#Hob Gadling is love sick

[obsessiveagony2point0]

Love Locket

"The locket signifies a special bond that is shared between two people."

Process Video

Original Post Date: February 21st 2024

Twitter/X•AO3•Pillowfort •Linktree•Bluesky•Ko-fi

[seiya-starsniper]

25.finding comfort in their scent from the prompt list?

Whooooo I finally managed to put together something for this! I kept accidentally veering off into angst territory ahahahaha. I promise this is all straight fluff though 💖

blossoming romance writing prompts

---------

Hob knows the exact moment when Dream enters his flat.

He is sick as a dog, running a fever hovering dangerously close to 39C, and he’s fairly certain the cold medication has given him some sort of hallucination about betta fish swimming around in the air.

Even still, though his eyes are heavy and he cannot smell a damn thing through his congested nose, Hob is somehow able to smell Dream.

Dream smells of ozone and petrichor, of starlights and sunsets, and everything in the world Hob has ever loved or found beautiful. He wonders if the anthropomorphic personification of dreams is just supposed to smell that way, like some sort dream come true.

“Hob Gadling,” Dream’s voice reverberates from within his bedroom. Hob didn��t even hear him pass the threshold. “You are unwell, according to my sister.”

Hob snorts, remembering the time Death had spontaneously shown herself in the middle of their now monthly meetings at the New Inn. Hob had nearly fled out of his own skin once he’d realized who she was, which only made her laugh. She reassured him that Hob’s life was his own, and she’d only ever come for him if he personally asked for her. Then she’d left as cryptically as she came, only saying she had an appointment to get to.

“I’m not going to die from a cold,” Hob snuffles, peeking out from underneath the duvet. “Surely things can’t be that dire unless there’s something you’re not telling me, Dream.”

Dream huffs, and Hob catches the barest hint of a smile. “It is not Death whose realm you were visiting,” the Endless replies. “My youngest sibling, Delirium, sends her regards.”

Delirium. Hob thinks. Well, that would explain the flying betta fish.

Suddenly, there is a coolness on Hob’s forehead, and he realizes belatedly that it is Dream’s hand. He barely bites back a groan of relief. He hadn’t realized just how overheated he’d become.

“You are feverish,” Dream murmurs. “It would be best for you to take your rest in my realm.”

“Unless you can magically cool down my whole body my friend,” Hob replies cheekily, “I don’t think I’m getting to sleep any time soon. Hand feels pretty nice though,” he adds, his thought to mouth filter utterly failing him in this moment. 

“You underestimate me, Hob,” Dream rumbles, and before he even knows what’s happened, Hob drifts off entirely.

He wakes in a field of green. There’s no fever, no congestion, and more importantly, no overwhelming dizziness. It’s peaceful here, and despite never having seen this place before in his life, Hob knows he’s been here before. 

Hob catches a whiff of starlight, and then turns his head to smile up at his oldest friend. 

“Has anyone ever told you how nice you smell?” Hob asks, clearly no longer caring for propriety.

Dream’s lips quirk in amusement before he takes a seat on the grass next to Hob. “And what do I smell like to you, my friend?”

“Hmm,” Hob contemplates for a few moments. “I suppose you smell like the universe.”

“How utterly vague of you,” Dream replies, deadpan. “Clearly the fever has rendered you unable to articulate properly.”

“I’m serious!” Hob exclaims, playfully shoving at Dream’s shoulder. “There’s no words to describe you. How you remind me of stars and moonlight and thunderstorms all at once. How you smell like the night sky before light pollution ruined everything. Or how you smell like my mum’s homemade stew that I’ve long forgotten the taste of. You just…you smell like everything to me.”

Hob watches then as a pink blush crawls up Dream’s neck, before slowly blooming across the Endless’s face. 

“It has been some time,” Dream says, averting his eyes from Hob’s as if suddenly shy. “Since someone found comfort in my presence.”

Has it? Hob wonders. He’s always found Dream comforting.

“I’ve always found you comforting,” Hob hears himself voice aloud at the same time. In for a penny, in for a pound, he guesses. “When everything else faded or died, there was always you. That’s always comforted me, even on my worst days.”

“Then I must apologize once more for depriving you of that comfort 33 years ago,” Dream says replies, sounding morose. 

“But you came back,” Hob answers, smiling. “And that’s a comfort all on its own.”

They fall into silence then, simply content to enjoy each other’s company. Hob doesn’t know what it is, but he knows something has shifted between them, here in his oldest friend’s realm. The dream itself is shifting too. Where there was once only endless fields of green, there are now flowers springing up from the ground, beautiful and yet otherworldly in their appearance. He reaches out to caress the petals of one of the blooms, not hearing the slight gasp it elicits from right next to him.

The last thing Hob smells before he wakes up is roses.

[valeriianz]

Dreamling Week June 7: 'Fake Dating' | human au

This was a mistake.

Dream sits outside the fitting room, back against a mirror as he waits for Hob to come out and show him his next choice. They were going to a wedding together, which in itself was fine, but the context behind it…

Dream should have said no. Should have scathingly told Hob to grow a pair and just deal with his family’s judgment. It wasn’t a bad thing to be single, but apparently in Hob’s family, being single at 35 years old, and for the past nine years, was a problem. 

Dream had often wondered how Hob had remained single for such a long time, he knew his friend was a catch. Charismatic, wicked smart, and roguishly handsome to boot. Dream couldn’t deny how he’d often catch himself staring at Hob, looking twice at him when they went out with friends, his smile wide and posture loose from a couple drinks. Or while Dream would help him build lesson plans, peeking sideways as Hob’s glasses began to slip down his nose and his hair would fall in his face. 

Or while he was trying on suits for his cousin’s wedding. Where they would be attending as a couple.

“Hob…” Dream had given him a flat look, controlling his features into something unreadable while his heart threatened to burst from his chest. “This is absurd. Could we not attend as we are– as friends?”

“That’s the easiest part!” Hob’s eyes were wide and imploring. “We’re already friends! They won’t even question it.”

And then he’d gone on a tirade that Dream was quite familiar with, having been Hob’s friend for so long, about how his family had moved on from being subtle to outright dogging Hob about his love life. Why hadn’t he settled down yet? Who was going to continue the Gadling name, if not their only son? At your age… With your talents and charms… Such a waste… on and on and Hob, understandably, was sick of it.

Any further complaints had died on Dream’s tongue. He should have tried harder to convince Hob that this was a stupid idea. That his family’s opinion didn’t matter. That Hob should keep living as he had been in spite of it all. Because honestly, in what universe could this possibly work? How does this not end with Dream vulnerable and weak and wanting?

Because Dream was head over heels obsessed with Hob. No, he wouldn’t say the L word. It wasn’t like that. He knew better than to fall into that trap again. It was easier, somehow, to be a little more deranged about it. A little unhinged… delusional.

Especially as he watched Hob walk out of the little changing room for the third time now, eyes stuck on the jacket around Hob’s shoulders, broad and strong, accentuating the lines of his arms and back, cinched slightly at the waist. His thoughts tripping and staggering as Hob’s long legs move to a full length mirror across from Dream, unashamedly staring at Hob’s thighs, firm and thick, and up to his ass, which the dark blue slacks hugged so well. 

Hob is pulling on the collar, turning this way and that, oblivious to the war raging inside of Dream.

“I don’t know about this one…” Hob is murmuring, tugging now on end of the sleeves. “Not sure if blue is my color.”

Blue is absolutely Hob’s color. Dream wants to say how fetching it looks against Hob’s golden brown skin, how it makes him look regal yet soft. How great it would look on the floor of the hotel room they would be staying at– oh fuck, Dream had forgotten about that. They’d be sharing a room.

Dream stood just as Hob kicked a leg out, looking down.

“And the pants are too long.”

“We can get that hemmed,” Dream kept his face impassive as he stepped up behind Hob, briefly meeting his eyes in the mirror before looking at the jacket.

He brushed his hands across Hobs shoulders, dusting off invisible lint, then down his back, straightening out invisible wrinkles. Before looking up again at the floor length mirror across from them.

They are nearly of height, Dream has maybe half an inch on Hob and can see how he stands behind Hob in the reflection. Can see how Hob has stilled and his eyes locked onto his. How he is staring back at Hob, his pupils shaking slightly, like he’s staring at something delicious. Dream swallows, letting his imagination wander.

He thinks about pressing up against Hob’s back, so his groin would slip comfortably against that perfectly round ass, how it might feel to get his hands on Hob’s waist, pulling so he could feel the way Hob’s shoulders fit atop Dream’s chest.

How Dream’s hands would slip around to Hob’s front, getting his fingers inside the fitted jacket and pressing them incessantly– intentionally, along the soft cotton of the white button down, how Hob’s skin might feel against it. How Dream’s hands would trail up to his chest, undoing those buttons as he went, revealing the thick dark hairs there and getting briefly distracted enough to comb his fingers through that mane, tilting his head to growl in Hob’s ear as he tightened his fingers and pulled just to hear what noise Hob would make in return. 

And while Dream’s lips were at Hob’s ear, he’d trail them down to his neck, biting into the unmarked flesh, tasting the salt and aftershave with his tongue, peppering kisses even lower as he pulled the fabric of the shirt and jacket off his shoulders completely and imagining the eager, wanton grown that would tumble from Hob’s lips as he tilted his head back, getting his own hand around the back of Dream’s head to pull him in for a sloppy kiss–

Dream blinked and found himself still standing behind Hob, who was fully dressed and looking back at him and– was he breathing heavy?

The daydream only lasted a second, just a flash of a fantasy Dream indulged in, but now he wonders if he’d been too obvious. He’s staring back at Hob, pupils dilated and lips parted slightly, like a panting dog about to pounce.

Dream clears his throat and looks down the length of the mirror, accidentally settling them on the seat of Hob’s pants and distractedly averting his gaze again to Hob’s back, the dark blue fabric before him.

“You look good, Hob.” Dream manages to force the words out, his voice lower than usual, hungry. “I think this is the one.”

“Yeah.” Why does Hob sound breathless? “Yeah I like this one.”

Dream nods and forces every cell in his body to step back, away from Hob and allow him to turn back to the fitting room. He keeps his gaze down, waiting until Hob is conveniently out of sight before he allows the heat he can feel crawling up his neck to make its way to his face.

[for @watercubebee and our shared obsession with seeing Hob in nice clothes and wanting Dream to tear them off of him *handshake*]

[merinsedai]

For @dreamlingbingo

Square/Prompt: A1: Sticks and Stones

Title: The Shepherd and the Stones

Rating: G

Ship(s): Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Warnings: n/a

Additional Tags: fairy tale, shepherd Hob, faerie Dream, inspired by folklore, standing stones and treasure 

Summary: This is the tale of a lonely shepherd and a cunning sorcerer; of a stone circle and a faerie treasure.

