always thought so, especially on that one blessed night when—

“Do you think me not a whore?” says Morpheus. He says it with allure, almost pride, not shame. “Do you think, my knight, that I have never slunk into some lord’s bed to steal secrets? That I have never used my body to seal an alliance, when my words were not sufficient?”

Hob should be horrified at the thought of his prince debased so. Instead, the image of Morpheus on his knees flashes through his mind, and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from whining. “That’s not— the same,” he manages.

“Is it not?” Hob’s ankles hit his bedroll and he trips back, falling on his ass and bracing himself on his elbows, and Morpheus follows him, crawling up Hob’s body in a long, sinuous movement, the velvet of his robe soft wherever it touches his skin. “People can make sex their trade for coin, but it is different when I offer myself up in exchange for goods or laws or partnerships?”

If that’s all the case, Hob should find out what Morpheus wants with him now. Instead he asks, breathless, taken in by Morpheus’s eyes, “What did you trade for, then, my prince?” Maybe Hob doesn’t care what Morpheus wants with him. Maybe he only cares that Morpheus wants him. “When you let a foreign king bed you, did you use your mouth?” He touches Morpheus’s lips with his fingertips, and Morpheus smiles, sharp and pleased. “Or did you let him fuck you?”

The thought is as jealousy-inducing as it is arousing. Hob has no right to be jealous about his prince. But.

“What I needed to,” says Morpheus. “I have learned how to bait my lures. Many kings, I have learned, like to ruin pretty young men. Do you know—” he taps a fingertip along Hob’s lips “—how many times I have ‘sold’ my virginity? Played the hapless youth desperate for an older man to teach him, to use him?”

Fuck. Fucking hell.

“And did you learn?” Hob asks, hyperfocused on every point where their bodies are touching.

Morpheus tilts his head at him, suddenly all innocence. “Learn what?”

And, well. He does know how to bait his lures, it turns out. Even knowing he’s sinking his mouth onto a hook, Hob growls and flips them, pushing Morpheus down into the sheets. Morpheus lets out a startled breath that Hob’s pretty sure is affected but still succeeds in sending a thrill through him, and a powerful sense—careful, delicate, don’t hurt him. Even though the small part of Hob’s brain that’s still checked in to reason knows well that Morpheus is the one truly in control of whatever’s going on here.

“Should I teach you, then?” he asks, dragging a hand through Morpheus’s hair— so soft. “Show you how good I can make you feel?”

“Please,” Morpheus breathes, wrapping a delicate hand around the back of his neck. Hob really hopes he isn’t going to get drawn and quartered for this. Might be worth it, though. He doesn’t want to die, but if there were a way to go… “Hob, please.”

Fuck, his name in that wanting mouth.

“Got my mouth on you last time,” he muses, the sense memory of Morpheus’s prick on his tongue rushing through him, the hard press of the palace flagstones on his knees, “think I can show you something new, now.”

“I defer to your experience,” Morpheus breathes, as Hob pulls open his heavy velvet robe. As he’d thought, Morpheus isn’t wearing anything under it, and the thought of him walking through the camp like that to get here makes Hob want to bite something. Morpheus makes him so base and irrational.

Hob hadn’t gotten nearly this far last time. Had simply pulled open the ties on Morpheus’s breeches, let his prince tug on his hair as Hob took him in his mouth. Now, he has Morpheus fully unveiled to him, like a gift, like an offering, and, just like an offering, Morpheus stretches, arches his back, long limbs in relief and his cock laying hard against the crease of his thigh. He’s so pristine, always tucked away in his palace, where Hob has been out in the trenches—literally—getting sun-tanned and rough and dirty.

Although. Not so pristine as Hob might have thought. Apparently.

“You’re beautiful,” Hob tells him. “Your body is beautiful. I can’t wait to show you what I can do with it.”

Morpheus shudders, keeps playing along with their little facade of inexperience. “Will you ruin me for other men, Robert Gadling? Defile me, destroy my reputation so no respectable lord or lady will ever dare take me as their spouse?”

