#Hob headcannon

[chaosheadspace]

Hob's relationship with food is a complicated one. He stands in the kitchen of the New Inn, because the big pots fit better on the stove down here than on the one upstairs. He has been hungry many times in his life, not just in the century following Eleanor's and Robyn's death. There were many occasions when food was sparse or straight up not available. Sometimes he thinks it has messed with his brain a bit.

Hob checks the temperature and hopes none of the jars have opened or spilled over. Twist-off is a marvelous invention, but for this he'd rather put his trust in metal clips and rubber. It feels safer. That's why he's doing this in the first place, even if it takes up much of his time in the summer and fall. It feels safe. It calms him.

The small backyard of the inn is crammed with raised garden beds, trellises put up along the wall and fences. In the beds against the brick wall are the tomatoes, because it absorbs and reflects the warmth of the sun. There's one bed full of straw and potatoes, one with beans, one with carrots, there's cabbage and salad and turnips and strawberries. In the corner grows a small, gnarly apple tree and next to it a single cucumber plant, taking over almost the entire floor space between the beds. Hob has tried and failed to tie it up along the trellis countless times, so he lets it be where it is happy and just carefully steps over it each time he comes to the garden, big leaves brushing his bare legs.

The raspberries along the fence are a right hassle to maintain, growing through to the other side to grab at the pedestrians for nutrients, Hob is sure. They're vicious. He keeps them anyway, because he is a sucker for preserved raspberries over porridge, especially in winter. It's easy to make a lot of it, too. He just picks the ripe ones, pops them into the freezer and preserves a large batch at the end of the season. Hob still remembers the early centuries of his immortality, when he could only eat berries whenever he came across them in the woods and that would be it.

He checks on the pressure canner next to the large pot with the tomatoes and takes the heat down a bit. Beans are tricky. He'd done them his usual way up until he'd got a nasty bout of botulism in the 60s. And while he's immortal, he's as partial to pain as the next bloke, which is not very. Well. Except in certain circumstances, none of which ideally involve beans. Or jars. He only ate store bought beans for two decades after that, until he saw an ad and purchased his first pressure canner and welcomed the tall, delicate plants back into his garden. Because despite the rising quality of preserves and cans in stores it never tastes quite the same, does it?

He's done his fair share of curing meat, too, ham and sausages and fish, way, way, back. Still remembers his mother teaching him, remembers her big, strong hands, smoke burning in his eyes. This winter he plans on getting back into it, reading a few books, maybe taking a course. A bit less nitrite in his diet would do him good. Hob shakes his head. He sounds like his own grandmother would if he'd been born 35 years ago.

He's still working on refilling his stash. After the pandemic hit he'd slowly given most of it away, to students, to neighbors, to friends. Some of it he personally put on doorsteps, for the rest he'd organised a pick-up system with boxes. The walk-in pantry behind his kitchen had been almost empty. Sometimes he wonders if he would have liked more space in his kitchen, but then again the kitchen down here is also technically his. He wouldn't trade the calming reassurance of having food readily available to him, no matter the circumstances, for a bit of sitting space.

The next day, when the jars have cooled down, he carries them upstairs into his pantry, past the food-safe buckets full of grain and flour and sugar, past the empty crates where he will store his cabbages, his carrots and turnips in cool sand, his apples wrapped in newspaper come fall, and sorts the new jars behind the few remaining ones from last year. He figures after more than 600 years of living he's allowed to be a little crazy.

[lemoneyshipz]

this is what I think their wedding outfit would be based on my headcannons

edit: i found the edit I made of the wedding itself!! I thought it was lost forever when I reset my phone

[windsweptinred]

Watching 'The Sound of her Wings' again. As you do...Where in 1589 Hob gives his whole speech about Eleanor, Robyn and this is what I always dreamed heaven would be like. Including the line "My first son born in 200 years, that I know off..." Proceeded by Dream immediately turning his attention back to Will Shaxberd...

And my twisted little mind went, lol... That would be funny. What with Hob having Ferdie's Warwickshire County accent. Aka, Shakespeare County. And both Hob and Will sharing the same propensity to loud mouth themselves into Dream's attentions. And Will, if the rumours are to be believed, being as much of a bisexual rascal as Hob is. (Don't let the big twink eyes fool you).

Imagine, Dream's being incognito keeping tabs on Hob and any Hob sprogs over the generations. And is mentally like... I'm just going to hang out with your Great Great Great illegitimate Grandson who is conveniently right over there. Since you're sooooooo 'HAPPY' without me. Come Will, I shall call you Hob the Second. Your job is to stare at me with the same utter devotion he used to.

Jump to 2022

Death: When are you going to tell him? He has a right to know.

Dream:..............When the stars are correctly aligned.