One Midsummer Eve, the giant stones of the high plain will rise from their pits and leave their treasure unguarded, ripe for the taking .

But for a faerie's treasure to exist in the mortal world, it requires a human sacrifice...

Link: Read on ao3 here or below the cut :)

Once upon a time, on the high fells of England, there lived a lonely shepherd. Once, he had had a family and there had been love and laughter in his home, but a great sickness had come to the land and stolen his joy. Now there was just him.

Alone and sad, the shepherd had left his village and journeyed to the North, away from the memories and any who knew him. He settled in a small village, nestled amid the wild hills and the wilder weather.  He moved amongst the villagers like a ghost, quiet and unnoticed, taking his small flock up to pasture every day on a high and windy plain and every evening returning to his sad and silent home.

Upon the plain, one could see for miles in every direction: there was the village to the south, the far off mountains to the west, and in the north- a distant, winding river. And right in the middle of the plain there stood a circle of 7 giant stones. No one knew how they had gotten there: the villagers were afraid to approach as there were tales that the stones had once been giants, turned to rock and moss as a punishment; and that the fairies who dwelt amongst them, and whose duty it was to care for them, would curse or trick any mortal who dared approach. 

But the shepherd was not afraid of the stones, nor the stories of the fair folk. Each day he took his sheep to graze on the high plain and there the weather was often harsh. The stones were the only shelter when the freezing winds blew in from the East bringing the rain and snow in winter; they were the only shade in summer when the sun beat ceaselessly down upon him; and moveover they were familiar, comforting, and constant. The shepherd began to regard them as friends, and whilst he rested his back against their craggy sides to eat his meagre fare, he talked to them and told them tales of adventure and romance.  And though he was lonely still, there was a happiness of sorts to be had there, alone amongst the stones.

Then there came a day, in the fading warmth of autumn, where the shepherd found he was no longer alone. For whilst he was preparing to take his midday meal, settling in against the biggest of the stones, he sensed a presence above him and looked up. 

Before him stood a strange and ethereal creature, shaped much like a man but quite evidently not one, not if the large and delicate wings at his back were any measure. They were beautiful, waving slightly in the wind, and he stared openly. At first they looked black, but as the sunlight caught upon them, they shimmered in shades of purple and green. And the creature they belonged to was himself a sight to behold: his skin gleamed palely-perfect, like moonlight on new fallen snow, his hair was long and black as night, and his eyes… his eyes were piercing and blue as a clear midwinter sky, and glowed as if lit from within. He was barefoot and wore a flowing robe that gleamed with the same iridescence as his wings. 

“Hallo,” said the shepherd, surprised but not frightened. He babbled on a bit when the stranger merely stared at him. “I’m Hob. The shepherd. Bring my sheep up here a lot. Though I’m guessing you already know that. You’re one of the fair folk, right?  Lovely spot you have here. What’s your name?”

“I have been listening to you,” the stranger replied, not answering Hob’s question. “You like to talk. You tell… interesting stories.”

“Well, I’m glad someone’s been appreciating them.” Hob said. “Not sure what Old Mighty here thinks, but he’s a good audience.”

The stranger's eyes flicked to the giant stone, then back to Hob.

“You are bold, to linger here.”

“Am I?” Hob said unconcernedly, paring his apple carefully.  

“Yes. Most mortals fear to tread lands touched by fae magic. And yet, you are here every day and you are not afraid. Instead you treat our stones with reverence and bring us gifts of stories and song. Why is this so?”

Hob shrugged. “Never found anything to be afraid of. Not yet anyway.” he added with a chuckle. “And I love it here. It fills me with peace. Would you like some apple?” 

The stranger was wary at first, recoiling slightly from Hob’s outstretched hand. But Hob merely placed the slice of apple upon his kerchief and put them on a rock to his side, then continued talking. Gradually he drew the faerie man in to him as he spun another wild tale while continuing with his meal. He spoke to the rocks, the sky, the grass, eyes occasionally darting to his companion, who eventually settled on the ground a few feet away, listening intently.

When Hob eventually wound his story down, he found the faerie suddenly closer than he expected. Eye to eye, they stared at each other.

“A fine tale, Hob,” the stranger said softly. “I thank you for sharing.”

“Anytime, stranger.”

The stranger smiled, a small secretive thing. “My name is Dream.” he said softly, and between one blink and the next, he was gone. 

And when Hob gathered the wits to look round, so was the apple. 

From that day on, Hob would often find Dream awaiting him amongst the stones. And while Hob would share his stories and food, Dream would weave him crowns of moorland flowers (whatever the season, he had flowers of white and purple and yellow; of mouse ears, tormentil and willowherb) and teach him faerie songs. When they were together, the time passed more happily and Hob wasn’t lonely anymore.

For he had found he had a friend.

***

Living in the same village as Hob was an old sorcerer who could understand the language of the animals and birds. The sorcerer’s name was Burgess and he was a cold and cruel man, though that was well hidden beneath a veneer of charm and amiability. The people of the village were in awe of the sorcerer, but they did not fear him. He had dwelled amongst them many years, studying the ways of magic, and they came to him for healing and advice when their crops failed. In return they gave him what they could, and he lived a life of some comfort, though as with many men he desired much more: wealth, acclaim and power. 

One day in early summer, the sorcerer was busy with his arcane workings when he happened to overhear the excited chatter of two sparrows who were sitting on his windowsill. Burgess made a habit of leaving tidbits for the animals to eat so he could eavesdrop on all their tales.

“Did you hear?” said one of the little birds to the other. “The stones are stirring! This Midsummer Eve, at midnight, they will rise from their pits and go to the river to drink!”

“I know!” answered the second, fluttering its tiny wings madly. “The whole flock is atwitter about it. The stones have not risen  for many turns around the sun! And did you hear that there is treasure in the pits where the stones stand?”

“Everyone knows that, silly,” tutted the first bird. “It is the faeries’ treasure! The stones guard the treasure and the faeries tend the stones. The magpies were very excited, they would love to steal it. But of course, they will be fast asleep come midnight.”

“They would be very foolish if they did, but that’s magpies all over.” The second bird hopped along the sill, searching for the last of the scattered crumbs. “The faeries’ treasure will turn to dust come morning unless the stones are given a human sacrifice in return. No hope of that happening! Come on, we’ve finished here… I heard the miller’s wife has been baking again…-”

And with that, the two little birds flew off. 

Burgess snapped his book shut and rubbed his hands, a gleeful smile spreading on his face. Faerie treasure, as he had long suspected! And it was his for the taking… but what to do about the human sacrifice…? The sorcerer sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers in thought. Well, there was only one choice, really. Only one person in the village who had no family or friends to ask awkward questions when they disappeared. It would have to be the shepherd.

***

That evening, Burgess went in search of Hob and found him finishing shutting his flock away for the night. 

“Robert,” purred the sorcerer, lacing his voice with just enough magic to make the other man suggestible and not suspicious. “I have the most wonderful proposition for you. Let us talk.”

Spellbound, Hob invited Burgess into his home and, over a cup of braggot ale, the sorcerer told the shepherd all that he had overheard. All, that is, except for one small detail. He made no mention of the human sacrifice.

“It is agreed then?” said Burgess with his wicked smile. “We shall meet on the plain at midnight and when the stones go to drink we will have treasure beyond our wildest imaginings.”

With another flick of his power, he swore Hob to secrecy- “We must tell no one; this is our little secret, Robert.”- and then he left, chuckling to himself at his own brilliance.

***

At first, Hob was excited at the idea of the treasure, imagining all the things he could do with it- all the places he could go. But later the next day, as he sat in the shade of Old Mighty waiting and hoping for a visit from his friend, he began to feel bad about it instead.

It would be very unfair to steal the stones’ treasure whilst they are drinking and unable to protect it. They are guarding it for the fae folk, and Dream is my friend… I could never steal from him, he thought, beginning to feel angry at himself for even considering it. It was just that the sorcerer had been so friendly, so convincing…. He pressed his palm into Old Mighty’s sun-warmed side and sighed. I will not do it. I don’t care if I stay poor my whole life. I will not do it.

A rustling in the brambles announced the arrival of the faerie, and Hob looked up at him, chewing his bottom lip.

“You look very thoughtful today, my friend,” said Dream, eyeing him closely with his head tilted to the side.

“I..-” Hob wanted to tell Dream of Burgess’s plan, but the sorcerer’s magic kept the words locked in his throat. “I was just thinking it was a most marvellous day! And I found some wild strawberries on my walk up here today. I was hoping you would share them with me.”

Dream favoured him with one of his small, secret smiles, folding his legs to sit neatly beside him, both of them resting with their backs against Old Mighty. They shared strawberries and stories, and Dream taught Hob a counting game with dandelion clocks. It was a beautiful day, peaceful and still. As always, Hob delighted in his fae friend’s company. He wished he could tell him of Burgess’s plan but he could not, and so that evening he departed with the words unsaid and an unhappy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

***

A few days later, Hob was awoken from a restless sleep in the deep watches of the night by a touch to his dreaming mind that brought him gasping back to awareness. Dream was there before him, bending over the bed and drawing his hand back from Hob’s forehead.  Hob had never before seen his friend outside the vicinity of the stones, and never at night. Dream was more otherworldly here, his features sharper, his hair wilder. The moonlight painted his pale skin with an ethereal glow and his eyes- so blue in the day- were washed to full black. Hob had never been afraid of Dream but now he felt a thrill of fear to know that fae magic had been at work upon him.

“You are correct in what you think,” Dream said without preamble or explanation.  “It would be wrong to steal from us and from the stones.”

“I...I know,” Hob said, trembling slightly. He did not question how Dream knew of his conversation with the sorcerer: the ways of the fair folk were mysterious and always surprising. He could not read Dream’s expression and he wondered if even his brief consideration of helping Burgess was enough to condemn him in the faerie’s eyes. “I wasn’t-”

“But you are our friend,” Dream interrupted calmly, a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth. “And we give you leave to take some of our treasure.”

“What-”

“But first,” Dream holds up a finger, forestalling Hob yet again. “You must cut a long trail of honeysuckle and lay it beside Old Mighty, and you must only take treasure from Old Mighty’s pit. For he is the stone that I tend, and it is by my invitation that you may enter.”

