#1889 dreamling

[notallsandmen]

The Sandman as Reductress Headlines: 1889 Dreamling edition

[thegirlintheblackdress]

The Shepherdess, William-Adolphe Bouguereau - 1889

[murphyoftheendless]

Incubus!Hob Gadling - 1889

Commission WIP

[4typercent]

Happy 635th Anniversary, fellas! 🫂

"You can't sit with us."

They're talkin' some serious shit about you

[valiantstarlights]

[euzede]

studies of Hobs

[dailydreamling]

1889!Dreamling + text post meme

[achillesuwu]

Random thought I just had but when you think about it it's actually not that surprising that Hob waited for Dream in 1989. That he thought he would be there. Why? Because technically 1889 is in some way their second fight.

In 1589, Dream left without looking back and without a proper meeting and yet, in 1689 he is there first. What does Hob tell him as soon as he sees him? "I knew you would be there"

So what did Hob do in 1989? He did what his stranger did last time they had a fight. He came first and waited because his stranger must know that he will be there

[forsssnaken]

tell me you're writing a dreamling fic without telling me-

[wyvernquill]

I'm rewatching Anastasia and this convo would really fit in your AU

Hob: look, Murphy, I'm just trying to help Murphy: do you really think I'm an Endless, Hob?

Hob: you know I do.

Murphy: then stop bossing me around

I'm sorry, this ask is already over a year old, but I finally got around to writing a scene based on it! (Plus some Murphy&Gil bits I wanted to put in somewhere, anyway.) Hope you enjoy!

[Mild warning for contemplation of one's potential death, and having once lost the will to life - I wouldn't call it suicidal ideation, it doesn't quite go there, but I figured I'd better be safe than sorry.]

Link to Anastasia AU Masterpost!

(Tag list, let me know if you want to be added or taken off: @10moonymhrivertam @martybaker @globglobglobglobob @anonymoustitans @sunshines-fabulous-legs @dreamsofapiratelife @malice-royaume @kcsandmanfan @acedragontype @okilokiwithpurpose @tharkuun @silver-dream89 @i-write-stories-not-sins-bitch)

“Hob.” Murphy interrupts, eyes flashing with frustration.

(Today’s how-to-be-a-Dream-Lord lessons are not going well - not that any of them have, but this one is a particular catastrophe. Gil has already given up on their contrary charge for the evening, and with the way Murphy’s shoulders are up and tension bristles between them, Hob is unlikely to make much more headway tonight.)

“Tell me. Do you truly believe I am him? The Prince of Stories? The Dream King?”

“Yes,” Hob lies, easily, unflinchingly, and with a smile on his face. A good lie has to be treated like the truth, and maybe, one day, it’ll actually turn into one. They’ve been trying so very hard to teach Murphy this, he should know it by now. “Of course.”

“Then, perhaps,” Murphy spits, and despite his feral arrogance, despite the way he holds his head high and squares his slender shoulders, it’s not the regal indignation of a King, but the helpless tantrum of an angry child who’s failing in class. “You ought to finally treat me with the fucking deference an Endless is owed, Hob Gadling!”

(There are tears in his pale-blueish eyes, Hob can see them, can hear the crack in Murphy’s hoarse voice.

Nobody has treated this man with respect in all the years he remembers, that much is obvious. Nobody but his birds. And he knows, they all know, that he’s no prince, that his blood runs red, not blue - runs at all, come to think of it. Endless don’t bleed.

But he wants to be. He wishes he was. Murphy is not Dream of the Endless, but he is ravenous for the spoils of such a role. Desperate to be respected, to be worshipped and revered, desperate to be owed the sort of treatment he has never received.

Hob ought to be ashamed of himself for taking advantage of that helpless hunger for kindness and decency… and he will be. For the rest of his immortal life, he’ll live with the shame of what he did to cheat Death, and still not regret it.)

Hob plasters a smile over his impatience and opens his mouth, gentle, calming words already on the tip of his tongue. Murphy is lonely and frightened and frustrated, that much is obvious. Fine. Hob knew it wouldn’t be easy, to teach their false Dream all he needs to know, and this is not an insurmountable roadblock. If Hob can only reassure him, earn his trust, be his friend, even, it will make everything much easier. Poor thing, lashing out like an injured animal. But Hob can surely coax him into-

Murphy recoils. Flinches back from the admittedly-half-faked warmth, his face, his entire bearing collapsing into itself like a heavy portcullis rattling shut.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls, pointing one of his stick-thin fingers at Hob’s face, “don’t you DARE! I have no need for your false pity, and I want no part of it! I want-” the white of his eyes is bloodshot, and in his terror, in his fury, in his desperation, awash in unshed tears “-I want out. This deal is off. Find some other poor sucker to teach how to play Endless, I won’t do it! I’ve had enough!”