[amorousentanglement]

The 80s Dream I imagine we missed out on using a picrew I just found and couldn't resist. (I had to do some color manipulation to get his pale complexion which was interesting and you'd laugh if you saw how I "drew" the ruby lol )

And you know afterwards I had to do Hob. (He's just happy Dream came.) The palest available complexion was the one I used for Hob btw *cries*

I don't imagine either of them actually smoke...but maybe Hob picked it up for a bit because it was trending. Maybe it takes off a bit of the edge when he's around his stranger trying not to think too hard about what not to say.

As for Dream he probably just holds it to appear more human and never actually lights it. The same way he orders drinks but never touches those either.

https://picrew.me/image_maker/1722650

[amusesmuse]

My brain is so rotted from Dreamling fics- it rained here (which it never does!) and my first thought upon smelling the petrichor was “Ah yes, smells like Dream” 🙃

[shipsgaysfordays]

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

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

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

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

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

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

and yet...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ginjones]

Thinking about this headcannon.

Where Dream is an alchemist to all things conducive to dreams. Obsessed about sleep hygiene; sanctimonious about it in fact. So when Hob can't sleep, when he is exhausted but so riled up from the many things that pull him in different directions, Dream doesn't just knock him out. He leads him, instead, to bed. And performs his rituals to slumber in the pale light of an early September evening. He instructs Hob in what to wear, how to allign his spine and how to touch himself in slow increments of pleasure that are only meant to soften. To make his muscles lax and ready for his kingdom and his realm.

Dream would talk about melatonin, as if reading from a sermon and would crush, with pestle and mortar, fresh smelling herbs found in Hob's kitchen. Synthetic lavender oil is blasphemy after all, and every modern self-help guide to sleep a false prophet. Because all Hob needs is Dream's voice, a rich somnolent psalm.

Dream is more than a God to dreams. He is dream and, in being so, holds the reins of its chariot-sleep.

[dervampireprince]

ASMR | The Sandman - Dream x Listener NSFW Dreaming and Waking [M4A] [Spicy Patreon Preview]

[M4A] [Somnophilia - Dream is having sex with your sleeping body on Earth while you're consciously having sex in the dreaming] [Biting] [Possessive] [Hypnosis] [Light pet play] [Possessive Dream] [Light breeding kink] [Non-specific penetration] [Coming inside]

So... this audio was posted on December 24th and I just forgot to crosspost it to Tumblr and I only just realised that it wasn���t here when updating my masterlist.

The second of this month's two fledgling audios. This has been requested a lot over the last couple of months ever since I suggested the idea in a previous Dream audio.  Theo Valentine requested "more dream", Tiffany Boyer requested "I would love a dream x listener where listener in the dom and surprise dream in the dream world", Emily requested "Some spicy Dream", luvplr requested "i would love another dream!".

Custom audio commissions are open! Full spicy audios on soundgasm and Patreon. Downloadable versions, exclusive  spicy audios and Discord on Patreon. I also stream on Twitch 3 times a week @ dervampireprince . [minors + ageless blogs dni. this blog is for 18+ only.] [do not repost/reupload/edit my audios/videos]

[happyandticklish]

Hear me out; Hob having devastatingly ticklish feet and Morpheus crafting a dream where he has to walk through a grassy field (like the one in your second fic) that just KEEPS TICKLING.

DUDE yes, big brain idea happening over here

Especially because it's the dream world, and it can defy the rules of physics. So logically speaking, you'd think that if you stepped down it would crush the grass, thus sparing you from the tickling, but no, somehow it is still tickling, a fact Hob would be more perplexed about but he's operating off of dream brain lol. And, if you stumble in your footing and fall, the grass is free to tickle the rest of you as well, forcing you to decide between the worst of two evils.

Just a set-up where Morpheus places him in the middle of a field, and if he can just traverse to the other side he'll be free, a task that is impossible to do without getting tickled like mad.

This is honestly such a good idea, and depending on where my Sandman fic series goes, I might end up including it in one of the parts.

[lemoneyshipz]

list of dreamling headcannons i have, some may or may not be me projecting:

Dream likes food that are sweet, soft and small enough that he can hold and nibble on, like fruit pieces, brownie squares, soft cookies, small cakes and pastries

Hob is not myopic but slightly hyperopic and would need reading glasses to grade and do paperwork

Dream dissociates, like a LOT, and it get worse after his imprisonment, most of the time he (and other ppl) doesn’t even realize it but he would space out, go on autopilot and become less responsive until someone (hob) pulls him out of it

Hob would collect random trinkets and then forgets about them, ranges from small jewelry pieces (some really old at this point), toy figurines, smoothed out porcelain shards, corks, or cool rocks, and those would piles up in his flat until Matthew steals them again for his own collection, Hob rarely notices, and when he do he doesn’t mind

Hob keeps up with his memes and slangs but would mix them up bc he literally cannot keep track of their timeline, like these tumblr posts? these are Hob

Hob doesn’t know this but he’s tiktok famous bc of videos of him ranting about Shakespeare or mixing up his slangs or just reveals the craziest of life stories, ppl in the comments like “👀 is he single” and his student reply “no he’s married to a hot goth who visits sometimes”

Hob doesn’t teach history bc they get soo many things wrong and he can’t stand it, he teaches classic literature analysis instead and shares random history or other random facts he learned over the years in class.

