#y'all are so fucking cool a;akjhdfj thank you for accepting me lol
Text
I posted 494 times in 2022
That's 339 more posts than 2021!
28 posts created (6%)
466 posts reblogged (94%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@asingularcanadian
@landwriter
@be-they-do-crimes
@teejaystumbles
@alibonbonn
I tagged 490 of my posts in 2022
Only 1% of my posts had no tags
#fanart - 152 posts
#the sandman - 62 posts
#dreamling - 58 posts
#hades game - 56 posts
#patrochilles - 41 posts
#tsoa - 39 posts
#movies - 27 posts
#morpheus - 27 posts
#hob gadling - 26 posts
#achilles - 21 posts
Longest Tag: 134 characters
#and after he leaves (cheeks tinged pink and 'forgetting' the box there) hob's coworkers tell him how dream had been coming in for days
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
“You’ve grown old, Hob Gadling.”
Hob tensed at the all too familiar voice. A voice he’d never forget, despite the years that had passed since he’d last heard it. The melodic, rich voice that transfixed many, Hob being no exception. He swallowed as he turned, knowing the voice could hear it, could hear his heartbeat suddenly in his ears.
“Tends to happen to mortals, you know?” Hob regarded him in the darkness. He was a shadow on the wall, peeling away and floating towards him now.
Morpheus glides until he meets Hob at the window he’s stationed at. The night is cold and bitter, snow has begun to gently fall, like ash after a bonfire. After a public execution.
“Have you come back to me, my one?”
See the full post
254 notes - Posted November 8, 2022
#4
Robert Gadling is a character just BRIMMING with possibility. The lives he’s lived, the cultures he’s been a part of. The turning points in history that he’s witnessed! He’s into printing in 1489, imagine he was in Germany when Gutenberg invented the printing press? Why not! (He probably still owns a copy of Gutenberg’s Bible). Hob goes through an art phase and is there for the unveiling of Michelangelo’s David (imagine how fucking immaculate that statue looked in 1501). And then, Hob stays in Italy, obsessed with the renaissance and maybe befriending Michelangelo, gifted with the privilege to witness him working for 5 years on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel in Rome. Hob’s life is rife with history, with experience. He’s traveled the world, I bet he joined Ferdinand Magellan’s expedition to circumnavigate the globe (because Hob would, HE WOULD). He lived on that ship and drank piss ale and rum and stepped on land he never dreamed of exploring.
Hob’s there for the steam engine. Can you imagine him ranting and raving to Dream about how they managed to remove water from flooded mines and convert it into energy? “The power of steam!” Hob raves, gesticulating at Dream with a huge grin on. The birth of rail transport, the invention of the telegraph, the suffrage movement “women are finally fighting back!” I’d love to read something where Hob gets smacked with an appreciation for women, because you know he must’ve been some kind of problematic womanizer, back in the day (century). On and on and on it goes!
He's lived dozens and dozens of lives, different names, shifting personalities. Everything you can think of, Hob’s done it. I love when fic writers just let their imaginations run wild with Hob, the deeper the introspection the better.
He strikes me as a man of adventure and consequence. He’s smart, so fucking smart. Imagine the schooling this man has had, imagine the life experience. Imagine the people he’s taken to his bed too. This man is a literal definition of “fuck around and find out.”
Imagine the loneliness at times, knowing each relationship never develops. He makes friends, lovers, and has to break their hearts. Hob probably starts accidentally falling in love with Dream because he’s his only constant in life. He probably bites his tongue every time they meet, wanting to beg for more than one visit a century. By the 1600s Hob’s desperate for companionship. He loves the gift of immortality freely given to him, he treasures every second on this green earth, but god damn can it get lonely.
I want to read Hob speaking foreign languages, communicating effortlessly and fluently with anyone. Striking up a conversation because someone catches him reading a worn copy of The Odyssey in its original ancient Greek or something like that. Can you imagine the tracks he has to switch in his brain when he has to converse in Yiddish? Turkish? Japanese? It probably takes him a full minute to rifle through his metaphorical filing cabinet, like a slow Internet connection because you have too many tabs open.
Imagine all the work he’s done, the jobs he’s taken up, good and bad. Morally gray or just immoral, so bad Hob can’t bear to remember. (He’s been in the mob, he’s been in a gang, he's been a marksman, he’s been a private investigator, he's been a doctor and an archeologist, on and on and ON). I can see him loving a position as a museum curator.
Oh man, this got long.
TL;DR: I go absolutely insane for a Hob character analysis that explores his time through history and how it has changed him as a person.
