#Robert “Hob” Gadling (mention)

[samsalami66]

Cinnamon Warmth

I simply HAD to write a little continuation of @unpredictable-probabilities' wonderful fic Where It Goes, so definitely read her fic before you read this one or else this will make little sense!

Read either here or on AO3!

To be completely honest, Morpheus was a bit nervous now that he was standing in front of the Gadling family home, his one hand resting in the crook of Hob’s elbow. Agreeing to Christmas brunch with Hob's parents had been easy as they had laid in the bed of the hotel, relishing each other's presence and warmth in their own little bubble, away from the rest of the world. But standing in front of the other man’s childhood home as his unexpected plus one for Christmas was a bit more spontaneous than his usual endeavours, and so the nervousness perhaps should have been expected. 

Hob on the other hand seemed totally unbothered that he would be introducing a man he met the day before to his parents, even with what had happened to him last Christmas. Morpheus strived for such a level of self-assuredness and optimism. If he were lucky his family would only disown him for such a decision. Or behead him, if he were less lucky. 

“Promise they don't bite,” Hob murmured to his right, and Morpheus snorted in response. 

“I wouldn't be too sure of that. Their son certainly didn't seem disinclined if prompted, and he must have learned it from someone.” 

“That would be Marleen's influence right there, I tend to keep my teeth to myself.” A male voice suddenly answered from the doorway, amused to no end. Morpheus whipped around with a deep blush rising on his face to the man now standing in the doorway to Hob's home. Leave it to him to make a bloody fool of himself first thing. 

Mr. Gadling was a very soft man, with smile lines around his mouth and crows’ feet around his eyes, which sparkled with the same sort of mischief Morpheus had already witnessed on Hob's face. There was also the same sort of resolve to make him feel safe and welcomed, and Morpheus deflated a bit at that slowly familiar look on his face. 

“Apologies, Mr. Gadling,” he said quickly and held out a hand to Hob's father, determined to overcome his social faux-pas as quickly as possible. “I'm Morpheus, Hob's… friend. At least for now.” 

The man barked a laugh at that and ignored his hand in favour of giving Morpheus a full-bodied hug. “I do like a man that knows what he wants! Call me Frank. No need to be all formal with family, eh?” 

Morpheus was released with a clap to his back and the most stunned expression he had ever worn in his life. He was given a moment to collect himself as Mr. Gadling moved to hug his son with the same enthusiasm he had bestowed upon Morpheus. The comparison made something ache in his chest, but in the best way he could imagine. 

“Now come in, boys, it's freezing! Marleen will want to meet the new face, so prepare for all the usual motherly fussing.” Mr. Gadling winked at him then, and Morpheus had exactly zero seconds to prepare before he was being pulled into the next pair of arms at the same time as Hob. 

“Oh, Robert, you didn't say you would be bringing such a gorgeous young man along!” The woman now embracing them both had a smile that rivalled the sun and brown eyes the same shade as Hob's. She smelled faintly of garlic and bacon and herbs, which caused Morpheus' stomach to growl with interest. The croissant perhaps hadn't quite been enough to fully ease his hunger this morning. “And he's hungry too! Well thank goodness I just finished preparations for brunch.” 

Mrs. Gadling shooed them into the dining room before Morpheus even had the chance to introduce himself and then headed off back towards the kitchen to continue her preparations. All that Morpheus could now do was blink, but somehow it didn't help with his orientation. Beside him Hob chuckled, then slowly led them to the table so they could sit down. 

“Perhaps I should have mentioned that they're very handsy.” 

Honestly, Morpheus wasn't sure if that would have helped. Nothing could have prepared him for this welcome. 

“It's alright…” Morpheus frowned as he realised that it really was alright. Usually he hated physical contact. But somehow, this wasn't too bad. Some part of him was even hoping to experience it again. The Gadlings were… warm. Their touch felt soothing instead of irritating. Perhaps it was a quality the whole family shared. “They're nice.” 

“They try their best,” Hob agreed and Morpheus nodded in response. 

Pans and pots clattered in the kitchen and some colourful but delighted curses accompanied most sounds. Morpheus was itching with the need to make himself useful. 

“Shouldn't we help your mother with preparations?”

