#Hob you need to keep it together

[amielot]

Night Visions

In which Hob is the " Mark me down as scared and horny" gif

Horses have tapetum lucidum in their eyes just like felines and other animals. So, of course, that's how Dream's star eyes function in this AU.

[dangerous-advantage]

i refuse to believe mxtx has not listened to at least one or both of the songs 'viva la vida' by coldplay, and 'pompeii' by bastille. i refuse

[writing-for-life]

The Endless Are Not Their Opposite--They Only Define It

I read quite often, on here and elsewhere, that the Endless are also their opposite (@tickldpnk8 and I were just talking about an interesting thread on Reddit), so I just decided to speed-complete this one and get it out of my drafts before it dies in there (so not as much in-depth as originally planned, but sometimes, you just need to run with it 🤣).

The Endless are not their opposite. They define it. It’s a (in my mind, and I’d love to hear what you think) massive difference. And they define their opposite by their absence. If they truly were their opposite, it would give very different meaning to canon, and if we were to do so, a lot of it wouldn't make sense in my view.

Dream is not also reality. He defines it. He is, and forever will be, unreality. It is his absence that defines reality. A dream that becomes real isn't a dream anymore--it's real. That’s the main reason why pulling the ship into reality in Overture weakens him. If he were reality, he could have just snapped his fingers and make it happen. If he were reality, a lot of his problems wouldn't be... well, problems. The fact he is (a) D/dream is pretty much why all his relationships are doomed to fail. Dreams don't last. Dreams are forever strange and can't be truly known.

Delirium is not also sanity/clarity. She defines it through her absence. And when she pulls herself together like in Brief Lives, it hurts her "muchly". It is immeasurable pain for her because it is what she is not and cannot be for any extended period of time without hurting herself.

Despair is not also hope. She defines it via her absence. As long as you hope, you don’t despair. If Despair were also hope, we would not have 6 issues of Overture very clearly showing us who and what H/hope is. If Despair were also hope, we wouldn't need a little girl called Hope reach out her hand and touch Dream—he would have a sister who could do it. But the only time Despair shows up for him, so to speak, is after he killed Orpheus—make of that what you will.

Death is not also life. She defines it. The fact that she is there at your beginning does not mean she is the one who gives you life. She is there so you will remember her, always (and especially when she takes your hand), hence you will cherish life. She does not directly give life to immortals either--they are immortal because of her absence, because she withholds her gift, like she does with Orpheus and Hob (the Eblis-situation has nothing to do with anything in my mind and is linked to a funeral rite, and we are clearly told it is not something she usually does [“it’s been so long”], or is remotely comfortable doing. It is just that she is the Endless that is most life-adjacent and hence the one who will have to do it. Just like Dream is the most reality-adjacent and hence the one who has to pull the ship).

Destruction is not also creation. He defines it. He is what gives us the blank slate, he is what makes creation possible, he is what starts the cycle and ends it, but he is not creation himself. Keeping on destroying makes creation impossible. There needs to be a pause, a break for creation to come to fruition—the absence of destruction. If he were also creation, he wouldn't create so badly (to the extent that it is canonically turned into a running gag), and being around him and seeking him out wouldn't be an issue. But it is.

Desire is not also hatred (I’m still not sure if hatred is really the opposite of desire, but I’ll run with it because that’s what Gaiman chose). They define it via their absence. You know how Dream doesn’t want Desire in his life anymore after one major spat (whether he had reason to or overreacted isn’t really the issue). And what feelings are often left in the absence of Desire? And what does Desire feel and gets themselves tangled up in because they are pushed away and are basically not acknowledged/desired by their own sibling despite constantly trying to show him they are important (desire is not just a sexual thing, people, get your mind out of the gutter 🤣)? Yeah, about that one… There is definitely a different type of enmeshment here which sometimes seems a bit plot-hole-y to me, but I think that might be down to the fact that Desire is the chosen antagonist (and even that, only to a degree until they aren’t). Even so, it still makes sense.

Destiny is not also freedom. He is the absence of it. All paths lead to the same end. Or a decision you make was the decision you were going to make all along, and what looks like a different ending was the ending that would have happened anyway. And even if you choose, the book will start to make that choice destiny again. Only Delirium knows what’s not in his book, and in this universe, the only true freedom is not bound by any rules, logic or sanity…

[adventures-in-mangaland]

Another Dead Boy Detectives Fic Rec List

Netflix sucks and I'm sad, but the Dead Boy Detectives fandom continues to be awesome, so here are some more very quick fic recs!*

Tonight's the Night You Fight Your Best Mate's Dad by Opossum_Subatomic

Everyone's Alive College/University 5+1 things fic featuring Charles bringing Edwin coffee and slowburn payneland. Also Family/Wedding Drama involving Everyone Thinks They're Dating so acute is verges on Fake Dating. This author is seriously fantastic, everything they write is gold.

You should also check out Kissing Lessons, which is a high school AU that does what it says on the tin while also giving non-binary Monty and polyamory.

Ornithology by Rosie447

Monty gets a job working at Tragic Mick's. This one's not actually payneland, being gen and Monty-centric. I know, gasp. It's a fantastic and very sweet exploration of Monty discovering his sense of self post canon and works as a great metaphor for recovery from toxic family/relationships. Also, the ex-animal solidarity and bonding with Mick is lovely.

what some circumstance stole by Chrome

The Sandman crossover featuring Edwin and Hob being kidnapped and tortured together. Their friendship is really wholesome with eventual Father Figure and Found Family Feels for the whole agency and background Dreamling.

dandelion wine (life and death in summertime) by world_wanderer

Payneland Right Person Wrong Time AU in which neither of them die but they still meet and become friends. The May/December friendship is sweet but tragic, with a bittersweet ending. Superb.

Mirror Image by Anonymous

Charles' afterlife gets taken over my an evil shape-shifting doppelganger, leaving him with plenty of time to regret never talking to Edwin about his feelings. Angsty but with Feelings Realisation and the Power of Love and Friendship vibes.

my healing needed more than time by babyseraphim

Case fic with de-aged Charles! Baby Charles is precious but be prepared for discussions of childhood trauma/abuse.

The same author has also written I'm So Aces at Babysitting, which is a really cute two-chaptered AU featuring Charles and Edwin babysitting the kid versions of each other, with bonus Crystal and Niko doing the same. It's very wholesome and the author writes little kids really well.

Pouring into me by tragedy_machine

Love me some "Charles wants to date Edwin to figure out his feelings but gets turned down" fic. Feelings are hard, OK?

thank u, next by KiaraSayre

Edwin fucks and Charles seethes. It's very funny and also features some interesting worldbuilding with the Fae.

Like We've Never Known Hurt by dearheartdont

Just cute established relationship PWP and praise kink. So good.

all of these hollows by handwrittenhello

The boys are alive again but sans memories. Can they still find each other and prove their devotion to the Night Nurse?? While also evading heavenly and hellish forces trying to keep them apart??? Very interesting concept executed well.

Suo Gân by emryses

The agency takes on the case of a traumatised Edwardian ghost searching for her missing baby... Read it for Edwin family feels.

Where Primroses Bloom by PantryJesus

Reading aloud as a love language and Watership Down feels. Idk, I'm now convinced that Edwin is kind of rabbit-coded with the whole "if they catch you they'll kill you. But first they must catch you" thing. A lovely well written fic.

I'm so sick of online love by Hse11z5

College/University AU where the boys meet through a dating app. It's cute.

you can have the best of me, baby (and I will give you anything) by aletterinthenameofsanity

Again, it's the Friends with Benefits but with real feelings and mutual pining for me. Now has a Charles PoV companion fic.

True Love's Kiss by Asidian

In which Charles curses himself with a Sleeping Beauty enchantment in order to confirm his feelings for Edwin and Crystal is the real MVP. I love this one because the boys are both SO stupid but in very different in-character ways.

I also recommend Promised, in which they kind of play the Green card angle to keep Edwin out of Hell? Which honestly needs to be more of a trope. And Tight Quarters, starring the boys trapped in a magic circle, leading to Forced Proximity induced Feelings Realization (in more ways than one! 😉).

Something I Can Turn To by DontOffendTheBees

I love some domestic fluff, in this case as an Everyone's Alive/Childhood Friends AU in which the boys are poor but happy living together. I liked how they both survive their respective traumas, but Reality Ensues.

I also recommend Lived My Whole Life Before the First Light for a lovely but melancholy Soulmate AU that goes for the "seeing colours" trope for extra wistful angst.

Dining at the Ritz by TerresDeBrume

Meeting the Parents fic in which Edwin's parents are awful and Charles is Not Having It. This has Everyone Thinks They're Dating and autistic Edwin stimming representation, plus discussions of racism, classism and ableism. The fic is also part of a great Modern AU series in which the boys attended St Hilarion's at the same time and Charles saved Edwin from a non-supernatural but still almost deadly prank. Highly recommended!

The Case of the Couples Retreat by juliasfanart

Listen, I can't get enough of undercover fake dating/relationships at a couples retreat, OK? Some minor angst but overall very cute and fluffy.

acu (aysar cinematic universe) by ObsessedWithFandom

The agency is hired to solve the mystery of Charles' death and bring his killers to justice. I'm genuinely obsessed with this series; I love its OCs and Charles having an exboyfriend gives Edwin a fun crisis. Plus haunting Charles' killers is very satisfying and cathartic. Just imagine they're Netflix execs, y'all.

*Not actually quick, as it turns out. 😅

I love doing these lists because I always think I've only got a few recs and then I look back over my recent bookmarks and I've got a metric ton of great fics to rec. You guys are so talented. ❤️

[landwriter]

Hi! I hope you feel better soon!

This is a great prompt by @academicblorbo about Hob Gadling being the landlord of the Dead Boys. It has a wonderful fill already by @omgcinnamoncakes but I’d love to see what you come up with for it!

Alternative prompt from me if that doesn’t work for your brain: remember the date between Jenny and Maxine? How about one between Jenny and Esther? Poor Jenny is going to really question her taste in beautiful blonde women 😭

Thank you! I saw ‘landlord’ and ‘decades’ and blacked out. I love Hob having them as tenants. Maybe even before the modern day meeting in Sandman.

The Sandman/Dead Boy Detectives, 2.4k, G Dream/Hob, pre-slash, alternating/outsider POV, found family, a reunion and revelations etc.

---

Hob did not, strictly speaking, have tenants. It was more of a minor haunting. Pun intended.

The small room above the pub and below his flat wasn’t worth charging anyone rent for; when he first bought the building he had put a handsome oak desk in there and some bookshelves before wondering who he was possibly keeping up appearances for. Who was he going to take back upstairs that would stop and say, Wait, can I see your office? So he’d left it as more or less an abandoned room.

When he realized a pair of boys were using it as their clubhouse, he didn’t do anything at first. He saw them quietly coming and going a couple times, disappearing around the corner of the first landing. Brazen things. He meant to call after them, but the shout had died in his throat. He’d been young once. He still remembered the need to get away from it all. It was only when he went to check if they’d been making a mess of the room that he discovered it was still locked.

He’d crouched down and inspected the latch and found no marks at all. Huh, he’d said, and jiggled it again, and been a little more interested in whatever clever way they were getting into it after they disappeared up his stairs. Then he didn’t see them for weeks, and assumed they had gotten bored and stopped.

Until they came back. In the middle of an argument, striding through the pub like they owned it. Hob straightened up as they passed him.

“I cannot believe you broke the mirror.”

“I was in a rush! It’s not my fault you forgot you needed Arcana Incantatum after we arrived at the church. And found the demon.”

“I hardly forgot, I only made the mistake of assuming you would know to pack it by now.”

Hob raised his eyebrows. The boys disappeared into the back hallway. He followed them as they went upstairs, too preoccupied with their drama to notice Hob. They turned onto the landing, still carrying on. Even as they walked through the door. The locked, closed door.

Hob blinked. Then he drew his keys from his pocket and opened the door. The boys were still inside. One of them was pulling a mirror out of a backpack that was several times too small for it. They didn’t even look up, and Hob wondered how he couldn’t possibly have put it together earlier. He cleared his throat.

“Hello, boys.” That caught their attention. Hob grinned. “Seems we’re neighbours.”

---

Edwin abhorred getting involved with the living. He and Charles got along perfectly well on their own. They were a duo. An intrepid pair. Best mates, like Charles often stressed whenever he was about to ask something particularly ridiculous of Edwin. They were solid together. As solid as two ghost boys could be. The living, though, were messy and unpredictable.

Perhaps the most salient fact at present: Charles invariably became attached to them.

“He’s sad, mate. I can see it in his eyes.”

“You said those exact words in ‘94 about a dog. At least ask Hob himself.”

Before you decide to adopt him too.

Hob Gadling, irritatingly, was unobjectionable on every ground Edwin could think of. He had made no imposition upon them. When he found them, he only asked them their business, and then told them he was usually downstairs, or upstairs, if they needed anything they couldn’t procure themselves. He had an interest in rare and old books, as it happened. In explaining this, he had also hinted at being far older than his looks would suggest, which vexed Edwin twice over. He knew his curiosity would not be slaked until he talked to Hob, but then he would be the one getting involved with the living, and Charles would hardly let him forget it.

“Do you think he’s really immortal? Mate’s far too calm. Last week I saw him stop a fight downstairs by stepping right between these huge blokes. He just said something and smiled and they backed right off.” Charles lit up. “Do you reckon he’d teach me how to do that? Conflict de-escalation, innit? I could show him some moves with the cricket bat, I bet. Oh, do you think he’s a cricket fan?”