Hob struggled to sit up in the bed. “ Dream, I am not going to do it. I swear I am not! I admit I thought about it but I- I can’t do it. I’m going to tell Burgess tomorrow; try to persuade him of the wrongness of this deed.”

“I know you would try to refuse the sorcerer, my friend, because I know your heart,” said Dream.  “But Burgess’s magic sits deep within you still, and he will compel you whether you will it or no. To steal from a faerie treasure is the riskiest of ventures, and without the grace I now grant you, your death would be almost assured.”

Hob gaped at him. Dream sat down next to him on the bed, unexpectedly close. He pressed his hand to Hob’s chest and looked upon him with an unreadable expression.

“For the friendship you have offered me, I would give you a reward,” he said.

“I don’t need a reward-!”

“A gift then. One friend to another. Take it, please,” Dream said, pressing closer, his hand moving up from Hob’s chest to cup his cheek. Hob’s breath caught in his throat at the gesture, and the serious look in his friend’s eyes. 

“Yet one word of warning,” Dream continued quietly. “Do not let greed drive you, Hob. Be mindful of what you take. A faerie’s favour is hard won, and easily lost.”

Hob nodded shakily. He had no desire to lose this faerie’s favour. 

“But what about Burgess?” he asked after a moment.

Dream’s smile was back, only  grimmer now. Hob shivered.

“Leave the sorcerer to me.”

***

Late at night on Midsummer Eve, the sorcerer and the shepherd met on the plain to await the moving of the stones. Burgess performed some magic- a simple bending of the light- to make them invisible to any watching eyes, and in silence, they waited. As the church bells in the village began to chime out the midnight hour, clouds scudded over the moon and the earth began to tremble.  Hob watched in awe as the seven massive stones stepped from their pits and began to move across the plain, rocking gently from side to side as though walking on invisible feet. Peering closely, Hob could just make out some smaller, darker shapes flitting about amongst the stones: the faeries were escorting their charges to the distant river. Soon, only he and Burgess remained on the plain and all was silent once again. 

“Quickly,” hissed the sorcerer, pushing Hob onwards. “We haven’t much time.” They ran to the empty pits and Hob stopped dead- they were much, much deeper than he had anticipated.

“How will we get out?” he breathed, turning anxious eyes on Burgess who waved his worries away impatiently.

“Do not concern yourself with that,” he snapped. “Do you believe I came here so unprepared? I will lift you out with my magic, just as I will do with myself. Now go!” A sudden force propelled Hob forward and he stumbled, dropping down into the pit with a startled oath. The hard landing knocked the breath out of him, and he lay there gasping for a moment, listening to the sound of Burgess entering his own pit and the clang of metal as the sorcerer clearly began gathering his booty. 

The clouds cleared from the sky as Hob sat up and looked around. The sudden bright moonlight illuminated a hoard of treasure beyond Hob’s wildest imaginings. Gold and silver in every form: ingots and jewellery and goblets; gem encrusted scabbards and armour and torques; strings of diamonds and pearls; jewels in every cut and hue; and coins of every weight and denomination under the sun. Hob stared in amazement, picking things up and marvelling at their beauty. Then, mindful of Dream’s words, he gathered enough treasure to fill his pockets, whispering his thanks as he did, and settled down to wait for the sorcerer’s aid in escaping.  

Meanwhile, in a nearby pit, Burgess was shovelling treasure into sacks as fast as he could, heedless of what he stole. And all the time he was shovelling, he was smiling to himself and thinking that no one would miss that lonesome shepherd.

Time passed and Hob was growing nervous. He paced the pit, constantly looking up. He tried shouting for Burgess but heard nothing in response. What was the sorcerer up to?! Presently, there came the sound of a distant rumble which began growing louder and louder… the giant stones were returning from the river. 

Hob’s heart was beating triple time in his chest. I must get out of this pit, or I’ll be squashed by Old Mighty! he thought frantically. He began trying to climb out but the sides of the pit were steep and slippery, and he couldn’t gain a foothold anywhere. His fingernails were bleeding from his desperate scrabbling at the walls and over his own panting breaths Hob could hear Burgess screaming with fear, clearly unable to use his magic to escape his own pit.

Sighing, Hob resigned himself to his fate and sat down amid the treasure. It had been a decent life all told. His family had been a bright spot, and Dream… Dream was a bright spot still. Hob wasn’t ready to go, he wasn’t done with living yet. Blinking back frightened and angry tears, he looked up at the sky one last time…

… and leapt to his feet when he saw Dream peering over the edge of the pit.

“Dream!” he shouted, shock and elation both clamouring for dominance within him. “What-”

“Take hold of this,” Dream interrupted brusquely, and lowered the trail of honeysuckle which Hob had cut and laid beside Old Mighty earlier in the day into the pit. “I will pull you up.”

It was a very close thing. As Hob fell gasping onto the grass, Old Mighty stepped into the pit with a heavy thud. All around, there were echoing thuds as the stones returned home, and when the earth stopped trembling… Complete silence. 

“I apologise,” Dream said calmly, pulling Hob to  his feet. “I was delayed… and I have heard it is impolite to keep a friend waiting.”

Hob gaped at him, then laughed with the kind of relieved giddiness that only a near-death experience could bring. “You-! You mad creature!” he exclaimed. “I really thought that was the end for me…! And then you-! Oh, I could kiss you, I really could!”

There was a hand on his cheek, and his laughter stopped abruptly. Hob found himself caught in thrall to those gleaming black eyes.

“If you mean it…” Dream said quietly, “If you do not speak in jest or high spirits-”

“I have never meant anything more in my entire life,” Hob said somewhat hysterically and then he couldn’t say anything more because he quite suddenly had his arms full of Dream and his mouth thoroughly occupied. It was a glorious, beautiful thing. Dream tasted like starlight should and he kissed like Hob was the most desirable thing on the Earth. Hob would be quite pleased to do this forever: kiss his faerie love in the shadow of the great stones…

He pulled back, struck by a sudden thought. “Wait, what of Burgess? He had spells ready to get him and his loot out of the pit, but he never answered my calls and I heard him screaming…?”

“You stopped kissing me to ask me that?” said Dream petulantly, but with a smug smile tugging up his lips. “Worry not, the sorcerer is dealt with. His paltry magic was nothing compared to my own. The moment he stepped into the pit, he doomed himself, for I trapped him there and there he shall remain., until such time as I deign to remove his bones.”

From that day on, the sorcerer was never seen or heard of again. Hob, the shepherd, became a rich and benevolent land owner, beloved of his tenants. And although he never again took sheep to graze upon the high plains, he could often be seen up by the stone circle, resting in the shade of Old Mighty. And though mortal eyes could not see it, he was never, ever alone. He had found his happily ever after.

[dharmas-spam]

In wake of recent events and allegations against Neil Gaiman, I would like to release a statement that I know no one asked for. Because I have not been doing very well as of late, and this was the cherry on the shit sundae.

I hope you all understand that, in doing so, I do not mean to take away any attention from the victims. I just have to get this off my chest and clear the air I feel is polluted at the moment.

Here's my long-winded timeline of my interaction with Gaiman's work. Underneath will be my statement on these allegations and what I will be doing moving forward.

I first got into Neil Gaiman's work in June-July of 2021, around my birthday, although I had seen some of his work unknowingly over the years.

I will never forget the first time I watched Good Omens, and I will never forget the joy it made me feel from the first few frames. I finished the show soon after. The message of the beauty in individuality and the inherent neutrality of humanity made me feel hopeful for the first time in a while.

I read the book in October 2021 and was officially hooked. I started engaging in the fandom and found a place online where I felt wholly accepted. I made fanart, read/wrote fanworks, etc.

I then expanded my Gaiman-Verse knowledge in April 2022 and began reading American Gods, Anansi Boys, Trigger Warning, etc...and found great inspiration and solace in these works as well.

On August 5th, 2022, I watched Sandman the morning it released on Netflix, beyond excited, and then bought one of the large books with the first few comics complied inside after finishing the show.

My love for The Sandman universe only grew, and I gained new outlooks on life inside the character's words and actions. Death of The Endless and Hob Gadling were two characters that helped me better understand how to truly appreciate the world around me and the time I am blessed to have in it.

I received the full collection of The Sandman comics for Christmas 2022 and nearly cried with elation. I read through them like a beast and was given more of the extended works in the series (like Death's solo comic) later that same holiday. I was also given The Ocean At The End Of The Lane, and finished it in two days flat. I loved Mrs. Hempstock and her words on humanity.

As time passed, my passion for Gaiman's literature/media didn't waver.

I started dating my partner on June 1st, 2023, and Gaiman's work was part of what helped us bond, in addition to our already-lovely chemistry.

The EVERY kiss spoiler leaked and sobbed with excitement, lol.

Good Omens S2 was set to be released a few days after my birthday. However, I was very sick on my birthday and was rather miserable.

My parents went out of their way to make me Good Omens cupcakes in secret, and it was one of my best birthdays, purely because my father put in the effort to design them, despite my never letting him watch the show (which has since been amended).

That Christmas, I was given quite a bit of Good Omens and Sandman merchandise and started growing my collection of copies of Good Omens.

On April 25th, 2024, I watched Dead Boy Detectives the day it released, having been excited for it since November 2023, and found another media in the Gaiman-Verse that I adored and saw myself in.

Flash forward to tonight, July 4th, 2024, and I am devastated.

I spent the majority of my teen years consuming Gaiman's content and engaging in the fandoms. During the time, I found true happiness and felt comfortable in my identity, and I refuse to lie and say my self-discovery was not aided by the media he created.

I know this is not about me, but about the victims, and I know the allegations have been brought to light by many shady news sources, but I must finish my piece with this:

When J.K Rowling exposed herself as a TERF, I had not realized I was queer yet, but I was still deeply disturbed for reasons unknown to me. I separated the art from the artist, as I had loved Harry Potter since I was seven, and it was a way my mother and I bonded during hard times. It also helped me get through the height of quarantine and the horrors of puberty.

When I discovered Gaiman's work and the fandoms his work's inspired, I felt relieved: here was a white cishet person who cared for minorities and who created media for minorities.

If the allegations are true (which they likely are), it turns out my hero doesn't deserve his cape.

I will do as I did with J.K Rowling, with a much heavier heart. The fans deserve the joy and inclusion Gaiman's work has created, even if he himself is vile. I will continue to consume his work indirectly and in no support to him.

I encourage everyone in the fandom to stay calm during this time.

It is okay to be angry, sad, and confused. However, it is not okay to ignore the allegations altogether or the trauma these women have experienced at the hands of Gaiman.

This fandom is a safe space for many people, and I beg that it will remain that way.

