#Hob Gadling is his own ancestor

[scifrey]

And that's it. The very last word of the very last story of this series has been posted.

Thank you, thank you, thank you to each and every one of you who have reblogged, commented, liked, kudosed, made fanart and food based on the story, and really just healed my inner child (writer).

This has been so good for my mental and creative health, and you've all been so welcoming and wonderful.

God, I love fandom.

CLING FAST

Read on Tumblr or Read Edited Version on AO3

Status: Complete

Series: the Hob Adherent series.

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Includes some comics canon, and some cameos from the wider Gaiman-verse, but it's not necessary to know to enjoy the story.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Discussions of grief and in-canon character death.

Relationships: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Eleanor | Hob Gadling's Wife/Hob Gadling (past)

Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Matthew the Raven, Lucien | Lucienne (The Sandman), Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Patrick the bartender, Harriet Butler, Glenn Davies (plus some cameos from other characters from the Gaiman Televion-Literary Universe)

Summary:

Hob Gadling is a clingy bastard, and he’s not ashamed to admit it. He clings to life. He clings to hope. He clings to his love of humanity. He clings to his Stranger. He also, unfortunately, has a habit of clinging to his name.

Which means, when the BBC is looking for a new pet history expert to appear in their educational docudrama series “Elizabethan Manor,” they’re overjoyed to find a professor who (according to their meticulous research) is actually descended from the Master of the National Trust building they’re filming in - Gadlen House.

Only Hob knows how right they are.

Picks up a few hours after the end of Season 01 Episode 6.

READ ON AO3 | VIEW FANART | MY OTHER FANFIC | MY BOOKS

[delta-pavonis]

more doctor/curator pleeeaaaase? xo @hardly-an-escape

Far be it from me to deny anyone of more of these two sweet little whores... (I really really like them and will be back to their unhinged shenanigans after the Bang). More under the cut in the middle because NSFW.

Hob is shocked they make it past the entryway after the door to his flat closes behind them. 

But, let's be clear, the only reason they do is because Dream sees the tapestry that hangs in the library that opens to the left of the foyer.

The room has no windows, bookshelves from floor to high ceilings on all vertical surfaces except for the rectangle of glass that encases the textile art in a climate-controlled space. 

“My God, Hob,” Dream is walking towards it like he is being pulled in by a tractor beam on some spaceship, floating and not of his own volition. “Is this real?”

He comes up behind Dream and wraps his arms around the curator. “Aye,” he rests his chin on a black-clad shoulder, “family heirloom, late 14th century. The story is that one of my ancestors learned tapestry weaving in Paris and brought it back to Kent, taught her children, and their children. Gadling-made work supposedly hung in most castles in southern Britain by the mid-15th century. But this one was kept by the family. Why this particular tapestry over others is lost to time.”

A giant white horse rears up across the silken surface, narrowly avoiding the wolves that attack and weave around its legs. In the forest other beasts watch: owls, foxes, deer, squirrels, songbirds. It is very clearly not a unicorn, which is fascinating because it loses the religious symbolism typical of the period. The sun is setting in the background, making the leaves glow with a burnished copper color. 

“It is exquisite,” Dream whispers, leaning back into Hob. “And explains your preference for the Middle Ages.”

“Got it in one,” Hob chuckles. He pushes his hands up the front of Dream's shirt, presses his palms to the flat of his abdomen and digs his fingertips into the trail of dark hair that runs down the center.

Dream sways into it, going pliant in Hob's embrace. “So what's your desired order of operations, doctor? Far be it from me to choose a schedule that might endanger the lives of others by leaving you short on sleep.” He grabs one of Hob's hands and slides it down into his pants, where his cock is sticky and half-hard already. “Also, I think I have a Christmas present I might request of you.” He presses his arse into Hob's groin with a rolling motion, arching his back and moaning obscenely loud when Hob's fingers find the frenum piercing.

Fucking hell this man is such a perfect whore.

“Oh?” Hob murmurs, far more focused on cataloging every little sound and twitch that different tugs and twists of the piercing bring about. Dream is rock hard again within seconds, practically writhing against him, yet he is also the one stringing sentences together.

“Oh yes,” he rocks forward into Hob's hand then back into his crotch. “I want to ride your face until I come with your tongue buried in my arse, then turn around and ride your cock until I come again.”

Hob shivers and groans and uses his free hand to open Dream's fly so he has the space to fondle his bollocks. “You want that before or after I put on my leathers and ride you?” 

Dream cries out again, a generous spurt of precum ending up on Hob's hand when he tugs and twists the piercing; apparently a touch of pain isn't bad for this little dove. “Oh, after. Then I'll be on your face longer, waiting for my dick to get back into the game.”

“Mmm, then you'll be riding me even longer after that, just like you want, you insatiable slut.” Hob sucks on the side of his neck, digs his teeth in to bring a bruise to bloom. Dream moans and bucks with the hardest presses of teeth. “Like some pain with your pleasure, dove?”

“Only in small doses.” His long arms swing up and behind Hob's head, tugging his mouth back to his neck. “You?”

Hob gets distracted by expanding the hickey so it flows down to the top of Dream's shoulder. “Not my jam, but I am more than happy to do just about anything that turns my partner on.”

Dream laughs, breathless and happy-sounding, “No wonder you get typecast as a service top.”

Frustrated with the obstacle, Hob pulls Dream's shirt off, flings it somewhere to the side, then continues to paint the skin of his shoulder red and purple with his teeth. “And does everyone assume you're the twinky bottom?” He strokes Dream's cock slowly and grinds his own arousal into that pert little arse.

A gasp interrupts Dream's continued laughing as he grinds back, so much harder than before. “I love surprising people. Upending their expectations. Watching them lose their minds as I expertly take them apart, piece by piece.”

“Expertly?” He can't help but ask.

“What do they say, ten thousand hours to master a skill?” Dream sounds like such a smug little shit and Hob is beyond feral about it.

He moves one hand up to play with the hair on Dream’s chest, to tweak a nipple and hear that lovely little gasp again. “And how much practice have you had, sweet thing?”

“You sure you want the honest answer to that?” He can hear Dream's raised eyebrow.

“Go ahead. Shock me.”

“I stopped counting at one hundred seventy nine different partners.” 

Hob freezes, a whine oozing out through his teeth. Bloody fuck. 

“Hob?”

“Yeah, give me a sec. If I don't dissociate for a minute I am gonna come in my pants because Christ that is hot. Also explains a lot. My God, how many of those were multiples at once?”

Dream's laugh this time is a deep, sensuous rumble. “Not as many as you might think. And I’ve only been gang banged once.” He turns in Hob's arms, dislodging Hob's hand from his prick and leaning in to speak against Hob's lips, “But that was a long time ago. Now I am more interested in exploring how many different sensations I can have with one partner.”

“Oh, so you plan on going full fluid bond with me, do you?”

The blush on Dream’s face is a gorgeous, deep rose red. “I…” he looks down and away for only a moment and then holds his chin up high, proud and perfect, “yes.”

[valiantstarlights]

[Urban Fantasy Spy AU] Try to Hide Your Hand

Agent Hob Gadling and Tech Officer Dream Endless go on a mission together to extract Agent Ethel Cripps from Fawney Rig.

This is a @dreamlingforukraine fic commission for @seiya-starsniper. ✨️ Thank you for your generosity and your patience 🙇‍♀️ Sorry I went kinda crazy with this. But I had a lot of fun worldbuilding, so 😂

The title is from the song, "You Know My Name" by Chris Cornell, which is the theme song for the James Bond (Craig) film, Casino Royale.

CW: Dark themes because the Burgesses and their goons are the scum of the earth. There will be murder and noncon pet play, but the noncon is only on Burgess and Co.'s part. Dream and Hob are communicating with each other all the time and everything is consensual between the two of them. I promise there's gonna be fluffy fluff in the end. 🙏

Hob sits with his legs spread open, Dream kneeling between them, his dark head of hair resting against the junction of Hob's pelvis and thigh, and he hates it.

To be clear, he doesn't hate Dream. Not right now, anyway.

No, it's the situation they're in that he hates in particular right now.

Agent Ethel Cripps, The Agency's undercover spy assigned to monitor and report on the Burgesses, reached out to Head Office less than a month ago and said she wanted out. She has requested that she be extracted ASAP.

'I'm pregnant,' she said in her encrypted voice mail. She sounded so near to tears that it moved Hob's heart when he first heard her message. 'I want to get out of here.'

According to her file, Agent Cripps has demon blood. It's weak enough that she doesn't have the same strengths and weaknesses as her ancestors, but she still retained the classic half-demon appearance. Her file included a photo of her: a young blonde woman with delicate curving white horns complementing her short bob. She had been smiling in her picture.

Hob hasn't gone on to a mission with her yet since she's only been with The Agency for less than a century, but he heard that she was good at her job, feeding The Agency rare but important information about the Burgesses' human and creature trafficking schedules, resulting in many successful rescue operations.

Thus, her case was deemed urgent and important enough for The Agency to send in two of their best to extract her: a field agent to be the face and the muscle, and a tech officer to make sure the three of them get in and out safely without setting off any alarms, potentially leave listening bugs behind or retrieve important documents, and arrange for transportation, accommodations, and other essential minutiae.

Unfortunately, the two people assigned to take on the mission are Hob Gadling and Dream Endless, and everyone who has been in The Agency for more than a couple of years know that the two of them do not exactly get along.

More unfortunately, they have to pose as a human master and their half-other pet, because it's the standard within the Burgess family. Roderick has his own pet, and so does his remaining son. And so does everyone who is anyone within their ranks.

All half-other pets have either been trafficked from somewhere or were born in captivity. They're effectively modern day slaves.

Hob (a full human with an immortality mutation) has been working for The Agency for around 600 years now. But he remembers the day that certain bombshell was dropped on him and Dream.

Dream (a half-eldritch being along with his siblings, and who has been working for The Agency for longer than Hob has been alive) had sat so still on his side of the table that he could have been mistaken for a statue.

Hob had immediately protested. Slavery of all kinds repulses him, and though he dislikes Dream's guts, he would not have him act as someone lesser than him. Having had to go undercover as a slaver in the 1700s had been his worst mission, and he would rather not repeat the experience.

Death, Dream's older sister and their direct superior, listened to his tirade patiently, before telling him that other avenues have been considered; of course they have. But going undercover as a human master and his half-other pet is the one avenue that guarantees the highest chance of success.

All they had to do is show up at one of the Burgesses' casinos, have Hob win enough rounds with Dream as his 'companion,' commit enough violence where cameras are located, and they would soon be invited to Fawney Rig. Once there, Hob will be invited to play against the captains and the lieutenants. He'll have to win until they get into the same game as Agent Cripps and her human master.