It was obviously a hopeless case, and since the Dead Boy Detectives never took on hopeless cases, there was only one course of action that remained. Edwin had long since disabused himself of the notion he needed to breathe. He had no beating heart, yet when he was startled, he would find himself clutching his chest. Now, he exhaled slowly through his nose in an entirely superfluous sigh of resignation. “Well, Charles, shall we go talk to him?”

---

When the millennium came around, Hob found himself celebrating it with his accidental tenants. There was something gloriously satisfying about being able to make a toast to the next one and have it taken seriously. He’d asked them if they had something better to do - spectral trouble to get into et cetera - and they both looked at him with almost identical put-upon and incredulous expressions.

Hob had a terrible suspicion they thought they were taking care of him as much as he thought he was taking care of them.

Edwin, with his insatiable curiosity and, deep underneath it, something Hob thought he recognized from himself: a sharp animal ferocity and a refusal to go until he’s good and done, natural laws be damned. Charles, still brightly, painfully alive for a ghost - who should be alive still, by all rights, but nothing of this life was fair - who joked to cover up hurt in a way Hob knew too, and glowed any time Hob turned so much as a kind word to him.

He wondered what they saw when they looked at him.

The year ticked over, and technology kept working. Charles grinned innocently and said he could probably possess the telly and break it that way if Hob wanted?

Hob’s heart twinged. He knew they weren’t his, not to keep, but it seemed that teenagers didn’t change at all over the centuries, even if the boys were only sort of teenagers in the way Hob was only sort of in his thirties. It didn’t change that they’d been punted from the mortal coil before having a chance to grow up, and figure out the kind of men they were, and make their own choices and fuck up and try to be better than their fathers, and everything everyone deserved. Hob had made more than his share of mistakes. They hadn’t been given the chance to make nearly any at all.

So they made toasts to the new millennium, to the detective agency, to themselves, all stuck out of time in different ways and refusing to move on for different reasons, and Hob allowed himself to think of Robyn and privately pretend that they were his all the same.

---

A week later, Hob was reminded of the other universal traits of teenagers when he mentioned his stranger and both boys began to grill him with terrifying alacrity. Before turning to his dating life, like ravening bloody wolves. When Edwin had asked, in a specifically nineteenth century manner that Hob remembered all too well, if Hob had always been unmarried, he’d nearly put his head in his hands.

“It can be hard for me to associate with the living too, you know. For obvious reasons.”

Charles had turned to Edwin and hissed “See? I told you.”

Right in front of him. Nobody had taught them manners.

“Manners, Charles,” replied Edwin loftily. “We will, of course, respect your privacy. A man is entitled to his secrets.”

“You’ll go upstairs and rifle through my personal things, is what you’ll do,” said Hob.

Charles coughed to hide his laugh. Edwin flushed and looked away. Hob snorted, and told them about Eleanor and Robyn. Properly. It was a strange relief. He’d told the story wrong for plausibility’s sake so many times he had been worried he’d forget the truth of it one day.

They had listened, and been remarkably quiet until Charles piped up and offered to set him up with a ‘really fit’ ghost. Hob had roundly shut that down. Woefully, not all explanations were satisfying enough. Charles cornered him again the next morning while he was cleaning the bar.

“No, mate, I still don’t get it.” Hob was about to say he no more wanted to be with someone who couldn’t feel pleasure from his touch than someone who would grow old and be taken from him while he stayed the same, when Charles went on, bafflingly, to ask, “Why don’t you meet your mysterious friend more often than once a century?”

Hob sighed. “Adults are often busy, Charles.” Nevermind that he had begun to wonder the same since the eighteenth century. He’d always just assumed time passed differently for his stranger.

Charles just laughed and perched himself on the bar top. “Ooh, low blow. We’re busy too, you know. Plenty of cases to solve.”

“Really,” said Hob. “You’re busy. Right now.”

Charles waggled his eyebrows.

“Charles, I am not a case,” said Hob, sternly as possible. “I’m not even a ghost. He’s not a ghost. No ghosts.”

“We could investigate. Maybe ghosts are involved. What even is he? Why every hundred years? Is it some sort of Persephone situation?”

Hob bit his lip against shouting I don’t know! I don’t know anything about him! Instead, he tried to smile, and felt it come out as a wince instead. “He’s very private.”

Charles scowled. “Yeah, obviously. You don’t even know his name. He can’t be that good of a friend if he’s too busy to see you more than once a century.”

Hob couldn’t see the expression on his own face, but he saw Charles’ shocked reaction well enough. It was so long ago for him, and still Hob knew at once what Charles saw now: that first time you manage to visibly hurt a grown-up’s feelings, people who seemed too old and too stern to actually feel pain, when you’d been going around kicking at them like a new foal, just to stretch your legs.

“Sorry,” said Charles, instant regret chasing his surprise. He was a good kid.

“It’s alright,” said Hob. He meant it. He looked down at the shining bartop. His hands were restless with the urge to light a cigarette. He gave in. It wasn’t like Charles would be dying of lung cancer any time soon if he decided to follow Hob’s example. “I don’t think he would say he’s very good at being a friend either. Truth is, I’d love to see him more often. But we had an awful fight the last time we met. If he forgives me, I’ll have to ask.”

“Mates always make up,” said Charles earnestly. He was such a good kid.

“I suppose they do.” Charles still looked sorry, and Hob clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey. Thanks for looking out for me, Charles.”

Charles beamed at him. “Always. We’ve got your back, me and Edwin.”

---

Charles couldn’t bloody believe it. Hob’s friend was here. There was nobody else it could be. He and Edwin were watching from a nearby table, pretending to be absorbed in their own conversation. Neither man noticed them. They were too busy looking at each other.

He couldn’t imagine spending more than a century apart from Edwin. The way Hob had talked about him and his stranger over the years, it sometimes seemed like they were best mates too, no matter how little they saw each other. He was dead sure that’s what had Hob looking so gutted when he thought nobody was looking. He had known they would make up, though. Maybe now Hob would be happier.

“Charles, we really ought not eavesdrop,” hissed Edwin. Right as he scooted his chair closer, the cheeky hypocrite. Hob and his friend were talking too quietly to properly hear, their heads bent together. Lots to catch up on, Charles reckoned. A hundred years. He couldn’t stop thinking about the number. It seemed impossible. Funny, he couldn’t imagine that long away from Edwin, but he could imagine spending that long being best mates. There was nobody he’d rather hide from Death with.

Hob’s face was doing something strange as his long-lost friend talked. Then Hob moved and grasped him by the shoulders, so tight that his knuckles stood out in relief. The man said something in low tones and Hob shook his head, and then pulled him in for a hug. The man stiffened and then relaxed, and his arms came up around Hob’s.

Their cheeks both looked wet.

Charles swallowed and it felt suddenly a little like he was choking. He should look away, only he couldn’t.

“They must be great friends,” said Edwin softly.

“Yeah,” he managed to croak. We won’t ever need to have a reunion like this because I’m never going to lose you, mate. I won’t let them take you. It was stuck behind the phantom lump in his phantom throat. His hand, without him telling it to, reached out and grabbed hold of Edwin’s. Edwin squeezed it hard, and Charles knew he didn’t have to make his voice work after all.

Then the man pushed Hob away, but only far enough to grab his face and pull him back again, thumbing over Hob’s cheeks, and beside him, Edwin honest-to-god gasped, and then Charles momentarily forgot how thoughts worked too.

---

It happens thus: in the New Inn, just next door to the White Horse, some 639 years after they first met, Hob Gadling and Dream of the Endless share their first kiss. Neither, if they had bothered to think about it, would have intended to have an audience, but it’s a well-known fact that some kisses cannot wait, and theirs was chief among them, being that it had so much to say, and was so very long overdue.

I missed you, it said, and I came back, it said, and Please don’t go away from me again, and I could not.

And atop them, like blankets, were laid invisible the daydreams of those who saw them, including two long-dead boys, whose dreams were woven from the fresh and unaccounted-for possibilities of Hob kissing his mysterious stranger. Another man, thought Edwin. His best friend, thought Charles. Dream was the only one who could have heeded this, but he did not, because Hob Gadling was holding him tight and daydreaming loudly of this kiss and more, of this today and tonight and tomorrow, ever greedy and ever easily pleased, and Dream could hear nothing at all over their clamouring and comingled joy; the bright gold daydream between the scant space of their bodies that sounded so much like at last.

[gabessquishytum]

The ask about alpha Dream dicking alpha Hob so good he not only becomes an omega but gets pregnant has not left my brain. Like, at all.

Add to that my love for beefcake omegas and we get Dream suffering because Hob's already glorious chest is even more glorious now that he's in the late stage of pregnancy, but he cannot do anything about it because Hob keeps complaining about how sensitive his chest is :(

Hob meanwhile is googling how many hints can you drop about wanting your alpha to play with your tits until you just have to outright tell him without making it weird because your relationship is new and not exactly clear.

Or less googling and more like starting a reddit thread because this is a niche issue but he needs advice damn it.

- 🍃

Deeply obsessed with this actually!!!!

I can imagine that the reddit thread goes a little like this.

morpheusalpha: I (35M, alpha) accidentally bitched someone and now he (33M, omega) is pregnant. At first we weren't together, but we have decided to pursue a relationship and we are very happy together. However, he is now reaching the late stages of pregnancy and I have become unreasonably obsessed by his breasts. He is now very well endowed and generally very uncomfortable (due to soreness) and I do not want to make him feel worse. How should I approach this issue?

----------weirddreammer: bro how do you accidentally bitch someone wtf

----------yourfavouritelibrarian: hello! i would recommend asking your omega partner how best you can help him. he may be very glad to have your attention on this newly developing part of his body! good luck to you both!

-----------newomega1389: omg I'm in the exact opposite situation to you!! I recently became an omega via bitching (best thing that ever happened to me btw) and I'm currently pregnant!! Tbh I wish my alpha would be interested in my tits, I'm a little shy about them but I really want him to touch and I'm super horny but I don't want to scare him off haha. Hopefully we both find a resolution!!

It takes them an unreasonably long time to work out that they're talking to each other on the same damn reddit thread. At least Hob can blame pregnancy-brain, Dream has no excuse for being oblivious. Except maybe that he was distracted by Hob’s new boobs...

In any case they finally have a chat about the issue, and both of them are thoroughly satisfied with the outcome. Hob feels truly like the happiest omega in the world as Dream kneads his full, sore tits and covers the newly burgeoning flesh in kisses. This is the life he was meant for. He can't wait for his milk to come in, so that he can provide for his child... and maybe let Dream have a suckle now and then. As long as he gives Hob a good long knotting in return!

[five-and-dimes]