And before Hob can say as much as a single word, Murphy has snatched up his coat and slipped out onto the rainy street, Matthew following - but not after awarding Hob with a colder glare than he would’ve thought a mere raven capable of.

Murphy does not manage to flee very far.

He is in an unfamiliar town, with no money, no valuables besides the clothes on his back that are now slightly finer than he used to be; and the winter is cold and deep and stifling. He gets no further than a handful of streets until he slows halfway across a bridge, shaking with cold more than anger, snowflakes dancing around him. It is a quiet, windless night - and it has always calmed him, to stand underneath the dark sky at night, and know that most of the city lies asleep around him.

Matthew settles on the bridge’s parapet, caws. Hops closer, cocks his head to one side. There is a clear question in his bearing, a what now? glinting in his eyes. Birds are open and honest - unlike humans. Liars and hypocrites all.

“...I do not know, Matthew.” Murphy admits quietly. He has taken the coat, but forgotten the scarf in his haste, so he tugs at his collar, to keep the cold air from trickling down his spine. “I truly don’t.”

He does not have the means to return to London on his own - and at the same time, does not have much desire to do so. He had nothing and no-one there, but for the birds. Pockets can be picked anywhere - he could make a new start in this nameless town.

…if only it weren’t winter.

Murphy shivers, feeling his bones rattle with it. The night is calm, but bitterly cold, and it will not end well for him, sitting in the snow until morning. In the dark of winter, he cannot afford a night without shelter, a day without a sure way to come by some food to keep his strengths up. In London, he would have known where to go. Here, he is helpless.

Damn Hob Gadling, and may Destruction take him! Murphy will have no other choice but to crawl back to him, and hope he’ll be kept on as Endless-impersonator. Hope, because Murphy’s made a right pig’s ear of it so far, slow and clumsy to learn, and outright refusing to play at nobility. He will always be a gutter rat, Murphy knows it. They can’t fashion him into a Dream King, and perhaps this flare of temper will prove to Hob once and for all that there is no point in trying.

There is no point in trying.

Murphy gives up on his collar, and rests his hands on the parapet. Matthew caws, and presses his head against his arm, a far better reassurance than Hob’s false smiles. It comforts Murphy, at least a little. He’s not alone, never alone - no matter how lonely he might feel.

Underneath them, a foreign river flows just fast enough to avoid the freeze. The water does not reflect any stars, but the snow dancing over the surface makes it almost look as if. His own reflection wavers and breaks across the waves.

(Some nights, he dreams of a darkened shore and a sea stretching far past the horizon, black waters that fold up into the night sky, indistinguishable from each other. Of a wooden pier, and galaxies swirling underneath.

Whenever he leans out too far, the reflected eyes he meets are not his own, and he wakes with a scream lodged in his throat.)

Murphy shivers again, and savours the last remnants of his pride, before it, too, will have to be cast into the dirt and abandoned.

“I believe you forgot this, young friend.”

Murphy’s head snaps up.

Dreams and nightmares approach without a whisper, perfectly silent at night if they choose to be. Gilbert is no exception; and if Murphy were to pay attention to anything but his heart racing like a startled hare, he would perhaps be a little distressed by the fact that there are no fresh footprints in the snow beside his own.

But it’s only Gilbert, kind-eyed and not-human, holding out Murphy’s scarf like a peace offering.

Murphy does not take it.

“Did Gadling send you?” he asks, wary.

“Robert informed me what had transpired between you two.” Gilbert admits. “But rest assured, I am here on nobody’s behalf but my own - and, well, yours. Frightfully nippy tonight, wouldn’t you say?”

Murphy does not say. He trusts Gil as little as Hob, perhaps even less. A dream attempting to betray the memory of his master seems hardly like a paragon of virtue, and is perhaps even more suspicious than a deceitful human.

(He does, however, take the scarf now. It’s too cold to be stubborn, and when he winds it around his neck, it smells of sunshine on a summer meadow, warm and comforting.)

“And if you truly wish to leave… dear boy, I won’t stop you.” Murphy does not like the way Gilbert looks at him, as if trying to see someone else beneath his skin. He does not meet Murphy’s eyes, if he can help it. “In fact I would send you off with well-earned compensation for your time, and travel fare. Unless…”

Gil steps up to the parapet beside him.

“...unless I can convince you to stay…?”