I send out much love to the women who were hurt, and I hope you both find contentment.

[gabessquishytum]

It's very weird, but lately, any person Hob has dated has been going ~ insane. Like in an asylum, tasting colors, petting invisible animals, pulling their hair out in chunks, insane.

Up until recently, Hob hadn't noticed, not really. His stranger was back, and visiting Hob more frequently and spending time with Hob. So he hasn't had much time to pay attention. 🤷🏽‍♀️ To be honest, when Dream ('eeeeeeeh, a name, Dream) came back to him, Hob pretty much dropped everything & everyone whenever he deigned to darken Hob door.

So it took a while to notice. But he was supposed to meet Rory to catch up last week and Gwen for post trip drinks a month ago, and neither showed. When Hob finally got around to asking after them, he found out they were under a doctor's care. Indefinitely. It's so bad/so many of his past lovers have seemingly wound up in an asylum, that Hob is scared for Dream! Maybe knowing Hob drives a person crazy!?!

Ah, no that would be Dream,,,,,using his dreams and nightmares to chase away any demands on Hob's time, that is not spending time with Dream(, and Dream guesses his students; Hob's teaching is fine, he loves it so ~ but that school's administration better watch out. If Hob comes home mad one more time.)

AKSJDJFNFN this is very mean of Dream tbh. But he just wants Hob all to himself! Doesn't he deserve nice things after all that time he was captured?

Delirium is very cross with her brother indeed. He's getting far too close to crossing into her realm, and she doesn't approve of his reasoning. She likes Hob Gadling as much as anyone, and driving all his friends and lovers to madness is so unkind! She tells Dream all this to his face and warns him that she's going to return those poor people to their right minds. Dream’s going to have to find another way to keep his human's attention.

Dream is very annoyed but there's nothing he can do about it. He glumly shows up for his next meeting with Hob and sulks the entire time. Hob is equally glum because he's convinced that he's driving people to lunacy. He's so worried about it, he even warns Dream about it - "if I was you, I wouldn't hang around too long. I think there's something seriously wrong with me. I mean, it can't be a coincidence! I'm definitely making people go mad. My head of department has been signed off on sick leave and I'm sure it's all my fault."

At this point Dream realises that Delirium may have been correct. Hob does look rather miserable. So: no more madness inducing dreams and nightmares. He'll have to find another way to secure Hob’s attention.

And his solution? Next meeting with Hob, Dream shows up in the sluttiest little outfit he can imagine. He’ll have to do this the good old fashioned way and make sure that Hob can’t think of ANYTHING or ANYONE except for Dream.

Delirium approves, tbh.

[dsudis]

I hope this isn't weird, but you posted that and my brain threw this up for you:

Dream only listens with half an ear at what Hob is saying down the line, especially once he picks out "I'll come down but," and ignores the rest. He can pay whatever bonus is needed, and throw in some more.

Hob is, surprisingly, worth keeping. It's not just the skills but the fact that he seems to have, for a lack of a better word, a way with Orpheus. An understanding. With everyone else his son is difficult, he's Dream's after all, but he gets on well with Hob. It's a strange relief he hasn't felt in so long he might never have experienced it to know, for once, that when the weekend man is sick and Desire is making sure to harangue him and make up some reason Dream is needed immediately there is someone he can call. Someone reliable.

Which is why he feels almost nauseous with what feels like a betrayal he has only half a right to when he finally gets back to the house and gets his foot on the stairway and realizes the child's laughter he's hearing doesn't belong to Orpheus at all. Rare as it is, he knows his son. He takes the steps up two at a time and collides inelegantly with the doorframe, like a cat misjudging a corner, to peer into his son's room to see something so extraordinary it feels like a dream.

There's an unknown boy on the rug, building something complicated with Orpheus as if he spent every Saturday helping him erect a mishmash of Lego and Duplo and wooden blocks balanced on the belly of a stuffed once-white rabbit. Orpheus, who has prompted more calls and teacher's notes about the importance of sharing than Dream can count, and is now smiling while telling a fantastical story that seems to fascinate the other child. The one that looks just like Hob Gadling, who is watching them with a soft warmth in his face Dream has never seen, mastering a trick Dream can't get the hang of: being present but not intrusive as his son plays.

There's a rush of something, in his ears and his chest, warm and familiar and unwanted. He'd felt it last when Calliope had first held Orpheus and looked down at him, pink and roughly formed. He hasn't seen it since, much less felt it. He remembers, all over again, the way he does when Orpheus pushes his curls behind his ears in a mirror perfect imitation of his mother, who he can barely remember, because she'd left. She had not looked back. Hob is paid to be here.

"Mr. Gadling," Dream says, and pointedly does not waver at the vague and quickly hidden surprise on Hob's face at the address. "You may go now, I no longer require your services," he finishes, hardening his heart at the boys' pleas to be allowed to play, just for five minutes longer. "For today you mean?" Hob says, too calm, and Dream hears himself say "Clearly," without realizing he'd made a decision. He feels, strangely, that he doesn't regret it.

[Because he's gonna fall in love ho ho ho]

😍😍😍

[delta-pavonis]

Fic: i had a dream (i got everything i wanted)

i had a dream

Dreamling (Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling) | Explicit (Ch 2 only, Ch 1 is Teen+) | Finished (9.6k) Hob Gadling keeps a dream journal, Diary/Journal, Dream Meetings, Hob dreams of Dream, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, top!Dream, bottom!Hob, Dreams vs. Reality, Hob worries he is losing his marbles for a minute, First Kiss, Power Kink, Dream is stronger than Hob, D/s overtones, Possessiveness, Marking, Rimming, Anal Sex, slightly eldritch Dream, Love Confessions, Happy Ending

After over 130 years I have started to dream again. Real, tangible dreams, more than just wisps of smoke that dissipate when I breathe near them or sand that whispers through my fingers when I try to touch it. I used to keep journals like this all the time - I think they are packed away somewhere in one of my storage units - journals keeping track of my dreams.

As the Sleepy Sickness suddenly dissipates, Hob Gadling starts dreaming again. And what he dreams is remarkable enough that he writes it down.

Written for winterbitch on AO3 as part of the Dreamling Secret Santa 2022.

[scifrey]

Cling Fast: Chapter Ten

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) Unfinished (11 Chapters) PG-13 (for now) Unbeta’d

Today is the day that Hob drowns, and on the whole he's feeling pretty sanguine about it.

“We can’t know what the real Robert Gadlen the Third thought about his neighbors accusing him of witchcraft, breaking into his house, and dragging him out to the duck pond in a lynch mob, but they probably weren’t being as gentle as Georgie and Samir here,” Hob says up into the camera, which Melina has pointed down at his face.

Georgie and Samir each have one of his arms and one of his legs in a cradle carry, which they practiced before cameras started rolling. They’re walking him towards the pond in question, Melina following along in their wake with her steadicam rig. It’s actually kind of relaxing, being hauled around like a baby, Hob thinks. 

The journey toward the water today is very different from last time, if nothing else, which is helping him keep the two instances separate in his mind. The panic that Hob was afraid he’d be plagued with in recreating what was arguably the single worst death he's ever experienced hasn’t appeared. He’s decided he's going to roll with it.

It’s a long walk across the park from the original kitchen garden door to the pond itself. Luckily, there’s more than enough dialogue to fill it. 

“Gadlen was in his seventies by then,” Hob continues. “We don’t have any portraits of him from after the death of his son, but local reports claim that the man had failed to age a single day. Unlikely. But if you’re as roguishly handsome as he was...” here he winks at the camera, a suggestion from Shami that Hob had found too fantastically on-the-nose to resist. “Maybe he really did sell his soul to the devil to stay that way. The registry of the magistrate notes that there was howling at all hours from the House. The servants who fled the manor, one at a time over the decades, tell of their master spitting curses at the gods, and going mad with drink and grief. All pretty reasonable for a bloke who’s lost everyone he’s ever loved, if you ask me. No witchcraft required.”

Glenn, who’s been trailing along waiting for his cue, steps into frame. Today he’s dressed in the uniform of a high-ranking Elizabethan servant, and Melina stops walking and swings the camera up to for a medium-wide on his face. In the background, Georgie and Samir keep trudging along with their burden. Hob lets his head flop back, enjoying the ride now that he’s managed to make it through his bit without a flub.

“It’s the steward’s account of those dark years, and of this night in particular, that are of the most interest to historians,” Glenn says, picking up the narrative. “His name was Edward Fletcher, and he was more-or-less loyal to Gadlen for the entire time he served in his household. It was only after Gadlen spiraled that Fletcher started to lighten the estate’s purses to weigh down his own. It was also Fletcher who called down the witch-hunters.. In a surviving transcript of a confession Fletcher later made on his deathbed, he says…”

Glenn pauses here to unfold a prop letter, and reads it aloud:

“I didst wrong piteous Gadlen, and with a dormouse’s valor it was done.  Yet I shall gage to mine own last breath--which this well may be--that what confessions I have made previously I do not recant. That piteous knight was in truth untouch'd by death. Neith'r age, nor injury, nor the ov'rindulgence of drink didst settle upon his shoulders. Three score years of snow melted in his hair and left no whiteness behind. Many a sorrowful evening I did see my Master, sick with grief, fall upon his sword. And in the morning, I did see him rise from his death bed, a weeping Lazarus. Fearing for mine own immortal soul should I stay and abet such a nightmare creature, I could not remain in yond house."

Glenn folds up the letter and looks wryly over his shoulder at where Hob is–very slowly–being dragged to his death, before turning back to the camera.

“Fletcher may have felt guilty for betraying Gadlen, but he clearly had no problems robbing the dying man blind,” Glenn says, as if imparting a secret. “That fateful night, Fletcher let the angry mob in through the kitchen entrance, and then disappeared into the shadows with a pony-cart full of anything and everything that wasn’t nailed down. Portraits, tapestries, clothing, jewels, candlesticks, cash, and crucially–and luckily for us scholars in the twenty-first century–the contents of Robert Gadlen’s entire study.” Glenn pauses for a dramatic beat. “One wonders if he even stayed to watch the final, fatal result of his letter to the witch-hunters. He doesn’t seem like the type to have the stomach for it.”

Hob and his discount witch-hunters reach the banks of the pond just as Glenn finishes his final line. Glenn, as if to shame Fletcher and his cowardice, turns his back to the camera, and his face to the pond.

Too softly for Hob’s mic to pick up, Georgie counts “One, two, three–” He and Samir swing Hob back and forth, once, twice, and…! 

Lower him to the ground.

“Cut!” Harinder calls. 