Off Book

Sometimes shit gets stuck in my head and I just gotta get it out. Dreamling, human au, soft smut, read on AO3.

~~~~

There is a script.

There is always a script, for everything and anything, even if Dream doesn’t always know what that script is. Sometimes he gets the words mixed up, or he gets the words right but the cadence wrong, and he’s left floundering until someone decides to cut him out of the dialog completely. 

Which. Hurts. But he gets it.

There is a script for this too.

Hob moving on top of him, hands on his hips to pull Dream back onto his cock with each thrust while Dream’s fingers curl around his shoulders. The bedframe is making little thuds against the wall, and Hob’s breath is hot as he pants next to Dream’s ear. Dream is biting his lip, because sometimes silence is more acceptable than the wrong line, and he feels the way his breath hisses through his teeth on a particularly strong thrust. Despite his best efforts, a needy, desperate whine escapes his throat. 

“What do you need, sweetheart?” Hob rasps, keeping his rhythm as he speaks, pulling back just slightly to glance at Dream’s face.

There is a right answer to his question.

Dream knows what he’s supposed to say. He knows it from porn, from oversharing friends, from partners who tried to spoon feed him his lines- You like it like this, right? I know this is what you want, I know this is what you need- until all he had to do was nod along. He knows what he’s supposed to say, he knows what’s expected, he knows the script here.

“Softer.”

He chokes the word out, and he thinks if Hob hadn’t had their faces pressed together it might have gone unheard, he might have had a second chance to get it right, to say what he knows he was supposed to- harder, faster, more- instead of pathetically pleading for the wrong thing. There are tears welling in his eyes and his breath catches in his throat as he feels Hob still. Maybe this isn’t the end. Maybe he will just have to endure rolled eyes and pointed questions designed to let him know exactly how ridiculous he was being, perhaps a few sharp comments about how weird and stupid he was. He would endure it all, gladly, to not be pushed away.

“Of course, love.”

Dream gasps, eyes snapping open when he hadn’t even been aware of clenching them closed in the first place. A tear escapes as he blinks in surprise, looking up at Hob’s gentle gaze. A flash of sadness crosses his face, followed by shining compassion as he leans down to kiss the corner of Dream’s eye, “Anything you want, sweetheart. That’s why I asked.”

People don’t ask because they want an answer. They ask to move the script forward, to follow the tracks laid down in front of them, to get to the ending plotted out in their heads already. For his whole life Dream has been taught that every interaction has one right answer and countless wrong ones. His answer had been wrong.

But Hob just smiles as he shifts them gently till they are laying on their sides, facing each other. He has one hand wrapped around Dream’s waist to hold the small of his back while the other tugs at his thigh, tangling their legs together and then petting up and down his side in long, soft strokes. 

“Like this?”

The next thrust is slow, and deep. Dream can hear himself sigh, wrapping his arms around Hob to pull him impossibly closer, burying his face against Hob’s neck just in case he fails to blink back his tears appropriately. It feels so good, and Hob is holding him so gently and fucking him softly, just like he asked, as if it was actually possible to get what he wants even when he wants the wrong thing. And he still feels certain he will do something to make it all go away.

He opens his mouth to… he’s not really sure what. To apologize, maybe. But all that comes out is a sharp gasp, and he hears Hob moan, a sound he has become so familiar with and fond of over their time together, the sound of Hob feeling good.

“God, you’re perfect,” he mumbled, a hazy note to his voice that he only got when he was truly losing himself to pleasure and Dream lets out a choked sob on the next thrust as he realizes that somehow he hasn’t messed anything up, Hob isn’t just being nice or indulging him to hold it against him later, Hob is enjoying himself just as much as Dream is.

And crying isn’t in the script either, but when Hob shifts to kiss him deeply, he doesn’t pull away at the taste of salt on his lips. He threads his fingers through Dream’s hair as they kiss, moving together languidly, no rush, no urgency. By the time they both come, Dream’s tears have dried, and Hob still hasn’t let him go.

As they clean up- still quiet, still slow- there is a part of Dream that wonders if this is just a new script for him to learn and eventually get wrong. As they curl up in bed together- still gentle, still soft- a larger part wonders if maybe, with Hob, there isn’t a script at all.

[unpredictable-probabilities]

What Lies Beyond Fear

Summary:

Dream decides to visit Hob a day earlier than their agreed appointment.

He learns about modern-day Halloween traditions, and what it means to have nothing to fear.

Word Count: 4,635

Notes (more at the end):

For All Hallows Sadman 2024 hosted by @mr-sadman 🎃

Prompt: Trick or Treat

[Read on AO3]

---

Dream ducks under fake cobwebs hanging on trees and sidesteps around a candy stall as he makes his way to The New Inn. He could, of course, have just appeared on its doorstep, but he finds that he likes the walk, as it reminds him of the first time he took the path. The first time he had seen Hob again after more than a century.

The late afternoon sun casts a warm glow on the pub as Dream draws closer, and he sees a poster on its wall advertising an upcoming Halloween party tomorrow. Drinks would be at a discounted price if one were to attend in costume.

“My friend!”

Dream turns his gaze away from the poster to look at Hob, already approaching him from the other side of the open doorway.

“You're here early,” Hob smiles when he reaches him. “I'm not complaining, though.”

Dream finds that it is easy to return the smile. It always is now. With Hob.

“I simply took your advice and accepted more help with my work from Lucienne and Matthew. They all but pushed me out of my own castle when I said I wanted to visit you a day earlier than what we agreed on.”

Hob beams at him, and it makes something warm bloom in Dream’s chest. “Well, I should remember to thank them later. Wanna come inside, then?” he nods to the interior of the pub.

Dream nods, and Hob leads the way inside to their usual table, talking about how the Halloween party was a spontaneous idea that only came about less than a week ago.

Dream keeps his eyes on Hob the entire time, not wanting to miss a moment of it. His feet have memorised the way to their table, and so he is free to give his full attention to his friend.

He has grown rather fond of Hob's face this century; the way his eyes light up when telling a story, how he gestures with his hands more as his excitement grows, as if his body couldn't possibly contain all the happiness he is feeling, the way his eyebrows lift and his lips quirk up in a smile when Dream says something he finds surprising. That was what he endeavoured to see today, why he surprised Hob with his unannounced visit. Needless to say, the reality of it is even better than his expectations.

“Is Halloween also celebrated as a romantic event nowadays?” Dream asks curiously as they sit across from each other.

“What? No, why?” Hob furrows his eyebrows.

“I see the daydreams of your patrons. A handful of them are hoping to ask someone as their date to your gathering tomorrow. They have romantic intentions.”

“Oh!” Hob chuckles. “No, humans just do that. Ask someone to be their date to parties as an excuse to spend time together.”

Dream tilts his head a fraction to the side. “I am not certain I understand the need for such an excuse. Would it not be simpler to ask to spend time together regardless of gatherings?”

“Well, you know,” Hob looks down and picks up the round cardboard coaster, tapping the side idly on the table. “Sometimes it's scary to ask that, especially if you don't know what the other person likes to do. It's easier to invite them to a party, where there's already something to do.”

“Ooh Professor G! I didn’t know you’d bring a date!” a young lady wearing a witch’s cape and hat playfully says.

Hob chuckles good-naturedly. “Ah no, this is Dream. My—”

“Date. Yes. I am Hob’s date this evening.” Dream smiles at Hob.

Dream blinks himself out of Hob’s daydream. He always makes an effort to respect the privacy of his friend’s thoughts, but that particular one was so sharp and sudden that it caught him off-guard.

Curious. Hob daydreams of people mistaking him as his date. And him confirming it with a smile. That does not make sense. It would imply that Hob has romantic feelings for him. And why would he, when he has lived among humans for nearly seven centuries and experienced all their warmth and joviality?

Before this century they had only had six meetings, none of which had lasted a full day. Surely Hob would not prefer the cold aloofness of him compared to all the interesting humans within his reach in his daily life.

“Dream? Are you alright?” Hob’s eyebrows knit together in concern.

Dream focuses on his friend once more. “Yes. I was merely… pondering.”

“A penny for your thoughts, then?” Hob’s expression is open, encouraging. As he has always been after Dream told him the reason behind his absence in 1989.

Dream could ask. About Hob’s daydream. It is normal for friends to ask questions.

“I hope my sudden appearance has not intruded on any prior plans.”

Hob raises an eyebrow. “That’s what you were thinking about?”

Dream glances down. It is also normal for friends to be considerate of another’s time. And much more acceptable than inquiring upon one’s private thoughts.

“Don’t worry about that, mate, I’m always glad to see you. I have to chaperone a friend’s kids later tonight for trick-or-treat, but until then we can just be here. Unless you wanna chaperone with me.”

Dream looks at Hob again, trying to discern if he correctly interpreted the hopefulness in that last remark.

“You don’t have to, of course,” Hob says hurriedly. He clears his throat. “The kids’ parents are my colleagues, and they have to attend a seminar tonight so they asked if I could chaperone their kids since they live nearby.” He looks at his watch. “That’s in a little over two hours from now, though. We have plenty of time.”

Dream wants to point out that that is not nearly enough time. That they spend several hours together in their weekly meetings, sometimes until late into the night when Dream remembers that immortal though he is, Hob’s body still needs sleep. At which point they would continue their conversations in the Dreaming, lounging in the couches in the library or under the shades of trees in Fiddler’s Green.

Therefore, no. Two hours is not plenty of time.

“Dream? Is it really bothering you?” The concern has returned in Hob’s eyes.

“I am merely puzzled by these new human traditions. In times past, when this festival had varying names, it was often associated with bonfires and commemoration of the dead. Plastic spiders and masked children asking for sweets are all quite new to me.”

“Ah, yeah, it was a bit surreal to me at first too,” Hob reminisces. “But it’s nice to see an old solemn festival evolve into something that makes people more cheerful, you know? There’s something beautiful in seeing happiness around you.”

Dream keeps his gaze on Hob, on the curve of his lips and the crinkle in the corners of his eyes when he smiles. The same man who had sat across from him talking about chimneys and playing cards and handkerchiefs with raw wonder in his voice.

Dream returns the smile. “Indeed. Perhaps I can learn more about Halloween in this century. If your offer to chaperone with you still stands.”

“Of course,” Hob says immediately, his face brightening in a way that further convinces Dream he made the right choice by proposing to extend their meeting past two meager hours. “Oh I forgot to get us food, sorry. Give me a moment.” He turns and calls the attention of one of his staff.

“You are aware that I do not need food.”

“Yeah, but you enjoy it,” Hob winks at him before turning to the waiter. “I’d like a strawberry scone and my usual coffee, and a blueberry muffin and hot chocolate for my friend.” He turns to Dream for confirmation.

“It appears you know me well,” Dream concedes.

Hob grins at him and thanks the waiter who promptly passes their order on to the kitchen.

They talk, as they always do in their meetings. Hob listens with rapt attention while Dream tells him of his work in his realm, and Dream wonders if Hob is aware that his own stories of how his week had gone captivate Dream in much the same way.  

Dream thinks it is because he is the Prince of Stories that Hob’s tales have such an effect on him, no matter how mundane they may seem. It is not until Hob asks if he wants to have another cup of hot chocolate that Dream realises it is quite the opposite; Hob sees him beyond his function, and wishes to spend time with him simply because they are friends. It is not something that he is overly familiar with. Spending time with a friend. He has far more experience being the Lord of Dreams. Although it appears that he finds more pleasure in being a friend. With Hob.

Two hours fly by quickly—as Dream had known they would—and Hob says that he should get dressed before picking up the kids at their house.

“Is there a dress code for Halloween?” Dream furrows his eyebrows.

“Of course. Costumes.” Hob grins. “Even the chaperones get dressed up here every year. Wanna come upstairs? You can read in the living room while I change.”

They vacate their table and go upstairs to Hob’s flat as they had done many times before. The motions are so familiar that the situation almost feels domestic. And Dream wonders if Hob feels it, too.

“Right then, make yourself at home,” Hob says easily when they reach his living room.

“Do you say this to all your friends? Offer your home as theirs?” Dream trails his fingers along the books on Hob’s coffee table. The stack is higher now than when he first came here. He sits down on the couch to peruse the titles along the spines, and finds that the books are those he had expressed a preference to in their previous meetings.

Hob falters in his step and stops walking. “Oh, um, I haven’t really invited anyone else over since I moved here. I’ve got all these things from my past lying around, like that vase from the 1800s, and that music box from 1902. And other things that would be more difficult to pass off as part of an art collection. It’s just easier if I don’t need to worry about explaining them.”

Dream glances around, realising what Hob means. He has decorated his home to have pieces of the different lives he had lived, has chosen to keep things from his past that he holds close to his heart and doesn’t want to forget.

And Dream is sitting among them.

Dream should say something. Friends express appreciation to each other, he recently learned. He should tell Hob how honoured he feels to be allowed to see all this, to share the same space as Hob’s most cherished memories. Hob should know about the blooming warmth in Dream’s chest, about how perhaps this place is beginning to feel like home to him as well.

“You should get changed.”

Hob blinks. “Ah, right. Won’t be long. There’s some food in the fridge if you want any.” He disappears into his bedroom.

Dream sighs. It seems that he is far more articulate as the Prince of Stories than he is as a friend.

He picks up a book from the top of the stack—a fantasy novel he had begun to read at a previous visit—and continues to read where he had left off, idly wondering how humans learned to express themselves through words.

Several minutes pass before he hears Hob’s voice again.

“That’s everything, I think. I considered an eye patch but I don't wanna be walking around at night with just one eye, especially since I'm chaperoning.”