“Why would you?” Murphy mutters, instead of why would I, if you’re offering to pay me off? “It should be perfectly obvious that I’ll never pass muster.”

“Ironically,” Gilbert smiles, but only at the man he pretends to see whenever he looks at Murphy, “it is well known among the former denizens of the Dreaming that His Lordship was often prone to very similar bouts of pessimism. I have faith in you, Murphy - and so does Robert Gadling. Please, do not leave. I rather doubt we will succeed without you.”

"You…" Murphy struggles with the words, the sentiment behind them lodging uncomfortably in his throat. "You have great respect, even love, for Dream of the Endless' memory. So why do you pretend? Why try to fool his siblings that I am him?"

For a moment, Gilbert seems ready to insist, as always, that Murphy is, or at least might be - but, to his credit, he does not play Murphy for a fool, in the end. Not this time. Not like Hob always, always does.

"You are quite correct. I loved His Lordship deeply, in a way that could never be understood by anyone but a dream and their creator." Gilbert sighs, his soft meadow-green eyes gazing far into the distance of better days, lined by old grief. "He made me to be the Heart of the Dreaming, and he was the Dreaming, so I knew his heart and self better than any other. The loss, when he… you cannot imagine it, young friend. I thought I would wither away and die. I thought that would be a mercy. To live as a dream in a universe that does not contain Dream of the Endless seemed entirely unthinkable, and to be quite frank, I did not think I would survive longer than a year at most in the Waking."

"I understand," says Murphy, quietly, and he does. He is no stranger to the feeling of being so untethered, only floating along with the end looming over him, death - not Death, no longer, the Endless have been cast from their domains - only biding its time.

(In the first year he can remember, Murphy did not think he would see another, either.)

"And yet, the year passed. And I lived." Gilbert smiles, faintly, taking off his glasses to polish them. "I suspect it was humanity which saved me, for all that they robbed me of my home and Lord, as well. I found… such joy, in this world. In my human form, wandering among them. Calling a few select individuals friends, even. Young Robert's companionship was a particular blessing, and I owe him more than he can ever know."

He sets the glasses back on his nose.

"Lord Morpheus is dead." Says Gilbert. Says it like fact, like something too absolute for the sort of dream-creature born of hypotheticals he is, like an unshakeable truth he has resigned himself to. His voice only barely breaks over the words. "And I shall grieve him for all the rest of my days… but I must live to mourn him. Life goes on, young friend, and we must all move along with it. And, well. I cannot speak for Robert's motivations, but the true reason why I have agreed to this mad scheme…"

Gilbert takes Murphy's freezing hands in his own. His fingertips are not lined quite right, they would not leave prints that look even remotely like those of a human - but aside from that, his grip is warm, avuncular, firm, reassuring.

"I fear that his siblings will not be able to live on without him." Gilbert confesses, quietly. "They are not made to accept change and move on from a loss as monumental as what humanity has wrought upon them. To have you… not him, not entirely, but perhaps enough… it is my most solemn hope that it might give them some form of closure at long last."

"So that's what it is?" Murphy laughs, bitterly. "Charitable concern for the well-being of personifications of abstract concepts!?"

"No." Gilbert corrects mildly. "Love. For my creator's family."

Murphy scoffs. His chest aches with it.

"What you, hmm. What you must understand, about Lord Morpheus…" Gilbert seems to be choosing his words very carefully. "...is that, for all that he was often harsh and commanding, he was so very loving, always. My Lord loved with all his self, even if he would attempt to turn a cold shoulder to the world - and I think you are much like him in temperament, young Murphy.”

Murphy does not acknowledge that. He doesn't think he can.

“He loved his family, and he loved the Dreaming, and all the beings in it. I was his heart, or near as, you must recall, I knew the truth at the core of him.

Memories or not, love as he did, and you will be a credit to his name, and a comfort to all who knew him."

(Murphy does not have it in himself to love like Dream of the Endless did. He already struggles to love at all.

But perhaps, for the sake of the entity whose memory he will dishonour, he can try.)

“So. Will you come back and resume your lessons?” Gil asks, very gently. “You may leave, now or any other time, of course you may. But it would be to your benefit, as well as to that of many others, if you did not.”

“I’ll stay,” Murphy forces out. He could blame the way his hands shake on the cold. “For now.”

“Thank you, dear child. Thank you.” This time, when Gilbert smiles, it very nearly feels like it is directed at him, after all. “Now, let’s get you out of this cold, hm? And Matthew as well.”

Murphy lets Gilbert herd him back to their inn, sits through Hob Gadling’s apology and wonders if it was sincere - he can never tell, with this infuriating man - and continues to learn as much as possible about the life of Dream of the Endless.