Agent Cripps had not disclosed just who her human master is, which leads The Agency to believe that it might be either Roderick or Randall Burgess. Hob is going to have to win a bazillion games.

"If it's the games you are worried about," Dream said, speaking to him for the first time since they entered the room, "you need not worry. I can count cards, and have quite the skill for card games. We will, of course, have to devise a reliable method of nonverbal signals between the two of us so we can communicate with each other without saying a word; but it shouldn't be too difficult."

"Yeah," Hob spat at him. "Because that's the thing I'm most worried about."

Dream had frowned at him and said, quite stupidly, in Hob's opinion, "What else are you worried about, then?"

Hob had scoffed in disbelief, stood up, excused himself, and headed straight to The Agency's training salles to let out some steam. He imagined he was punching Roderick and Randall Burgess's faces, all the while cursing the day Dream was dropped on his head as a baby because that is the only reasonable explanation why he can be so fucking stupid.

He must have been at it for an hour when he realized that Dream was in the same room as him. He wondered how long the man had been standing there.

"What do you want?" he snapped. He didn't mean to. He's just so, so mad. At Lord Time and Lady Night. Who must have dropped Dream as a child for a minimum of fifty times. "You here to tell me the mission is important? Because yeah, I know."

"I'm here to remind you of your duty to The Agency," Dream told him. "I was under the impression that you didn't need any reminding, and yet, here we are."

Hob snorted and wiped the sweat out of his eyes. "Yeah, right." Like Dream would stoop so low as to take time out of his day to find where Hob is just to insult him. "What's the real reason you're here?"

Dream fidgeted minutely. Anyone else wouldn't have noticed, but Hob did. "I have agreed to go on this mission," he said, "and I would like for you to be my partner."

For a moment, it was so silent in the salles that a pin drop would have sounded like a gunshot.

"You fucking what?" Hob demanded. "Why the fuck would you agree? And why in god's name do you want me to be your partner?"

'You hate my guts,' he didn't say. 'You'd rather go down ten flights of stairs than share an elevator ride with me.'

Dream let out a laborious sigh, like Hob is being the stupid one here. "The mission will require my partner to be indifferent and occasionally cruel to me. I had thought that it would be an easy task for you."

Hob was actually getting a headache from this. "You thought it would be easy-- Dream. You know that kind of play has to be consensual, right? And maybe that's not how Burgess and his goons do it, but it's how it's done, normally. Please tell me you know that."

Dream pursed his lips, no doubt offended by Hob's perceived slight to his intelligence. Whatever. Hob was already so fucking tired. "Would you rather another tech officer accompany you on this mission, then?"

Hob immediately thought of Eleanor, but just as quickly dismissed it. He and Eleanor dated a while back in the 1500s, but she was married now, and going on this mission would be weird for them both. But he's not going to tell Dream all of that, so instead he asked a question of his own. "What about you? Wouldn't you rather go on this mission with another field agent you actually get along with?"

Specifically, Hob was thinking of Corinthian (who is a vampire? Hob isn't sure), who oozes sex appeal every second of his life, and was Dream's favorite field agent for always returning tech in repairable conditions, even if he has to lose an occasional eye for it.

Or heck, maybe even Shaxberd, that stuck-up, mousy-looking simp (who is definitely a were-sewer rat). Hob didn't think he'd do a good job playing as Dream's human master believably, though.

"No," Dream said to his shoes. "You are...adequately competent in what you do, and data shows that the two of us working on this mission together would result in a higher chance of success. It is why my sister called for us in the first place."

Hob mouthed 'adequately competent' to himself and incredulously shook his head. "That might be the nicest thing you ever said to me in 600 years, and I still feel insulted."

"Good," Dream quipped. "You should be grateful I didn't give you any more praise than that, else your head become too big to fit through The Agency's doors."

Christ. Hob could already see how many headache pills he's going to have to take if he goes on this mission with Dream.

Not that he has already decided to go.

"Fine," Hob said, and turned his back on Dream to face the training dummy again. Time to wallop Dream's parents for child abuse once more. "I'll think about it."

"Think quickly," Dream said, and also turned to leave. "That is, if you can manage to do so without hurting yourself."

Just to spite him, Hob immediately called Death and agreed to be Dream's partner as soon as Dream left the salles.

--

And now, a couple of weeks later, in the dungeon below Fawney Rig, Dream is on his knees between Hob's legs, wearing only a black diaphanous robe and bejewelled chains, both functional and decorative, breathing on Hob's (still) clothed dick (thank god), while Hob plays with Roderick and Randall Burgess, along with five of their most trusted advisors. Two have already lost, and they have gone up to their rooms to lick their wounds and perhaps take their anger out on their pets.

Everyone had laughed when Randall shared that thought, and Hob did too, even if he felt sick to his stomach while doing so.

Hob takes a deep breath as subtly as he can. Roderick Burgess is sitting on his immediate right, and he supposes it means that he's sitting in a place of honor, regardless of how dubious that honor is. Next to Roderick is his son Randall, next to Randall is an empty seat where one of the advisors who lost had been sitting, and next to the empty chair is the machine that serves as the croupier.

Hob is surprised the croupier is not a sentient being, but he supposes that even advisors cannot be trusted not to cheat. The game, really, is how best to cheat without seeming to, and so far, Hob thinks he's winning.

Because Hob, personally? He's not that good at cards.

But Dream? Dream is a goddamn shark, and it is only thanks to him that Hob even got this far.

On the other side of the croupier sits an elegant old East Asian woman named Mrs. Chu, to her right is an empty chair where another advisor who lost had been sitting, next to that is a large bruiser of a man named Mr. Melendez, next to him is a walrus-looking guy named Mr. Wallace, and on his right is Hob, who had been going by Mr. Rupert Gadlen for the past couple of weeks.

And of course, all the pets are either on their knees on the floor, or on their master's lap. Dream had signalled to Hob that he'd rather be kneeling on the floor, and Hob signalled an 'okay' back, even as he made a lewd comment to get Dream to drop on his knees.

The group had laughed warmly at him, thinking that he really is one of them. Hob had immediately signalled his apology to Dream right after he sat down.

Also, it turns out, Agent Cripps is posing as the pet of Roderick Burgess himself. So that's fun. She's sitting on his lap with her back towards them, and Hob doesn't know how they're going to signal each other what the plan is, but Dream signalled him to leave it up to him, and so Hob did.

He trusts Dream.

They might dislike each other for a multitude of reasons going back 600 years, but he trusts him when it comes down to it. And he has trusted Dream to win all his games for the past couple of weeks, so he'll trust him this final night.

And then they'll finally be able to go back home and put this entire mess of a mission behind them.

Hob almost shot an entire room full of Fawney Rig security personnel the moment one of the guards clapped a power suppressing shackle around Dream's neck, and he's been gritting his teeth for what seems like two entire weeks straight, thinking about Dream shivering and cold and being treated poorly since this mission has started, so yeah. He's so fucking ready to complete this mission.

Preferably by shooting everyone in sight as a parting gift and burning Fawney Rig to the ground.

But he will not shoot until Dream signals him to.

And Dream has been feeding him information about the other people in the room via Morse Code to his leg during lulls in the game, so Hob knows who the biggest threats are, who is doing poorly financially and can't afford to be reckless and lose, and in what order he should shoot when Dream gives the signal.

Hob replies to Dream with a pat on the head for 'I understand,' a gentle tug on Dream's ear for 'Repeat,' and a firm squeeze on his shoulder for 'Continue?'

The 'continue' sign is mostly for the games. Hob would caress Dream's cheek and press Morse Code on his skin telling him the cards on his hand as well as the cards in the middle of the table, and Dream would squeeze his ankle once for 'yes,' and twice for 'no.'

And then there's an entire separate system on just how much money Hob should bet and how he should come off as: cocky or unsure, neutral or reckless.

Hob may be a little in love with Dream's brain as he had Hob learn all these signals before the mission. Just his brain though. Because Dream as a teacher has a lot of room for improvement. Like, an entire ballroom's worth of room.

Hob places the blame, once again, at Lord and Lady Endless's feet.

"Mr. Gadlen?"

Hob's gaze snaps to Mr. Wallace, the walrus-looking guy to his left, as the man waits for his response.

A quick glance around the table shows that no one has folded yet.

'Yes,' Dream signs. 'Raise.'

"Raise," Hob says obediently, and slides a couple more stacks of chips to the middle of the table after Dream taps out how much he should raise.

"You're pretty ballsy for a newcomer," Randall Burgess says, and pinches his pet's nipple, making them cry out in pain.

His pet is a twenty-something brown-skinned man wearing the same kind of robes as Dream, but in green. He looks miserable and drugged out of his mind, arms chained behind him, his balance on Randall's lap precarious.

Hob bares his teeth in a facsimile of a smile. "Well, you know what they say: no guts, no glory."

"Indeed," Roderick Burgess says to Hob's right. For now, he seems content in ignoring Agent Cripps on his lap, and Hob hates that he's thankful for even that small mercy. "I built this family's fearsome reputation with my own two hands from the ground up, and doing so got me covered in guts."

The remaining advisors chuckles at that, and so Hob does as well.

"That sure would explain your vigor, sir," Hob dares to say. He knows beforehand that Roderick favored boldness and praise from his underlings, and Hob has met a lot of people like him in his previous missions to know just how to play him. Because Roderick might be old for a human, but Hob is many times his elder.

Roderick stares him down for a moment before laughing. Right on cue, his advisors laugh along. "I think you would do well within my ranks, Mr. Gadlen," Roderick says. "Lord knows I need more bold and competent people around me."

Hob has heard the rumors about Roderick killing his other son a couple of years prior for being 'too weak.' He doesn't wonder if it's true. He knows it is.

"I'm flattered," Hob says. "Truly, I am. But I hope you still think well of me after I steal everyone's money tonight."

This time, there were no laugh cues, because everyone genuinely laughed at his audacity.

"Oh, yeah, I like him," Randall tells his father. "I think he'd do well managing the casino in Vegas or our chop shops in Leipzig. Whip the guys into shape and possibly bring in new customers."

Roderick hums and studies Hob over Agent Cripps's shoulder. "What say you, Mr. Gadlen? Joining the Burgess family is one of the best decisions you will ever make in your life, and we don't often ask people to join."

"Why invite me, then, if you don't mind me asking?" Hob asks. "I only wanted to win some cash a couple of weeks ago, and now here I am."