Dream glances up from his book and sees Hob wearing black leather boots that nearly come up to his knees, brown trousers, a loose white v-neck shirt tucked in, and a long black coat with gold accents at the collar and cuffs. Around his waist is a wide brown leather belt affixed with a scabbard and a gun holster, holding a cutlass and a pistol, respectively. Both of which are evidently made of plastic.

Preoccupied as he had been with his sentiments about Hob and his home, Dream had not stopped to wonder what Hob’s costume might be. He wears it well. His padded thighs and broad shoulders carry the clothes splendidly, and there is a glimpse of chest hair from beneath the low neckline.

“Don't laugh at me,” Hob warns playfully.

Dream blinks and lifts his gaze to his friend's eyes.

“I've got a fake sword and I'm not afraid to use it.”

“You are a pirate.” The past several minutes have not returned eloquence to Dream.

“Yep. That pirate show’s still stuck in my head.”

“That does not look like the ensemble of Edward Teach.”

“Because I'm not wearing that much leather,” Hob says pointedly. “Otherwise I'll be sweating in half an hour.”

Dream huffs out a chuckle. “Am I correct to assume that friends wear matching costumes on Halloween?”

“Sometimes, yeah. Why?”

Dream closes his eyes and conjures the image in his mind. The black leather boots, the black shirt tucked loosely in black trousers, the low neckline mostly covered by the black scarf tied neatly around his neck. The ring on his left index and little fingers, inlaid with rubies. The rapier hanging by the black belt around his hips.

He opens his eyes and stands up, neatly returning the book to the coffee table.

Hob is staring at him with his mouth open, his eyes running over every detail of Dream's clothing as if intending to imprint them in his memory.

Dream smiles in satisfaction at Hob's reaction. “I do like the Gentleman Pirate’s attire but I have a preference for black. I do not think he would mind the colour change.”

Hob blinks and meets his gaze. “You… Is that a real sword?”

Dream glances down at it and waves his hand to change it into plastic. “Not anymore.”

Hob chuckles, seeming to shake himself out of a trance. “Why a pirate, too?”

“I want everyone to know we are together.”

The smile melts off Hob’s face and he swallows, eyes flicking down to Dream’s mouth.

Hob surges forward to press their lips together, his hands cupping Dream's face—

Dream nearly gasps as he closes the walls around Hob's daydream. It is even more vivid than the last.

It is rare for him to manifest a heart in his human form. He finds no point to it, and oftentimes it simply slips his mind to form one.

Yet now it thuds inside his ribcage, every beat echoing in his ears like a measure of a song saying Yes, I want that. Now.

Dream swallows and puts his hands behind his back, gripping his wrist in order to prevent himself from grabbing at Hob and pushing him against his shelf of memorabilia, imprinting another memory into his mind and body that he shan't soon forget.

Dream looks at the door and takes a steadying breath. “Shall we go, then? I do not wish to make you late for the children.” And they will be quite late indeed if Dream were to fulfill their daydreams now.

“Oh, right, yeah. Let's go.”

The air outside is refreshing, calming Dream’s heart into a more even rhythm and clearing his mind.

They pass by other children and adults wearing costumes, some carrying plastic jack-o'-lanterns with candy inside.

Dream listens to Hob talk about more of the city's Halloween traditions, wondering why he had not noticed Hob’s feelings for him before. Why he had not noticed his own.

Hob puts a protective arm out in front of Dream when a motorcycle speeds past, as if Dream could be harmed by such things. They continue on walking, with Hob talking about the unfortunate lack of sidewalks before moving on to more positive things like the free candy tonight at The New Inn for trick-or-treaters and regular customers alike.

Dream watches the light of the setting sun reflect in Hob’s eyes, remembering the first instance of Hob protecting him, all those centuries ago. He had not seen Hob's daydreams then, but he felt them at the corner of his mind. And before he could be tempted to confirm if they wanted the same thing at that moment, he cut their meeting short. He did not wish to risk Hob’s life—immortal he may be—just for the sake of his own fleeting urges.

Now there is no risk of hurt or capture for either of them. Perhaps, instead of wondering why he did not notice such feelings after his return many months ago, it is more important to wonder what he will do next. Now that he knows.

They reach the house of Hob’s friends, and pleasantries are exchanged with introductions. The kids, Noah and Oliver, know Hob as their parents’ friend from the times that they all went to The New Inn. The boys dressed as their favourite superheroes—Batman and Superman, as Hob helpfully whispers to him—and they immediately adore the pirate costumes that Hob and Dream are wearing.

After their parents remind them to get along with other kids and listen to their chaperones, the boys excitedly run ahead to wait for them on the street, bouncing on their heels as they wait for the grown-ups to finish their conversations.

Hob's friends mention an upcoming holiday trip, and Dream is struck by the realisation that the spouses look at each other in much the same way that Hob looks at him.

He tenses and waits for fear to set in. He has had lovers in the past, and their relationships ended in ruin. He will not—must not—allow the same thing to happen between him and Hob.

Dream is so lost in his thoughts that he barely registers when the farewells happen and they join the kids.

They walk down the streets and Noah teases his younger brother about being scared of the older kids’ costumes of ghosts and ghouls.

“I'm not scared!” Oliver says indignantly in his high voice.

Dream feels a small hand grasp his. He looks down and sees the boy’s green eyes looking at him in concern.

“You're quiet, Mister Dream. Are you scared?” Oliver is still holding his hand reassuringly.

Dream glances at Hob and sees that his friend is smiling fondly at him. Those warm brown eyes that welcomed him without question even after he had stormed out of their meeting and was absent in the next. The gaze that belongs to the man who never doubted that he would return and built a new place for him to return to.

“No,” Dream answers Oliver without looking away from Hob. “I am not scared.”

“Hurry, Oli!” Noah calls out from a few paces ahead. “Mum says we're not allowed to separate!”

Oliver lets go of Dream’s hand and runs to his brother.

“Oi!” Hob calls after him. “Your mum also said not to separate from us!”

The boys give no indication that they heard Hob, and instead approach the nearest house to ring the doorbell.

Hob chuckles and shakes his head as he turns to Dream. “You're really okay with doing this?”

“I am. These children tonight have loud daydreams of their favourite sweets and eating them while in their costumes. It is good to see them fulfill that happiness. I had… forgotten. How much every little daydream matters.” Dream looks around at the little superheroes and princesses and fairies walking around the street, and he feels himself smile.

When he turns back to his friend, Hob is watching him with a smile of his own.

“It's good to see you happy,” Hob says with such sincere softness that makes something like yearning twinge in Dream’s chest.

“Mister Hob! Mister Dream! Let's go!” Oliver is holding his brother's hand and is excitedly waving for them to continue walking.

They meet some of Hob's neighbours along the way and get compliments on their costumes, and Hob invites them to tomorrow’s Halloween party at The New Inn.

Plastic pumpkin baskets get filled, and eventually Noah and Oliver grow tired of walking and sit on a bench to peruse their hoard.

Hob goes to buy refreshments at a food stall nearby while Dream stays to guard the kids, standing a few steps away from the bench and looking around with interest at the jack-o'-lanterns that have now been lit all over the park.

“That's a lot of candy you got.” An unfamiliar kid’s voice catches Dream’s attention.

He turns to see that three teenage boys have approached Noah and Oliver, wearing shiny robot costumes that look particularly expensive.

“Yeah…” Oliver says timidly and protectively hugs his pumpkin basket close to his chest.

“Now, that's not nice,” says the tallest kid. “Didn't your mum teach you to share?” He reaches for Oliver's basket—

Noah stands up and squares his shoulders, looking up at the older kids. “Didn't your mums teach you not to steal?”

The tall kid sneers and steps forward, and in that moment Dream bends the shadows and appears directly behind the bench, facing them.

“The night is still young, children. And reward is only sweet when it is earned,” Dream says evenly, his eyes black pools with bright stars in the center.

The older kids stare at him in horror and stumble all over themselves in their haste to run away.

“They left,” Oliver says in awe, watching the kids turn and disappear around a corner.

“It must have been your brother's bravery that daunted them.” Dream blinks and his eyes are once more blue.

“Daunted…” Noah furrows his eyebrows in thought and turns to Dream. “That means scared, right?”

“Indeed,” Dream smiles. “It appears you are smart as well. You make for an excellent Batman.”

Noah beams. Then he gets a chocolate bar from the depths of his basket. “For you, Mister Dream!”

Dream looks down in surprise at the offering in the child’s open palm. “But you worked for it. It is yours.”

“Our mum did teach us how to share,” Noah grins. “With friends.” He holds his palm higher.

Dream is rendered speechless. He does not need air but for a few moments he feels short of breath. Then he smiles and takes the chocolate bar. “Thank you, Noah.”

Hob arrives carrying big cups of fruit shakes in a paper bag. “Everyone alright?” He begins to distribute the cups.

“Yes!” Oliver exclaims, showing his full basket. “Let’s get back home and share these with mum and dad!”

The fruit drinks seem to have replenished the children's energy, and they jog and bounce along the sidewalk on the way back to their house.

Their parents have returned and have already prepared dinner for them. Oliver regales them with the tale of how his brother defended them from bullies, and as a reward they are allowed to have some of their candy before dinner.

Farewells are exchanged, and Hob and Dream make their way back to The New Inn.

“I saw what you did, you know,” Hob says as they leisurely walk under the light of streetlamps. “I can't believe you scared those kids like that,” he chuckles.

“Hm?” Dream hums with feigned innocence. “Noah did not want to give them treats. So I gave them a trick instead. Is that not how this holiday works?”

Hob laughs, a bright sound that makes Dream continually grateful for this night. “Not exactly, no.”

“Then I suppose I should stay longer so that I might learn more.”

“Well, you know I'll never complain about that. We can stay at the pub or in my flat, wherever you like. Could make us some dinner too, if you want.”

“I was thinking about a longer duration than that.”

“We’ll go to the Dreaming afterwards? Yeah, of course.”

Dream stops walking and Hob follows suit, looking at him questioningly.

“Hob Gadling. Will you do me the honour of being my date to The New Inn’s Halloween party?”

Hob’s lips part and a tinge of scarlet colours his cheeks.

Dream smiles. “You arranged for the party to happen tomorrow, on the day you were expecting me to visit. Am I wrong to assume you wanted me there?”

“No,” Hob says quickly. “I did want you there. I do. It's just… Date? How'd you mean…?”

“I mean,” Dream takes a step forward, making the blush on Hob's face even more prominent. “That I have romantic intentions and wish to be the priority of your attentions tomorrow. If you would be amenable.”

“What— Yes!” Hob laughs again, relief and delight evident in his voice. “How… How long have you… felt that way?” His gaze is vulnerable, hopeful.

“I confess I do not know,” Dream glances down for a moment. “But I know how I feel now. And if you feel the same…” He takes another step forward and transports them both back to Hob’s flat. “I have some plans in mind.”

Hob gasps in surprise at the sudden teleportation and stumbles backwards into his shelf of memorabilia, rattling some of the objects.

A smile curves Dream's lips, a coil of hunger beginning to awaken within him.

“What… Plans?” Hob blinks, pupils dilating at what he saw in Dream's expression.

Dream reaches up and slowly undoes his scarf. Hob’s gaze drops to his neck and follows every movement of his fingers.

Dream tosses the scarf to the floor, revealing the low neckline of his shirt showing much of his pale chest and collarbones.

“God almighty,” Hob breathes, and his tongue runs across his bottom lip.

Hob's daydreams wash over Dream, loud and colourful and vivid that Dream feels nearly intoxicated with them.

Dream takes a breath and steps forward, placing one hand on the shelf beside Hob’s head to steady himself. His friend's eyes widen as Dream leans in close enough that their noses are almost touching.

“I can taste your daydreams, Hob,” Dream's voice almost wavers, his restraint hanging by the barest threads of his willpower. “I should like to taste the reality of them.”

Hob swallows, and a trembling exhale escapes him. He opens his mouth as if to say something, then thinks better of it and simply cups Dream's face in his hands and presses their lips together.

Hob's lips are impossibly soft, and his calloused hands a comforting warmth around Dream as one slides down the back of his neck to pull him closer.

Dream places his hands on Hob’s waist and licks at the seam of his mouth, eliciting a moan as Hob's tongue eagerly meets his. He deftly unbuckles Hob’s belt, dropping it to the ground along with the plastic weapons in its holsters.

Hob fumbles around Dream’s belt with trembling fingers, tossing it to the ground as well and kicking it out of the way as they stumble across the corridor to his bedroom, Hob’s coat falling off his shoulders in their journey.

“Please tell me this isn't a trick,” Hob pants against his lips as he opens the bedroom door and they pour through the doorway.

“Not at all,” Dream feels himself to be equally breathless and a fond playful smile curves his lips. “I should like to have you as a treat. If you will have me.”

Hob captures Dream's mouth again in response, dragging him over to the bed as he blindly pushes the door close.

Down at the busy pub, customers enjoy the free candy and new Halloween decorations, as well as the songs playing from the jukebox that drown out any sound that might be coming from the owner’s flat above.

---

Notes:

The whole idea of Dream thinking about his feelings for Hob while they're walking around outside is inspired by this fic written by @beatnikfreakiswriting <3 I had read it shortly before starting to write this fic. It's a lovely and adorable read!

----

(All Hallows Sadman 2024 Masterpost)

(Masterlist)

[cuubism]

Made in an Instant (2/5)

part 3 of Wish. Chapter 2: Dream's eldritch baby shower

--

Later on, Lucienne and Matthew put together a baby shower for Dream in the Dreaming. It’s very sweet. Hob invites Death, though by the time he does she seems to already know, he’s not sure how. Death brings Desire, Despair, and Delirium along with her, which Hob is a bit dubious about, but he can’t exactly tell Death what to do. Even Dream’s remade version of the Corinthian shows up, which Hob is even more dubious about.

They all meet in Fiddler’s Green, ostensibly to surprise Dream, though Hob tips him off beforehand because Dream doesn’t actually like being surprised very much. “Just pretend you weren’t expecting it,” Hob tells him. When they arrive, Dream doesn’t do a very good job of pretending, though he does seem touched. Lucienne catches Hob’s eye and gives him a little smile, and he realizes she was probably counting on him to do just that.