Samir helps Hob to his feet, and wardrobe bustles over to make sure that the seat of his nightshirt hasn’t stained in the grass.

“I love the traveling shot, but I’d like a few in pieces to give us some options,” Harinder says, flipping through his binder of script revisions and storyboards, Celia hovering over his shoulder. “Let’s start with Bob, and while we’re doing Glenn, he can get into his wetsuit. That work for you Doc Bob?”

Hob gives him a thumbs up, and spends another half hour being dangled by his elbows and knees by two frankly very fit young men. Once he’s got feeling back in his limbs, Hob takes himself to get suited up, and tries not to think too hard about the fact that he’s not freaking out about the fact that he’s about to get shoved into the same lake he died in.

“Yoo-hoo,” Harriet calls from outside the wardrobe trailer. “Everybody decent?”

The wardrobe assistant, not the one with the honey-amber eyes, someone else, finishes zipping up the back of Hob’s suit and calls back, “Regrettably!”

Harriet laughs and opens the door and sticks her head in.  She whistles appreciatively. “That’s certainly a look.”

Hob, with his feet bare and his nightshirt pooled on the floor around his feet, wriggling to get the wetsuit laying properly, laughs in agreement. He’s too old to feel anything at all like shame in his body. It’s a good body. It’s loved, it’s eaten well, it’s been abused but bounced back. It is even now sword-strong and fit. It keeps him warm, keeps him here, and most crucially, it’s the body that made Morpheus orgasm so hard last night that his eyes literally whited out.

Still, it is deeply weird to be standing in front of everyone in what is essentially the absolute nude, only neoprene covered. He is extremely thankful that he’ll be doing his little swim with the thick nightshirt on overtop. He squirms into the shirt now, thanks the assistant, slips on some sandals, and joins Harriet on the gravel drive.

“Did Harinder send you to fetch me?”

“No,” Harriet says. “But I figured you’d maybe want to take a few minutes to check in?”

Hob is extremely pleased that Morpheus basically tricked Hob into confiding in this woman. She is a gem.

“I’m surprisingly okay?” Together, they make their way back into the park, crossing toward the pond at a leisurely pace. Hob reckons they must look a little silly to the rubberneckers gathered outside of the gates today: a woman in an old fashioned dress and a man in his nightclothes, taking a stroll in the sunshine. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s not bothering me. Maybe it’s that we're filming it in daylight, or that no one is screaming, or that they haven't asked me to struggle, or that everyone's so helpful and they've planned the stunt so meticulously, or the fact that I absolutely had not been wearing skintight rubber that night and it keeps grounding me in my body, or–”

“Or that you had a spectacular shag last night?”

Hob skids to a stop, staring down at his companion. “Why, Doctor Harriet Butler,” Hob says, clutching imaginary pearls. “What are you insinuating?”

“I’m not insinuating a thing,” Harriet says, chivvying them along. “I’m stating it outright.”

“There is now way you can possibly know what I got up to last night,” Hob starts, but Harriet’s gentle laughter cuts him off.

“Aside from the fact that you have been floating around all day in a post-coital good mood, I have eyes, Hob Gadling.” She points to the half dozen people idling around the edge of the pond, where the crew is setting up the shot of Hob being pitched into the water.

There, at the edge of crowd, is Morpheus. He’s in a pair of beat-up looking blue-jeans, an oversized v-neck teeshirt, and a brown bomber jacket that has STUNT TEAM embroidered on the back of it in obnoxious lime green. And on his neck is the most obscenely vivid hickey Hob has ever seen in his life.

Morpheus didn’t need to leave that there. Hob had no marks from their romp the night before. Everything had happened in the Dreaming, while his Waking body lay in bed and had a frankly embarrassing series of wet dreams. Hob had stepped into the shower with his pajama bottoms still on to unglue himself enough to strip without an unintentional brazilian that morning.

Morpheus had chosen to allow the marks to appear on his corporeal body. He wanted everyone to see how Hob’s mouth had savaged him, wanted them to imagine who might have done that to him, and where else there may be tantalizing marks and bruises.

He knows exactly what he's doing, the possessive little tart.

Hob feels his face flush up.

Harriet elbows him knowingly.

"That's the skinniest damned stuntie I've ever seen," Glenn says with a low whistle, ambling up to join them.

"I hope he's not the one who has to yank back up," Hob says, knowing for a fact that even at this distance, Morpheus will be able to hear him. “I’m more likely to drag him under.”

Morpheus detaches from the rest of the stunt team and heads in their direction.

“Uh oh, he saw you giving him the eyes, Harri,” Glenn chuckles. “Though I don’t know what kind of a chance you have. Looks like someone’s already tried to eat him alive.”

Hob grumbles, tugging on his ear. Morpheus walks right up to him, cups his jaw in his hands, and kisses Hob wet and open-mouthed without so much as a ‘may I?’

Hmph. 

Possessive and selfish indeed.

Hob has no complaints though. And also absolutely no problems with being that obnoxious PDA couple, if that's how Morpheus wants things to go. He could get used to having his lover's tongue in his mouth before they exchange their first pleasantries of the day.

“Hello, Hob,” Morpheus says, when he lets Hob up for air.

“Hello, dearheart,” Hob says back. “Don’t ruin my makeup before they ruin my makeup by chucking me in the water.”

Morpheus rolls his eyes, but steps back to turn his attention to the two mortals in their presence. Harriet looks smug. Glenn looks like someone slapped him between the eyes with a day-old mackerel.

"Duckie, you remember Harriet,” Hob says graciously, trying to subtly wipe at the moisture in the corner of his lips.

“A pleasure to be introduced properly,” Morpheus intones, accepting her offered hand and cupping it meaningfully between both of her. Some sort of understanding and forgiveness passes in their glance.

"And this is Glenn, one of the other presenters. Glenn, this is Morph, my boyfriend."

Glenn offers his hand as well. Morpheus gives him a perfunctory shake, not as invested in impressing the human who doesn't know who he is, but respectful of Hob's professional connections.

Glenn is a little less respectful, of course. "This is the flowers and Shakespeare plonker?"

"One and the same," Hob says cheerfully, wrapping his arm around Morpheus' waist and smacking a kiss off of Morpheus' temple.

"Come," Morpheus says. "You're needed for stunt rehearsal."

"As my liege commands," Hob says, and waves over his shoulder at Harriet and Glenn as they wander off.

"I would command a great many things of you," Morpheus whispers into his ear with a thick smolder.

"Later," Hob promises. "Thank you for being here. I know I didn't ask, and maybe I should have, but it makes me feel a thousand times better knowing you're right here on the shore to look after me if something goes wrong.

“The waking nightmares will not dare to plague you ever again,” Morpheus intones gravely. "I have unmade them."

Hob frowns. "That seems a bit mean. They were only doing their job. It's totally natural that I should have nightmares about it."

"Your heart is so generous, mine own," Morpheus says, and there's warmth and awe in his voice that Hob never thought he'd hear there. Not with Morpephus looking at him, at any rate. "But no, I learned my lesson with Gault. I thanked them for their attentive service, and then allowed them to request their next assignments and forms."

"Oh good," he sighs, and means it.

They fetch up against the group of stunties, and Harinder is soon stuck in as well, explaining angles and workplace safety. Before he knows it, Morpheus has bled out of the group like too little tea in too much water. Nobody even realizes he's gone.

Hob's heart does a little jolt—he hasn't abandoned you, Hobsie, he hasn't run away again, get a grip—when he registers that Morpheus isn't there. But a quick glance around, and Hob finds him on the far side of the pond, still in his mortal costume, but with Matthew on the ground next to him.

"So Doc Bob, what's going to happen is this," Harinder says at last, leading him to the little metal pier the crew has constructed into the pond. Of course, Georgie and Samir could throw him from the bank, but it’s too shallow that close to the shore, and Hob risks whacking into something. Even if bashing his head on a hidden rock wouldn't kill him, it would hurt. Besides, it would ruin the take.

Earlier that day, the stunt team divers had cleared a little spot a bit further out of rocks and rusted bicycles instead, right around where Hob is meant to land. Hob has half a mind to tell them to go back and search for the necklace he’d been wearing the night of the witch trial, but that might skirt a bit too close to knowing things he shouldn’t.

Instead he drops the tidbit in Harriet’s ear, and she makes an offhand comment about maybe getting some metal detectors at the bottom of the pond if they have time. You know, just for something to do while the divers are still on the clock, and Hob is rehearsing how the throw will go with Georgie and Samir one last time.

"Might make for a good segment," she says, and Harinder’s eyes light up with the possibilities.

The problem with getting wet on camera, of course, is that you can really only do it once.

So while the all the preparation and caution leading up to the big event is drawn out and monumentous, before he knows it, Harinder is shouting "One —two—action—three!" and Hob is sailing through the air and landing with a massive, flailing splash.

He surfaces laughing, whips his head off his forehead, and throws his arms in the air while he treads water to the celebratory whoops of the whole crew.

"Okay, okay, still rolling!" Harinder shouts over the noise. "You good to move on, Doc Bob?"

Hob shoots him a thumbs up.

"Great, come in closer, where you can stand, and we'll get your last few lines so you can go get warm. Chop chop, mate!"

*

Morpheus' get up comes with a fake ID badge, which allows him access to all parts of the set he shouldn't be in. Including the trailer that Hob's borrowing to shower off the chill and the stink of duckweed.

"I am proud of you," Morpheus says, slipping into the spray behind Hob.

Hob leans back against his chest and says, "Transpo leaves in an hour and I want to dry my hair. Make it quick, love."

So commanded, Morpheus obeys, much to Hob's satisfaction.

Exactly an hour later, Hob saunters to the transpo van in his street clothes, ready to head home and thinking vague thoughts about coercing Harriet and Glenn into getting out at The New Inn and share a few pints and stories with him.

Harriet takes one look at him and shoves him hard. "Uhg!" she laughs. "Keep your groupies out of the shared trailer!"

PREVIOUS | NEXT

[aquilathefighter]

smapril day 9

Day 09  fever dream | "I want what he's having." prompts by the lovely @staroftheendless ~ kink tags: come drinking

Despite getting a flu shot every year since the 40’s, Hob Gadling is sick in bed with it. A pile of tissues lays on the table beside him along with a now-forgotten cup of herbal tea. He’s slick with sweat, tossing and turning in his sleep.

In his dream, he’s at the New Inn but everything is upside down. He’s working the bar, but patrons are ordering drinks he’s never heard of. He serves up sparkly pink beverages to unicorns and zebras, a foaming brown potion to a large-bosomed wizard in grey, and finally a cup of something thick and white to a creature he’s not sure he can fully comprehend.