"Talent," Roderick says simply. "I've learned to recognize it over the years, and you have it in spades. And other than that, we can see that your morals align with ours, and that is a rarer thing nowadays. Tell me, have you ever killed a man?"

"Yeah," Hob says. He puts a hand on Dream's shoulder, just as Dream puts one hand around his ankle. Hob ready to ask, and Dream ready to give the signal, if need be. "Brief boxing stint in my twenties. A couple of thugs tried to rob me on my way home. Showed them what they were looking for."

Randall, to Hob's disgust, had dragged his pet to sit over his crotch area and was grinding against the man's ass. "How did you kill them?" he asks breathlessly.

Hob looks straight into Randall's eyes as he says his next words. "One of them got his head bashed against a wall. The other's head I cut off using the door of a closet that someone had thrown away."

Randall moans and continues dry humping his pet. Hob does not look away or make a face, but he makes a note to make the fucker's death slow and painful. Have him bleed for hours, maybe.

"Creative," Mrs. Chu says. Her dress made her look like a glittering red insect. "And have you ever went to jail?"

Hob smiles at her. "No, ma'am. And I never sent anyone to jail either. Why let them live for years when you can take their lives away yourself? I'm not one to deprive myself of the thrill of killing."

"Good," Roderick says approvingly. "Very good. I think you're exactly what we're looking for, Mr. Gadlen." Then, unexpectedly, "All in favor of him joining us?"

As it turns out, not everyone was on board. Mr. Melendez, the bruiser type, sitting on Mr. Wallace's left and partially covered by the man's bulk, and who has mostly been keeping silent this whole time, is very much against Hob joining the Burgess family right this second.

He threw his cards on the table, slammed his fist against the table's surface, and made the chips rattle and neatly stacked chip columns fall.

Roderick looks impassively at the man, visibly angered by his previously perfectly arranged chips now a disorganized mess in front of him. "Is there a problem, Federico?"

"A problem?" Federico Melendez repeats. "The problem, Mr. Burgess, is you letting a whelp join the family out of the blue when I had to wait for years to be given an invitation. And have I not proven myself to be better than him? Am I to be replaced?"

"I remember your initiation," Randall sneers at him. "The fact that you took too long to finish only means that you are, deep down, just another weak-willed piece of trash."

This is new information, evidenced by how Dream frantically taps, 'Initiation?' against Hob's thigh.

'IDK,' Hob taps quickly. Hopefully Dream knows what that means.

"Why you snivelling brat--"

"Enough," Roderick says, and looks to Hob. "Mr. Gadlen. Kill this man and you will be considered for our initiation."

As Mr. Melendez rages at Roderick's words this time, Hob squeezes Dream's shoulder. 'Continue?'

Dream hesitates, then squeezes Hob's ankle once. 'Yes.'

Hob smiles grimly, but gamely stands up. "Sure," he says. "I don't know what initiation you're all talking about, but I'm always down to fight someone to the death." To Mr. Melendez, whose first name Hob just learned a minute ago, he says, "Sorry, man, but you heard the boss."

--

Hob makes quick work of it, and was nauseated to see that, upon turning away from the bloody pulp that had been Mr. Melendez, he is greeted with the sight of everyone at the table in various states of undress, all of them in compromising positions with their pets.

Thankfully, Dream is left to sit and wait for him. If anyone had tried to touch him, Hob knows he'd start shooting every sick bastard in the room regardless of Dream's lack of command.

"Excellent job, Mr. Gadlen," Roderick says from his seat, which has been pushed back to allow Agent Cripps to service him. Hob's trigger finger twitches, but he does not look away. "And what artistry. We've never seen a man so beautifully murdered."

"Never," Mr. Wallace agrees. His pet, an androgynous smoke being, is facing Hob enough that he can see their dark misty tears falling down their face.

"Now he has to go through the initiation, Father," Randall begs. His own pet is bent over, head low on the ground but fists clenched.

"Please, Roderick," Mrs. Chu says. "He will make a good replacement for Federico." Hob cannot see her pet, which he had noticed earlier was some type of dragonoid being, but that's probably for the better.

Mr. Melendez's pet, meanwhile, is currently cowering in the corner of the room. They look to be an anemone-like creature, and had curled in on themselves every time Hob landed a hit on their now deceased owner, implying that Mr. Melendez had been physically hurting them when he was still alive.

Hob bites the insides of his cheek to keep from screaming.

Soon, he tells himself. Soon, I'll rid the world of their slavers.

"Everyone in agreement?" Roderick asks the room at large.

A chorus of 'aye's were heard, and Roderick inclines his head like a benevolent god. "Then we shall commence the initiation."

"What about the game?" Hob asks as he sits back on his chair. What? He's really looking forward to stealing everyone's money (with Dream's help), and using it to fund the therapy bills of every half-other currently in Fawney Rig.

"We can continue after," Roderick assures him. "Now. The initiation."

Hob waits. He could feel Dream put his hands back on him again, ready to signal him. He places his own hand on Dream's shoulder.

"It's nothing nefarious," Roderick says, which just makes Hob certain that it absolutely is. "You need only to fornicate with your pet in front of us, orgasm, and you will be considered as one of us."

Hob stops breathing.

He's pretty sure Dream has stopped breathing as well.

But everyone was looking at him, and not at Dream at the moment, and he has to focus. "What's the catch?" he asks, feeling his heart beating against his throat. He cannot. He will not take Dream against his will.

"No catch," Mrs. Chu tells him. "But we do want a show."

"It's been a while since we've seen a good show," Mr. Wallace agrees. "Not since Randall, I believe?"

Randall laughs. "Yeah. Alex was so pathetic I had to take his pet from him." He shakes his pet's shoulder roughly. "Isn't that right, Paul?"

His pet, Paul, starts crying, and on the ground below him where his tears fell, flowers start to bloom.

Jesus Christ. Hob really is looking forward to killing every single one of them.

"Well, Mr. Gadlen?" Roderick says. "Will you give us a show?"

Hob is sure they'll kill him if he says no. He doesn't need Dream squeezing his ankle once for 'yes' to know that. But still.

'Continue?' he asks Dream.

A harder single squeeze, and he can almost hear the accompanying thought that goes with it. 'Yes, you bloody idiot!'

"Yeah, alright," Hob says. He sure fucking hope Dream knows what he's doing. "Up you get, baby."

--

Unbeknownst to Hob, Dream had secretly been communicating with Agent Cripps throughout the night. Ethel's long forked tail had been tapping Morse Code against Dream's foot under the table the entire time, and most of the information she gave him he had relayed to Hob.

Dream glances at Ethel now, and sees the fiery determination in her eyes. As Hob lifts him up on the table, Ethel gives him the tiniest of nods, and Dream immediately pinches Hob's arm hard.

The signal to wreak havoc.

A split second later, Dream has dived under the table as both Ethel and Hob draw their guns and kill the most important members of the Burgess family.

It barely lasted a minute.

--

"Thank you," Ethel says, as the three of them stand in front of the towering inferno that used to be Fawney Rig.

As soon as the last body hit the ground, Ethel had told the androgynous smoke being to teleport Hob into the remaining advisors' rooms, and Hob had done his duty and helped free those two advisors' pets as well.

And when every innocent party is safely outside, Mrs. Chu's half-dragon pet had set the mansion ablaze.

"Don't mention it," Hob tells her. Dream was a little off to the side, making phone calls to rescue personnel, while a group of a dozen or more half-other beings watch as Fawney Rig burns. Most of them were crying and holding on to each other. Hob was glad he managed to get a bunch of blankets so they could wrap themselves in it.

"No, seriously, thank you," Ethel insists. "I felt like I was going insane back there, and I hated every second that I exposed the two of you to their vile world."

"You can say that again," Hob mutters. "Christ. So Randall killed his own brother?"

Ethel looks around and steps closer to Hob. "No," she says in a low voice. "He made Paul do it. He used to be Alex's companion, but...well... It's one thing to dote on a pet and another to love them."

From within the group of half-others, Hob could see Paul with tear streaks on his face and flowers at his feet, holding onto Mrs. Chu's half-dragonoid who, Hob can see now, has a large acid burn on one side of his face.

Now, Hob never goes back to saying old curse words, but he feels like this is an appropriate time for one. "God's fucking wounds."

At this point, Dream joins them. For some reason, he steps closer to Hob than he normally would. When Hob steps back, Dream steps even closer, and gives Hob the stink-eye while doing it.

Hob doesn't know what the fuck his problem is, but he's too tired to think right now. Let Dream be weird. All he wants is to get back to headquarters and maybe eat some fries and drink a chocolate milkshake.

"Thank you for the rescue, Mr. Endless," Ethel tells Dream. For some reason, she has stepped back from Hob.

Great. Two half-others being weird.

"You are welcome," Dream says. Then, in a more gentle voice, "Will you be keeping the baby?"

"Oh, yes," Ethel says, determined. "I really want to have a baby, but I was told decades ago by The Agency doctors that I would have a hard time getting pregnant. Now that it happened, though..." She laughs, and it only sounds a little bit broken. "My child will know exactly what their father was, but I will teach them to be better. I might have hated everything I witnessed while being the elder Burgess's pet, but I'm proud of myself for managing to survive."

"Are you kidding?" Hob says incredulously. "Agent Cripps, you're a fucking badass. I was in there for six hours tops and I want to drink a gallon of brain bleach. And you lasted for years? Comic book superheroes have nothing on you. You're an actual goddess. I present thee pregnant people food at the foot of your temple."

"Stop flirting with a pregnant woman," Dream snipes beside him as Ethel laughs. It sounded lighter than her previous laugh, though, which had been Hob's goal all along.

"He wouldn't," Ethel tells Dream, her eyes twinkling. "Not when he has you."

"We're not together," Hob says, at the same time Dream says, "He does not have me."

Ethel just smiles at them. "Alright," she says, just as they spot The Agency's helicopters in the distance. "If you say so."

--

As soon as they drop Ethel and the rest of the half-others who had been kept as pets at Fawney Rig in Medical, Hob and Dream, without a single word, walk together towards Death's office.

Her half-phantasm secretary told them she was in, but that she is currently taking a conference call and would therefore be unavailable for at least another half hour. The secretary then told them that she was going to grab a quick midnight lunch from the cafeteria, and if they want, they could wait.

They nodded tiredly at her as she phased through a wall, and immediately slump on the long couch outside Death's office.

Or, to be more accurate, Dream goes to get a couple of hot bottled tea drinks from a nearby vending machine, bonks Hob's head with one of the bottles to make him take it, and drops gracefully beside him.

Hob, on the other hand, just straight up sits down, exhausted, and slouches like a drunk starfish, his head resting on the wall behind the couch.