They set up on the grass under one of Fiddler’s Green’s large shade trees. For some unfathomable reason, the Corinthian is the one who brings cake. Hob doesn’t know who allowed him to be in charge of that.

Corinthian sets the cake on a picnic blanket. It looks extremely normal, which is only more unnerving.

“That doesn’t have eyes in it, does it?” Matthew asks skeptically from where he’s perched on Hob’s shoulder—presumably positioned there to keep Hob between himself and the Corinthian. Thanks for that, buddy.

“So what if it does?” says Corinthian. “It’s important for the baby to develop proper bloodlust.”

Seemingly unperturbed, Dream takes a slice and starts eating it with a tiny fork. Under the vanilla frosting, the cake is pure red. Hob hopes it’s just red velvet.

He’s too unnerved to eat any of it himself.

Despite the possibly cannibalistic cake, Hob is briefly hopeful that it might be a nice event. No one’s tried to kill each other in the first five minutes, so that’s a plus. Maybe things will actually be normal.

Then Desire sits down in the circle.

“Why are you here,” Dream says with open hostility, and Hob mentally braces himself.

Desire just grins at Dream toothily. “She takes after me,” they declare. “I can tell already. We may be enemies, dear brother, but I hold nothing but fondness for my little nibling. I will be Auntie and you cannot stop me.”

“Auntie?” repeats Dream with derision, but Desire does not seem put off.

“Indeed. I do believe we will be the best of friends.”

“Your influence can only be negative,” says Dream.

Desire waves a hand. “We all need negative influences in our lives. And you speak as if your influence will be any better.”

Dream’s mouth pops open in outrage, but Desire thrusts a gift into his hands. Not only did they bring a gift, Hob reflects, but it’s even wrapped. Babies make people so weird.

Dream looks at them suspiciously, then at the gift with even more suspicion, but carefully unpicks the wrapping.

Inside is a knitted baby blanket in the shape of a large red heart.

Dream stares at it while Desire grins at him. “For sweet dreams,” they say.

Hob thinks it’s meant to be at least somewhat mocking but it’s… kind of sweet, too? In Desire’s twisted way.

“Do not taunt me,” Dream says at last, glaring at Desire, and they roll their eyes.

“Can’t you accept one sincere expression of love?”

“Are you capable of sincerity?”

“Enough,” Death cuts in, and they both quiet. “I didn’t bring you to cause trouble,” she says to Desire.

“I’m not!”

Dream still looks suspicious, but when he looks down at the blanket in his hands again, Hob sees something soft flit briefly across his face. “If you are sincere,” he says, “then I thank you.”

Desire settles back, satisfied. Somehow, Hob actually believes that they genuinely want to be their child’s Auntie. He doesn’t know how that will turn out, though.

Dream sets the blanket in his lap. “Perhaps you should attend your own grandchildren before worrying about mine.”

Desire waves a hand. “Oh, we’re thick as thieves, don’t you worry. I gave Rose dating advice just the other day!”

Dream looks alarmed by that, as does Death, but before either of them can react, Delirium, who’s been bouncing in her seat, jumps forward and hands Dream her gift. “Open it! Open it open it!”

Her gift is not so much wrapped as it is… an immaterial swirling ball of sparkles. Dream takes it, and it hovers in his hands, then explodes in a shower of light.

Inside is a mobile hung with glittery fish, to put above the crib. Only it’s not really a mobile, because the fish aren’t actually attached to any wires. They just hover in the air, swimming around each other in mesmerizing circular patterns. Hob has to admit that even to his adult eyes, it’s… pretty hypnotizing. Almost trance-inducing.

“I made it!” Delirium says.

Unlike with Desire, Dream has no cutting words for Delirium. “Thank you, little sister,” he says solemnly. He sets it before him, and the fish dart up to spiral around his head, then return to their meditative spin. “You must come to visit, and set it above her crib.”

Delirium claps her hands in delight. “Babies have such fun imaginations!” she says. “Even I can feel them.” She throws her arms around Dream in a bear hug. He tolerates it in good humor, but Hob sees his tiny smile over her shoulder.

Everyone else has brought gifts for Dream too. He seems nervous about it, not being used to receiving nice things. Hob urges Lucienne to go next as he knows she’ll have been sensible about it—God only knows what Corinthian’s picked out. Hopefully just the bloody cake.

Lucienne gives Dream a newborn-sized onesie that says future librarian. Dream raises an eyebrow. “Claiming my daughter as your apprentice already?”

She smiles. “More an offer of babysitting.”

Lucienne is one of the few people in Dream’s vicinity that Hob thinks is actually capable of taking care of an infant. Everybody else in the Dreaming… he’s really not so sure.

“I thank you, Lucienne,” Dream says, and clasps her hands with a small, but warm smile.

Then Despair, who’s been keeping to herself so far, passes Dream a small package wrapped in newspaper. Inside is what seems to be a plastic teething toy shaped like her hook-and-ring sigil—though with the sharp hook suitably blunted.

Hob’s immediate first thought is will the baby even have teeth, which is insane and makes him wonder how prepared he actually is for any of this. But before he can ponder it more, Despair says, “When she is hurting, I can ease it.”

Hob’s been a bit leery of letting Despair near the baby to begin with. But from what Dream has said in the past, when she isn’t being pulled into her twin’s schemes Despair can be the kindest of the Endless. Hob is still wary of that form of kindness, especially when it comes to Dream himself. But he thinks perhaps he can see what Dream means.

Matthew gives Dream the book Quantum Physics for Babies, which he seems to have procured from a Waking world bookstore despite there most definitely being a copy in the Dreaming library somewhere. “Listen,” he says, “I gotta give the kid a better start in life than I had. Speaking of which, should we set up a college fund?”

“Hob can afford higher education,” Dream says placidly.

“Great,” Hob complains, “just put all the childcare costs on me, then.”

“S’what you get for knocking up a guy who’s got no money,” Matthew says, then immediately croaks in regret for having said that out loud, hopping several feet away from Dream.

Dream just gives him a look but doesn’t comment. It’s not like Matthew’s wrong, after all.

Fiddler’s Green crafts a flower crown of budding blossoms, and floats it down onto Dream’s head, which makes him smile faintly, touching the soft petals. Corinthian gives him a stuffed toy cat with a baby-sized knife stashed in the belly; apparently, it can be eviscerated endless times and will just repair itself. Hob had been expecting body parts so he can’t complain, really. An indestructible toy might actually come in handy.

Death doesn’t have a physical gift for Dream. Instead she leans in close to his side and whispers something in his ear. When she finishes speaking, Dream is close to tears. And Hob thinks he knows what she’s said.

It’s something he hadn’t even considered. Dream had said the baby wasn’t Endless, but Hob had still been assuming she was like, kind of Endless, some sort of ethereal nonhuman creature. To think he was wrong makes his stomach drop; he nearly grasps onto Dream’s arm for balance before the past few seconds catch up to him and he remembers what Death said. Presumably said. Christ, not even born and the baby’s already giving him a heart attack.

“I thank you, my sister,” Dream says, with more than his usual solemnity, clearly—to Hob’s eyes anyway—blinking those burgeoning tears back. Hob finds his hand and squeezes it, close to tears himself.

“You know I just want you to be happy, Dream,” Death says, cheery despite the heavy topic. Not so heavy for her, though, Hob supposes.

“I do.” Dream almost seems to believe it.

Then, Death hands him a package wrapped in brown paper. Dream reads the label, frowning. Then just stares at it, for at least a full minute.

“Dream?” Hob asks tentatively.

Dream picks open the wrapping on the package and opens the box. He lifts out a child’s art kit, finger paints and crayons and so on. He doesn’t say anything.

Desire looks pale. “Is that from—?”

“Brother!” Delirium squeals, and snatches not the gift itself, but the wrapping from Dream’s hands. She turns it over, lifts it above her head to look at the underside, tilting her head and frowning. “No address.”

“Where did you get this?” Dream demands of Death.

“It was left on the doorstep, so to speak,” Death says, then doesn’t elaborate further.

Hob almost doesn’t want to ask, given their reactions, but he’s dying with curiosity. “Who is it from, then?”

“Our brother,” Dream says. It might as well be a sentence to death for the way he intones it.

Oh. Hob has heard about this. Or at least, he’s heard Dream say there are seven Endless and then only talk about six. He’s heard the space around that name.

“He’s not coming, though,” says Despair, twisting the lank strands of her hair between her fingers.

“I don’t think so,” says Death.

“Why would he do this?” Desire demands. “If you’re gonna stay away then just stay away.”

“But family,” says Delirium. She’s still holding the crumpled gift wrapping in despondent hands.

Desire snorts. “What family?”

“I’m sure he has his reasons,” Death says, defusing the argument. “Whatever they may be, he clearly wants to show he cares. I think we should leave it at that.”

Neither Desire nor Delirium look like they want to ‘leave it at that,’ but Delirium only fidgets nervously and Desire huffs, rolling their eyes, when Death casts them a look, but ultimately stays quiet. Meanwhile Dream has set the art kit down on the grass before him and is studying it, brow pinched. Hob rests a hand on his lower back.

“We will not solve the matter now,” Dream finally says.

The art kit vanishes, whisked away by dream sand to Dream’s chambers, or possibly deposited somewhere in Hob’s flat, it’s hard to be certain. Hob’s unsure whether it will make another appearance. Dream doesn’t seem like he’s quite ready to deal with that yet, and knowing him, their daughter will be as old as Hob before he is.

Gradually, the tension dissipates. Delirium folds the wrapping paper into a flower and tucks it behind her ear. Desire pulls the entire rest of the cake towards themself and starts picking at the frosting with their fingers. Despair joins in soon after.

Lucienne gathers herself and tries to rally them all. “Any other gifts?” she says.

“Hob’s gift! Hob’s gift!” Delirium chants.

Indeed, Hob is the only one left who hasn’t gone. Before he can even speak, Desire smiles slyly. “Hob doesn’t need a gift. He already gave Dream his sperm.”

“Desire!” Dream and Death say simultaneously.

“Wrow,” drawls Corinthian. “Let’s hear more about that.”

“Let’s not.” Lucienne glares at Corinthian. How she survives this on a daily basis, Hob really doesn’t know.

“Let’s not,” he agrees, and Corinthian grins at him with all three of his mouths. Hob shudders, but ignores the nightmare in favor of pulling a gift box from the fabric of the Dreaming.

He’s gotten better at manipulating the Dreaming. He’s pretty sure he even managed to hide his gift from Dream despite it being in the Dreaming the whole time and made of dream stuff.

Indeed, Dream takes the box, eyes widening in surprise as touch reveals its origins. He opens it and takes out a small rectangle, somewhat akin to a mobile phone in appearance. He tilts his head, studying it. Hob taps it, and the screen lights up, showing a camera view of the spare room in Hob’s flat they’d converted into a nursery.

“It’s a baby monitor,” he explains. “Has sound, too.”

Hob knows plenty well that, while he might be able to convince Dream to take some time off after the baby is born, Dream isn’t going to be able to just be with them all the time, even if he wants to. His job is too all-encompassing and too important. And Dream won’t complain about it, because he never does, but he will be sad about it, and he will worry about his baby when he’s not there. Hob just knows it.

Hence, the dream baby monitor that’s connected to the Waking world. Dream can, of course, look in on Hob via dreams if he needs to, or send Matthew to the Waking to be his eyes from afar, but he’s not omniscient, he can’t just know what’s going on in their flat. Except now he can.

“Getting it to connect to the one in my flat was the tricky bit, but I think I’ve managed it,” he says, and Dream turns to look at him.

“You made this?” he says.

Hob scratches the back of his neck. “Well, the Dreaming was inclined to help, I think.”

Lucienne is smiling. Death, too. Dream just keeps staring at him, perplexed, or surprised, Hob’s not sure.

He nudges Dream in the side. “I wanted you to be able to see her.”

“To see her,” Dream echoes. He looks again at the screen of the baby monitor. Touches the dream-glass with a light fingertip. His eyes shine, but he doesn’t cry—he never does in front of his subjects, and rarely does even in front of Hob. Hob rubs his back.

“Thank you,” Dream finally says, quietly, and tucks the baby monitor carefully into the inner infinity of his coat. “You have become quite adept at dreaming, it seems.”

Then he lifts Hob’s hand to his mouth and kisses his palm.

Delirium makes a squealing, cooing sound. So does Corinthian, but mockingly. Hob’s pretty sure he hears Desire gag.

But as usual, he only has eyes for Dream, and cradles his cheek in his palm, thumbing over the corner of his mouth. Dream’s eyes hold promises for later that needn’t be spoken in present company. But above all is the love there, the devotion, the promise that is the two of them. 

“Can we please open the wine now?” Desire begs, and the tension is broken, but Hob catches Dream’s gaze intermittently throughout the rest of the afternoon, and he knows what he sees there, subtle though it is. It’s happiness.

“He loved it,” Hob tells Lucienne later, when the group’s mostly dispersed.

She smiles, quietly pleased. “I know.”

[the-kr8tor]

could i pretty please request ttn!hobie finding out that while she was overseas, r got the nickname MJ? (“i spill a mint julep one time!” or smth). like maybe they’re hanging out with danny and he calls her that or smth, and he’s like “wait a minute, what” and no one knows exactly why hobie is so impacted by that, he just is. like hobie knows that it’s not some sort of cosmic force that keeps them together, but it still makes him a little extra smiley (as always feel free to decline, no pressure) -@thesevenofstaves

Aizjjwisjsjjs this is genius! Thank you for requesting, bestie 💕

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.1k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, cw drinking, TTN! Hobie and R, Thread the Needle AU, R has nicknames, fashion designer! Reader, Fluff.

Thread the Needle Masterlist

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

“So, your girl here straight up tells our supervisor to basically eat a bag of dicks but in a corporate way and you know what fucking happens?” Danny rambles on about your time in the US enthusiastically with him loaded in with a few drinks in his veins. Surprisingly enough, he's still coherent.

The entire pub is abuzz, people clambering around the telly to watch a football game that you care less about. Your glass sits empty in your hand, a cocktail mix that has the lights swirling in your vision. Hobie is doing better than you and Danny combined. He's four whole pints in and yet he's still sober enough to reply in a full sentence without sloshing his words together. But you know he's in too deep when he has basically clung to your side inside the booth like velcro. His hands roam up and down your back, knuckles tracing your spine as you lean closer on the table while your vision swirls. You've once told him that he's a clingy drunk, to which Yuri replied for him, saying, “Is there a difference between a sober Hobie and a drunk Hobie?” He couldn't even retaliate with a clever answer because it's true.