Hob has a hard time falling asleep without cuddling something in his arms, usually its a pillow but it’s now replaced by Dream. Dream doesn’t sleep but he appreciates the cuddles and it allows him a couple of hours of peace and quiet to blank out when needed.

Matthew was Hob’s best man (he had a tiny collar and bowtie and everything), Lucienne was Dream’s librarian of honor, Fiddler’s Green officiated the wedding and Death walked Dream down the aisle. Time & Night were not invited but Calliope was

They had their wedding in front of the new inn but held a separate celebration in the dreaming so all the lil dreams and nightmares can be a part of it

They both ADORE Ghibli films, the classic, whimsical fairytale/fantasy is right up Dream’s alley not to mention the artistry and all the dreams they have inspired

[tatumrileyslover]

My Little Bluebell

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ Lucy Gray Baird Headcannons ˚୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Pairings: Lucy Gray Baird x GN!Reader

Word count: 0.6k

Warnings: all fluffy, adorable Lucy Gray, my one true love, I’d seriously marry this girl, mini scenario at the end :)

a/n: I’m actually so obsessed with Lucy Gray Baird, I think it’s a trend, little me was in love with Katniss, big me is in love with Lucy Gray… some things never change.

ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵉⁿᵗ ᶦᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵃᵈᵈᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵃ ᵗᵇᵒˢᵃˢ ᵗᵃᵍˡᶦˢᵗ

ㅤ ೀ she’s literally the sweetest girl ever. you’re sick, she’ll show up at your house with a cup of hot soup that Barb Azure made that afternoon and a fresh hand-picked bouquet of flowers

ㅤ ೀ calls you “my little bluebell” since you remind her of spring. She said Maude Ivory would always spout stories of soulmates whenever she saw a patch of bluebells growing in the forest

ㅤ ೀ since your good at sewing, you’d help patch up any holes in any Covey members outfits. embroidering new designs into sleeves of shirts and dress hems to make them more colourful

ㅤ ೀ Lucy Gray is always showing off your designs, you had embroidered a few flowers onto her dress for a performance at the Hob. The covey had finished their performance on stage, they began giving their thanks and as you glanced at her she was giving your her signature smile. She quickly dipped her mouth back down to the mic, “and I’d like to give a special thanks to my little bluebell, who made my dress all nice and pretty just for tonight,”

ㅤ ೀ she loves making you blush, which is why she loves showing you off whenever she can, gal loves showering you in compliments

ㅤ ೀ her love language is definitely words of affirmation and physical touch, she is always holding your hand, like she barely ever let’s go, she’s clingy af

ㅤ ೀ you’re alway the first to hear her new songs, she respects your opinion more than anything

ㅤ ೀ she definitely uses your dates as inspiration for her songs

ㅤ ೀ she definitely uses you as her muse, you’ve definitely been down at the hob listening to the Covey performing a new song and just sat there like “wait why does this sound so familiar���

ㅤ ೀ you’d help her learn to swim (in my hc she’s a bad swimmer) she hang off your back, arms around your neck and legs wrapped across your torso to stop herself from drowning

“Now don’t you dare let me go, bluebell,” Lucy Gray stood waist deep in water. Her hands clasped tightly onto your own. You couldn’t help but let out a giggle at your girlfriends hesitation.

“Lucy Gray, you’ll be fine, I’ve got you. Darling, I’ve been swimming since before I could walk.” Lucy Gray raised her eyebrows at the statement, hesitant to step away from the floor beneath her feet.

Clenching her jaw, before rolling her eyes, “you’re too charming,” she breathed out stepping closer to the edge. Instead of slowly lowering herself down softly, she plopped of the edge, submerging herself in the water.

“Lucy!” Quickly pulling her out of the water, you felt her hands wrap around your neck, legs hooking around your waist, fully supporting herself . She gasped as she came out of the water, before bursting into laughter at the look on your face. Her fingers found their way into your wet hair, wrapping her finger around it, gazing softly into your eyes.

Her free hand caressed your cheek, slowly pulling you towards her lips. Her body pressed flush against your own, the laughter that had filled the air now replaced with the soft sounds of the water around you.

Time seemed to slow as your lips met in a gentle yet passionate kiss. Lucy Gray's touch was tender yet filled with a spark, and the world around you faded away. The water's embrace, the surrounding nature, and the warmth shared between you two created a perfect moment suspended in time.