“Not if we want to keep our heads, no. She takes great pride in preparing Christmas brunch by herself, we get to do the washing up later, if we're lucky.” Hob’s voice was fond as he talked about his mother, about this joke that must be reoccurring every year. 

“Marleen is a very independent woman,” Mr. Gadling agreed with a smile from the doorway, and Morpheus got the feeling that popping in on conversations like this was simply his thing. 

“She certainly seems like one, Sir.” Morpheus cringed a bit at his politeness, but no offer of first names could erase a lifetime of addressing even one's own father as ‘sir’. 

“Polite boy you are, hm?” He chuckled and sat down opposite them, then rested his chin on one of his hands to look at them. “How did you guys meet?” 

Morpheus opened his mouth to answer, when Mrs. Gadling suddenly flicked her husband against the temple with a disapproving click of her tongue. 

“At least wait until we're eating before you grill them. Here, be quiet.” She instructed and shoved a steaming pastry into Mr. Gadling's mouth, who only shrugged and munched away happily on the very fluffy looking cinnamon roll. 

Mrs. Gadling then places the rest of the tray and several other types of pastries on the table, quickly followed by a spread of hearty cheeses and meats and bread, as well as a pot of tea. It was simple, but the heat radiating off the pastries and breads spoke of a very early morning spent in the kitchen and hours upon hours of preparation work. Morpheus felt slightly unworthy of being on the receiving end of such a meal, made with care and love and at the sacrifice of time and energy. 

His own parents did not cook or bake or put any effort of their own whatsoever into Christmas dinners. They hired private chefs that made incredible eight course meals which only tasted of the craft but never of love. 

When Morpheus bit into a warm cinnamon roll dripping with sugary goodness and topped with an ungodly amount of frosting he tasted nothing but the love Mrs. Gadling held for her family. And possibly enough sugar to give him cavities overnight. He dove in again immediately after the first bite. 

Mrs. Gadling looked pleased at his enthusiasm as she cut off a piece of fresh bread for herself and buttered it generously. 

“So, now, how did you meet your lovely new friend, Robert?”

Hob chuckled at the curiosity in her voice and quickly swallowed his mouthful of cream cheese puff pastry. 

“Fell asleep on him on the train yesterday.” Two pairs of eyebrows were raised at that and Morpheus felt a blush dust his cheeks again. “And Morpheus very gallantly saved me from face-planting when the train suddenly broke down.”

Mr. Gadling made a face that said Yep, sounds like my son and Morpheus wasn't sure what it said about Hob that such a situation apparently was very like him. 

“And you just decided to tag along for Christmas brunch, darling?”

It took Morpheus an embarrassingly long time to realise she was addressing him with ‘darling’. Considering she didn't ask his name, he probably shouldn't be so surprised. 

“Er, yeah. Yes, sorry. I didn't have any other plans for the day and as Hob offered… I hoped his family would be as lovely to spend time with as he himself is. And I haven't been disappointed.” 

“Oh what a charmer!” Mrs. Gadling laughed in delight and nodded her approval. “I'm glad we didn't scare you away yet, sweetheart. But I gather if you survived a full day with Robert, you'll survive a meal with us.” 

“It is no hardship,” answered Morpheus quickly, then turned slightly more red than he had already been. “Neither spending time with Hob nor with you. I feel very welcomed, although you barely know me.” 

Both Mr. and Mrs. Gadling smiled indulgently at his words and Hob, too, seemed touched by them. 

“You're going to be good for our boy.” Mr. Gadling stated then and Mrs. Gadling hummed her agreement. “So, what do you do, son? Music or art?” 

[gabessquishytum]

So we know that Hob is a diminutive for Robert, right? But did you know that there's a further diminutive for Hob? Hopkin, or more commonly, Hopkins. It means "son of/family of Hob". Its far more commonly used as a surname, but if Hob ever had another kid... I can ABSOLUTELY see him being like "this is my son, Hopkin Gadling :))))) did i mention that he is my son :)))))))"

[bruce-wayne-simp]

Based off of this ask for @gabessquishytum

Wanting, Kneading

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.7k

Pairing: Dreamling (human au)

Characters: Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless, Orpheus (mentioned)

Tagging: @valeriianz, @chaosheadspace, and @tj-dragonblade ❤️❤️

-> Ao3 Link <-

Dream thought hiring a private chef was a good idea. And it was. At first.