Hobie smiles against the mouth of his glass, fingers drawing patterns on your back. “No, what happened next?” He indulges your drunk childhood friend. He knows the story already, but it was told from your perspective, which you were apparently told too humbly. Meanwhile, you hide your flustered face behind your cool glass.

“She got a bloody promotion! Turns out, it was a fucking test and now she's here and handling her own team!” Danny exclaims above the cheers, still in disbelief at what happened years ago.

“Talk ‘bout lucky, eh, love?” Hobie squeezes your hip, glancing at you with a proud smile. You groan, heat behind your cheeks from the memory.

“You've got lady luck on your side, right, MJ?”

Hobie almost breaks his neck at how fast he turned to look at Danny, eyes wide, hands paused from his squeezing. “What? M.J? I thought you called her Cherry?”

“Oho! Hobie here doesn't know the story, huh?” Danny finishes his drink and then winces when he could only get a single drop. Hobie cranes his neck towards you, eyes soft, arm snaking around your waist slyly. You can practically see his mind running a hundred miles per hour, but you're not sure why. “Be right back, I need a refill.” He stands up, staggering a bit before pointing at you. “MJ for MJ?”

“That was one time, Danny! And no, I'd like a pint.” Your friend cackles, Hobie looks between you and Danny all confused.

“You smoke?” Hobie knits his brows, now he can feel all the alcohol he drank.

You chuckle, thumb wiping along the corner of his mouth to clean a stray foam. “It's a drink, Hobs. Mint julep.”

Danny makes a sound akin to an evil laugh. “You better tell him the story! Another pint for you, mate?”

Hobie doesn't spare a glance towards Danny, his eyes are all on you, staring at you like a lovestruck teenager. “Sure,” Danny shoots him a thumbs up, and then tries to straighten up to walk towards the bar.

“What?” You giggle as Hobie abandons your back to hold your hand over the table, fingers intertwining around your own. “You okay? Are you that drunk?”

“Nah, ‘m fine, tell me the story.”

“Danny hyped it too much, it's not that interesting.”

“Still,” Hobie brings your hand to his chest, holding it with both hands and then kisses your knuckles with his warm lips, leaving it atop his heart. You sigh in content, eyes tender for your best friend. “I want to hear how you become MJ.”

You smile, head leaning down on the backrest of the seat, watching the warm light illuminate his chiseled face. “It was a company-wide holiday party.” Hobie listens, mirroring your position as he places his head on the cushion on the booth, smiling wider and wider at your every word. “And there was an open bar which was a disaster waiting to happen by the way. But they only had three drinks to choose from, and one of them was a mint julep.”

“What were the other choices?” The background noise fades out, as if it was only you and Hobie inside the pub.

You snort, rubbing your thumb across the back of his hand. “I really don't remember.”

“You got too drunk?” Hobie beams at you whilst you groan from the memory. “Really, Gromit? At a holiday party?” He teases you further, nudging you with his knee under the table.

“It tasted nothing like alcohol! It deceived me.”

“Ah yes, mint julep, a very deceivin’ drink. What happened next?”

You shake your head. “Nothing, nothing happened next. I just got too drunk and started to draw designs in my sketchbook in silence. They weren't very good by the way.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Yeah, I know, I'm a genius when it comes to fashion.”

“Not that. Although you're right, love, you're a bloody genius.” You smile brightly, your turn to kiss his knuckles. “But I think there's more to the story.”

You scoff, “nope.”

“I've known you for almost our entire lives.” Hobie comes closer, breath fanning your already warm cheeks, batting his lashes at you. “Did you beat up someone? Cause damage to the building?”

“Hobie!” You slap his bicep, earning a feigned groan from him. “Nothing that bad! I just spilled it all over me.” Hobie raises a brow. “And all over my boss.”

Hobie guffaws, “way to fight the system, lovie.” He kisses your cheek while you wiggle away from embarrassment.

“I had to pay for his dry cleaning, Hobs!” Hobie squishes your face in between his hands, puckering your lips. “Not funny.” Your words are muffled, an adorable sight for him.

“It's a little funny.”

“Fine, a little.” With your words and giggle, he finally lets you go, but of course he had to steal one last kiss on your lips. It's quick, but it still leaves you in a mushy mess on the booth.

“So MJ, huh?” He'd tell you why the simple nickname had his heart palpitating. Once you two got back home, he'd tell you the significance of that name.

“Don't get used to it. Everytime I smell mint I want to vomit.”

Hobie's laughter reverberates in the pub, hand splayed on your back. “Is that why our toothpaste isn't scented?”

Before you could answer, Danny comes back with a tray full of shots and one mint julep.

“Oh dear God.” You and Hobie speak at the same time. Maybe it's time to call it a night for Danny.

[onlybeeewrites]

Until The Mockingjay Sings

Requested: no but I love Sejanus and angst and this made me sad

Warnings; major character death, hurt no comfort

Pairing: Sejanus x gn!reader, platonic Lucy Gray x Readers (y’all are besties)

Italicized = flashback

Word count: 1.6 k

You remember the last few hours that you had spent with the sweet Sejanus Plinth so clearly. It was a few days ago, you both had finished dancing at the Hob to the beautiful songs of the Covey. The two of you had been dancing, laughing and singing. It was a beautiful. You swear everything was so perfect.

Then he had walked you home, pressing a kiss to your cheek before leaving for the night. The small kiss from the sweet boy left butterflies in your stomach. Enough to make you smile from cheek to cheek, the redness on your face never ending. It was enough to have your father questioning his intensions, but it was all teasing.

He knew how much you cared for the young peacekeeper. As the bakers of the District, they sometimes (often) came into the bakery for breads, sweets if they could.

That’s how you met Sejanus Plinth.

Poor, sweet, foolish Sejanus Plinth.

How could things have ended so poorly? So quickly? Your mind couldn’t comprehend.

You stood with Lucy Gray in the crowd of people, near the front as you watched you who recognized as Spruce and what you had heard to be his sister. be brought up, about to be strung up on the big old tree. The two of them looked defiant, while also being horrifically beaten. Dried blood and bruises covered their faces and exposed skin. Dirt littered and stained their clothes and hair, and yet they still held their heads high. Honorable. But what had they done?

As Coriolanus’ eyes scanned the crowd, he spotted the familiar head of dark curls that belonged to his beloved Lucy Gray. Though next to her was you, Sejanus’ beloved Y/N. His heart pounded seeing your pained and confused face. You truly had no idea what Sejanus had done….maybe it was better that way anyway. Had you known you would have been up there beside Sejanus. And that would have been such a waste. He agreed that you were good, too good and too kind. Often too much for your own good. But then again, you and Sejanus had that in common. And his mind went back to the moment everything had started to gone wrong.

“You can’t show that you know or saw anything anything, Sejanus. You need to pull yourself together. If we’re all caught…they might suspect Y/N too. And you want to keep them safe right?” Coriolanus’ had asked Sejanus. And Sejanus’ dark eyes had widened at the mention of your name.

No. No, no, no, no. You couldn’t be wrapped up in this. You didn’t know anything about the rebels, or the plan of escape, the weapons, his meetings with Billy Taupe and Spruce. Would you really get caught in the middle of it all if himself and the others were caught? You had no knowledge of anything. You wouldn’t. Your life in Twelve wasn’t all sunshine, but it was better than many.

You had expressed this to him too. That you did what you could for the District. Handing out free bread to those who were starving. Often you have the Covey expired pastries and sweets when you could. You were kind. Genuinely so kind and almost too kind for your own good.

It was ironic for Sejanus to think so, but it was true. You were a good person. One of the few he had met in a long time. And he had sworn to himself and you to keep you safe. He was just about to pull you aside and ask for you to come with him. Away from the districts, to travel up North away from it all. That was until Coryo shot Mayfair. And then Spruce shot Billy Taupe. And it was all going wrong.

Sejanus quickly shook his head, looking at his friend in tears, “no….no they have nothing to do with this Coryo, you know that…” he whimpered with a desperate shake of his head. He failed onto keep from the violence. But he would always make sure you were safe.

Coriolanus nodded, keeping his hands firm on his friend’s face. “I know they don’t, Sejanus. I know. But in order to keep them safe and out of this, you need to pull yourself together. You need to collect yourself and walk back out there like nothing happened. We’re the only lose ends left right?” He asked, and Sejanus nodded again, taking a shaky breath. “Hey…we’re brothers, remember? Brothers...and I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe,”

How that would change so quickly. Coriolanus remained at the front stage of the hanging tree, his gun firmly in his hand while hearing his friend beg for him. Him. Coriolanus Snow. Sejanus Plinth’s best friend. His murderer. And Sejanus didn’t even know. You didn’t even know.

“Please…please coryo…..Coryo…” his voice repeated as he was dragged to his spot, the noise fitting around his neck as the head peacekeeper replayed the recording of the Jabber Jay. You looked on horrified next to Lucy Gray, looking around in shock.

“No….whats Sejanus doing here? He hasn’t done anything. There’s been a mistake,” you say rather in disbelief and frazzled as you watched your boyfriend struggle against the pace keepers before being brought up on stage. You listened in horror as the recording

“No….no there’s been a mistake!” You shout, all eyes moving towards your figure. Lucy Gray’s eyes widened, shaking her head. “Y/N, stop it..” she warned quietly, anxiously.

But you didn’t hear her as the crowd parted to show you. Senjsnus’ eyes widened through the tears. He didn’t expect you to be here. With all his fear he felt, what really made his blood run cold was seeing you. The panic on your face, the disbelief. He never got to tell you everything. The plan to run away together. He wanted to make sure he had everything planned out to the second to make sure it was perfect.

Sejanus wanted to tell you about the life you both could have together. A family. Away from the districts. Away from the Capital. And away from the Games.

"Y/N..." Sejanus gasped, jerking in the restraints, only to earn a warning from the peacekeeper. You weren't supposed to be here. He was scared, but he did not want you to see what was about to happen.

"Sejanus! There's been a mistake! Please!' You called out, the stinging in the back of your eyes as some of the peacekeepers moved. Lucy Gray had seen this. Lil...the girl about to be hung now had done this exact same thing when her lover had been hung. Quickly, Lucy Gray moved forward and quickly pulled you back.

"Y/N, you need to stop or else you'll be up there next," She whispered harshly as you fought her for a moment. How could you remain quiet?

"No....no...no...Y/n! Ma!" Sejanus's voice rang out before there was a sickening crack of several necks as the floor below the three people gave out.

You stared in horror through your tears as the body of the love of your life twitched and swung back and forth by rope that killed hundreds already. You felt like the whole world stopped. Your blood ran cold, and it was like someone had sucked everything from you. The warmth, the love, the hope. Everything that Sejanus had given you, the light and hope for a new and better life, was taken from you within seconds. Who could do such a thing? Sejanus didn't have enemies. None that you could think of at least. But at the moment you couldn't think as you tried to come to terms with what just has happened.

"Oh my god...Sejanus..." You sobbed, feeling your legs give out from beneath you. Lucy Gray was quick to drop down beside you, wrapping her arms comfortingly. Though Sejanus' voice continued to ring out in the air.

The Mockingjays all flew around the crowd and trees, repeating his last words, "Y/N! Ma!"

His voice was scared, desperate for the ones he had loved most. A District boy turned Capital turned rebel. you stared as the ground in horror, tears streaming down your face as your body shook with sobs and shock. Lucy Gray was gently rubbing your back but you couldn't feel it. You couldn't feel anything. Just numb.

So Lucy Gray allowed you to remain like that, sobbing until there was no tears left. Your eyes and face red and puffy, a blank and lost look in your eye. By the time you even got to your feet, a majority of the crowd had left.

"No...don't look," Lucy Gray had gently ordered, keeping your gaze down from the sight of the tree. You were shaking, and nothing like the best friend she had known. She wrapped a supportive arm around you before leading you out of the area without another look behind you both.

Coriolanus felt his own stomach churn as he had heard he snap of his former classmate, his squad member swung behind him, and watched as you had fallen to your knees in pure anguish. As the look in your eyes turned from hopeful and light to a blank and pained look. All for Sejanus. Maybe he had more of an influence than Coriolanus originally had thought. The same boy who had gotten himself into more trouble than he was worth.

The very same boy he had met on the playground when they were eight, the same boy who had given him the gum drops, the one who Coriolanus had almost died for in the arena, the reason he had to kill.

But then he had to remind himself that it was not his fault. He had to report Sejanus, he was trouble, a rebel. Sejanus had been ruining everything with his guilt and urge to help others. But that was all over now. Sejanus was no more.

Poor Sejanus.

Poor sweet, foolish, dead Sejanus.

[valeriianz]

Thinking about how we, as a fandom, seemed to have forgotten the ridiculousness of the mistletoe tradition. Oh, to be kissed by a stranger under a parasitic plant in public! Why yes, sign Dream up.

Thinking about Hob decorating the New Inn for Christmas. Dream drops in unexpectedly (but certainly not unwelcome) as usual, curious to see Hob draping multicolored lights along the open shelves of liquor behind the bar.

“What are you doing, Hob?”

“What does it look like I'm doing?” and Hob would turn back to his work, and Dream would watch, fascinated. Listening to the cheery music playing through the speakers, listening to Hob speak of the centuries past, how the celebration of the Christmas holiday had been pretty steadily thus since the mid 1800’s.

“The pagan holiday?” Dream would inquire, dragging his fingers along the taped up holiday cards along the backsplash of the bar, like moth’s wings stuck out and on display. Some even transferring soft glitter on Dream’s fingers, making him rub them together curiously.

“Well,” Hob would shrug with a grin. “The Christian bastardization of it.”

“Hardly,” Dream mused. “The Romans celebrated Saturnalia in this time, honoring the god with a feast and gifts.”

“No foolin’, eh?”