319 notes - Posted November 13, 2022
#3
Hob hums along to the music quietly playing through his phone speaker, the knife in his hand coming down swiftly over the thinly sliced peppers, dicing them for his latest meal endeavor. He’d never really been much of a cook, but after living on his own for so many years, Hob came to the realization that living off takeout and boxed pasta wasn’t very sustainable (or healthy) and had strived to make at least one homemade meal a day. And today it was breakfast.
He scraped the bell pepper into a small bowl and reached for the red onion. Hob was on a mission this morning to get an omelet correct– redemption round– he called it. Preparing the vegetables was easy enough, it was cooking them with the egg mixture while keeping its integrity that was the challenge.
With the knife poised to make the first cut into the onion, Hob suddenly feels two arms snake around his waist, followed by a cold nose pushing its way through his hair at the back of his neck.
Hob huffs a startled, but pleased laugh, as Dream nuzzles his way around, pressing feather soft kisses on his neck and up to his ear. He didn’t even hear Dream approach; he never hears Dream, like the man weighed nothing or just glided along the squeaky floorboards. Hob unconsciously tilts his head, stretching his neck out for Dream to have more access.
“You weren’t there when I awoke,” Dream rumbles, his voice impossibly low and rough from sleep.
Hob smiles. He still has the knife in his hand, but he’s lowered it to the cutting board, blade safely out of the way.
“I wanted to get started on breakfast,” he answers simply, trying desperately to not turn his head and meet Dream’s wandering lips. “And I made coffee.”
Dream presses his body along Hob’s, crowding him against the counter and ripping a surprised gasp from Hob, which turns into a soft groan as Dream nips his ear before dragging an open mouth down his neck. One of his hands is slipping underneath the hem of Hob’s shirt, rucking it up and fingers dancing across his stomach.
Hob’s eyes slip closed and he swallows hard.
“I’m holding a knife, love.”
He feels one of Dream’s hands move from his hip to lightly grip his elbow, fingers caressing down Hob’s arm and gently dislodging the knife from his hand. Hob chuckles softly, accepting his fate and allowing Dream to tie their fingers together, resting their hands on the countertop as he pushes himself forward again, so Dream’s front is flush against Hob’s backside.
Hob’s breath catches in his throat, feeling the distinct, hard outline of Dream’s arousal nudge against his ass as he shamelessly rolls his hips, pulling Hob impossibly closer as he does so. Hob brings his free hand around, winding it back and touching Dream’s middle, feeling skin. He tilts his head back against Dream’s shoulder, splaying his fingers and exploring down past Dream’s ribs to his hips, and lower…
Hob is almost breathless as he speaks, almost stammers as Dream bites his exposed neck.
“Why are you naked?”
“Why aren’t you?” Dream counters before getting both hands on Hob’s hips and spinning him around, shoving a gloriously firm, pale leg against Hob’s crotch and crushing Hob against the counter with renewed vigor.
Hob can only meet Dream’s mouth as it descends onto his, moaning as Dream’s tongue slides along his, hot and insistent. Hob crumbles at once, wrapping his arms around Dream’s shoulders and pulling so there’s no more space between them, no more air.
Hob cries out at a particularly hard thrust, causing his lower back to dig into the counter’s edge. Dream is kissing down his neck again and Hob can only hold on, getting a handful of silky soft hair and pulling.
“Dream–”
“Come back to bed,” Dream demands, licking the shell of Hob’s ear and making him shudder pleasantly.
Hob relents, abandoning his mission that was breakfast, it had been a lost cause from the start.
331 notes - Posted October 18, 2022
#2
had thoughts about Dream being able to sleep, how soft and human he would look. for your consideration:
Hob announced his arrival from work with a long sigh, heavy with exhaustion, and leaned into the door as he opened it and stepped into his flat. He dropped his keys in the little bowl and toed off his shoes. He had just shrugged off his messenger bag when he noticed a pair of large black boots in the living room, stark against his off-white rug. They were about a meter apart, like they’d been kicked off or tossed aside without a second thought.
With one brow raised, eyes scrupulous, Hob deposited his bag on the couch and bent down to pick up first one boot, then the other, tucking them together and neatly placing them on the wooden floor next to a bookshelf.
“Dream?” Hob called out, straightening up and casting his gaze upon the room. It wasn’t like Dream, when he paid surprise visits, to not immediately be within eyesight of the door, let alone leave his shoes haphazardly on the carpet.
Hob’s eyes landed on the entryway of the hall, spotting Dream’s thick, long coat in a heap on the center of the floor. Worry began to creep in as Hob slowly stepped up to Dream’s mystical coat, his pulse thrumming under his skin. He stooped down, grabbing it by the collar and brushing it off with his other hand. The material felt luxurious in Hob’s hands, soft like cashmere or shahtoosh, but also durable– something akin to wool or even canvas. Hob’s fingers caressed the fabric, feeling the lip of the tall collar between his thumb and fingers.