Hob sighs, watching the creature down the beverage when he hears a deep voice rumble, “I want what he’s having.”

Hob looks up (or down?) to meet Dream’s hungry eyes. The inn rights itself with a lurch, the strange people and creatures fading out of the room. Hob looks around, taking everything in.

Then he notices an empty rocks glass in front of him and a waiting Dream perched on the barstool. Hob cocks his head, confused. Dream gives him an expectant nod.

What kind of drink did that creature have? There wasn’t much but it was warm, and thick, and whitish…

Hob’s eyes widen in realization as he frantically tries to get his jeans unzipped. Dream’s gaze heats even further as Hob manages to get his cock out. He grips it, somehow already slick, and begins to pump his dick up and down. Hob uses all the tricks he knows to bring himself to completion faster, dying to see what Dream will do with his… beverage. He fucks into his fist, using his pointer finger to flick at the sweet spot under the head until he feels his balls tighten beneath him.

Frantically, he fumbles for the glass and manages to get it around his cock in time. From the other side of the bar, Dream moans. The sound brings Hob to his height, cock pulsing and spurting an inordinate amount of cum into the glass. When the last of it falls into the glass, it’s about a third full. He pants as he passes it across the bar to his lover and tucks his cock back into his pants.

Dream doesn’t take his eyes off Hob as he picks the glass up and turns it in his hands, pale fingers nearly the same shade. Then, he brings it to his mouth and pours the entirety into his mouth. Hob feels his cock come back to full hardness at the sight.

Dream logic.

Dream sets the glass down, dropping his jaw open enough that Hob can see how full his mouth is of Hob’s seed. He moans as Dream then closes his mouth again and swallows it all in one gulp, watching the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple in that long line of throat.

“Do you have more of this drink?” Dream asks.

Hob vaults over the bar.

[obsessiveagony2point0]

Sweet Babies ❤️ Hob is so in love

Process Video

Original Post Date: March 16th 2024

Twitter/X•AO3•Pillowfort •Linktree•Bluesky•Ko-fi

[rey-jake-therapist]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💗 (i don't know if you do these sorts of chain-letter things, or if you'd prefer not to, but for my part i do like to know which of their works a given author is especially hype on, so consider this an opportunity to gush!)

Well I've only got 6 fics available online so it's going to be easy to answer that LOL I used to have more, all Reylo fics, but one day I took them all off because 1) they were my first and last experience at writing "AUs" aka at playing dolls with characters I never really shipped in their canon universe (sorry for those who like them but I really don't get the popularity of that ship) 2) they were constantly snubbed so I thought I was a hack who couldn't write. Wrong fandom + imposter syndrome = I woke up one morning and went through a destruction phase. I kept the fics in my docs though. There's one I think I could convert into an original story.... One day 🤣

But back to the subject: I'll start to class them by personal preference rather than by fandom, so sorry if it looks a bit messy... Like the inside of my head haha.

Rise and Shine (The Sandman/Sweetbitter crossover)

I wrote this one as a gift for Tom Sturridge 💜 There was a girl on Twitter who had the wonderful idea of putting together a book containing fan art, fan letters and short fics, with the purpose of giving it to Tom when she'd meet him at the Basinkton Con. So I came up with this one shot, where Jake from Sweetbitter meets Dream of the Endless. Definitely my favorite work.

2. Lost Souls (Sweetbitter)

It's an unfinished project but it's my 2nd favorite fic. I just love this story and even though it's quite clear that I lost my audience lately, probably because I spend too much time on my characters' personal story and not enough on the romaaaaance for most of fanfic readers, I like very much the direction it's taking. I'm actually considering dropping it as a fanfic and turning it into an original novel. Lately I've been sick as hell and unable to write a line, but I thought a lot about this fanfiction thing: I don't get the hang of it. I tried, and tried, but I can't seem to grasp what the average fanfic reader wants. And Lost Souls, well, with a few changes I think I can easily make it an original story. Not to mention that "Jake", yikes.... I really don't like that name. Anyway, I love this fic.

3. Dream a Little Dream of Us (The Sandman)

It's my version of "Johanna Constantine, Nuala the Elf and Hob Gadling walk into a bar..." Except it's happening after Morpheus' death, and they're all dreaming. It's a very sweet fic that I wrote for Sandtober 2023 and I like it very much:

4. It's So Cold (Sherlock, platonic Sherlolly)

I warned you it would be messy, didn't I? 🤣 For this one I put myself in Molly Hooper's shoes and tried to imagine remember how it felt to be in love with a man who doesn't love me.

5. Bitter Sweet Lullaby (The Sandman, Dream x OC)

This short "story" is in fact an excerpt from the Sandman fic I began writing several months ago but that I have reworked so it would stand on its own for Sandtober2023.

It tells a part of Dream's past, where a fae named Eleanora, the princess of Faery, made Dream happy. I'm sorry I can't tell you more about her and what happens to her because it would spoil the fun to come, except that she is post Endless Nights and pre-Vortex but pre-Titiana and pre-Alianora.

In this scene I also include Larri Bea’s lovely song ‘Dream’s lullaby’; as it was written specifically for Dream, it gave me the idea of having it sung to him by the woman he loved :)

[mimisempai]

It's just a risk to take - 2/2

Chapter summary

Dream and Hob have lost sight of each other... but who knows what the future holds...?

On Ao3

Rating G - 3248 words (2nd chapter)

Time had passed since the annulment of their marriage.

Weeks became days, then months and eventually years.

He never saw Dream again.

Life had gone on because Hob was like that, he kept moving forward no matter what. 

His circle of friends had not grown, and he could always count on his two pillars Matthew and Johanna.

The only ones who knew everything about him, even his regrets.

The only ones who supported him in everything he did and who never judged him.

Like today.

They were both here with him.

It was their eyes that he met first when he heard the first note of the wedding march resound in the church. Johanna winked at him in encouragement and Matthew gave a thumbs up in support. Hob took a deep breath, tightened his bow tie, smoothed his jacket and his gaze shifted from his friends to the crowd.

He couldn't help but smile inwardly in an ironical way because of the comical repartition of the people in the church. On his side, having no family left and very few friends, there was no one except his two best friends and some colleagues. On the other side was a crowd of people he didn't know. 

His gaze continued to wander and fell on the woman who had just come through the gate on her father's arm.

Eleanor. Beautiful in her white dress, she was smiling softly, radiant with happiness.

He watched her walk down the center aisle until she arrived in front of him. She kissed her father before he symbolically gave Hob his daughter's hand with a friendly nod.

Then, Hob and Eleanor both stood facing the priest who addressed the crowd, "My friends, we are all gathered here today in this place to celebrate the union of Eleanor and Robert."

When the priest made them sit down to give his preaching, memories that Hob thought he would never find surfaced in his mind.

Dream stumbled as he got up from his bar stool and Hob just as staggering got up to help him walk, "Come on, I'll walk you back to your room."

Arm in arm, as best they could, they walked out of the bar and were heading for the elevator when Dream suddenly exclaimed, "Oh look, a chapel, it says they marry at all hours of the day and night!"

Hob giggled, "You want to get married?"

Dream, staggering, retorted, "Don't make fun of me. I've been dreaming of becoming Dream Gadling since I met you."

Hob giggled again, "Well, I want to be Robert of the Endless. It's much classier."

This time it was Dream who giggled, "Pfff so let's become Dream and Robert of the Endless-Gadling."

Hob, standing up straight, or rather trying to stay up straight, replied, with a challenging tone, "I dare you."

Dream held his gaze, took his hand and led him into the chapel, then turned back to Hob, looking surprisingly more sober. He said to him, "Robert Gadling, promise me that tomorrow you won't have forgotten anything."

Hob stepped forward and grasping Dream's face in his hands, he pressed a sounding kiss to his lips and said in a loud voice, "I promise you that if you don't forget anything either."

But in the end, they had both forgotten.

And now it was far too late.

"Please stand up."

Hob was snapped out of his thoughts by the priest's voice and stood up along with everyone else.

"We will now proceed with the exchange of consents. Eleanor, Hob, please hold hands."

Eleanor's warm hand grasped his and the priest turned to her, "Eleanor, will you take this man, Robert, to be your husband, to live together in marriage, will you love him, comfort him, honor him and keep him, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, as long as you both shall live?"

Eleanor took a small breath and answered in a clear, strong voice, "No."

Hob heard the crowd gasp echoing his own gasp.

He asked in a breath, "Eleanor...?" 

She looked at him, still smiling, "Hob... look around you..."

"But... what... what are you..."

Eleanor whose smile never left her lips repeated to him with insistence, "Look around you, please."

Hob could only obey and turned around. He could not hold back another gasp.

The church was empty.

No one was there. Even Matthew and Johanna were gone.

When he turned back to Eleanor and the priest, the priest was gone too. Only he and the young woman were left.

Shocked, he asked Eleanor, "But why? I don't understand. What's going on?"

Eleanor raised her white-gloved hand and, touching softly Hob's cheek, said gently, "Hob, you don't belong here. This is not where you belong. We have had our time, we have loved each other, we have been happy but now it is time for you to move on. Your happiness is elsewhere and in the bottom of your heart, you will remember that."

Stunned, Hob tried to intervene, "But, Eleanor...I..."

The young woman shook her head, "You know it, you will remember it... Go my love and be happy without regret. Don't be afraid... everything is fine, I am happy and now it's your turn."

She leaned forward and told him gently, "Close your eyes now."  His throat tightening, he obeyed and Eleanor whispered in his ear, "Go to him." then he felt a brush against his cheek with a final whisper, "Open your eyes now."

He heard Johanna's and Matthew's voices echoing and saying the same words to him in turn.

"Open your eyes."

Suddenly Hob opened his eyes and he was no longer in the church.

It was night and he was in his bed. 

He looked around and reality began to unfold in front of him.

He whispered, stunned, "This... this was all a dream?"

The hotel, the wedding, Dream, Matthew, Johanna and even Eleanor.

All of that! A dream?

Hob sat down on the edge of the bed and thought, remembering his dream.

After a few moments, all the absurdity, all the clues proving to him that it had all been a dream, suddenly jumped to his eyes. 

First of all, there was Matthew, Dream's faithful companion whom Hob had come to know and whom he had made a friend. But he was a raven, who spoke for sure, but a raven, not the man whose appearance he had taken in Hob's dream.

There was Johanna, whom he and Dream had seen several times since they were reunited.

Matthew's room number, 0607. June 7. The date of his meetings with Dream every hundred years, the same date that was on both the marriage certificate and the annulment. 