And, since it was late and Hob was feeling good about the work he’d done, he’d pour Dream a glass of red and offer him a seat, both of them sitting at the bar and admiring the twinkling lights, the smell of pine from the fresh garland, the garish oversized stockings tacked to the walls, and– Dream noticed with puzzlement, a single bunch of berries and leathery leaves hanging from the ceiling in the middle of an archway.

“I do not recognize this.”

Hob followed his friend’s gaze and, “oh,” he’d laugh. But it sounds… off-kilter, nervous or embarrassed. 

“It’s mistletoe. Just this– parasitic plant–”

“Why does it have a bow on it?”

“For fun.” Hob would level Dream with a look like, lighten up. Get into the spirit.

“Elaborate.”

And Hob would hmm and haa about this relatively silly tradition about kissing under a mistletoe, how the “rule” had kind of faded away in the past decade or so, but it was still a fun little thing and Hob, ever the purveyor of all things dreadfully human, wants to keep the tradition alive, even if no one really follows along anymore.

And Dream, knowing full well he doesn’t need an excuse to kiss his immortal, very human partner, decides to humor Hob.

He slips from his seat, hearing Hob snicker from behind him, probably knowing full well what he’s about to do, and Dream walks to stand directly under the plant.

The bar is closed, no one else is in the building, but Hob looks around anyway, like there would be anyone else who would take advantage of this opportunity. Dream has to physically bite down a delighted smile as Hob shrugs– well if no one else will– and all but jumps from his stool, slowly walking toward Dream with his hands in his jeans’ pockets.

Without even touching Dream, Hob leans in and pecks him on the mouth.

Dream’s brows rise up to his hairline. “Is that it?”

“I’m afraid so, love.” He points up to the plant above them. "They don’t hang these in public places for full blown make out sessions, you know.”

“Hm…” Dream considers this, and decides if the tradition of kissing under the mistletoe only yields one chaste thing, then he’d have to start collecting them enough to make something substantial out of it.

Cue the ridiculous montage of Hob finding Dream in various locales, venues, anywhere he’s at (even at a holiday staff party) and in all manner of positions, under a mistletoe.

“Was that even there before?” Hob would ask, a red solo cup in his hand and smirking like a fool at the sight of Dream slouching against the wall, a– quite large actually– mistletoe dangling from the ceiling above his head.

“Does it matter?” Dream would counter and Hob would shrug, fair enough, and acquiesce to the plant’s demands. It was a Christmas tradition, after all.

Or Hob entering his office at work and finding Dream draped across his desk, holding a plastic mistletoe that looked like it was bought at a drug store high above his head.

Hob would take a few moments to stand and stare, enamored by this ridiculous creature.

“You know how much I love you?” It’s not what Hob meant to say, he was going to quip something about dramatic Endless and their need for attention, but he’s so gone over Dream that his mouth barely cooperates with his brain in these situations.

Dream would preen, stretching his long legs down so they dangle off the edge of the desk, like a cat sunning himself, shaking the plastic plant for emphasis. 

“You could show me.”

This is their new tradition, every Christmas season. Hob finds Dream everywhere in the waking world, distracting Hob, raising eyebrows, and starting up strange rumor mills. But it’s in the privacy of his own home, coming back from work, and finding Dream wailing desperately against the foyer of his kitchen, a planted mistletoe hanging from the ceiling, as usual. 

“Oh, Hob Gadling,” Dream would cast an arm over his eyes. “How I’ve waited for you to come back and free me from the spell these dreadful berries have put me under.”

“Okay,” Hob would grin, biting back a laugh. “Would a kiss suffice?”

Dream would be hanging off the wall, his long, rail thin limbs bent at every angle under faux duress. 

“Oh! It might do. I feel shackled under this strange power this greenery emanates.”

“Dream of the Endless,” Hob would tease, dropping his bag and taking off his coat as he walks to his impossible lover. “Brought down by a common earthly sprout.”

“Yes, yes, now will you get over here?” 

And once Hob is within arms reach, laughing hard enough to wheeze, Dream would grab him by the shoulders and pull him in.

[abyssalcryptid]

Untitled Portrait of a Man (I Want to Obliterate Me) by @seiya-starsniper

“You know, when a beautiful man asks me to get naked in his apartment, he’s usually naked with me,” Hob purrs, winking from his position on Dream’s dark green chaise lounge chair.

Dream rolls his eyes from behind his sketchbook and doesn’t rise to the taunt. If he presses his charcoal too hard into the paper as he continues to draw, Hob doesn’t need to know.

Hob laughs at Dream’s silence and leans backwards to rest on the chaise’s armrest, running a free hand through his long, wavy hair. The movement arches his back, and Dream presses his knees tightly together, trying desperately to ignore the painful erection he’s been harboring for over two hours now. Dream cannot deny that Hob is beautiful, it’s the reason they’re in this situation after all.

Dream had stumbled across Hob completely by accident when he saw the other from across the quad, playing volleyball with some other students. Dream liked people-watching on the grassy lawn, the constant whirl of activity gave him far more inspiration for his art than the bored models in his art classes. The volleyball game in particular had been an excellent way for Dream to study movement and muscle tension as the men ran back and forth along the sand covered court.

Then Hob removed his shirt midway through the game, and Dream promptly forgot about the rest of the game. He instead became singularly focused on the broad set of Hob’s shoulders, in the flex of his pectoral muscles each time he reached to return the ball over the net. Hob’s chest is also covered in thick dark hair, clearly soaked through with proof of Hob’s exertion.

Dream does not remember much of what happened once the game was over, he only knew that he had a singular goal of committing the man’s body to paper, and then eventually to a full painting. Before he knew it, he had approached Hob once the man had said his goodbyes to his friends, and from there they had arranged for Hob to come to Dream’s apartment and pose for him.

What Dream hadn’t been prepared for, however, was the excessive amount of flirting and innuendo coming out of Hob’s mouth. Dream has been uncomfortably hot in his own skin despite the air conditioning being at full blast, and Hob keeps wagging his eyebrows at him, and inviting Dream to join him on the chaise.

Dream will not be deterred. He is a professional, damnit, and he will act like one, even if Hob refuses to return the same courtesy.

[gabessquishytum]

So there’s this manhwa called Match Made in Bed (no happy ending for the main couple I’m afraid but the premise is very dreamling-coded) where basically this woman is recently dumped because of how stiff she is during sex so her friends decide to hire some hosts to cheer her up. Among the hosts is this one guy who’s actually a swim instructor doing a favor for his friend but he’s actually really reserved and haughty (sound familiar?) and kind of looks down on the whole practice of escorting. Eventually the woman gets hammered and he ends up taking her to a hotel room where she entices him into sleeping with her to prove she can be a good lay and surprise surprise, their sexual compatibility is off the charts and they have sex nine times. But afterwards they don’t know how to move forward because she can’t imagine dating a host (even tho he’s not) and he can’t stand rich women who go around flaunting their money and hiring escorts (she was lying about her job as a stewardess too). But at the same time, they can’t keep their hands off each other. And so, shenanigans and misunderstandings ensue. I can totally imagine Hob and Dream in this scenario where they keep saying tonight will be the last night but then in a turn of events they keep running into each other like it’s fate, like Hob unknowingly signing up for Dream’s swim class, and who can resist a good fuck? Hob has literally never met someone who can make him cum so many times before and Dream has never had so many wet dreams. And it’s good for both of them. They’re both getting better sleep and relieving so much stress. I imagine eventually one of them will get their act together and come clean about their true job so they can finally be happy and fuck without anything holding them back.

I am now extremely obsessed with the concept of host!Dream. Or how about, Desire is actually the host, but for some reason they've persuaded Dream to fill in for them! Probably so they can have a vacation, lol. Anyway: host!Dream.

Hob is super intimidated by the gorgeous hosts that Jo organised for him, and he ends up drinking waaayy too much. He's pretty sure that the gorgeous guy with the blue eyes is actually disgusted by him (Dream is just struggling to keep smiling for hours and hours 😭) and it makes Hob feel so discouraged. When the pretty guy escorts him to the hotel room, Hob doesn't even mean to seduce him - he literally stumbled and fell into Dream’s arms. The kiss that followed just felt natural. And after that... Well. Hob usually hates drunk sex but with Dream, he feels... incredible. He doesn't even feel intoxicated. He just feels like he's floating, encased in a shroud of total pleasure.

Dream doesn't even know why he slept with the sad drunk guy, but. Even he has to admit that it was amazing. Hob might be awkward and dumb, but his body is everything Dream has ever wanted. He can hardly believe that it wasn't all just an amazing fantasy, but sure enough he wakes up with Hob the next day. And Dream IMMEDIATELY leaves. He doesn't like rich finance guys (Hob lied about his job, he's actually a teacher) and it's not like this host gig is even HIS job.

Hob wakes up alone, feeling physically amazing but emotionally devastated. Even though he's probably too jealous to handle dating a host, he can't help wishing that Dream stayed. At least for a morning blow job...

Of course the universe brings them right back together. Hob promised that he would finally learn to swim this year; Dream turns out to be his instructor. They fuck down in the shallow end of the pool after Hob learns to float (who needs to swim when you can cling onto a sexy man while he fucks you?), Dream shows up to pick his nephew up from school and runs in to Hob as he comes out from teaching a class. They don't have time to do anything but make out messily in a supply cupboard, but it's still incredible...

They still refuse to talk about their obvious perfect physical compatability. Hob still believes that Dream isn't really into him. Dream still can't pluck up the courage to actually speak to him. Every other week they end up in some kind of compromising position - Dream has memorised all the little scars on Hob’s body, and he's kissed every single one of them. Hob can't get off by himself anymore, not without Dream inside him.

The only consolation: Desire is back from vacation, soon. If anyone can get the idiots together, they can. But Desire isn't always inclined to be helpful... and they might just make everything worse!

[triassictriserratops]

do you think Peeta makes a solid medium to large friend group after the war and what do you think they do together?

i think that Peeta makes various smaller friend groups. Him, Annie, and Johanna all check up on each other intermittently. They're all unbelievably important to each other and both Johanna and Peeta are active presences in Baby Odair's life. Johanna stopping by in 4 frequently with dangerous not mommy-blog approved gifts for him. Peeta and Katniss take him in frequently as he grows so that Annie can get some time to herself. On hard trigger days, they jump on a call together and lean on each other. Remind each other that they survived. That they are going to survive. And that they have each other. Peeta and Delly (and the handful of other surviving Merchant teens) all spend time together. They start a book club at the bakery but it's really just an excuse to get together. Not in an exclusionary way, it's just that they're all they have left of the childhood they knew. they all lost so much of their community, their neighbors, their friends - so they hold onto each other. Peeta also volunteers his time with the cleanup crews for District 12. So he makes friends with Thom and other Seam folk. He goes out for drinks with them at the "New Hob" after his shifts sometimes. They LOVE getting him to drink because man CANNOT HOLD HIS LIQOUR. They think it's HILARIOUS. Katniss has to come pick him up sometimes and he's crying because she's married and he's so jealous. "I'm married to you, you idiot" "Wait, really???? Is it serious??? Can I kiss you???" :: sigh :: "Thom, did you really need to give him that last shot?" "Absolutely, yes." And then, of course. There's his family. Haymitch, Sae (and her granddaughter), and Katniss. Peeta has so much love for Haymitch and Sae. He'd do anything for them. He helps Sae with all of her more strenuous house chores. Shovels snow for her, cleans her gutters, anything he can. He is devoted to her and is grateful to her for watching over Katniss. And he never fails to show her that gratitude until her dying day. He plays with Sae's granddaughter too. She keeps a running list of new animals that she's learning about and with every animal, Peeta lets her help him make sugar cookies shaped like that animal. It's her absolute favorite day of the week and it helps give Sae a rest day. It's more of a struggle with Haymitch but he does what he can. Helps out around the house, pays someone to keep Haymitch's house decent. Makes sure that he has at least one healthy meal a day. They always portion out their leftovers for him too. He also finds little projects to do with Haymitch where they can keep their hands busy and enjoy the silence of work. He helps Haymitch build the goose pen. He helps dig out a watering hole for them. Haymitch takes on woodworking and Peeta learns right along with him, just to have a way to bond. And then, of course, his absolute best friend, Buttercup. (I'm kidding, Katniss, although yes, him and Buttercup are annoyingly bonded to Katniss' consternation.) Of all of his circles. No circle is more precious to him then the love and friendship he builds with Katniss. Their home together is what he always wanted but never thought he'd have - peace.

[film-in-my-soul]

Dark | 1,369 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: Hob wakes to the sensation of being watched by the darkness in his bedroom. He loves it when Dream gets weird.

Werewolf Boyfriends; The Care and Keeping Of | 3,298 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: There are many benefits, Dream reflects during the full moon, to the keeping of a werewolf for a boyfriend.

Intemperate | 4,402 | cuubism / @cuubism

Summary: Was it like this for humans all the time? Dream wondered. This heavy anticipation in his chest, the bodily attention verging on pain? He hadn’t known it was possible to be so intently aware of another person, but there it was, Hob Hob Hob in the pounding heart he didn’t need, a compulsion that wasn’t intellectual or even particularly romantic, but rather a strained desperation that could only be soothed by touch.

Dust on Trial | 4,655 | Griombrioch

Summary: “And..” Hob pauses, “this was good for you? It’s what you wanted?” Dream closes his eyes and sighs out a breath he doesn’t need, if only to make another attempt at dislodging the rock in his chest. He knew what would happen when he approached his previous lover. He knew their nature, and he’d done it anyway. This is his fault. He just wishes the hole inside of him would fill. He despises feeling so hollow. “Oh,” Hob breathes then, as if understanding some complex problem that Dream himself cannot see, and the frown deepens. “Oh, you’re in a bad drop, aren’t you, love?”