He had just gotten full custody of Orpheus and, after a few weeks of disastrous attempts at making dinner– which resulted in burnt food, dishes in the sink, and, ordering out– he had finally decided on a chef named Robert Gadling, or Hob, as he had enthusiastically insisted Dream call him upon their first meeting.

Dream had realized he was screwed when Hob's warm, brown eyes lit up the minute he saw Orpheus. Taking the four year old's tiny hand in his own to shake, and hanging on to every word that came out of his mouth, few that they were.

The fact that he was handsome, too, didn't help Dream's plight in the slightest.

Which is how he has currently found himself standing over the kitchen island with Hob, Orpheus at preschool, brownies cooling on the counter, learning how to knead bread dough.

"It's really quite simple actually." Hob starts as he clears the island. "A lot of people use stand mixers for it. Which is nice if you're in a rush, but I mean, people have been doing it this way for thousands of years, you know? Why change it up now? Besides, I like using my hands."

Hob directs Dream to stand across from him and starts explaining how to work the dough, but Dream is distracted. The other man's sleeves are pushed up, exposing his hairy, thick forearms. His muscles flex and move deliciously under the skin as he kneads the dough, his instructing voice weirdly soothing.

Dream startles as Hob plops the dough ball down in front of Dream. "Your turn."

Dream covers his hands in flour and tries desperately to scrounge up some recollection of what Hob had been doing, and clumsily tries to replicate it. Hob, for his part, is very patient with him, coaching him through it.

Dream huffs after his third failed attempt. "I can't do it."

"Nonsense. Of course you can." Hob smiles and steps around the table toward him.

Dream's breath hitches and he tenses, but forces himself to relax as Hob moves to stand behind him.

The other man gets close. Warm, strong hands grasp his, moving them in order to properly knead the dough.

"Don't be so gentle. You can be rough with it, it will be fine." Hob's breath is hot on his ear, sending chills down his spine, arousal starting to simmer in his belly.

Hob keeps moving their hands, pressing them together, his fingers interlocked with Dream's. He can feel Hob's calluses, rough on the back of his own hand.

Hob presses in even closer– oh fuck– nearly forcing Dream's body into the counter, Hob's chest meeting his back. He can feel the warmth of him through his shirt. His eyes flutter.

On the next downward motion, Dream pushes himself back and feels Hob's prick grind against his ass. He's hard. He hears a stuttering breath against his ear. Hob grinds back against him a bit.

"Dream." He breathes.

"Hob." It comes out as a whine.

"Fuck. Hold on." He lets go of one of Dream's hands to grab the kneaded dough off the counter and slam it back into the bowl with a metallic clang. "It needs to rest."

In one swift motion, Hob turns him around and slots their lips together, crowding him up against the counter. Dream feels dizzy as Hob's tongue enters his mouth. He moans, flour-covered hands moving up into Hob's hair, leaving streaks of white.

"Fuck, Dream." Hob gasps.

Dream grinds his hips against Hob's, making him groan. Hob's hands move to grab the underside of his thighs, hoisting him up so they can grind against each other. Dream's arousal turns sharper at the display of strength.

Dream pulls away and looks him in the eye. "Fuck me."

From his spot on the counter, he watches Hob's eyes darken. The fingers gripping his thighs tighten the slightest bit.

"Yes." Hob leans in and kisses him again, hands petting Dream's sides and hips. Hob tastes sweet, their tongues sliding against each other. Hob's hands slide up to slip underneath his shirt, Dream shudders as his hands stroke the sensitive skin of his belly.

"You're gorgeous." Hob's fingers are carding through his hair now. He tilts his head back and groans.

As Hob kisses him, he reaches around the other man's back to untie his apron. Hob pulls away from his mouth briefly to pull the strap over his head, and Dream tosses it across the kitchen. He returns to kissing Hob with a vengeance, pulling the other man close by his belt loops. Dream rolls his hips sharply, pulling a low groan from him. A thrill shudders through his spine at the sound.

Hob’s hands are under his shirt now, gripping his waist. His hands are slightly sticky from the dough, but Dream could not care less. He pushes his tongue into Hob’s mouth, tasting him.