Matthew's reaction to the idea of the wedding being annulled. As if he disapproved. Hob remembers all those signs he had given him. All those answers that Matthew had immediately denied.

Everything was becoming clear.

He whispered to himself, "No wedding, no annulment, Dream and I are still together." Even though it had only been a dream, the feeling of loneliness when he hadn't seen Dream again was still vivid in him. But thankfully, it had really only been a dream.

He whispered again, "But why did I have this dream?"

The moment he asked himself, he knew perfectly why. 

The reason was Dream's words when he had walked him home the night before.

"Robert Gadling, how about we make our relationship something more permanent."

They stood in front of Hob's apartment door and his stranger who was no longer a stranger, had a gentle gaze as he leaned into him, pressing his lips into a soft kiss. Then he stepped back and continued, "Take your time to think about it. I'll expect your answer tomorrow at the inn, same time. But if by any chance you wanted to see me before then, just call me out loud or think my name loudly, and I'll be there."

Then Dream had disappeared leaving Hob at the door of his apartment.

One did not have to be Freud to know that his dream had been provoked by Dream's words. Before falling asleep, Hob had only thought about Dream's proposal. He had turned it over in all directions, thinking about the consequences, good and bad. Especially the bad ones.

And his subconscious had produced this incredible dream. 

Fueled by his fear of committing himself again. Fueled by his fear of losing someone he loved again.

Because this time it would be a relationship of which he had no way to anticipate the end. For the first time he would be with someone who didn't have a life span much shorter than his own. There would be no escape. 

But did he want to escape?

Did he want, as in his dream, to avoid becoming permanently attached to Dream for fear of losing him?

Although he hadn't heard them that way in his dream, Hob imagined the exchange of consent if the marriage had been with Dream.

"Robert, will you take this man, Dream, to be your husband, to live together in marriage, will you love him, comfort him, honor him and keep him, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, as long as you both shall live?"

Hob had his answer.

Of course he wanted it all. With Dream.

What he stood to lose if he didn't want to be engaged with Dream would be greater than what he could lose if it didn't work out. After everything they had been through, their dreadful parting in 1889, Dream's entrapment, that risk seemed even smaller.

He muttered to himself, "Yes, I do want all of that."

But that wasn't enough for him, he had to tell the words to Dream.

Not in twelve hours.

Now.

“But if by any chance you wanted to see me before then, just call me out loud or think my name loudly, and I'll be there."

Why should he wait?

He called, "Dream!"

Nothing.

He called again, "Dream!"

This time the lord of dreams materialized in front of him in a cloud of sand and his familiar voice uttered, "I am here."

Then Dream's expression turned worried when he saw Hob, and he asked, "Are you all right?"

Hob swallowed, rushed over to him, and grabbed his hands, the words jostling on his lips, "I have to say something, because I don't think I made myself clear. I... I-"

Dream interrupted him, telling him in a reassuring voice, "Hob... hey, easy… calm down. Breathe."

Hob shook his head, "Let me continue, otherwise I won't be able to tell you. I am in love with you. Powerfully, painfully, madly in love with you. You've gotten under my skin in a way I never thought possible. I get excited every time I'm about to see you. And now that we've finally reunited, you make me feel like I've never felt before in my life. I want you to know that. I was shaken, overwhelmed by the enormity of what you were asking of me. But now I know. I know that I don't want to wait any longer, not even twelve hours to tell you that I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you. I-"

Hob was forced to stop because Dream had raised his hands and grabbed his face, leaning in to press his lips to his. His fingers slid through Hob's hair, pulling him against him as he kissed the man hungrily. Dream pulled back several times to reconnect their mouths again and again, not giving them time to breathe, as if he couldn't get enough. 

When they finally separated long enough to catch their breath, forehead to forehead, panting, Dream whispered, his voice tight with emotion, "Every time... every time I think I've seen everything about you, you amaze me again and again. You can't even imagine how much I love you. How much you're the one who's gotten under my skin and have been since day one, since the first cheeky smile you threw my way."

Now that he had opened his heart, Hob was no longer afraid and he wrapped eagerly his arms around Dream's waist, pulling him against him in turn to reconnect their lips in another heated kiss, making the Lord of Dreams moan into his mouth.

Every time one felt that the other one wanted to withdraw, he pressed himself even more against him and the other one submitted, totally consenting victim of their mutual passion.

They didn't even know how long it had been since they started kissing. It was only when they both felt they couldn't continue without breathing that Dream slowly withdrew, just enough for them to catch their breath, once again.

They were panting, mouth to mouth, their breath heated and their hearts beating frantically not only from the kiss they had just shared but from all the emotions that were running through them.

Then Dream captured Hob's lips once again, but this time the kiss, though filled with the same passion, was soft and slow, with nothing of the frenzy of the previous one. I was a kiss that celebrated the new nature of their relationship and was rooted in the feelings they had for each other.

When they parted, Hob asked with a curious expression, "Tell me, you had nothing to do with what I might have dreamed last night?"

Dream looked at him, genuinely confused, "No, not at all. I don't even know what you dreamed about, it's all you. Why?"

Hob shook his head, "For nothing..."

Then his expression serious again, he asked, "Dream, where do we go from here?"

Dream grabbed his hand and, kissing it gently, simply replied, "We'll figure it out together," before wrapping his arms around him tenderly.

They did figure it out.

A few months later, it was not along the aisle of a small tourist chapel in a hotel, nor along the aisle of a church that Hob and Dream walked together to the altar. Their feet were following a path of flowers, each one more exquisite than the other. They had for roof a blue sky that no clouds came to trouble. They had the light of a warm summer sun and all around them, the shimmering nature of Fiddler's green.

It was not the music from a pompous organ that accompanied their steps to the altar, but the song of the birds and fairies who had come for the event.

There was no large crowd, no empty side, but a small group of friends and shared family. Only people they loved and were loved by, who had gathered to celebrate Hob and Dream’s happiness.

There were no white dresses either, but both of them looked stunning in their black ceremonial clothes adorned with a starry sky that scintillated with each movement.

Johanna was waiting for them at the foot of the altar to bind them in a magical way.

Her voice was clear and strong as she addressed the gathering, "Friends, we are here together on this blessed day, at the edge of this realm and the next, to witness the union of two loving souls. 

We stand where flesh and magic meet, in the company of friends and spirits. 

Dream and Hob have chosen this day to unite, to cast a bond for all eternity. A bond that not even death can break.

As nature explodes around us in all its colors, its bounty slips quietly into the serenity of this realm, then, like a soft, slow breath, exhales into what awaits beyond. 

Love is woven into this breath. Unending. Eternal." 

Johanna then turned to Hob and Dream.

“Hob and Dream, are you ready to marry?”

There was not a hint of wavering in their voices as they answered in unison, “Yes!”

Johanna continued, "And have you come of your own will, compelled by love only?”

“Yes!”

Once again their voice was resolute.

Johanna came closer and told them, "Then let us cast the spell. Repeat after me."

Heart bound to heart, 

and soul bound to soul - 

I am my own but also yours. 

Our union grows of kindness and caring, 

Of trust well-deserved 

and love unerring.

Heart bound to heart, 

and soul to soul bound - 

This love is a home of our own. 

Their voices were as strong as ever at the end of the spell, but tinged with a fragile emotion that brought tears to the eyes of many sensitive souls in the audience.

Johanna, apparently also subject to emotion, coughed to regain her composure and gently instructed them, "You may clasp your hands."

Face to face, in front of the altar Dream and Hob clasped hands. At that moment, Hob could not hold back a small gasp, realizing the enormity of what was happening. He felt his old fears trying to come to the surface but it only took a little pressure from Dream's hands on his to make them go away. He raised his eyes and there, diving into those of the lord of dreams, he felt the last remnants of fear vanish in front of the love they were brimming with.

Hob was ready.

Johanna stated, holding a red cord in her hands,  “To honor this unbreakable bond on this and all planes, material and ethereal,  Dream and Hob will now bind their hands.”

Johanna, wrapped the cord around the couples clasped hands and ties the knot loosely. 

Hob whispered so that only Johanna and Dream could hear him, "You know, Jo' you can tighten the knot."

Johanna chuckled silently, "Why darling, are you afraid he'll run away?"

Hob thought back to his dream, the moment he had seen Dream walk away from him, and looking up at Dream again he replied in a clear voice, "No."

Dream muttered, "I see I can't even expect the two of you to be serious at our bonding ceremony..."

Johanna placed her hands on their knotted hands and asked softly, "Are you ready boys?"

Dream and Hob nodded in concert.

From Johanna's hands came a golden glow that surrounded their two knotted hands as she spoke these words in a strong voice, “Dream and Hob,  as you have been, and as you will be, in this world and in every world to follow, together, may you be bound in love, now and forever!”

Dream and Hob felt the warmth of the magic spread from their hands to their hearts, binding them together unbreakably. Then the magic dissipated, the knot loosened and fell to the ground, vanishing like the golden glow. The magic had worked, they felt it in themselves, this invisible but strong and unbreakable bond. There was no longer any need for a physical proof to symbolize what bound them together. 

Johanna, with a bright smile on her face, announced, "I now pronounce you married!  This ritual is done. To all, blessed be!"

Then, to the applause and cheers of the audience, Johanna leaned over to them and with a wink whispered, "I know you've been thinking about this moment since the ceremony started, so I'm telling you: You may kiss." 

Indifferent to everything around them, there was only mutual love and devotion in Dream and Hob’s eyes as their lips joined in the kiss that sealed their union.

They would remember this wedding for the rest of their lives, as long as it lasted, because this wedding... there was nothing accidental about it.

Chapter 1

________

It was really fun to write something like this and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it 🥰

Don't hesitate to tell me. 😉

Masterpost here

Dreamling Masterlist here

[valeriianz]

10 fandoms / 10 characters / 10 tags

tagged by @virgo-dream and @seiya-starsniper, thank you! this took me a while... the way my hyperfixations work is, i'll completely devote myself to a piece of media for a time... then once i find something else i move on almost entirely lol. i of course still have a very soft spot for the shows/video games listed here (as well as my blorbos, such as they are) but the only fandom im currently active in is, of course, Sandman.