all together now | 5,182 | Moorishflower / @moorishflower

Summary: "You know I do not require this of you," his lover says, and Hob swallows again. This time Dream doesn't even need to look; his eyes are still trained on Hob's throat. "Is it not so that human lovers keep aspects of themselves...apart from their relationships?" "Hiding a thing for obscure fetish pornography isn't quite the same as keeping an entire part of your personality locked up," Hob says kindly.

Please see below for more recommendations!

Handy | 5,612 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: Dream answers the door one beautiful September afternoon to a man so attractive he can barely keep it together long enough to get his sink fixed. Several weeks later, he runs into the same man in a lecture hall.

and oil for the light | 6,387 | Moorishflower / @moorishflower

Summary: Matthew eyes him with blatant disrespect. "You're one of those," he says. "One of those monsterfucker people. Gets off on tentacles and shit." "Tentacles," Hob says, affronted. "There's never been any tentacles." "Have you asked?"

how longingly | 7,333 | cuubism / @cuubism

Summary: Hob's fingers slip a little higher, just under the sleeve of his coat. He is still wearing his coat, yes, why is that? He feels very warm. "Could find out?" "Are you suggesting I should find some man to bed me?" "Some man," Hob repeats, jaw working. His gaze is hovering somewhere around Dream's collar. "Some man who knows what he's doing, yeah."

I Wanna Hold Your Hand | 7,535 | Moorishflower / @moorishflower

Summary: Hands are such a human thing, Hob thinks. To make, and shape, and create. The elegance of thumbs. Fashioned by thousands of years of slow and careful evolution for the sole purpose of holding. He wants to hold Dream. To rub their fingers together, that singularly human grasp, to push their palms flat, and their chests close, and he's not sure if he wants to hug his friend or cry on his shoulder, because he should have been there. He should have known.

with both hands | 8,596 | Moorishflower / @moorishflower

Summary: Hob whistles, low and impressed, and makes one more turn to admire the extremely obvious handprint on his right arsecheek.

Licking the Spoon | 8,636 | Dira Sudis (dsudis) / @dsudis

Summary: "I have spoons in my flat," Hob added, feeling a little reckless with the surge of probably-unneeded adrenaline. "Loads of spoons." His friend raised his eyebrows at that, and jerked his hand away from the spoon on the table, but he didn't follow it by walking out, so Hob hadn't gone too far.

Ecdysis | 8,647 | Moorishflower / @moorishflower

Summary: The manner in which an animal routinely casts off a part of its body (often, but not always, an outer layer or covering), either at specific times of the year, or at specific points in its life cycle. The door swings open, and Hob looks up, as automatic as a blink or a breath. He’s not expecting anything. It’s been three months and four days, six hours and thirty-nine minutes, and all he had been told was more than once a century. Dream is standing in the doorway. He looks like hell.

Relief | 8,753 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: "Your daydreams," Dream pronounces, standing there with his hands in his coat pockets, looking Hob's body up and down like it's a fascinating puzzle. "Are exceptionally loud." Oops.

Fell In Love With a Pisces Moon | 10,651 | LikeMmmCookies

Summary: Dream visits Hob 33 years late, but then he keeps coming back and Hob doesn't know exactly why. He finds Dream isn't the same man he once knew, but he's still in love all the same.

just find the feeling, pass it on | 10,784 | ThirtySixSaveFiles / @thirtysixsavefiles

Summary: There is a new temple in London. This is not so unusual. Dream has been…away, as his sister says, for over a century. Even had he not been, he does not map the Waking so thoroughly as to always see these things when they start. Places of love, of devotion, spring up from time to time. He leaves them be; they are not, generally speaking, his business. What is unusual is that this one is shaped like a pub, and it is very much his business. Dream contemplates The New Inn as he approaches.

Scenes from a University AU the Author Did Not Intend to Write | 10,880 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: Dream and Hob, throughout their time at university together, dancing around one another until something finally gives.

by the minute | 11,267 | issylra / @issylra

Summary: "Why don't you tell me your name?" "Hob." Quite possibly the worst fake name Dream has encountered thus far. There's another pause. "I mean. Not Hob." A punched out breath. "Fuck." "You don't know your name?" "Of course I know my name. But I'm not sure you're supposed to know my name."

Consummation | 11,462 | Moorishflower / @moorishflower

Summary: Cōnsummāre, To perfect, to consummate. Cōnsūmere, To devour, to take wholly or completely. Turns out, shoving all of your repressed desires into a box lined with teeth will spectacularly backfire when eventually you have to open the box up again. Or, Hob Gadling demonstrates his ability to code switch and Dream goes off the rails a bit.

Saint Morpheus | 11,882 | landwriter / @landwriter

Summary: “Kneel,” said Dream. Hob knelt before him. Dream pressed his own thumb to his lips and wet it. He took Hob’s chin in the other hand and tilted his face up. “Some do this with ash. To acknowledge death. Mortality. It would not befit you,” he said, and smudged his wet thumb in a sign upon Hob’s forehead. “Now you wear my mark,” he said. “I have always worn your mark, my Lord,” said Hob. “Then remember you are mine and to me you shall return,” Dream said.

Wolf and I | 12,054 | Moorishflower / @moorishflower

Summary: "Shuck," the beast says. "How quickly the memories of men fade! I am no paltry devil, little red. I am the son of the great wolf Night herself, first and foremost among stories! I am older than the seas and the forests! I am..." "Beautiful," Hob breathes. Hob Gadling, hunter for King Richard, is called to fell the wolf that has decimated the deer of Cannock Chase. He finds more than he bargained for waiting for him in the woods.

On sexual dimorphism in C. urophasianus | 13,177 | Moorishflower / @moorishflower

Summary: "I must court you," Dream pronounces, and Hob drags his attention away from the flowers. Grimaces slightly. "You don't have to," he says. "This will only last a week or two, and then we can go back to being, you know. Normal boyfriends who aren't being driven insane by the urge to put every shiny object in the flat in the bloody bed with me."

Once Upon a Time | 14,055 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: Hob knows the point of storytime at the library is to give parents an hour’s break and maybe a chance to grab a coffee with some other parents at the library café and enjoy the company of other adults for a little while, but when the moment comes to leave Robyn, he can’t face it. Robyn’s all he has left in the world and he really doesn’t want a break, he wants to keep him in his bloody pocket always. But he needs time to be with other kids, away from his hovering wreck of a dad, and so Hob decides on a mature, reasonable solution. He hides behind one of the bookshelves. Which is why the first he ever knows of Dream is his voice.

Midnight in Bloom | 14,389 | CeruleanHeart

Summary: A peculiar species of flowers is spreading in the Dreaming, maddening its residents and threatening to overtake the realm. When Morpheus himself falls under their spell his only option is to confront all the desires for an old friend he’s had long buried within his heart before his own passion can consume him.

Bloodhound | 15,712 | Moorishflower / @moorishflower

Summary: It's a square gem in an antique gold setting, real antique gold, with the sort of dullness to the metal that tells its age. There's nothing particularly ornate about it. The ruby itself is a simple cut – he’s not a jeweller, doesn’t know what to call it precisely, but it’s square-ish and bevelled at the edges – but it catches the light in such a way that it makes it seem like it has a thousand facets all across the surface of it. The rain creates a stippled effect, and even through two separate panes of glass Hob can see his reflection peering back at himself through the ruby’s deep face. £2500, says a placard set in front of it. Early 1900s RUBY pendant - real!!!

in the absence of memory | 16,089 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: A freak accident renders Hob unable to remember the beautiful man who strides into his hospital room and declares himself his husband. But oh, does he want to. He knows he's loved this man for centuries, that nothing could make him forget. The best he can do is tell him that, and wait. Meanwhile, Dream of the Endless experiences being Hob Gadling's beloved spouse, without any of their past hanging between them, and agonises over the realisation that Hob could have loved him if only he'd been better.

an allowance of pleasure | 16,860 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: Even a being as powerful as the Lord of Dreams may have things to learn. Even a human as insignificant as Hob Gadling may have things to teach. Luckily for Dream, Hob's supplies of tea, biscuits, and patience are bottomless.

New Stranger | 20,709 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: It’s been three months since Hob Gadling attended the funeral of his oldest friend when he walks into the basement café of a bookshop on Tottenham Court Road and sees him behind the counter.

Shelter | 23,345 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: 1924. Roderick Burgess' continued attempts to control Dream result in a shattered cage, eternal sleep, and one very human, very cold, very hungry, very naked, VERY angry Endless. Several days later, Captain Robert Gadling opens his front door, and said very human Endless falls into his arms.

The Knight of Cups | 25,720 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: Hob had fought Lucifer, as Dream’s champion, with his bare hands, rushing in where angels would fear to tread, heedless of anything but the desire to protect.

spilled ink and daffodils | 31,625 | issylra / @issylra

Summary: "I love your tattoos," Hob mimics, in an overly lovestruck tone of voice. He bats his eyelashes for good measure. "Do you have more? Can you show me? It's totally okay if you have to take off your clothes, by the way. I just want to appreciate the artistry." Dream fixes him with what is probably supposed to be a blank stare, but Hob can see the way he's biting back a smile. "Are you done?" "Painting for the day? Yes. Teasing you? No, probably not."

By the Laws of Magic | 32,125 | Lenore

Summary: It’s 1959, and Hob Gadling is working at a London auction house, amazing his colleagues with his uncanny knowledge of art and artifacts from the 14th century on. When he gets the assignment to catalogue a family library at a place called Fawney Rig, he looks forward to a working vacation in the country. What he finds is a house with a preternatural chill where odd disturbances happen daily, an ornate carved door with a secret clearly hidden behind it, and visions of his mysterious stranger every time he turns around.

You're the One I Need | 39,086 | Moorishflower / @moorishflower

Summary: "Uh-oh," Delirium says. Dream studies the car, the white smoke billowing out from beneath the bonnet, listening to the alarming clunking noise that the engine is making. On his hip, Orpheus, unusually solemn child that he is, gazes soulfully at the car. "Caw boken," he declares.

A Man of Good Fortune | 43,308 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: Captain Robert Gadling, a man with a fortune of a hundred and twenty thousand pounds in war prizes, needs a well-bred omega to fulfil his ambition of styling himself a gentleman. Dream d'Endless, a penniless divorced omega with an ancient name, requires an alpha to provide for his son, Orpheus. Their purely practical marriage seems like the best solution for everyone. If only either of them were inclined towards practicality.

grist for the mill | 56,226 | jamais_vu0

Summary: The rumor that Hob Gadling, the human who tricked Death herself into granting him immortality, has finally decided he's lived long enough and consented to die is sweeping through the supernatural community like wildfire. It even spreads to the Dreaming, where Dream handles it about as well as could be expected. It is, to say the least, a bit of a shock to Hob Gadling himself, who is still very much alive- and increasingly in need of rescue.

On Broken Wings | 57,191 | Konstadt / @blueberrymffn

Summary: Hob Gadling has seen the same man sitting still like a statue every day for a week and looking terribly upset, all he really wants is a peaceful lunch break but he can't bring himself to ignore someone in need - especially a very gorgeous someone who looks like they're on the verge of a breakdown. A chance meeting becomes far more, and gives Morpheus a means to heal.

The Uses of Adversity | 65,825 | MonstrousRegiment

Summary: What led Hob Gadling — at the time known as Robert Stranger, because he’d been in a permanent state of pettiness from 1889 to about 1904 and now he was stuck with it — to the dank, cold, and dark basement of the Burgess house on March of 1957 was not so much coincidence or fate as it was curiosity. Yeah. Cats isn’t the only thing it kills.

My Stranger, My Dream | 67,154 | SigniorBenedickofPadua / @signiorbenedickofpadua

Summary: Hob has been around death. Living in London throughout multiple plague outbreaks and fires, as well as making a living soldiering and dabbling in banditry, will do that to you. What he doesn't know is that Death has been around Hob as well. He has no idea that when his Stranger left him that night in 1389 after their first meeting, the woman who came up to him, laid a hand on his shoulder and said, “Good luck, friend,” was Death incarnate. Hob doesn’t know that he is one of few things in this world that has been Touched by Death and lived. Had he known this, he might not have been as confused as he is when his body slams into the floor of a dim, candle-lit cellar and he finds himself surrounded by hooded figures and a gold circle on the floor. That is all he manages to perceive before everything goes blurry and consciousness slips away from him again. Here in the Darkness.

Music When You Speak | 72,075 | The_KickIt_Domain / @ml-nolan

Summary: "I should have asked you earlier, but I don't suppose you'll still be in town tomorrow?" Hob says. "It'd be lovely to see you again." The man truly looks regretful as he says, "We won't." It was worth a shot. They hardly know each other. There's no reason for the sick film of disappointment settling over him. "Ah, well. I'm happy to have met you anyway," Hob says, subdued. "Are you doing anything right now?"

If I Please You | 112,103 | Moorishflower / @moorishflower

Summary: “I’ll guard you for a night,” Hob says, “and say I please you, you can either pay me for a day’s work, or keep me on ‘til you reach where you’re going.” “Do you know the way to Canterbury?” the lord asks, and Hob nods. “Oh, yes. It’s a few days’ ride, not more than three or four, by my memory.” “Then you shall have three days to please me, Robert Gadling.”

would you let me know?/ I could make some time if you wanted | 150,934 | BeatnikFreak / @beatnikfreakiswriting

Summary: Dr Hob Gadling's been assigned a new colleague to co-teach his second year class, Dr Dream Oneiros, who is both utterly beautiful and completely unable to act like, y'know, a human being. But Hob's nothing if not indefatigable, especially when faced with a fascinating man who probably needs to talk about his feelings more, and who listens to every stupid thing he says like it's the most profound poetry.

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