As soon as he felt the warm bottle hit him gently on the forehead, he automatically grabs it, then turns his head a little to look at Dream sitting beside him.

He looks tired as well. It had been a draining, two-week long mission, and Hob doesn't think he looks any better himself.

"Do you need aftercare or something?" he asks, because they still may not like each other, but Hob has always been a caring person. And if Dream doesn't like it, then he can suck his dick. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

"Why, are you offering?" Dream asks. It's a testament to how tired he was that his words don't hold the usual sting in them.

Hob grins, unable to stop the fond feelings blooming in his gut and equally unable to stop the fondness from showing on his face. Fawney Rig must have truly driven him nuts. Did he really just think that Dream looks so cute when he's being bitchy?

"Maybe," he says, and Dream catches him with a smile on his face. Dammit. "Why, you wanna cuddle?"

Jesus, Gadling. Get a grip and stop running your mouth.

Dream wheezes. He sounds like a dying goat. "Perhaps," he says. His eyes are twinkling. Hob knows he shouldn't find his laugh endearing, but he does. He probably needs to go to Medical to get his head checked out. Dream gestures to Hob's lap. "May I?"

Hob knows, intellectually, that this is a very dangerous game of chicken they're playing. If they don't stop, Hob is gonna wake up one day with Dream Endless on his bed, lovely in his half-asleep state, Hob with two cups of coffee in his hands (and maybe even an entire breakfast tray heaped with food), and both of them will be wearing wedding rings.

"Sure, go ahead," Hob says, trying to look inviting and possibly only succeeding in looking like a beached jellyfish. "That is, if you're capable of not falling off on your ass."

"You will find," Dream says, as he stands up more elegantly than Hob will ever do in his life, "that I am capable of a great many things." He then plops down unceremoniously on Hob's lap and immediately cuddles up to him.

Despite his words, Hob's arms automatically hold Dream in place to prevent him from falling off. He knows he still smells like blood and gunpowder from earlier, but Dream doesn't seem to mind. "Don't fall asleep on me," he warns Dream.

"Zzzzz," Dream says, like a goddamn bee.

Hob barks out a laugh at that. He's so ridiculous, honestly. Why doesn't he know that? It has literally been centuries since they started working together. He feels like he should know that.

"I hate you," Hob tells him, but his tone is enamored and, strangely enough, having Dream on his lap like this is serving to be a great aftercare for him as well.

"You love me," Dream mumbles, already sounding half-asleep. His knees must be hurting from kneeling most of the night. Hob starts rubbing them gently, but scoffs at Dream's words.

His other hand cards gently through Dream's hair, the motion lulling them both to a deeper, more relaxed state. They're going to have to wake up before Death's secretary comes back, and then debrief with Death. But having Dream in his lap, warm and pliant, feels so good that Hob finds himself closing his eyes as well. "You wish."

--

'I do,' Dream thinks, before he falls asleep completely, feeling safer than he's ever felt in eons.

--

Death finds the two of them curled up together on the couch thirty minutes later, and discreetly takes a picture of the two before gently waking them up.

It's regrettable that they have to debrief when they are obviously exhausted, but the earlier it's done, the clearer their memory is.

Dream and Hob peaceably goes into her office and gives their report, but she does not fail to notice how Hob has yet to let go of Dream's hand upon waking. And more than that, Dream is holding Hob's hand with both of his in his own lap. Both of them seem unaware of this new development between them.

Death hides her smile behind her teacup as she sips some calming tea and allows them to continue giving their report.

--

Bonus:

"Agent Gadling! Do not-- oh, for goodness's sake. If you are incapacitated and captured, I will not hesitate to bench you for a century."

"A century, huh?" Hob's unfairly seductive voice says through the comms. Dream hates it. He always have. And now that Hob knows why he does, he's exploiting Dream's weakness. "You gonna tie me up in bed, too?"

A couple of other tech officers giggle at that. Dream sends a scathing glare towards them, and they quickly scurry away.

"I will tie you next to an anthill."

"Yikes," Hob says cheerfully and ducks behind a wall. "Still not sorry, though. I know you've been wanting to have a petrified pseudodragon egg, so I got you two."

Dream does not swoon. Because that would be undignified.

"You risked capture to get me a couple of petrified pseudodragon eggs," he says in his sternest voice. Not the sexy stern voice that Hob likes, but the I'm-gonna-beat-your-ass-and-send-your-soul-straight-to-Hell voice. He shakes his head. His boyfriend is just so fucking stupid sometimes. "You are aware I cannot simply sit on them to get them to hatch?"

A hail of gunfire interrupts Hob's laughter. Dream watches on the screen, heart in his throat, how Hob evades his pursuers, runs down a garbage-strewn alley, and hitches a ride on a passing delivery truck.

He lets out a breath he doesn't know he's been holding. "I hate you," Dream tells him, so he knows. He must always be reminded.

Hob, through the hidden camera pinned on his lapel, shows Dream the two jet black pseudodragon eggs he got from the villain of the week's evil lair. One of them is pure black, and the other has a line of white running down the middle of its shell. "You love me."

[samsalami66]

The Heat of the Fight

Alright so @im-not-corrupted and I are working on an ancient Greece AU for Dreamling which I am so terribly excited for that I begged to share some drabbles before ever posting this fic. (It's going to be a Big Thing okay, I get to be excited)

Anyways, here you have The Heat of the Fight, a little training montage of teenage Hob in the Agoge, in which he is very stubborn, as per usual, taking place before him and Morpheus meet!

-----

The sun was a hunter. Creeping, approaching, preying on her unsuspecting victims. Sometimes she hid behind clouds, a promise of peace, but only for moments. Peace didn't last, not in this world. It was only ever followed by another attack, by efforts multiplied. Silence before a storm. Breaths held before bloodshed. 

The sun was a soldier. Bowing before drawing her sword. Rays of dawn like a gentle caress, a gentle smile, before noon turned it into an ugly grimace, caress suddenly stinging like an ill-willed hand to the face. When she stood high, sword slashing through the lands of Sparta, there were only few who could parry her attacks for long. Fewer even, who still stood fighting when her attacks would seize, when she would bow and retreat again, leaving those left in armistice until morning.

Hob Gadling was one of the few left standing. 

He had been fighting — the sun herself, but also his teacher — since dawn. The aftermath was visible on his skin, tangible in the blood trickling down his neck, his bare chest, mingling there with the blood he bled for the sun, the cruellest of warriors. He was wrung out, his muscles burning, fingers cramping around the hilt of his sword. It had slipped from his grip an hour or four before, had left a deep cut on his right hand where he had tried to grab it. The blood on the hilt was dry now, sticking to the slowly mending wound, sending flashes of white pain through Hob's body, up his spine and to his brain, where it rested as a dull throb right behind his eyes. 

He was tired. But there were no complaints amongst soldiers. No space, nor time for them. There were orders, rules and pride. Hob disliked all of them, thought them compressing, constricting. No matter. It was all he knew. All he could be. 

He was Spartan, born the son of a warrior who died defending their land. Hob was born to protect, to breathe his dying breath in battle. To follow in his father's footsteps, in those of all his ancestors. Fighting was his legacy. His function. His purpose. 

Hob took a deep breath as he readied himself for the next attack, willing the pain in his hand and chest away, allowing his muscles to loosen enough to function. 

"Don't you have enough yet, Gadling?" 

His sword swung loosely in his hand as Hob rounded his teacher. 

"I will have enough when I meet Death herself on the field of battle." 

The teacher's eyes glinted with the sun's silent retreat. 

"Prove it, soldier." 

Hob braced himself for the force of his opponent's attack, for the pain spreading through his limbs as he parried and turned into his own offence, blood and sweat forcing his hands, guiding him into swing after swing of brutal attacks. 

He almost forgot to stop his hand before decapitating his teacher with a fatal blow. 

-----

I beg you, follow Eris to read their contributions to this fic (which include more juicy drabbles from Dream's POV). We'll be posting under the tag dreamling ancient greece au if you feel like seeing more!!

Ideas for drabbles? Questions???? Please do ask :D!

[moorishflower]

Re: Your Addams Family Post, I now have the mental image of Gomez pretty much adopting Hob as another brother/cousin/what have you. "Children! Met your new Uncle!"

It starts with the auction.

Hob doesn't think of himself as a collector, but he's also self-aware enough that his doing so is more of a defense mechanism than anything else. Because he does. He collects. He can't help himself -- so much of his life can only be traced backwards through the shapes he's left behind, his self, of a necessity, always needing to vanish into the background. He follows his own history through letters to Dear Robert Gadlyn, portraits painted with one of his hats in the background, an authentic Victorian jacket supposedly worn by Wilde himself, and which Hob vividly remembers shucking from Oscar's shoulders, leaving it to puddle forgotten on the floor while they'd kissed in sweet silence on the settee.

So when he gets an email from his friend Kev at Hansons, a "check this book out mate" sort of deal with an eyes emoji appended to it, Hob is already intrigued. Kev is good at finding him the more esoteric things for his not-collection, and hasn't steered him wrong before, and he's not disappointed when he opens the link to find a listing for a book. A book, specifically, from the 1600s. Being an Account of the Dread Pirate Sylvia, her Ancestors, her Descendants, and Her Pets, it says, though it's not the title that catches his eye so much as the provided scans of some of the pages. The handwriting is beautiful, flowing and elegant and heavy on the page, and it makes his heart ache for a time before keyboards and typewriters, when gorgeous penmanship could be counted as a virtue and not just a hobby. There are sketches of fantastical sea beasts, navigational maps, the most beautifully-rendered charcoal drawing of an orca he's ever seen, and.

And a drawing of him.

Not him as he was in 1699, when this was apparently written, but him in 1374. Him, younger, fresh-faced, just a slip of a beard still, his head tilted back, laughing. Great great etc grandmother's cousin, says a caption beneath it, in that same heavy and flowing hand. Late 1300s? Must track him down

Motherfucker, Hob thinks, and sends a few emails.

Twenty-four hours later, he's the proud owner of a fantastically well-preserved diary/travelogue/grimoire, having shelled out a significant amount of funds to even get the thing, on account of some American trying to outbid him at every turn. He's not surprised, then, when he gets an email shortly after his final bid has been locked in, from the rather posh-sounding addamsfamilypatriarch@addams.com

The contents of the email, though. Are, to say the least, alarming.

I say my dear boy, it starts, I don't suppose we could come to an agreement as to a different price for Lady Penelope Addams' only surviving diary? If you're interested in antiques of rich and unusual history, I am certain I can provide. Only it contains one of very few references to a lost branch of our family, the Lady Penelope's great great etc grandmother and her kin, and I, being invested in genealogy, am eager to explore this hidden part of our family tree.