But he’s slowly realising, if anything will convince the Endless siblings, then it certainly won’t be the trivia. He’ll have to learn to love like the Lord of Stories, for their deception to have a snowflake’s chance in hell.

(Oh, wonderful. As if this wasn’t difficult enough already…)

[notallsandmen]

1889. A few hours after their fight, Dream of the Endless uses his orb to call Hob Gadling’s telephone to apologise. Neither of them handle their respective technology in a responsible manner.

Commissioned for @hurrrhurrrhurrr @dreamlingforukraine

[goldflinches]

Thinking about age regression/deaging trope but very specifically:

Hob getting deaged but the curse was meant for mortal creatures - not for an immortal human.

It might be someone connects the dots, figures out his relationship with Dream, and tries to incapacitate him. Or just a random boobytrap Hob activated while poking around in a place he was told explicitly not to go poking around in.

Either way, Hob gets deaged by like a 100 years and is so, so surprised when his once a century stranger comes to rescue him, acts so warmly and treats him with a fondness so unlike their most recent meeting in 1889. Hob is extremely grateful but also very cautious because he doesn't want to scare off the man again - not before finding out his name!

Meanwhile Dream is having an absolutely shit time. He's trying to break the curse while dealing with this huge setback in his relationship with Hob (as friends? as husbands? as some yet-to-be-named nebulous thing between them?) and trying not to be too visibly losing his mind when he's with Hob. They end up having meetings just like before but Dream is the one doing all the talking for once - it's the most Dream has talked in centuries but if there's a chance of jogging Hob's memory, he's willing to try.

So while Hob is getting reacquainted with the 21st century with the great/dubious guidance of Matthew, Dream is in the background trying to undo the curse by menacing the local magical community while in the line of fire of Johanna Constantine's very pointed questions and Lucienne's knowing looks.

Toss up of having the curse being broken by

true love's kiss

some convoluted spell that puts Dream in danger and Hob is fiercely against it but Dream goes ahead anyway (because of course he would)

Hob slowly gains his memories because the spell wasn't meant to last long and there was no need to panic actually

So basically: much miscommunication, lots of patchy history lessons from a Raven, so so much of Dream discovering the depths of Hob's affections for him (centuries worth of it) just as much as Hob is rediscovering Dream's deep regard for him (even before their 1889 meeting).

[murphyoftheendless]

Hob Gadling - King of "Not me though stay safe"

[shipsgaysfordays]

okay, let's talk about the 1889 meeting between Dream and Hob

(i'm currently rewatching the episode and just i need to talk about it)

Hob has spent centuries barely knowing anything about the Stranger, he'll ask questions at every single meeting to never get any clear answer as to who the Stranger is. all he has are assumptions, "you know everyone, don't you?" because Dream didn't answer him. and you can see very clearly that Hob was annoyed at Dream deflecting yet again this time, that instead he of talking about himself he talked of Lady Joanna. but, at least he learned something about the Stranger.

for centuries their conversations have really only been about Hob despite his many attempts to learn about Dream.

Hob says "people are almost always better than you think they are. not me, though. still the same as ever." simply being a bit self deprecating, he feels bad for his past actions and he can't see himself as a good man anymore.

Dream says that Hob's changed, because he's seen over the centuries that Hob has changed, he's complimenting Hob by saying that he's changed.

and yet...

the minute Hob brings the conversation around to Dream, at first possibly attempting to return the compliment in saying that the Stranger has also changed. it's an assumption, because all Hob really has to go off of with the stranger is assumptions. "i think it's you that's changed". he doesn't know, how could he? Dream barely lets himself be known by Hob.

and despite this being said by Hob with a smile, despite this being a reflection of a compliment from Dream, Dream's face falls. "how so?" it's easier to see change when you're not the one changing, when you're on the outside.

Hob continues forward with his assumptions, a bit more confidently, possibly overconfident, "i think i know why we still meet here, century after century. it's not because you want to see whether or not i'm ready to seek death. i don't think i'll ever seek death. by now, you know that about me." he's slightly projecting, they've been at this for centuries so Dream must know by now that he won't seek death, right? he knows Hob better than any living person at that time, he must know this about Hob. "so, i think you're here for something else."

this corporeal form of a man has literal tears in his eyes, "what might that be?" (this is possibly the moment when Hob should have realized it was a bad idea to push it)