As you pulled back, Lucy Gray's eyes sparkled with affection, and a content smile graced her lips.

“Now, remember this bluebell, if I sink, you're sinking right alongside me.”

[daddyhausen]

Being a member of the HoB SFW/ NSFW head canons? 🤍

｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ 「 NSFW + SFW HEADCANNONS 」 ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

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「 MASTERLISTS 」 | 「 AEW MASTERLIST 」 | 「 MALAKAI BLACK MASTERLIST 」 | 「 BRODY KING MASTERLIST 」 | 「 BUDDY MATTHEWS MASTERLIST 」 | 「 JULIA HART MASTERLIST 」

「 COMMISION INFO 」 | 「 LIKE MY WORK? BUY ME A COFFEE — KOFI — DXDDYHXUSEN 」

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「 SUMMARY 」 — nsfw + sfw hcs w/ the house of black

「 WARNINGS 」 — 18+ [ MINORS DNI ] smut, polygamy/poly relationship

「 WORD COUNT 」 — 400

「 PAIRING 」 — fem!reader x house of black

「 GENRE 」 — smut

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「 TAGLIST 」 — @thewrestlingbitch @omg-im-such-a-masochist @bayleymania @wardlow @alexisquinnlee-bc @sammiejane22 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @omegasluvbot @melissahausen @writtingrose @drummergrl1310 @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @bonehead-playz @legit9thlunaticwarrior @crowleysqueenofhell @romanreigns-supreme @janetreader @thenerdybaker523 @sunshinevirus @nicoleveno14 @rubyred1980 @harmshake @igncrxntripley @ripleyswhore @embermdk @thepalaceofmelanie @seeingstarks @kennysbadkitten @darkangelchronicles @ripleyswife @selena-tyler-564 @auburnwriter @alyyaanna @nightmare-viper @nev-danielgarciawife

「 COMMENT IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST 」

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it all began with your blossoming friendship with julia

the two of you sort of migrated towards each other due to being some of the youngest members of the roster

she’d introduced you to her mentors

the three hulking men did give off an intimidating aura at first

that was until they opened their mouths

despite your quite rational fear of them, what with them being three giant men, two of the three being heavily tattooed, they welcomed you into their fold as an honorary house member as they put it

brody, the biggest of the three men was no more intimidating than a giant teddy bear

he’d grown quite protective of julia when she first joined and that same energy being transferred over to you, even more so.

buddy was instantly drawn to your playful aura, the two of you often engaging in conversation about anything and everything that comes to mind

it felt like you’d been friend for years

and malakai, he was tough to crack at first, remaining stoic and quiet for the most part

keeping to himself for the first few weeks

until he finally came out of his shell, the two of you had a nice, deep conversation alone from the others

his friendship was the one you valued the most as you felt like you earned it.

in other matters, the house members were always very touchy, julia included

it would consist of small touches on your hips and the small fo your back in passing

progressing to light caresses of your inner thigh whenever seated somewhere, buddy was especially the culprit for this

brody would always have a large, tree-trunk like arm draped lazily around your shoulder

malakai’s hand would always find a way to snake around your waist, although his attempts would be in a more private setting

and julia, well. she made no attempt to hide any affection for you, often caressing your hips and breasts (consensually of course) after a drunken night out together, complementing them through lovingly slurred words

the sexual tension between the five of you soon boiled over once the three men found you tongue deep between julia’s thighs

the three of them could not just stand there idly and watch, oh no

those three took turns devouring you once you were done with julia

filling up each hole of yours until you were exceptionally full with them.

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[windsweptinred]

OP I absolutely love this concept!! Like you said, it's not despair... It's more a dark mirror of Hob. That constant craving he has to experience and revel in life... But now it's dark, it's never enough... He just consumes and neither finds joy or despair in it. Because something has broken his heart... And without it, there's only emptiness and the constant craving for it to be filled. Hope continually craved for, but always left unanswered.

This image haunted me for a long time and I was a little doubtful, but still decided to take it out of my system.

Hob!Void, as the reverse side of Hope. Void is not despair and not darkness and not evil, but a void that destroys and absorbs absolutely everything.