1: Levi Ackerman - Attack on Titan

I am in a love/hate relationship with AoT lmao (and some day i WILL finish the final season) but nothing, not even fandom war, will ever change my love for Levi. I'm obsessed with his backstory, how he came into the Survey Corps, and how it all sheds light on the decisions he makes and the tragedies he suffered through. I was fascinated by him since S1 and after the No Regrets manga came out, I was done for. He has been through so much and despite how cruel and unforgiving he seems, he actually has the biggest heart and-- guh I just love him. He deserves the world ;^;

2: Zuko - Avatar the Last Airbender

Truly was torn between Zuko or Katara... but I have always had mad respect for Zuko's redemption arc and how brilliantly it was written. I love how it takes a full season and a half for him to have this war within himself, that he makes the right decision but then regresses... before literally becoming sick with indecision and change. And then he finally proves his worth and becomes the most loyal friend and a perfect leader to rebuild a broken society. I'm a sucker for good character stories, and Zuko's arc in ATLA is my hands down favorite ever.

3: Roxas - Kingdom Hearts

God I just love tragic male characters, huh? lmao. This one is a no brainer to me. Roxas is the OG blorbo. I fell in love with him at the tender age of 17 and have never looked back. He is kind and loyal but also a feral gremlin. He is so goofy but sad and god dammit, I love his voice and his baby blue eyes. Also this line, "This could have been the other way around." *shakes fist* MY BOY!

4: Faye Valentine - Cowboy Bebop

We love complex characters in this house! Faye has all the traits of a character I usually wouldn't vibe with: she's arrogant (without much to back it up lol), lazy, and is susceptible to addictions. But oooh do I love a character who uses negative traits to hide how emotionally vulnerable they are. Faye appears strong, mean, and confident to a fault, but inside she craves companionship and is incredibly lonely (despite her lone wolf tendencies). Rewatching the show as an adult, I found Faye and I have a lot in common lol. She needs a hug.

5: Hob Gadling - The Sandman

Do I really need to say anything? lol I love that Hob is the fandom's plaything; molding and shaping him and writing him in all sorts of different ways... but I do adore his canon character. He is brash, stubborn, at times cruel and violent... but then immeasurably kind, loyal, and forgiving. He takes on immortality in unexpected ways. he thrives, he suffers, he works, he regresses, he makes mistakes, he learns from them, he changes... he is THE human experience.

6: Daenerys Targaryen - Game of Thrones

Robbed. Robbed. Absolutely robbed. The writers did Daenerys so dirty, I refuse to accept the final 3 seasons of GOT as canon lmao. (and here's another thing: I would totally accept her spiral into "madness" if it had been handled seriously. If the writers didn't just pull this out of their ass and instead thoughtfully worked in justifiable reasoning for her to go crazy). I'm 100% a stan and there's actually nothing you can say that will change my mind :)

7: Cal Kestis - Star Wars, Jedi: Fallen Order

My SON. My BOY! I have the adoption papers ready.

8: Tifa Lockhart - Final Fantasy VII

Another OG blorbo lmao. She's been with me since I was a teenager (also I always shipped her with Cloud, not Aerith. I do however ship Aerith and Zack... the latter whom almost made this list. Anyway-). Tifa is the badass motherfucker with a heart of gold. She is insanely loyal and truly the wisest of the bunch.

9: Mickey Milkovich - Shameless

ANOTHER BROKEN CHARACTER WHO GOES THROUGH EXTREME DEVELOPMENT? Can anyone sense a pattern?? This motherfuckerrrr *shakes Mikey and slaps him in the face and sobs* God I love it when a seemingly irredeemable character goes THROUGH IT and comes out shining a new, yet somehow the same old, sarcastic bitch.

(Also please note that Lip Gallagher almost made this list. Another shining example of the writers doing his character the WORST injustice just to keep him on the show. He should have stayed in college. He almost GOT OUT. He almost broke the chain. What he did was not in line with his character and I will stay mad about it).

10: Cesare Borgia - The Borgias

THIS. GUY! AURGH!! Arrogant, violent, sexy bastard. You piece of shit. Cesare actually did everything wrong, he doesn't want to be redeemed. But he is so fucking charismatic and I love that he uses it to his advantage. He's so fucking smart and quick on his feet. He's SUCH an asset on the battlefield. And he LOVES his family! He will kill a bitch with his bare hands if they dare insult his mother or sister. I love that he grumbles when given advice from literally anyone that isn't his most trusted friend, bodyguard, and assassin, Micheletto. Doesn't even flinch when he discovers Micheletto is gay, actually teases him for being a momma's boy, and genuinely grieves for his loss when he flees. He says out loud how he misses him and actually begins to doubt himself without Micheletto there to counsel him. Cesare is everything to me, actually.

tagging, no pressure!: @rainy-days-and-nights @the-cloudy-dreamer @kemurai6-dominion-of-dust @ferelden-loser @teejaystumbles @tj-dragonblade @hardly-an-escape @sutoribenda @quillingwords @mathomhouse-e

[gabessquishytum]

Spent the weekend pouring over your galaxy-brained posts, thought I’d toss an idea I’ve been bouncing around for a bit into the ring; after their 1689 meeting, Dream increasingly indulges in thinking up the occasional fantasy of what-ifs, in which he swooped in to rescue Hob from any number of the awful things he went through during that century. To be fair to Dream, they start out and often continue to be about simply giving Hob the food and shelter and compassion he’d been deprived of, magnanimously giving his human friend acquaintance some much-needed comfort and perhaps receiving a bit of gratitude and awe in return.

But at some point the fantasies turn and grow, in which Hob decides to express his gratitude with his body, or Hob swoons into Dream’s arms after being rescued from the witch mob and all but throws himself at his knight in black armor, or Hob becomes so sweetly pliant from the food and baths he desperately needed that he allows Dream to use his body as he pleases; when you’re the Prince of Stories, the list of scenarios to play with is varied and endless ;P

But then when 1789 rolls around, and Lady Johanna and her thugs show up, presenting Dream with this wonderful opportunity to make one of his fantasies a reality (and if he’s lucky, it’ll be one of the sexy ones), before he can do anything swoon-worthy Hob throws himself into the fray and-

Oh. Hm. Now that’s something to consider. “You need not have come to my defense.” But that’s okay, this is a whole new avenue to explore, Dream’s not gonna abandon his old fantasies, but he does need to leave immediately so he can go examine the many new ‘Hob coming to my defense’ ideas coming into his head.

(And maybe this possibly turns into a fishbowl rescue au, as Jessamy has read Dream’s diary or smth and thus knows the best thing to do is go find Hob Gadling, she can get her lord rescued and laid, it’s a win-win. The sleepy sickness was a strange phenomenon that was never adequately explained, but didn’t last very long in the grand scheme of things so the world shrugged and moved on. Hob doesn’t quite follow how a talking bird telling him that His Stranger was in trouble lead to the best sex of his long life and a relationship with the King of Dreams involving quite a bit of roleplay, but you won’t catch him complaining)

I’m so fascinated by the idea of Dream having fantasies and daydreams of his own!! How does it play out in the dreaming, I wonder? Does he get to participate in live-action fantasies, or see it all play out like a film in front of him? I can totally see Dream getting intoxicated and wound up in these intricate scenarios.

Poor Jessamy has to spend a lot of time overhearing Dream’s horny daydreams about this random human, but GOD she’s glad that she was paying attention, when Dream gets captured! When Hob actually comes to rescue him it’s a whole lot less sexy than Dream was imagining. Hob gets shot (twice), there’s blood all over the floor, Hob basically uses a crowbar to smash the glass and it goes everywhere - not a pretty sight.

So. Once Hob is sufficiently recovered and Dream has dealt with the circumstances of his capture, he basically scoops Hob up into the dreaming and announces that they’re going to roleplay the rescue all over again, but this time it’s going to be romantic and sexy and Dream is going to swoon in Hob’s arms without either of them being covered in blood and broken glass, thanks very much.

Hob (who is still very confused but very happy to participate in anything that Dream wants from him) gladly rescues his Stranger all over again, and this time he also gets lovingly pounded on the basement floor. He’s not totally convinced that he isn’t hallucinating the whole thing until Dream smiles at him, and then he somehow knows that it’s all real. Dream loves him, for some reason. All is right with the world.

[deliriiuumm]

dreamling post-canon time loop au headcanons

I honestly can’t believe we don't have a wealth of Dreamling post-canon time loop AUs. There's so much untapped potential in them & let me tell you why they slap (MAJOR COMIC SPOILERS AHEAD):

Imagine Dream being reincarnated as a human after TKO but has no memories of being an Endless. Imagine him being trapped in a time loop that is a metaphor for unresolved issues & self-punishment. Imagine him accidentally pulling Hob into the time loop & experiencing the inherent romanticism of watching his lover from his past life die in his arms while trying to fix his mistakes over & over again. 

How do they break the loop? By confronting their past issues & forgiving themselves. That's right, enforced character development & therapy via time loop, baby!

For your consideration:

Reincarnated Human!Dream & Johanna are childhood besties who like getting drinks at The New Inn owned by none other than Hob Gadling (who may or may not have been Dream's lover in his past life)

Dream doesn't remember Hob but he feels like an old friend & he feels safe with him

Random & headache-inducing flashbacks: “You take care of yourself"/ “Thank you… I shall”

Number of deaths:  ∞; Cause of death: tumbling down the stairs 💀

Enter Delirium who disguised herself as Reincarnated!Dream's human little sister because she missed him terribly & she's sick of losing her siblings 😢

“I want my brother to be okay, I don’t want him to get hurt” 💔

Hob's POV after The Wake: living on deliriously after losing his oldest friend, the one he thought he'd spend his immortality with. What would be left of the world without his old stranger, his beloved, and only confidante? How did he cope with grief? Did he cope at all?

[Narrator voice] He did not, in fact, cope well at all.

Post-Wake flashback: Hob dropping to his knees, screaming in anguish, and begging Dream to haunt him

The past begins to unravel in bits & pieces: a field of red flowers, bloodstained hands, a whiplash across his cheek, and the comforting touch of Death's hand. Nothingness. 

The deaths become more violent as Dream starts remembering the past. Being in so much pain, he's going mad. "Morpheus, we're dying again."

Objects and people start to disappear into the void. If they die one more time, will they come back? Or will they simply disappear into oblivion? 

Time loops are within Father Time's domain. Does he have anything to do with this or is it a cosmic anomaly?

Where do the Endless fit into all of this? Can they interfere or not? Will they be willing to? Or will they let Dream sort it all out as he did in the fishbowl?

And lastly: Dream vs. the Final Boss aka Death. Dream holding Hob as he dies in his arms for what may be the last time, filled with unfiltered rage as he summons and confronts Death of the Endless. 

That's all for now. I have many other headcanons for this AU that I hope to string together into one coherent fic. 

If you have some Dreamling/ Sandman time loop headcanons, I'd love to hear them!