“You came crawling to my bed, pretty thing,” Hob says. Nips at Morpheus’s belly, which makes him cry out, such a pretty, keening sound, and then soothes where he’d bitten with lips and tongue. “You’ve been wanting it, I think. Someone to take you down, someone to fuck you.”

“Perhaps I simply wanted to reward my favorite knight,” Morpheus says, trailing off into a groan as Hob leaves another mark low on his pelvis.

“Should have told me you were the prize for valor,” Hob says. “I’d have killed twice as many men. Come to your bedroom still covered in the blood I spilled in your name.”

Morpheus actually moans at the image. “I’d have had you that way. My knight.”

“You can have me now.” It’s tempting, to do as he did last time, and take Morpheus into his mouth. But Hob wants to do something different to him. And he has the sense that Morpheus wants something different done. “Go on. On your belly.”

Morpheus’s breath leaves him in a shuddering rush, but he does as Hob says. Hob runs his hands down over his smooth back, his ass, his wiry thighs, kneeling between them and pushing them further apart. Morpheus whines, moving his hips in little circles to get the barest amount of friction on the sheets.

“You need it so badly.” Hob parts Morpheus’s cheeks with his thumbs, rubs over his hole, and Morpheus keens. “Don’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, Hob, show me—”

Hob swipes the oil from the bag beside the bed—because yes, he is prepared for these sorts of things, if not specifically for his prince showing up—and dips his fingers in. Rubs them together to warm it, then slides one finger into Morpheus, without pause, straight to the first knuckle.

Morpheus lets out a choked gasp, fingers clenching in the sheets. The sound makes Hob’s cock twitch where it’s already straining in his breeches. “Hob—” he moans, strangled, “Hob, I—”

He starts to lift himself up, and Hob pushes him down with a hand on the back of his neck. Morpheus struggles for a moment and then goes boneless under him. Hob releases him and strokes his hair. “Good boy. You want it, don’t you?”

“Y-yes,” Morpheus says shakily, pushing back on Hob’s hand when he starts working that finger inside him. “Please. Please.”

“I’ll take care of you,” Hob promises. Having Morpheus, his prince, his beautiful prince, splayed out under him like this is heady. If he weren’t so focused on Morpheus’s reactions, he might have lost his grip on his own arousal already. “But you’re mine.”

He slides another finger in, and Morpheus moans raggedly. Hob doesn’t know if he’s truly getting overwhelmed or if he’s still trying to play the clueless virgin, but either way it’s burning through Hob’s veins. He gets Morpheus writhing on his fingers, achingly hard in his own pants, taking each of Morpheus’s pleasured, crying moans as its own prize.

Morpheus is shaking, panting, as Hob pulls his hips up, undoes the laces on his own breeches to pull out his cock, lines himself up. Morpheus presses his face into the bed, fingers tight in the sheets. Hob touches his lips to the base of his spine, tastes the sweat there. “My prince?”

Morpheus swallows hard and it still doesn’t seem to clear his throat. “I am ready.”

So Hob braces his hips and pushes in, one long slow slide. He groans at the same time as Morpheus moans, so ragged it’s almost pained. “Fuck you’re tight.”

“Well,” says Morpheus, “you are the first to have me so.”

Even aware that Morpheus is only playing at it, the words make Hob feel like he’s clinging to sanity by a thread. “You’ve been waiting so long, haven’t you?” he manages, as he starts to move, still holding Morpheus by the hips. Morpheus sighs at the slide, thighs trembling. It’s enough to make Hob obsessed. Morpheus is so tight and hot, Hob really doesn’t know how long he’s going to last, but he’s determined to give Morpheus just a bit of that ruination first. “Waiting for the right cock to fill you?”

Morpheus pushes back on him with a whine. “Yes.”

“Kept yourself as a prize for me?”

“Yes. Hob.”