[gabessquishytum]

This Vacation Romance/Honeymoon Suite one set off fireworks in my heart!!: https://gabessquishytum.tumblr.com/post/732821235748225024/dream-is-the-one-left-at-the-altar-too-much-too

I’m incomprehensibly attached to the Accidental Engagement trope — i.e. one character thinks they’re engaged and the other doesn’t realize. ALSO, I have this whole elaborate headcannon about how the Endless have no idea how marriage works because marriage has been SO many things in the billion years/species/cultures of existence. So like what if…

Dream visits Hob sometime after 2022 while he’s trying to make up for being gone/walking out on Hob & he’s agreed to see what this century has to offer. (And maybe his siblings are leaning on him a bit to actually experience the world a bit more — I mean, he’s the only one of them that has an actual very knowledgeable human guide! What a waste not to take advantage, right?!) So Hob — kind of panicking when Dream shows up asking to go on vacation — books the first available all-inclusive resort package Google serves up, and in a few hours they’re on a plane (because transportation is part of The Experience and sand is cheating). But at the front desk, there’s a problem…

Hob: Welp, they’ve double booked us. Damn Expedia! But good news! They’ve got an extra room after some last minute cancellation. It’s the Honeymoon Suite though, so… ah… *shifts awkwardly while yearning to spend a night in the Honeymoon Suite with Dream*

Dream *very seriously accepting this eternal commitment*: Ah, I see. Yes, Hob Gadling… Yes, I… I think I should like this. 

Hob: You sure? I mean, I wouldn’t want to make you feel…

Dream: I am certain. 

Hob: Really, we don’t have to! *really, really wanting to*

Dream *even more into it after seeing how gentle & caring Hob is being toward Dream’s feelings* : I understand. I accept this proposition, Hob.

As Dream follows Hob solemnly up to the penthouse Honeymoon Suite, he thinks about all the different ways he’s seen dreamers bound in union over the eons. This feels a bit abrupt, but it’s hardly stranger than some of the traditions that have existed. What a lucky chance that he should stumble into this experience with Hob!

(It might be Desire more than chance, but they are definitely not telling.)

As they approach the gilded door at the end of the hallway, Dream shyly takes Hob’s hand. If they are married now (and he saw the woman put their names into the computer, so it is done), then surely he need no longer suppress his feelings, so long as Hob is amenable.

And, yeah, is Hob amenable! He’d only imagined maybe getting a touch, even a lingering glance by the end of the week. But Dream melts into him and — though Hob checks in frequently to make sure Dream’s ok with everything — they spend a long, hot week tangled in the bedsheets, sipping margaritas, and getting up only for room service and bathroom breaks.

Back at home, he expects that that’ll be it for a while. Dream must’ve needed to blow off some steam after his imprisonment. But Dream shows up every day that week. He’s very busy, but he makes sure to pull the finest food out of the most renowned chefs’ dreams; he even packs some away every evening to make sure Hob has something to take to work the next day. He reads or sits quietly while Hob does his marking or lesson planning. Then they gently wash each other in the shower, and then Dream slips under the sheets with Hob. 

It’s so great that Hob is starting to get worried. 

Hob *taking Dream’s hand*: Dove, what is it? I’m not complaining, but are you… alright?

Dream (who has been self-conscious as he is still catching up on what husbands want/are like in 2022): It has been many years since I… since I was in this position. Is this not what you wish from a sworn partner?

Hob *sworn partner?*: I… yes?

Dream: When you asked me to complete the Honeymoon Suite rite, I thought of how I had… disappointed those I was sworn to before. As a husband, I have hardly been as thorough in my responsibilities as I have in other areas of my function. And yet, my heart leapt at the chance to try again — even on the spur of the moment — and our courtship had spanned so many centuries, that it seemed to make sense…

It is as Dream speaks, unravelling several millennia of complex emotions, that Hob realizes he has a spouse. Oh, and that he’s been dating Dream for six hundred years?!

This is so wonderful and delightful and I love the dialogue you've written between them SO much like omg it's so soft. The honeymoon suite rite 😭😭😭

Imagine how gentle Hob is with Dream, even while his heart races and he tries to navigate his brain around the idea of being MARRIED. To DREAM. He's pulling Dream in close to his chest and rubbing his back while quietly freaking out. He's so mad at himself for not knowing that they were courting this whole time! No wonder Dream was mad when Hob called him lonely and started banging on about friendship in 1889! Holy shit!

He should have been showering Dream in love, courting gifts, affection and all of that stuff!!! He has SO much time to make up for, he's so lucky that Dream agreed to marry him when Hob has accidentally been the worst boyfriend ever for 600 years...