Absolutely not, Hob thinks, shutting his laptop with a click. Absolutely buggering bloody fuck not, he thinks, shoving a sweater into his suitcase, because it's winter, and it's Chicago, and he has no idea what sort of weather to expect. This is fucking insanity, he thinks, hands folded in his lap on the plane.

What are you doing? he asks himself, as the door to the grand gothic manor opens, and Hob, who has just trekked a portion of a mile through a swamp and had to kick an alligator to keep it from lunging at his suitcase, looks down at the man who had identified himself in emails as Gomez Addams, his. His relative. Somehow, far distant, but his.

"Robert Gadling," he says, with obvious relish, and Hob feels himself hooked by the crook of his elbow, hauled into the foyer with surprising force. "Come in! Come in! Children! Come meet your new uncle!"

[zoeysdamn]

You know what’s criminal? The lack of content of Hob Gadling making immortal jokes 

“Die, Gadling” “Jokes on you–”

----

“Over my dead body, mate.”

---

“Oh my god you’re bleeding to death!’ Hob laying on the floor in a pool of his own blood: “Death is a social construct”

---

“Oh yeah I’m sure my ancestors are spinning in their graves” *manage to blast heavy techno on every graves of his past fake identities during the night* 

---

“How was your day?” Hob, having spend the most horrible day in the entire universe: “Well I’m not dead :DD” 

---

*Hob’s phone blasting ‘stayin’ alive’ by the Bee Gees as a ringtone*

[scifrey]

Cling Fast: now with bonus epilogue!

A little while later, as Immortals and Endless reckon 'a little while'...

It's a slow afternoon at The New Inn. 

Hob is downstairs, working his way through a pile of the first quizzes of the fall semester. 

The awareness starts slowly, like a dawning itch, or a growing ache between his teeth that he finds uncomfortable, but can't quite figure out where it's coming from. Eventually he clocks that a group of people are seated at the far end of the banquette, and they are staring at him.

They're the only other patrons besides him, and when he pulls himself out of the deep concentration the marking requires, he realizes he never heard the bell over the door chime. Neither did New Kid, who is now no longer new nor a kid, as New Kid hasn't come out of the back where they're overseeing the new-new kid's first kitchen opener shift.

Hob doesn't feel self conscious turning to stare at the group, because they are openly staring at him.

Closest to him on the bench is a beautiful black woman with a smile like a mother's hug. Next to her is a heavily tattooed Asian man, his hair a curtain obscuring his eyes. Opposite them on the chairs, a beautifully handsome person with a pompadour of blonde hair and eyes like flame has their arm slung over the shoulders of a shorter, buxom woman with stringy hair and a tentative look of kind interest. But it's the last one, sitting on the table top itself, that gives it all away—a fey little thing that looks like the living embodiment of a rainbow.

"Wow, you… you guys are really bad at pretending to be human. I thought it was just Morpheus, but no, it's a family failing, huh?"

Death is the first one to laugh.

Read the rest here.

Cling Fast: Chapter Eleven

By Losyark

The Sandman (Netflix with some sprinkling of comics canon, and Gaiman Cinematic-Literary Universe canon) Dreamling (Hob Gadling x Dream of the Endless | Morpheus) Complete PG-13 (for now) Unbeta’d

Somehow, the summer and Hob's brush with the glitz and glam (more like the sleep deprivation and hurry-up-and-wait) of The Biz comes to an end. The first week of classes start up, and as he promised Morpheus, Hob eschews sleep in order to review the texts, and write the syllabuses and prepare the lectures that he didn't have time to over the summer. Morpheus only throws sand in his face and drags him down into the Dreaming twice, when Hob hadn't caught so much as a cat-nap on his junky office sofa in over forty-eight hours.

It's a strange thing, Hob muses, as he entertains his colleagues with stories of his time on set, to have done something so intense and life-altering, and have no one really know it even exists yet. The footage is in editing, and Hob is no longer needed. He is, in essence, utterly dropped and forgotten by the production.

Harriet understands what he means, and joins Hob at The New Inn every few evenings. She talks him through what she calls "show-drop," or the intense lonely misery that comes after living so closely and bonding with fellow artists so deeply, only for everyone to suddenly and completely part ways. He regales her with tales of the places he's been and the ordinary, everyday people he's met. He promises to read over her newest publication for inaccuracies, and she in turn gives a guest lecture at his uni on archeology and historical recreation for screen media.

He reunites with both of his co-presenters only twice in the month of September: once, to record ADR (basically re-recording dialogue that was muffled or of poor quality, trying to match his voice to the synch of his own mouth), and another time to get dressed up in their costumes for the last time and spend an afternoon shooting promotional posters and images.

He wears the black-and-scarlet velvet ensemble into the Dreaming that night.

Morpheus is playing host to a contingent of new gods seeking to curry favour with Dream of the Endless. Hob misses a good proper balls, and Morpheus is impressed that he still remembers all the steps to the cotillion. The gods all have names like Media, and Mr. World, and have been thought into being by humans. They fawn and flatter over Dream's human (but not mortal) consort, insincere and desperate for a solid place in the world's pantheon. Hob wakes up feeling like he's covered with greasy fingerprints and takes the hottest shower he can stand for at least an hour.

Hob hosts the wrap party at The New Inn, closing the pub for a private party. Patrick and the new kid pull out all the stops, proud of their little local celebrity, and pull out all the stops in the kitchen. Though he wasn't able to track down the fey food artist, Hob connected his team with the food artists, and everyone enjoys venison pasties, and hyppocras, buttered beer and snow, fruit and meat pies, and lots of marzipan shaped like Gadlen House.

Morpheus acquiesces to Hob's wheedling, and attends the party as Hob's partner. He's prickly, and taciturn, but everyone is in high enough spirits that they don't mind Hob's introverted goth boyfriend. And nobody seems to remember that he looks just like one of the stunt team.

Harinder surprises them all by arriving with a USB stick loaded with the first episode and a pocket projector. Between them, Hob and Patrick get the karaoke speakers and a ratty old projector screen cobbled together. Patrick makes sure everyone has all the beer, wine, coffee, soda, and various other cock-or-mocktails topped up, they dim the lights, and let it rip.

The crowd cheers and jeers, hollers and laughs, and as the credits on the first episode roll, everyone stands up and claps for at least five minutes straight.

"What did you think?" Hob asks Morpheus, leaning close to whisper in his lover's ear under all the clapping and celebration.

"It is wonderful. Engaging and cinematic in a way that the previous incarnations of this program have not been. And you make a very appealing and handsome leading man," Morpheus adds, flicking a look at Hob from under black lacework eyelashes that promises wonderful things once he's asleep.

Hob snorts. "I'm hardly the lead, Duckie. There were two other people on the screen too, you know."

 "You have created something to be proud of," Morpheus pushes. He slides his hand into the pack pocket of Hob's jeans, not to fondle or squeeze, but to simply hold him close. Hob feels admired and cherished. "Humanity needs its fantasies, to make its reality a better place to live, and you have created a very admirable fantasy indeed."

"You don't have to butter me up by quoting Sir Terry at me," Hob protests with a laugh.

Morpheus only quirks a smirk at him. 

Then Glenn and his wife crash into them with tipsy glee, Glenn shouting "Did you see that? Did you see that! That's a bloody BAFTA in the bag, that is you mad, wonderful, beautiful Doc Bob, you!"

Harriet, with her wife and son, aren't far behind. Then there are toasts, and drunken heartfelt speeches, and someone figures out how to get a whole mess of electro-tudor remix music pouding on the speakers, the tables are pushed aside, and people are reeling and ducking around one another with unashamed joy.

And Morpheus lets himself slip into the background, contentedly supportive and admiring.

Sweaty and exhausted in the best way, Hob pulls Shami outside sometime around midnight to gift them a small posey of bellflowers and agrimony, as well as a beautiful antique cloak pin. It's a unisex piece, carefully etched with beautiful Tudor knotwork, and set with chips of a dark tourmaline gem that would set off Shami's eyes nicely.

Hob had rescued it from under the floorboards of the Gadlen House nursery. Hob had been poor and penniless enough in his life that even when he was wealthy, he had the foresight to secret away little stashes of treasure, just in case. Fletcher hadn't stolen every treasure, and Hob did find some time alone to wander and snoop during the shoot after all. He'd managed to smuggle his sword out too, by pretending it was just a prop.

Hob didn't tell Shami that the brooch once belonged to first Eleanor's brother, then Eleanor. He doesn't tell Shami that he had hidden away the favorite of her pieces after her death with the intention of one day gifting them to Robyn's bride. Hob doesn't tell Shami that Robyn had never married, but Hob likes to think that Eleanor wouldn't mind him sharing her treasures with the incredible person who had brought her back to him in so many vital, wondrous ways.

All he says is "Thank you. You have no idea what it means to me to know that I have her diary and his sketchbook, safe and preserved, forever."

When they come back inside, Morpheus is waiting in the shadow of the door to snatch Hob to his side, and ensure that nobody gets the wrong idea about the soon-to-be famous television presenter and the digital archivist slinking in from the autumn chill together.

*

Hob takes great delight in goading Morpheus to live out the fantasies of celebrity popping up in the dreams of so many young people these days by making Morpheus promise to walk the red carpet on his arm.

Though, Hob realizes as soon as Morpheus appears in Hob's bedroom that night, he's made a grave miscalculation. Hob's mouth immediately goes desert-dry. 

Morpheus wears boots with higher-than-usual heels so he has at least two inches on Hob, the vain peacock, and his hair crests even higher. He's wearing a beautiful black-on-black damask suit with a waist-length blazer-fronted cape, trimmed with red velvet lapels. His boutonniere easily the size of his whole hand made up of (Hob's app tells him) angrec, cape jasmine, and both blue and pink convolvulus. He's wearing a single silver-and-ruby drop earring. And the eyeliner. By god, Hob can't die but he damn near expires on the spot when he realizes that Morpheus is wearing such perfect, knife-blade sharp winged black eyeliner that it would make a Vogue cover makeup artist weep with envy.

He puts Hob's own tired brown suit to shame. Morpheus seems to agree, because with a twist of his wrist, Hob is suddenly wearing a sharp, slim-cut hunter-green three piece (Morpheus' favorite color on him, clearly), with black shirt and a matching honest-to-god cravat. Instead of a boutonniere, Morpheus has decorated Hob's neckcloth with a small, rectangular ruby on a golden stickpin sculpted to resemble ivy.

"This isn't the Oscars," Hob says, but it's not a protest.