Hob reaches around to take him in hand, and Morpheus cries out, bucking into his touch, pinned in place. Hob moves faster, each thrust pushing Morpheus into his grip, his breeches scraping roughly over Morpheus’s bare thighs, and it feels so base to have him like this, still clothed, taking him like a casual whore when he’s a prince. It feels wrong. But so good.

“How’s it feel?” he asks, voice gratifyingly steady. “For your first time?”

Morpheus lets out a wordless groan. Then, “Good. So much. I—” he trails off again, losing his breath. And this, too, is gratifying, reducing Morpheus, usually so eloquent, to broken sentences and simple words.

“Good, love.” Hob soothes a hand over his hip. “That’s good.”

But before Morpheus can settle, Hob increases his pace, pounding into him so hard and fast that Morpheus loses what remains of his balance and is held in place only by Hob’s hand on his hip, his arm wrapped around his belly. Each thrust pulls a sharp gasp from him, his face pushed into the sheets— and Hob’s nearly insensate with how good it is, but still he manages to pull Morpheus off in time with each thrust.

“Hob—” Morpheus chokes, “Hob, I’m—”

“You can come, love. I want to see you.”

Morpheus comes with a bitten-off cry, spilling over Hob’s hand. He’s so beautiful like that, Hob’s formal, perfect prince—crumpled in pleasure, eyes screwed shut, hair damp with sweat. It’s a collision of every illicit thought Hob’s swallowed down when he’s looked at him. In the palace, on campaign, at times when he was meant to be guarding Morpheus and when he wasn’t. He can’t last long thinking about that, seeing that, so he bends low over Morpheus’s back and kisses the back of his neck. One small, tender touch in this game of roughness and transaction, one touch before Morpheus inevitably swans back out of his tent, back to his writing and his diplomacy and his other diplomacy, and— fuck—

Hob holds Morpheus to him as he comes, wishing he could say, don’t go back to anyone else. You’re mine now, come to me. But those aren’t his words to say.

Morpheus slumps down to the bed, boneless and satisfied. Hob follows him, breathing hard against the back of his neck, finally releasing him from under his weight. Morpheus only winces a little when he pulls out, and Hob yanks off his own shirt and uses it to wipe off Morpheus’s stomach, between his thighs. Morpheus sighs, tipping his head back, a tiny smile on his face, then turns to face Hob, leaning on his arm.

Hob’s swiftly learning how weak he is for that smile on the face of the usually unreadable prince. He trails an exploratory finger along Morpheus’s jaw, up his temple, into his hair. Morpheus closes his eyes at the touch, slow and sleepy.

“Was that better than your many transactional trysts?” Hob asks. “Or do I have work to do?”

“I would not know,” says Morpheus, a self-satisfied little smile now curling on his lips. “Considering those did not occur.”

Hob blinks hard, mind going blank. “What.”

“I spun you a story, Robert,” Morpheus says. His voice is sex-rough, his hair a mess, his gaze drags over Hob’s body with a proprietary touch. “And it is a fun story, is it not? Plying secrets from between the sheets, returning home victorious when one was thought to be had. And,” he drags a fingertip down the center of Hob’s chest, “coming back to the bed of a lover. One whom one wants to be with. To be made his again.”

Hob is still stuck on this. “Wait, are you telling me you made all that up?”

Morpheus smirks. “Do you truly think that my words would ever be insufficient to obtain what this kingdom needs? Do you think I need to use my mouth other ways to get treaties signed?”

Well, when he puts it like that.

“It was a compelling story, though,” Morpheus muses as Hob continues gaping at him. “You seemed compelled.”

“Morpheus, why?”

“I wanted to see how my favorite knight would respond to knowing other men had had me,” he says, and keeps dragging his fingers through Hob’s chest hair in self-soothing patterns. Then his expression shifts from clever to almost shy. “And. I thought that if you knew the truth, you might defer too much to me. Treat me only like your prince.”