Dream peeks up out of Hob’s chest and he's like "am I performing my duties as a 21st century human husband adequately? It is very important to me that you should be happy in our marriage." And Hob nearly hyperventilates (in like a good way) and just pulls Dream closer to convey that a) he is a very satisfied husband and b) he intends to be the best damned spouse that Dream of the Endless has ever had <3

[cuubism]

A little headcannon that has been stewing in my head for a while and has absolutely no proof from the cannon

Death has wings right? What if Dream used to have wings too but when his kingdom got invaded for the first time(that story he tells in the Overture) the invaders cut his wings off. That's the part of the reason why he crafted his helm and why's he so dependent on it. They took his wings so he took their skull and a spine, an eye for an eye kind of situation. Also, that's when Dream first started employing a raven. He still has scars on his shoulder blades that follow him to any form he takes. He's ashamed of them, sees them as a sign of weakness, a reminder of his failure and his flaws and goes to great lengths to cover them up. That's about it, but I'd love to hear what you think of it^-^

(Plus: Hob gently running his hands over the scars, showing Dream his own ones and reassuring him that there's nothing broken, or wrong with him)

NO BUT THIS IS SO ANGSTY I LOVE IT. i love suffering

i feel like a permanent injury like that would have to be done to dream's core essence, such as it is, rather than his 'physical form' - i don't know if dream's physical form in the waking world or other realms can even be hurt like that. it would have to be like, something that deeply wounds the dreaming, or the concept of dreaming, or just like the deepest core of dream as an 'entity' rather than it being a physical wound. (this is leading me on a mental tangent about injuries to large groups of dreamers also injuring dream, like, extinction events and such, but that's for another time).

you managed to rope me into it, congrats XD

content warning for blood, gore, violence, Things Done That Can't Be Undone, etc.

--

There is not much, in his long life and memory, that Dream is able to forget. Thoughts do not drift into irrelevancy, into the past, the way they do for humans. He is able to hold much, all at once, in the cavern of his mind, eons of all that has happened hovering close enough to touch. It is a heavy weight more often than it is an aid.

But he forgets, sometimes, with Hob.

With Hob, the rare points of their contact stand out as singularly bright stars in the nebula of Dream's existence. All else within him fades. When Hob takes his hand Dream feels clear as a desert sky, when Hob kisses him for the first time, Dream is floating free in a great salt lake, hanging weightless.

He forgets.

It's only after, bodies pressed together with pleasing heat and sweat-tackiness, Hob tracing patterns over his back, that Dream begins to remember again.

"Dream..." Hob's fingers stutter over his shoulder blades. His voice catches with the hesitance he has often displayed with Dream since their reunion. I think you're here for friendship. Dream feels the echoes.

He kisses Hob's throat, tastes the salt tang of his skin, hides his face away there. The weight of embodiment returning. "Ask your question," he says. "I swear not to part from you now."

"Is this from...?" Hob's fingertips dance up the raised arcs of scar tissue over his back. Pain sparkles in the wake of his touch like the sharpness of a hand-drawn tattoo in the permanence of its inking. As humans imagine it. Dream is not truly physical and could not bear such a mark. Except for this.

"No," he tells Hob. Blame for many of Dream's recent ordeals can be laid at Roderick Burgess's feet, but not this one. "Much older than that."

"Oh." Hob keeps tracing the scar over Dream's right shoulder blade. The touch aches deep in Dream's being where those wounds originate, but he does not tell Hob to stop. Even like this, Hob's hands bring him back, and back, and keep him here.

Hob is waiting, leaving an opening for him to elaborate. Dream is not yet sure whether he wishes to.

"It is not a pretty story," he says.

Hob strokes through his hair. Dream keeps his head tucked under his chin and so feels each word as it's spoken. "Neither of us is a pretty story, darling. Tell it if you want to."

Dream has not spoken of this in many years. There are those in the Dreaming who have served him for millennia whom he has not told. He has taken lovers, had them see the scars during their lovemaking, and still not relayed the story.

"When I was young," he begins, "and still coming into my power, the Dreaming was invaded. My borders were not as strong, then. My realm, less populated. Ancient beings, older than I was at the time, hungered for my realm. Sought its power for their own."

"Older than dreams?" Hob asks.

"In their universe, there were no dreams," Dream tells him. "Perhaps it is what drew them to me."

"Alright. Wow." Hob sounds thoughtful. He rubs Dream's back, between his shoulder blades where it doesn't hurt. "Go on, love."

"I fought them. But the collective unconscious of this universe was young and undeveloped, as was I; I had not mastered all elements of my domain. I fought, but inelegantly, and struggled to counter dreamless beings when all my power was in the unconscious. They were wholly anchored in the present; I, in the space between seconds; we were poorly suited as combatants."

"What did you do?" Hob asks, quiet. He can sense, Dream thinks, the direction this is going, that Dream would not be so hesitant to tell the story of scars born of victory.

"I did not know," Dream admits, equally quiet, still shamed by it, his own failure, and its branching repercussions, "what to do. And the Eldest God, he who had first rent open the walls of my realm, pounced on my uncertainty, captured me, held me--"

The memory, never forgotten, always just within reach should he turn towards it, rises again -- the silk-smooth black sand on the shores of the Dreaming, crushed into his cheek; the warm waters lapping at his mouth, nose, eyes, drowning him; the impossible weight on his spine of the impossible dreamless creature holding him down, arms wrenched behind his back, the feral animal growl that had escaped him, the equally animal panic beating under his ribcage, the fragile spun dreamstuff of him held in the sharptoothed maw of cold reality, his wings--

"Dream?"