He starts to unbutton Hob’s shirt, revealing thick, glorious, coarse, brown chest hair that he wants to bury his face in, though he settles for dragging his nails through it. Hob tugs at the edge of his shirt and Dream quickly pulls away to let him pull it up over his head, letting it fall to the floor.

Dream pushes his chest into Hob’s, rough hair tickling his own bare chest. They stay like that for a little bit, grinding slightly, teasing each other, breathing the same air. His eyes are warm, and fond.

God, he’s fucked.

Dream reaches up, slowly pushing the shirt off of Hob’s shoulders. They're broad, strong, dwarfing his own slight build. Hob kisses him again, this time trailing down to start kissing his neck. He tilts his head to the side, sighing at the rough feel of his stubble.

“You said you wanted me to fuck you, darling?” Hob gusts, breath hot against his neck.

“Yes, please.” Dream huffs a breath as Hob steps away for a second, opening a cabinet and grabbing the olive oil.

He sets it down on the counter, yanking Dream off, spinning him around and guiding him to bend over the counter with one strong hand on his back. The show of strength sets his stomach aflutter, anticipation and arousal melding together.

Strong arms encircle his waist as Hob reaches around him to undo his jeans, pulling them down to his thighs. He settles himself against the table as he hears Hob open the oil, soon feeling blunt, slick fingers at his hole.

Hob takes his time fingering him open, kissing anywhere he can reach and driving Dream crazy by switching between ignoring his prostate and steadily rubbing it until he’s begging.

“Fuck, Hob- please, please.” Hob gives him one final hard pass over his prostate, the pleasure zinging up his spine, making his eyes roll a little, before he pulls his fingers out. He strokes a soothing hand along Dream’s spine as he slicks himself up.

Dream groans out a, “Fuck.” As the head of Hob’s cock presses against his hole. Slowly, slowly, Hob slides in. The oil isn't quite as good as the lube he has upstairs, the stretch burning a bit, but it feels incredible, his legs trembling with it.

When Hob finally bottoms out, Dream is breathing hard, his every exhale tinged with a whine. He feels warm lips press against the nape of his neck, a quiet ‘shhh’ soothing him.

They stay like that for a while, Hob running his fingers through Dream's hair and whispering something that Dream can't focus enough to catch.

“Hob-” Dream whines. Hob runs his hands down Dream’s thighs, coming back up to settle at his waist.

“I’ve got you, love.” He pulls out slowly, cock dragging along his inner walls, before thrusting back in again, holding him in place, hips digging slightly into the counter’s edge.

Dream moans, breath hitching with every hard thrust. Hob’s cock is constantly sliding against his prostate, sending pleasure radiating throughout his body, through his abdomen, down to his toes.

Hob starts a fast rhythm, sending Dream higher and higher, the heat building in his belly at a fast pace.

A chocolatey scent fills his nose, and something small and warm is being pushed against his lips, “Open up, love.”

He does, and suddenly his senses are overwhelmed with rich chocolate. The overstimulation of his taste buds, mixed with the pleasure coursing through his body is nearly too much, he doesn't know which to focus on.

“Please, please.” He begs. Hob grabs his hips and somehow starts fucking him even faster.

“Come for me, darling. You can do it.” He pants, his thrusts starting to get erratic.

Dream keens, back arching. He scrabbles to grab ahold of something, anything. Hob’s hand finds his and he squeezes, surely nearly breaking it, as he screams his pleasure.

He feels the warmth of Hob spilling into him a few moments later. Hob leans heavily onto the counter over top of Dream as they come down.

After a few minutes, Hob starts to straighten up. Dream hisses as he pulls out, and Hob breathes a, “Sorry, love.”

They both stand and silently fix themselves up as best they can. Which isn't much, at least in Dream’s case, he has flour covering his chest and face. Irritatingly enough, Hob looks more put together, if a bit flushed. He chuckles at Dream’s scowl.

“Here.” Hob grabs a dish towel, wets it, and gets to work wiping Dream’s face. His index finger is curled under his chin, tilting it up, and Dream can't stop staring at his eyes, focused on his task.

Hob finishes wiping the flour off of his face, and moves down to his chest before he catches Dream staring at him, seeming to realize he may have overstepped. He freezes, face flushing.