Hob’s stomach swoops. “And… what’s the truth, then?”

“That evening at the state dinner, when someone meant me harm and you saved me…” his voice holds a note of wonder now. “That. Was the first time that I had ever.”

“What?” He can’t lie to himself, the thought of being Morpheus’s first, for real, does spark something in him. But also. Morpheus is a prince. And Hob had been…

“I had never before had cause,” Morpheus explains. “I was uninterested in marriage. And I never found anyone worth threatening my reputation over. Until…” His lips purse, stressed now. “And I wanted you so. And. You wanted me.”

Hob is speechless, running through every second of that night in his mind. Sweeping Morpheus into his arms and out of the way of a blade. Morpheus’s wide eyes staring at the slice in Hob’s arm, the blood welling there. Blinking and finding himself crowded into a side hall, Morpheus panting into his mouth, the hunger of his pretty lips, heat and adrenaline running through Hob’s body, pushing Morpheus against the wall and sinking to his knees in front of his charge, his dear, his prince to worship. The tears that had pricked at Morpheus’s eyes as Hob had taken him all the way down.

Christ.

“Does that bother you?” Morpheus asks, uncertain now.

“I’d have shown you a better time then if I’d known,” Hob says, because doesn’t he deserve to be properly taken care of? “In an actual bed.”

Morpheus lets out a little huff of a laugh, expression easing. “I enjoyed it.”

“And then…” he lets his hand come to rest low on Morpheus’s waist. “You came back for more.” He kisses Morpheus and swallows his pleased sigh. “Hungry little thing.”

Morpheus’s breath shudders, and he clings to Hob’s hair, his shoulders. Hob’s about to roll on top of him again and kiss him properly, maybe more once they’ve recovered themselves, but pauses as a realization sinks in. “Wait. Does that mean—”

“Yes, Hob. You were the first man to fuck me.” He sighs. “Use that information against me if you wish. It is out of my hands, now.”

Hob is reeling with shock, and even more so with arousal, heat flashing through his body at the mere thought that all Morpheus had pretended at, newness and learning and raw, unpracticed want, had been, at least somewhat, real. And he had let Hob have that. Catch it. Had trusted him.

“Never,” Hob swears, kissing his cheek. “I would never. You’ll be my secret. Besides. I don’t think anyone would ever believe me even if I said. Me, with you? A prince? And a gorgeous one at that?”

Morpheus runs his hands over Hob’s shoulders. “You are handsome. And very gallant. I do not see what you mean.”

“Well, that’s flattering. And I won’t tell you to take it back.”

Morpheus runs his tongue over his lower lip, eyes dark where they trace over Hob’s jaw, shoulders, chest. “I have. Wanted you from afar. For a very long time.”

Obligingly, Hob kisses him, and sweeps his hands over Morpheus’s lower back, drawing him close. “You’re a prince,” he says, breathless again with want for this wonderful being. “You can have whatever you want.”

“So,” Morpheus nuzzles at his jaw, “I may steal my way into your bed? You would not mind that, Ser Gadling?”

“Sneak in, or stay, I won’t mind. I’ll give you all my secrets.”

Morpheus hums. “And your loyalty?”

Hob thinks he means it playfully, a continuation of his ruse from before—but it comes out much more serious. His gaze finds Hob’s with a deeper wanting than when he’d swanned into Hob’s tent, all draped fabric and fluid lines of desire.

“You have it already,” Hob murmurs, and Morpheus’s pleased sigh as Hob kisses him is a balm to his soul. “My prince.”

#if i don't post this attempt at 'just smut' now i'll end up crawling into a hole and eating the crumpled paper of it instead #just doing smut outside of a plot is like so hard mad respect to the people who write smut oneshots damn #dreamling #nsft #dream of the endless #hob gadling #ye olde prince/knight dynamic #my writing #this fic is actually absurd i'm sorry. but if at least one (1) person thinks this is hot i'll consider it a success. it only takes 1 #im cringe but im free

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