Dream comes back to himself. Comes back to Hob. The overwarm flannel sheets. The soft press of Hob's body. He's tapping something on Hob's arm, and hadn't realized he was doing it. It's the rhythm of an old song from before the time of men, the electrical beats passed along root chains from tree to tree to tree, all the way across the great forests that now exist only in scarce patches on the earth.

Dream shifts ever closer to Hob's body, slips a knee between Hob's thighs to tangle them, bare skin to bare skin, limb to limb, root to root.

"I had wings, then," he says.

--his wings, flapping frantically in the face of the thing that pinned him, feathers catching and tearing on jagged armor, held to the ground the way a creature of flight was never meant to be--

"Oh," breathes Hob. He touches the long scar over Dream's shoulder blade again and pauses there. The pain catches the story to Dream again like a hook and holds it there as he continues bleeding it dry.

"The Eldest God dug his claws into me and tore the wings from my body." Dream's voice doesn't shake but he does not manage more than a whisper. "I am not a physical creature, Hob, understand this, I cannot be so easily harmed, it was not a physical form that was damaged, rather, the Old Gods came from stone and earth and it was stone they harnessed as their claws, ancient stone to carve into my being and tear out my wings from the essence of me, root and stem, flesh and bone, air and feather and starlight."

All of this comes out in a continuous rush, and Hob kisses the side of his head, says, "Breathe."

He can still feel, if he but thinks back, the tearing of the claws. A cold so bright it felt like burning. His face ground into the sand to muffle his scream, the howling whiteout of pain overtaking all other noise, the crack of his shoulder joint as it was broken. Star stuff spilling out over the sand - Dream hadn't even known he could bleed until then. Hands that should never have touched in the first place releasing him. Collapsing, disarmed, to the ground. Every limb on fire, the ones that were left.

"Dream."

He lost himself, and found himself again some time later curled in the shallows of the Dreaming sea, seeking shelter from the cold in the warm waters. Face half submerged, breathing as much salt water as air. Blood still spooling around him like leftover paint whirling in a water glass.

"Dream."

Even in those warm waters, he was shivering. Dream doesn't think he's ever been quite warm since; that cold latched itself in him somewhere and never left.

Hob's voice, now, against his ear. He's curled himself around Dream while Dream wasn't paying attention, Dream's back to the warm protection of Hob's chest. "You don't have to finish if you don't want to."

Dream will not leave a story unfinished, not even one such as this. "When I had regained my strength enough to fight back," he continues, "I was... not in control. I knew only survival. If the Old Gods had wished me to understand their world, they succeeded. I abandoned my powers and fought with my hands and my claws and my teeth, and I tore the Eldest God's skull and spine from his body. Both of us would be maimed, I thought; if he would have my dreams then I would have for my own the backbone upon which he held his earth. I listened to him scream. I watched each rib pry up from his chest and snap, my hands slick with his blood, his with mine, and felt nothing but the raw satiation of a wolf setting upon meat. I have told you, Hob." He takes his first breath in a while and feels it rattle, hollow, around his ribcage. "It is not a pretty story."

"No." Hob's hand finds Dream's against his middle, tangles their fingers, holds him. His breath is shaky in Dream's hair, words more so. "No, darling, it's not. I'm sorry."

They rewrote the story of the Dreaming, Dream recalls saying to Destiny, after. Before he had come to know, truly, what Destiny was. Kneeling in his garden, blood still draping his raw back like a shroud, Dream had sought meaning, answers, reason. Foolish, in retrospect, to even consider asking for succor.

Destiny had said that the Dreaming had seeped too far into the Waking world. That what had happened was a necessary rebalancing.

Had Dream not been forbidden from physical violence against his siblings, he would have bitten off one of Destiny's hands with his own sharp teeth and asked if he felt more balanced then.

"Now you know what vicious creature you lie with, Hob Gadling," Dream says. The words are heavy in his throat, but he can't find it in himself to slip from Hob's hold. Now you know the jagged turn at the beginning of my story.

He wonders, sometimes, what the Dreaming might have been like had it continued on the other branch of Destiny's forking path. What he might have been like. There is so much space between a winged creature and a once-winged creature. The entire sky.

"I know." Hob bites at the back of Dream's neck, light but sharp, then kisses that same spot. The nip of pain is unexpectedly soothing. Hob too knows what it is to bite and claw and writhe and maul. “I know. I’ve known your darkness, honey. Don’t you worry.”