"friendship." i believe Hob is projecting, that he's hitting the target right on the mark, but he's projecting. maybe i've read too much fanfic or thought about this too much, but Hob is an immortal being who has to almost constantly lie about who he is to everyone, except Dream. except the man who already knows everyone, who sees the best in Hob despite what Hob has done, who drives Hob to be a better man. in 1789 it is very clear that this relationship is of great importance to Hob, the way they act, it's obvious that Hob cares and they are friends in his mind.

and there's been the idea that i've read (because i read a bit too much dreamling fanfic) that, in 1689, Hob says "i've got so much to live for" at least partially because of Dream. now it's probably a better message if he said it on his own account and not because of specifically who he was speaking to. but i've seen the idea that he said it in order to make Dream happy (because Dream is almost never happy, and the last century he supremely failed to impress Dream), i've seen the idea that part of that "so much" is Dream and their friendship. i think 1689 confirms to him that Hob doesn't need to be impressive for Dream to want his company, that Hob doesn't need to be constantly happy, he just needs a will to live (idk how he has it, personally that sounds really difficult). 1789 confirms that Dream can guide Hob into being a better person, that Dream cares for his well-being, and that the Stranger might just finally tell Hob something about himself (Dream was just about to actually give an answer--a shocking turn of events--when Lady Joanna came in and screwed it all up).

anyways, back to 1889, Hob shoots his shot and offers friendship to the only being who could possibly understand him....and then he takes it a step too far, flies too close to the sun, and says, "i think you're lonely". and honestly, i don't see Hob's reason for saying this. not in a "why the hell would you say that" type of way, but like, in my mind, he doesn't have much reason to assume the Stranger is lonely. at this point in time he actively has reason to assume otherwise. Dream mentioned how he knows all of this information about Lou, about how he worked with Lady Joanna again, Hob even gives thought to the idea that the Stranger "knows everyone". so why would Hob think he's lonely? he's projecting. no one can understand Hob's life and a similar situation is probably going on with his stranger. no one can understand except them two. immortality is isolating.

and what does Dream do with this offer of friendship from a person who he does obviously care for, he focuses on what he perceives as an insult. "you dare (call me lonely and say i need your friendship)".

Hob tries to go back on what he's said, on the boundary he's overstepped, "no, look, i'm not saying..."

but he's angered an Endless, he doesn't know it, but he has. he's basically called a huge ego'd God lonely. there's no stopping Dream from being a drama queen at the idea that HE could be in NEED of HOB'S COMPANIONSHIP.

and oh Hob, oh Hob, oh Hob. you just have to be an overconfident cocky bastard, you just have to dare.

and because Dream is incapable of being vulnerable and allowing himself to have nice things such as friendships, he's gotta prove Hob wrong. he announces his leaving.

they stand. Hob moves forward, like he's about to grab Dream's arm or something like that, ask him to stay maybe. Dream swiftly walks past him and Hob grimaces, they've fucked up the only constant in their lives. the only friendship with a being who could truly know him.

walking out dramatically into the dramatically raining night sky and Hob dramatically exclaiming, "i'll tell you what, i'll be here in 100 years' time. if you're here too it'll be because we're friends." (why are you friend zoning yourself man, you're in love) "no other reason, right" (the other reason is that you're in love with each other, why can neither of you idiots see that?)

"fuck." says the man who has just ruined his most long running friendship with the man of his dreams (i think i'm so funny).

and that's my analysis of their meeting in 1889, from Hob's perspective mainly.

[valiantstarlights]

[avelera]

This Rough Magic (15835 words) by Avelera Chapters: 4/12 Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Relationships: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, Roderick Burgess, Hob Gadling Additional Tags: Occult, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Hob Gadling, Spells & Enchantments, Hob Gadling Saves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus from Roderick Burgess, POV Hob Gadling, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, 1920s, Occultist Hob AU, Deception, Suspense, Alternate Universe - Magic Summary: After the disastrous 1889 meeting, Hob Gadling turned to the occult to find a way to contact his stranger and apologize. Yet despite becoming a fairly adept occultist in the process, Hob ultimately lost his nerve and never cast a single spell to contact Dream. Unfortunately, that was not the end of the matter, when Hob's dabbling brought him to the attention of Roderick Burgess, who is now convinced that Hob is a fellow Magus, capable of convincing Dream to give Burgess the gift he gave to Hob all those centuries ago: immortality. Now, Hob must use wits, magic, and a great deal of charm to convince Roderick Burgess he is indeed an ancient, powerful Magus who wants nothing more than to help Burgess become immortal too, if he is to get himself and Dream out of Fawney Rig.

--

I realize it's been awhile since I updated this, but it turns out the edits this chapter needed were more minor than I feared! Hope you enjoy!