The night is warm enough and Hob's shoes are comfortable enough that the two hour walk to Hither Green and Gadlen House is a pleasure, and it means that Matthew gets to join them all the way to the front gate.

"Aww, come on, Hobsie," Matthew wheedles from Hob's shoulder, preening his hair out of its carefully pomaded fall. "The boss showed me the opening shot. It wouldn't be half as good if I wasn't in it."

"True," Hob allows, as they wait from the back of the line for their turn to present their ID badges and gain entry to the park.

Security is tight at Gadlen House tonight, and every who's-who of the entertainment world has been invited. Most of them aren't sure what they're there for—it's just the dinky little premiere of a dinky little docuseries after all—but the muckity mucks at the BBC had insisted, and, Hob's sure, they're all going to be really glad they were part of the first wave of outlets who get to break the big news about the quarto.

The plan tonight is to screen the first episode followed up with a bit of a talk from Harinder and a thirty minute Q&A with Hob, Harriet and Glenn, and then a presentation from Shami about the future of digital archeology and historical document interactivity, and then, when everyone was thoroughly bored to tears—ten minutes of uncut footage of Hob and Glenn goofing around and cataloging the contents of the Gadlen Fell Crate Papers, until Glenn goes parchment white and starts screaming like a little girl.

At which point, the experts at the V&A would be stepping in to present the actual quarto to the press, Hob is sure social media is going to lose its goddamn mind, and Hob plans to take full and unashamed advantage of his lover's eldritch nature to sneak away before anyone tries to buttonhole him.

Matthew tugs on Hob's hair threateningly.

"Yeah, okay," Hob relents. "But stand on the very edge of my shoulder, like that, yeah. Glenn taught me this for photos—always make sure there's empty air around your body so you don't look squashed against another person. And you can't come into the house, this is just for the outdoor carpet, okay?"

"Okay!" Matthew croaks. "I'm gonna be a star, baby!"

Matthew holds his head high, puffs and smooths the lay of his feathers and, if a raven can suck it in, then he's definitely sucking it in.

"You spoil him," Morpheus says indulgently.

Hob takes his hand and entwines their fingers. "I spoil you both, and I don't see you complaining. Now, shhh, Matthew."

The bored guard at the door doesn't even glance up at them as he takes and checks Hob's work badge.

"Gadlen, plus one?"

"Yes," Hob says.

"Have fun, guv." He waves them through and is on to the next person who has just arrived behind them.

Past the gates, Hob is met with event PAs and coordinators who eye up Matthew, but don't say anything. They're probably used to way weirder things when it comes to celebrities, and Hob is hardly that.

They're asked to hold a moment, as the small group before them—Harinder and the direction team, it looks like—clears the first bank of photographers and reporters. Hob takes a moment to marvel at the way that Gadlen House has once again been transformed.

The drive has been overlaid with low metal risers, smothered in a literal red carpet. On one side, the press is contained by long strands of red velvet ropes which protect the grass. On the other, an eight-foot wall of temporary flats has been erected, uplit to ensure the repeating pattern of BBC Historics and National Trust logos are visible in each photo anyone takes.

Up by the house, the front courtyard has been transformed into a little cocktail bar, elegant stand lights showing off the fountains to best advantage, and penguin-suited waiters in absurd tudor-era bonnets with ridiculous ostrich feathers circulating with trays of champagne.

Hob's been told that the grand entry hall has been filled with tiered seating and a large cinematic screen, and a podium from which the evening's host will crack tired jokes and try to keep folks entertained between setups.

It's all a bit much for a silly little historical docudrama, but Hob knows what the prize at the bottom of the crackerjack box is. He knows it will be worth all of the hullabaloo.

"Alright," the P.A. at the top of the carpet says, after conferring with someone on a headset. "When I say go, walk out to the middle of that first group. My colleague there—see, he's waving—he'll let you know when you're good. Pose for the cameras, and speak to the reporter on the carpet. She'll ask you two or three questions, might have you give a spin. Then my colleague will pass you on to the next one down the line. Feel free to decline to answer any questions you don't want to, and don't let the bird shit on anything."

"Excuse you—" Matthew squawks.

"Go!"

Morpheus takes Hob by the hand and swivels forward like he's planning to seduce the whole crowd.

He probably is.

"Doc Bob!" someone in the crowd shouts, and another says "Sir Gadlen!"

"You're off by three," Hob calls back, and the scrum chuckles, charmed.

The new PA introduces the reporter, and Hob vaguely recognizes her from one of the late night chat shows.

"Mr. Gadlen, and Mr…" 

"Oneiros," Morpheus offers up.

"Right-o, sir," the PA says. "If you'll both just stand here…"

They do and Hob is not even remotely surprised that Morpheus knows how to work a camera. He must be tapping into the dreams of every model on the U.K. right now. He tugs Hob into a few poses subtly, and Hob feels like a complete tit but trusts his lover to do right by him.

The reporter asks about Hob's experience on set ("Uh, yeah, cool, really cool," Hob answers to his mortification); what he's wearing ("McQueen," Morpheus intones); and if the bird is real or a fashion accessory.

"Real!" Matthew protests.

"Real," Hob echoes, resisting the urge to reach up and pluck out one of Matthew's tailfeathers. "And an excellent mimic when he wants to be. He insisted on coming along."

"How adorable! Is he friendly? Can I pet your crow?"

"Raven," Hob corrects. "And technically, it's his bird," Hob says, jerking his thumb at Morpheus. "But Matthew likes me better."

"Matthew would appreciate your attention, yes," Morpheus allows magnanimously. "Pet his breast, or gently along his beak."

And that is how Morpheus becomes boyfriend of the year for figuring out how to keep all the attention off of Hob and his terrible interview answers, and Matthew becomes the unequivocal favorite of the evening.

They event organizers even open a window in one of the turrets of the great hall so he could sit on the sill and watch.

*

A few hours later, Morpheus and Hob sneak away just as he planned, ducking under the red velvet ropes and putting his lock-breaking skills to the test to break into his old bedroom. Morpheus takes care of the security system and cameras without needing to be asked.

"Do you think they forgot that they left the good mattress on the… ha ha!" Hob chortles gleefully. "Look, they did!"

"You know, you never properly slept in this bed, Hob," Morpheus ventures, with exactly zero innocence or nonchalance.

"No, I did not," Hob replies with a cheeky wink. "Help me christen it?"

"Gladly."

*

The revelation of the missing Shakespeare play is enough to shoot the fame of the series, and its presenters, into the stratosphere. Because Cardenio was found in Hob's Gadlen Fell Crate, it technically belongs to him. So every A-list Shakespearen actor, dramatist, and acting troupe in the country is banging down his door for a look at it. Hob very quickly, very wisely, and very generously donates the damn thing away to the National Trust. Let them manage its preservation and loaning rights, and make top dollar on the licensing fees besides. They deserve the boost in funding and fame.

Still, every reporter, Elizabethan scholar, and entertainment news anchor wants a piece of Bob Gadlen the Sixth. Hob does all he can to reorient the spotlight onto Harriet, and Glenn, and Shami. By the end of October it's gotten so bad that Hob has resumed teaching all of his classes online so he can avoid the paps on campus. Patrick has to hire a bouncer for The New Inn, and Lucienne steps briefly into the Waking world to act as Hob's legal protector and manager.

As a creature who has read literally every book there is to read on law, Lucienne is ruthlessly efficient. By the end of the month, Hob has gone back to being a nobody professor and a person of non-interest to the media. Occasionally someone recognizes him on the street and asks for a selfie, or comes up to him in a cafe when he's on a date with Morpheus. 

And memorably, a few days before All Hallows Eve, the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts makes the mistake of inviting Hob to give a guest lecture. They're clearly thinking (as far as Hob can tell) that because the quarto was found among Hob's things, Hob must be some sort of expert must be some sort of Shakespeare expert. And he is. But not in the way they expected.

And that's how a cadre of venerable professors, a few A-listers who think they can get away with the ballcap-and-glasses disguise, and two cohorts worth of young hopeful actors are treated to a pacing, ranting diatribe against the boyfriend-stealing wannabe, an exaltation of Kit Marlowe, and an incredibly powerful moment-by-moment narration of what going to see a play at The Curtain (a far superior theater to The Globe in Hob's estimation) smelled like, sounded like, looked like, and felt like.

"Not helping your mission to stay under the radar," Harriet texts him, with a link to a video, two days later.

Hob, Morpheus and Matthew are upstairs in Hob's flat, working their way through a bowl of discount Tescos candy—Morpheus' sweet tooth strikes again—and carving neeps into lanterns whose light Stingy Jack can roam the world by. Stingy Jack-o-the-Lantern is real, it turns out, and as close to a friend as anyone can be to Morpheus. The guy deserves some turnips with faces in them just for that alone, Hob figures.

Apparently one of the RADA students had recorded the whole thing and has created a supercut of Hob's most creative, Elizabethan, and devastating insults to the bard. Matthew asks him to replay it for him on the phone four times before Morpheus gets in a snit and goes on his own rant about how important Midsummer was to his political alliances with the Fair Folk.

Talk then turns to Shaxbeard's lost son Hamnet, and as fathers of dead sons, they agree wordlessly to change the topic.

*

Fall shades elegantly into Winter. 

Hob finishes his term and is buried in snowdrifts of essays and exams to mark. He meets up regularly with Harriet, politely declines with all the force in his Immortal body when the BBC asks him back for a second series, and teaches Matthew the rules of Football. ("The good one, birdbrain, not that handegg you used to watch when you had thumbs.")

And then, one quiet evening when it's just Patrick, New Kid, and the two of them in the pub, Morpheus reaches across the table, takes Hob's hand, and asks "Are you happy?"

Hob, who had been thinking about whether or not he wanted to subject himself to the humiliation of adding Elizabethan Manor to next semester's syllabus as non-compulsory but recommended viewing, blinks a few times as his brain catches up to Morpehus' question.

"Yes," Hob says slowly, sitting forward and giving Morpheus his full attention. This feels like a far more serious question than it sounds. "Why do you ask? Are you?"

"Very happy," Morpheus says, but then sighs like that's the greatest misfortune an anthropomorphic personification can endure.

"Okay. But forgive me duck… you don't sound like it."

"I am very happy, and that is the problem," Morpheus confesses, slumping in his chair.

This worries Hob even more, because he's never seen Morpheus slump in his chair before. He lounges, he reclines, he luxuriates, he sprawls, he reposes. He does not slump.

Hob squeezes his hand reassuringly. "I'm listening."

Between them, where Patrick can see, Morpheus wills a Meadow Saffron into existence. Hob is pleased with himself that he recognizes it on sight, after so many hours spent studying his floriography texts.