“They fled me,” Dream tells him. “The Old Gods. After. I did not understand why at the time.” He had stood, bloodied, shaking, over their Eldest one, bones grasped in his hands, and watched them disappear. These beings that could still have shredded the Dreaming and swallowed it, but chose to run. “Now, I imagine it is like the way men will flee from an animal that is so much smaller than them but has gone rabid. The wrongness. The danger of irreparable madness. They saw me ruined and wished not to catch it, saw the Dreaming—”

This wound has dulled over time and become but a throbbing ache at the base of his skull, a reminder of something missing. But it never disappears.

“The Dreaming, changed, from what they had wanted.”

Dream’s back has never been quite right, since. His anatomy is meant for two sets of joints, not one. But it is only a fitting marker of the permanent damage done that day.

“Changed?” says Hob, so gentle now, lips brushing his skin.

“There was once more,” Dream says. “The collective unconscious was once more… collective.”

“Wait. D’you mean…?”

“Yes. There was more interconnection between minds when I was young. There were not human minds in the sense that you would know them, not yet. But there was communication, and knowing, back then.”

Vestiges of it still linger. In the vast underground networks of the trees, the paired spins of distant atoms. The matched steps of lovers finding perfect synchronicity in a dance. But—

“That was sundered with my wings.”

The cold that had washed over Dream when that realization hit had been worse than the pain of losing the wings in the first place. How he had failed the dreamers under his care. Let things fracture and tear and separate when they were meant to be together.

Hob sighs against the back of his neck. “I’m so sorry, Dream.”

“I am sorry,” Dream says. “It should never have happened.”

“No, it shouldn’t,” Hob agrees, and it’s sweet pain sliding between Dream’s ribs, for Hob to press his fingertips to the rawness of him and say, yes, failure, failure, I see it now.

But Hob kisses the point of his shoulder, the ever-tense muscles of his upper back, the hard curve of his scapula and the calcified line of another almost-joint, lost to time. His lips find the uneven scar tissue and press there, which is its own sweet pain, but sliding towards sweet, a sharp bite to kissed lips.

“It shouldn’t,” Hob whispers, and the words vibrate to the core of him. Hob does not see his failure, will not; Dream had forgotten Hob’s charity towards him, how he will see the blood on Dream’s hands and wipe it away instead of asking how it got there. Dream’s failures have stolen something from him he does not even know to miss, and still.

Now Dream does wish for Hob’s hands slipping under his ribs. Hob would find the aching wretched thing within him that had been loosed that day and hold it in his palms, wash the blood from it with careful strokes. Would that Hob could have held him then, submerged him deep in the waters of the Dreaming sea until the dark and the warmth and the strong hold of his arms had soothed the flayed and violated creature that Dream had become back to sanity. Before the gnashing rageful part of him had turned predator and fully grown its claws.

Perhaps there is succor to be found, after all. How quickly Hob Gadling has become it.

“I wish that I could have…” Hob sighs. It sounds mournful, longing. “I don’t even know. Helped you. Held you. Futile, I know.”

“I would not have you feel badly. It is long past and cannot be undone,” Dream says, as if Hob’s words don’t mean more to him than he could possibly know.

“Nothing can, sweetheart,” Hob says. His hair brushes Dream’s shoulders. It is terribly soft now, in this day and age. Dream suspects it was not always so. Human lives have rarely been soft on their bodies. He appreciates the softness of Hob’s body now, and how it cradles him. Dream himself has long been unchangeably hard-edged. “But I would still help you.”

“Sweetheart,” Dream repeats. Dream might have been sweet, once, at the end of a different story. “You would call me this, at the end of this tale?”

Hob turns him so they are facing each other once more. A tear has gathered in the corner of his eye, and slips down to wet his pillowcase as Dream watches. Tears for Dream. Warm salt water. He smiles at Dream anyway.

“You’re my sweetheart. My dear one. You think I would think anything about this other than sadness for you?”

“Dear one,” Dream echoes. “Always good to me, my Hob.”

“‘Course.” Hob squeezes his hand. Hands that too have known violence, but soft for Dream, always. “Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all?”

“Only what you have already done,” Dream says. “Be a cavern where I can shelter from the cold.”

Hob kisses him, hot and lingering, and pulls the blankets up over their heads.

[just-existing-as-you-do-blog]

I headcannon that Grabalba and Hob are buddies. I think they like bro down.

Like here is how I picture it, she's getting married because of his military victory and she is talking to him and he talks back in his polite way and he says something along the lines of "Oh well you would never be expected to think of a lowly servant such as myself as your friend." And she was like "Fuck that dude you are my wingman we are absolutely friends." And then they are buddies after that.

My evidence "Come on, Grabalba!" Hob wouldn't talk about a noble he wasn't close to that way.

She makes eye contact with him while burning her exes flowers and he vows to avenge her tarnished honor, bro behavior.

She hits on him but I took that in a platonic way like when you tell your friend that they look hot.

But in conclusion I think they are buddies on the down low.