Gently folding the coat over one arm, Hob continued down the hall, stepping softly, carefully.
Hob’s bedroom door was open, the rays of the setting sun streamed in through the window and lit up the entryway, revealing more dark clothes in a jumble leading into the room.
Swallowing, lips parting, Hob bent down once more to collect Dream’s t-shirt, his pants and, following the line of mayhem, his socks, taking them all into his arms. Hob wasn’t sure what he expected to see when he finally straightened up and turned, but it certainly wasn’t this.
Hob almost dropped all the clothes he had spent carefully collecting, his mouth going dry.
There was a considerable, person-sized lump in Hob’s bed, buried under his thick gray comforter. The only indication that it was indeed Dream laying in Hob’s bed, was the mane of wild dark hair poking out from the mass of linens.
Hob took a step forward, then another, crushing the pile of clothes to his chest as he walked around the bed, his gaze transfixed to the top of Dream’s head– a smattering of black ink spilled on his white pillow. He held his breath as he finally came to face Dream, the only part of him sticking out was his nose and eyes, Dream’s impossibly long lashes draped down, threatening to brush the tops of his cheeks.
Hob felt his jaw drop, lips parting in wonder at this ethereal creature in his bed.
Dream was sleeping.
See the full post
565 notes - Posted October 28, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
You are an obsession, you're my obsession
Who do you want me to be to make you sleep with me?
“Hello, Hob,” a low, sultry, and achingly familiar voice speaks behind him, cutting through the heavy bass reverberating off the walls and straight through Hob’s chest, lighting him up.
Turning, Hob finds– who he’d been referring to as– his stranger behind him, close enough to reach out and touch. They’re in the middle of the dance floor, bodies packed and grinding all night, but somehow they’ve given them room now.
Hob was dreaming, he was aware of it almost immediately. He’s been thrown back into the 1980s, one of Hob’s favorite periods of the 20th century, and in a nightclub no less. The music loud enough to penetrate skin, feeling the twangy synth pop in his bones. Everyone around him dressed in every color of the rainbow, over accessorized in neon hoop earrings and bangles, leg warmers, windbreakers, and mesh patterns.
Hob’s dreams often took him back in time, and he wondered what prompted this. Though as Hob often did in his dreams, instead of considering why, he simply indulged. The music wasn’t anything particular, perhaps nothing was actually playing and it was all in his head, but Hob had felt the push and pull of everyone around him and followed along like a buoy at sea.
And now, feeling drunk off the sticky sweet air in the room, Hob grins as he boldly steps into his stranger’s space and slips both arms around his middle, pulling so his skinny, pale, gorgeous friend is flush against him.
He’d been dancing with strangers all night, shadows with indeterminate faces, allowing them to trace patterns on his skin, grip his shoulders or tug on his shirt. Hob hadn’t been dancing or even hanging around loud bars or clubs in decades, maybe somewhere deep in his subconscious, he missed it. Missed the anonymity of it all, getting high off everyone else’s pleasure and succumbing to it. So it made sense, as Hob felt himself getting hot, his skin prickling, that his imagination would wander, drifting to his perfect stranger. The only constant in his life, and someone who frequented Hob’s dreams often, especially as their centennial meetings came around or passed.
Though this iteration of his friend appeared distinctly… solid. He was dressed in that long black coat and skinny jeans from their last meeting (where he’d apologized, apologized! And called Hob a friend), his black hair gently tousled as before.
Hob paid it no mind as his tongue finally became useful and spoke for him.
“Hello, stranger.” he tried his best to mimic his friend’s deep voice and giggled at himself, cataloging the twitch of amusement in his usual stony face.
“You were thinking about me.” He spoke again, choosing to not point out how Hob currently had his arms ensnared around him and swaying them back and forth. “In a place like this.”
See the full post
811 notes - Posted November 3, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →
#omg guys...#it is INSANE to me how many notes my silly little fics have gotten#ive written for many fandoms but breaking 100 notes has always been a pipe dream#the sandman (and dreamling) fandom has really been so wholesome and amazing#(as you can see. in 2 months it has almost completely taken over my blog)#ive been having a blast and only hope this train continues into 2023#y'all are so fucking cool a;akjhdfj thank you for accepting me lol#my 2022 tumblr year in review#year in review#tumblr2022
4 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
r-lumina-blog
Interfering Light
angelamoores
attention sluts and losers!
ikixmy3d-blog
iKix My3D
blindblindtiger
BLIND BLIND TIGER BLOG
therainyone
Untitled