"Dearheart, no," Hob says, plucking the flower out of Morpheus' fingers and laying it on the seat beside him. "That's not true at all. Your best days are yet to come. You have me now."

"I do have you," Morpheus agrees. "But… I fear that you do not have me. Not the way I would like it."

"You're right here, duckie."

"But I should like to be here more. I want to sleep beside you, Hob. Properly sleep, not simply watch you drop off and then step into my realm and resume my function while you rest. I want to rest with you. I want to wake with you. I want—to be greater than my function and at the same time, less. I want wholly outside of it. I want to be… where you are. Where I am happiest."

"Wait, let me get my head around this. Is my boyfriend Dream of the Endless or Morpheus, the God of Sleep? Am I sleeping with whole diamond, or just one facet? Is that what worries you? Because I don't care…"

The pained look on Morpheus' face makes it clear that Hob is way off the mark, and he trails off, waiting. Rare for him, Morpheus hesitates before he answers. He opens his petal-pink mouth, draws a breath, licks his lips, closes them again, then does it all again. Hob waits him out, massaging the tense tendons of Morpheus' palm with his thumbs.

Finally, Morpheus says: "How would you feel if I was neither?"

Hob blinks, digests what Morpheus has said, decides it doesn't make any sense any which way he turns it over in his mind, and says: "Come again?"

"What if… I were not Dream of the Endless. Or Morpheus the God of Sleep. What if I was… just a man?"

Hob sits bolt upright. "What's wrong with your voice?"

"Nothing. I merely… perhaps it is foolish."

"No, go on," Hob reassures him, trying to adjust to the new, less bone-vibrating timbre of Morpheus' speech. It's fine. It still sounds like him. Just… different.

"A child comes," Morpheus murmurs eventually. "Conceived in the Dreaming, made of dreamstuff."

Hob blinks some more as his brain buffers. "Are you pregnant?"

Morpheus chuckles wryly. "No."

"Oh. okay." Hob licks his lips, digesting this. "Wait, am I pregnant?"

Morpheus laughs gently. "No, Hob. The child grows in the heart and fantasies of a woman who… well, the details are a story for another time, I think. But the babe will be a fine heir, I should think."

"An heir?" Hob blinks some more, and takes a few sips of his beer to cover as he tries to catch up. Morpheus sometimes drops strange scruffy things into his lap like a proud kitten, and even after all this time, after all he's done and seen, Hob still needs time to readjust his reality to encompass the offering. "An heir?  God's wounds, are you dying?"

"No, Hob. The Endless do not die." Morpheus meets his eyes earnestly, then lifts their entwined hands to kiss each of Hob's knuckles. "But this facet has… reached its natural conclusion."

"So you are dying," Hob repeats, distress wringing through every fiber of his body.

"I assure you, no," Morpheus says. He rises from his seat, scoots around the table and pulls Hob against his chest to soothe Hob's building panic. "Do you not think that my sister shares the same love for me as she does for you? What she has bargained for you, she has agreed to provide for me as well."

"I'm not following," Hob admits, clutching at Morpheus' ribs.

"Gods come and go. The old fade and new ones are thought into being. You met some of them." 

Hob swallows hard enough that he feels his throat burn. "Yes."

"Morpheus the God of Sleep is… fading. This world no longer needs a classical, old-fashioned, ancient god of dreams. Dreams are different now, and they need a new avatar to shepherd them. And so another God grows within the womb of human imagination. Do you understand?"

Hob looks up at Morpheus, and he knows he's trembling, knows he frightened, but Morpheus is wrapped around him, keeping him steady.

"I think so." 

"When this child is born, the facet that you know as Morpheus will cease to be Endless, and simply become… human." A smile, beatific and contented spreads over Morpheus' face. "An Immortal human, yes, but human all the same. Think of it less as death and perhaps more as… retirement."

"You'll be like me," Hob gasps.

"Yes."

"You'll be with me," Hob adds, excitement replacing his fear. He straightens to meet Morpheus' pleading eyes.

"Yes. Unless you'd prefer—"

"Fuck that," Hob says, clinging to Morpheus. "You'll be moving in with me upstairs, that's what'll be happening."

"If that is what you wish."

"That is abosu-fucking-lutely what I wish," Hob confirms, then surges up to press his lips against Morpheus' in a claiming, hungry, possessive kiss.

"Then it is done," Morpheus says, when they part. Another bargain struck. Maybe the last.

Fuck me, Hob thinks, and wishes he could manifest an avalanche of roses, roses, roses.

Morpheus must see his fantasy, because rose petals begin to tumble from the empty air around them, drifting along the table and clinging to Morpheus' hair. Hob laughs, enchanted and elated.

Patrick's gonna take one look at the floor and kill him on the spot.

The thought makes Hob want to kiss Morpheus again, so he does.

"This is, forgive me, a dream come true," Hob laughs, when they eventually break off. He may also be crying, he's not sure. All he knows is that he needs to flag down New Kid and get them to pop some bubbly. "This is sorta everything. All my hopes and, well, now my Dream, too."

“Entirely. And if I am your Dream,” Morpheus asks reticently. “Will you, in return, be my Hope?”

"Absolutely," Hob says, and leans across the table to kiss Morpheus. "For as long as you want."

"For forever then," Morpheus agrees. "Or have you not heard? One cannot kill hope."

THE END

PREVIOUS | More Fanfic | More Books

[scifrey]

Somehow I wrote 137k words of The Sandman fanfic in the last 5 months. Behold: the result!

This has been an incredible journey - I decided to step back into fandom while I was waiting on some publishing info and news, just as something to do to keep my creativity sharp. The community and reception I discovered, however, has been astoundingly welcoming. I feel reinvigorated and ready to tackle my revisions on my next novel!

THE HOB ADHERENT SERIES

In which Hob Gadling's Stranger returns, they start a weekly hangout, Hob becomes Morpheus' Emotional Support Human (tm), Matthew bullies Hob onto a Docudrama TV series where Hob pretends to be his own ancestor, and Morpheus is the King of Repressed Symbolism.

Status: Complete

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Includes some comics canon, and some fun cameos from the wider Gaiman-verse, but it’s not necessary to know to enjoy the story.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Discussions of grief and in-canon character death.

Relationships: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Eleanor | Hob Gadling’s Wife/Hob Gadling (past)

Primary Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Matthew the Raven, Lucien | Lucienne (The Sandman), Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Patrick the Bartender, All the Endless Siblings, Rose Walker, Jed Walker, Lyta Hall, Daniel Hall, Orpheus, Lucifer, (plus some cameos from other characters from the Gaiman Television-Literary Universe)

CLING FAST

Hob Gadling is a clingy bastard, and he’s not ashamed to admit it. He clings to life. He clings to hope. He clings to his love of humanity. He clings to his Stranger. He also, unfortunately, has a habit of clinging to his name.

Which means, when the BBC is looking for a new pet history expert to appear in their educational docudrama series “Elizabethan Manor,” they’re overjoyed to find a professor who (according to their meticulous research) is actually descended from the Master of the National Trust building they’re filming in - Gadlen House.

Only Hob knows how right they are.

Picks up a few hours after the end of Season 01 Episode 6.

CARPE DIEM

Hob turns six hundred and sixty-six, invites some fellow Immortals to his pub to celebrate, and receives a gift from Satan themself. Or, the Key to Hell was always going to Be a Problem(tm).

Set between the epilogue and chapter one of Cling Fast.

HOLD TIGHT

Hob is tasked with his first quest as Vassal of the Endless, Morpheus is bad at using his words, Destiny thinks he's so clever, Desire makes a confession, Rose Walker meets her Uncle's boyfriend, and Lyta Hall punches Dream of the Endless in the nose. Or, the one where Hob Gadling turns into everyone's therapist, and honestly, he ain't mad about it.

Set at the end of Cling Fast - after the premiere of “Elizabethan Manor”, but before the Epilogue.

KEEPSAKES

Short ficlets set in the Hob Adherent world, based on prompts received from readers. Includes tales of how Hob and Eleanor met and wed, Hob being a badass at a Ren Faire, some hurt/comfort and sleepy smut, and the story of how Hob met Orpheus.

TAKE ROOT

A deleted scene for a sequel I ended up scrapping.

[scifrey]

One last reblog for my fanfic series before I pin some profic links at the top of my blog. Go bookmark the fic on AO3 now before it vanishes from your dash!

Somehow I wrote 137k words of The Sandman fanfic in the last 5 months. Behold: the result!

This has been an incredible journey - I decided to step back into fandom while I was waiting on some publishing info and news, just as something to do to keep my creativity sharp. The community and reception I discovered, however, has been astoundingly welcoming. I feel reinvigorated and ready to tackle my revisions on my next novel!

THE HOB ADHERENT SERIES

In which Hob Gadling's Stranger returns, they start a weekly hangout, Hob becomes Morpheus' Emotional Support Human (tm), Matthew bullies Hob onto a Docudrama TV series where Hob pretends to be his own ancestor, and Morpheus is the King of Repressed Symbolism.

Status: Complete

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Includes some comics canon, and some fun cameos from the wider Gaiman-verse, but it’s not necessary to know to enjoy the story.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Discussions of grief and in-canon character death.

Relationships: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Eleanor | Hob Gadling’s Wife/Hob Gadling (past)

Primary Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Matthew the Raven, Lucien | Lucienne (The Sandman), Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Patrick the Bartender, All the Endless Siblings, Rose Walker, Jed Walker, Lyta Hall, Daniel Hall, Orpheus, Lucifer, (plus some cameos from other characters from the Gaiman Television-Literary Universe)

CLING FAST

Hob Gadling is a clingy bastard, and he’s not ashamed to admit it. He clings to life. He clings to hope. He clings to his love of humanity. He clings to his Stranger. He also, unfortunately, has a habit of clinging to his name.

Which means, when the BBC is looking for a new pet history expert to appear in their educational docudrama series “Elizabethan Manor,” they’re overjoyed to find a professor who (according to their meticulous research) is actually descended from the Master of the National Trust building they’re filming in - Gadlen House.

Only Hob knows how right they are.

Picks up a few hours after the end of Season 01 Episode 6.

CARPE DIEM

Hob turns six hundred and sixty-six, invites some fellow Immortals to his pub to celebrate, and receives a gift from Satan themself. Or, the Key to Hell was always going to Be a Problem(tm).

Set between the epilogue and chapter one of Cling Fast.

HOLD TIGHT

Hob is tasked with his first quest as Vassal of the Endless, Morpheus is bad at using his words, Destiny thinks he's so clever, Desire makes a confession, Rose Walker meets her Uncle's boyfriend, and Lyta Hall punches Dream of the Endless in the nose. Or, the one where Hob Gadling turns into everyone's therapist, and honestly, he ain't mad about it.

Set at the end of Cling Fast - after the premiere of “Elizabethan Manor”, but before the Epilogue.

KEEPSAKES

Short ficlets set in the Hob Adherent world, based on prompts received from readers. Includes tales of how Hob and Eleanor met and wed, Hob being a badass at a Ren Faire, some hurt/comfort and sleepy smut, and the story of how Hob met Orpheus.

TAKE ROOT

A deleted scene for a sequel I ended up scrapping.

[scifrey]

One last reblog for those who just finished CLING FAST on AO3!

Videos to Watch if You Enjoyed "Cling Fast"

How Much Booze Did Medieval People Really Drink? - Dr. Eleanor Janega teaches us how to booze it up, White Horse-style.

Could You Make a Living in Medieval London? - Another great Eleanor Janega video about occupations, scandals, and the every day lives of every day folks in Medieval cities.

What Was Life Really Like For A Medieval Peasant? - the last of the Eleanor Janega videos about what kind of life Hob Gadling would have lived before he met his Stranger.

A Tudor Feast - domestic historians and archeologists Ruth Goodman, Alex Langlands, Peter "Fonz" Ginn and Hugh Beamish - under the supervision of Marc Meltonville of Hampton Court Palace's Tudor kitchens - prepare and serve a tudor banquet at Haddon Hall in Derbyshire. Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

Who Do You Think You Are: Danny Dyer Learns Tudor Etiquette - A segment from the Ancestry.com series following actor Danny Dyer as he explores his royal roots.

Who Would Be King of England Today According to Henry VIII's Will? - chartmaker Matt Baker takes us through the royal family tree from Henry the Eighth to the present day, if his edict that the next monarch in the event that his three children (Mary, Edward, and Elizabeth) produced no heirs, then the crown should next fall to the children of his youngest sister. And not, as actually happened, go to James of Scotland.

Royal Myths: Elizabeth I and the Spanish Armada - Dr. Lucy Worsley talks us through the propaganda and fibs that have sprung up around Good Queen Bess, and whether or not she really did declare that she had the stomach of a king.

Dancing Cheek to Cheek: The Devil's Work - Another great series by Dr. Lucy Worsley, chief curator of Royal Historic Palaces, but this time she's joined by Strictly Come Dancing's Len Goodman. They trace the history of dance in Britain, and this episode features some rowdy Medieval and Elizabethan numbers.

Turn Back Time: Tudor Monastery Farm - This series sees Ruth, Alex, and Peter return to the Elizabethan age, this time spending a year on a farm worked by peasants and serfs in service to the church.

The Tudors' Bizarre 12 Days Of Christmas Ritual - The Tudor Monastery Farm Christmas special.

Hardwick Hall: A window onto the Elizabethan world - Sheffield Hallam University gives a great look at Hardwick Hall (more glass than wall), the estate home of the wealthiest woman in Britain at the time, and the kind of place Hob would have aspired to build.

Tudor Food & Etiquette Explained in 14 Minutes - Quick and dirty explanation of where your napkin goes and who the 'chairman of the board' was.

Tudor Houses Explained in 10 Minutes - Not particularly engagingly presented, but a video chock full of visual examples of different kinds of Tudor houses and buildings.

Modern History: The Knight - Jason Kingsley introduces us to the concept behind Modern History and in particular their first series, “The Knight”. Jason has been fascinated by history his whole life, in particular the medieval period and the life of knights. (This is the first video of a playlist).

Royal Armouries - Elizabethan Swordsmanship - a demonstration by weaponsmasters at the Royal Armouries Museum in Leeds. (I recommend turning on closed captioning for this one, as the sound was recorded live with no mics.)

Getting Dressed - Tudor Royal Household - a nice, even-paced and well produced video showing what it was like to get dressed in queen Katherine Parr's household.

Dressing Up a Tudor Man - my personal heroes at Prior Attire show us what the blokes were wearing at the time. Keep in mind that this is 40 years too early for Hob and Dream's disastrous Shakespeare-ruined feast. (I recommend turning on closed captioning for this one, as the sound was recorded live with no mics.)

And just for the fun of it:

Medieval Pickup Lines from the folks behind (I believe?) Whores of Yore, and Top Tudor Historian Rates Famous Movie Scenes, wherein Dr Nicola Tallis, British historian and author of three books on the Tudors, rates scenes from five blockbuster movies set in the Tudor period. (I love how scandalized she gets.)

If you want more, I really recommend anything at all featuring Doctors Lucy Worsley, Eleanor Janega, and Ruth Goodman (search their names on YouTube and you'll find a wealth of clips, full episodes, and even playlists.)

[scifrey]

I just finished rereading this entire series and I'm still so damn proud of it.

Somehow I wrote 137k words of The Sandman fanfic in the last 5 months. Behold: the result!

This has been an incredible journey - I decided to step back into fandom while I was waiting on some publishing info and news, just as something to do to keep my creativity sharp. The community and reception I discovered, however, has been astoundingly welcoming. I feel reinvigorated and ready to tackle my revisions on my next novel!

THE HOB ADHERENT SERIES

In which Hob Gadling's Stranger returns, they start a weekly hangout, Hob becomes Morpheus' Emotional Support Human (tm), Matthew bullies Hob onto a Docudrama TV series where Hob pretends to be his own ancestor, and Morpheus is the King of Repressed Symbolism.

Status: Complete

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Includes some comics canon, and some fun cameos from the wider Gaiman-verse, but it’s not necessary to know to enjoy the story.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Discussions of grief and in-canon character death.

Relationships: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Eleanor | Hob Gadling’s Wife/Hob Gadling (past)

Primary Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Matthew the Raven, Lucien | Lucienne (The Sandman), Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Patrick the Bartender, All the Endless Siblings, Rose Walker, Jed Walker, Lyta Hall, Daniel Hall, Orpheus, Lucifer, (plus some cameos from other characters from the Gaiman Television-Literary Universe)

CLING FAST

Hob Gadling is a clingy bastard, and he’s not ashamed to admit it. He clings to life. He clings to hope. He clings to his love of humanity. He clings to his Stranger. He also, unfortunately, has a habit of clinging to his name.

Which means, when the BBC is looking for a new pet history expert to appear in their educational docudrama series “Elizabethan Manor,” they’re overjoyed to find a professor who (according to their meticulous research) is actually descended from the Master of the National Trust building they’re filming in - Gadlen House.

Only Hob knows how right they are.

Picks up a few hours after the end of Season 01 Episode 6.

CARPE DIEM

Hob turns six hundred and sixty-six, invites some fellow Immortals to his pub to celebrate, and receives a gift from Satan themself. Or, the Key to Hell was always going to Be a Problem(tm).

Set between the epilogue and chapter one of Cling Fast.

HOLD TIGHT

Hob is tasked with his first quest as Vassal of the Endless, Morpheus is bad at using his words, Destiny thinks he's so clever, Desire makes a confession, Rose Walker meets her Uncle's boyfriend, and Lyta Hall punches Dream of the Endless in the nose. Or, the one where Hob Gadling turns into everyone's therapist, and honestly, he ain't mad about it.

Set at the end of Cling Fast - after the premiere of “Elizabethan Manor”, but before the Epilogue.

KEEPSAKES

Short ficlets set in the Hob Adherent world, based on prompts received from readers. Includes tales of how Hob and Eleanor met and wed, Hob being a badass at a Ren Faire, some hurt/comfort and sleepy smut, and the story of how Hob met Orpheus.

TAKE ROOT

A deleted scene for a sequel I ended up scrapping.

[scifrey]

I'm between editing rounds again. Hmmmm.

Somehow I wrote 137k words of The Sandman fanfic in the last 5 months. Behold: the result!

This has been an incredible journey - I decided to step back into fandom while I was waiting on some publishing info and news, just as something to do to keep my creativity sharp. The community and reception I discovered, however, has been astoundingly welcoming. I feel reinvigorated and ready to tackle my revisions on my next novel!

THE HOB ADHERENT SERIES

In which Hob Gadling's Stranger returns, they start a weekly hangout, Hob becomes Morpheus' Emotional Support Human (tm), Matthew bullies Hob onto a Docudrama TV series where Hob pretends to be his own ancestor, and Morpheus is the King of Repressed Symbolism.

Status: Complete

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Includes some comics canon, and some fun cameos from the wider Gaiman-verse, but it’s not necessary to know to enjoy the story.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Discussions of grief and in-canon character death.

Relationships: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Eleanor | Hob Gadling’s Wife/Hob Gadling (past)

Primary Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Matthew the Raven, Lucien | Lucienne (The Sandman), Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Patrick the Bartender, All the Endless Siblings, Rose Walker, Jed Walker, Lyta Hall, Daniel Hall, Orpheus, Lucifer, (plus some cameos from other characters from the Gaiman Television-Literary Universe)

CLING FAST

Hob Gadling is a clingy bastard, and he’s not ashamed to admit it. He clings to life. He clings to hope. He clings to his love of humanity. He clings to his Stranger. He also, unfortunately, has a habit of clinging to his name.

Which means, when the BBC is looking for a new pet history expert to appear in their educational docudrama series “Elizabethan Manor,” they’re overjoyed to find a professor who (according to their meticulous research) is actually descended from the Master of the National Trust building they’re filming in - Gadlen House.

Only Hob knows how right they are.

Picks up a few hours after the end of Season 01 Episode 6.

CARPE DIEM

Hob turns six hundred and sixty-six, invites some fellow Immortals to his pub to celebrate, and receives a gift from Satan themself. Or, the Key to Hell was always going to Be a Problem(tm).

Set between the epilogue and chapter one of Cling Fast.

HOLD TIGHT

Hob is tasked with his first quest as Vassal of the Endless, Morpheus is bad at using his words, Destiny thinks he's so clever, Desire makes a confession, Rose Walker meets her Uncle's boyfriend, and Lyta Hall punches Dream of the Endless in the nose. Or, the one where Hob Gadling turns into everyone's therapist, and honestly, he ain't mad about it.

Set at the end of Cling Fast - after the premiere of “Elizabethan Manor”, but before the Epilogue.

KEEPSAKES

Short ficlets set in the Hob Adherent world, based on prompts received from readers. Includes tales of how Hob and Eleanor met and wed, Hob being a badass at a Ren Faire, some hurt/comfort and sleepy smut, and the story of how Hob met Orpheus.

TAKE ROOT

A deleted scene for a sequel I ended up scrapping.