“Uh- I. I think you've got that covered, I'll just- uh. Bathroom! I'll go wash and then, uh, start cleaning up in here.” He rushes off, muttering something about, ‘Going to have to bin those brownies.’

Then Dream is left standing dumbly in the middle of his kitchen, the memory of strong hands and warmth all over his body, holding a damp dish towel.

Shit.

Fin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bonus:

“Bin the ass brownies” - @seiya-starsniper 2024

[merinsedai]

Dreamling Abbey

My fic for the @the-centennial-husbands-bigbang !!

No lie, guys: I decided to do this after coming out of a heart scan at the hospital on the sign up deadline. The thinking being: I could have a dicky ticker here, why not try something new? And this was perfect because if there's one thing I know about myself, it's that I need a deadline.

And so here we are.

I am MOST affronted by how hard this was?! And how bloody long it took me (mostly because I spent a lot of time staring into space or relentlessly googling 'did they have xyz in Edwardian England) All you wonderful, talented writers have made it look so easy that all that effort came as somewhat of a shock. Honestly, I am deeply saddened that the copious amount of Dreamling fic I have voraciously consumed in the past 18 months has not magically made a fantastic author out of me. Why does osmosis not work for writing?

If you read, I hope you enjoy!

(The ticker's fine, by the way. Not dicky at all.)

Art by the fabulous @lalaithquetzallicaresi Thanks for squeezing me in there, lovely! ❤

Pairing: Dream/Hob

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 50k

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con elements

Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Downton Abbey Fusion, look it's Downton Abbey but Dreamling omegaverse. Sorta. If you squint, I'm not sure Julian Fellowes would approve, If you haven't seen Downton it definitely won't matter, because I've unashamedly just stolen bits and pieces and thrown the rest to the wind, Attempted Sexual Assault, Rape/Non-con Elements, Non-Consensual Kissing, Pining, period typical attitudes to gender. If you reframe gender to include alpha beta omega dynamics, omega rights paralleling the suffragette movement in England, Minor Violence, lots of vague references to classic cars, mention of unethical medical procedures, Time and Night are bad parents, Omega Dream of the Endless, Alpha Hob Gadling, Hob Gadling Loves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Dream of the Endless│Morpheus Needs a Hug, Unbeta'd

Read chapter 1 on ao3

Fic Summary: Lord Morpheus is the eldest child of the Earl and Countess of Endless, an ancient family hiding huge debts behind a fine name. As an omega, Morpheus cannot inherit his father's title or the family's ancestral home. His function is simple: secure a match that is both socially advantageous and financially viable, thus securing the future of the estate and the title of Earl of Endless for his offspring. The family believe that their troubles are solved when Morpheus dutifully (if reluctantly) becomes engaged to his wealthy cousin, Patrick. However, all their carefully laid plans are thrown into chaos when Patrick drowns on the ill-fated Titianic.

Now Morpheus is navigating treacherous waters of his own and discovering how tight the ties of family loyalty bind him. Will the charming and handsome Duke of Crowborough prove his saviour? Or will the wealthy yet odious Sir Roderick Burgess ensnare Morpheus in plans of his own?

Meanwhile, the family’s new chauffeur, one Robert Gadling, is muddying the waters of Morpheus’s existence even further- where is the line between a servant and a friend? Can Hob help Morpheus see that life exists beyond the confines of family and function?

Chapters below the cuts and in subsequent reblogs, should you wish to read it here on tumblr.

Chapter 1: Complications with the Great Matter.

April 1912.

The papers had been late this morning. Not that Morpheus notices their tardiness. Serious daily newspapers are the preserve of his father and since Morpheus has little interest in the society gossip that proliferated on the pages of The Daily Sketch, the only periodical he is allowed in his room, he rarely bothers to glance at it. However, the large photograph blazing across the front page is so arresting that he finds his eyes drawn to it immediately, ignoring all else on his vanity to take the paper and read.  It is bad news of course, the papers rarely print anything but.  ‘DISASTER TO TITANIC ON HER MAIDEN VOYAGE’ boldly proclaims the headline, beneath which is black and white image of the doomed liner, adjoined by one of her seemingly also doomed captain, John Smith. Morpheus’s eyebrows draw down as he reads the brief article: so many presumed dead, so few saved.  They would know people, of course. His mother knew the Astors, and they had dined with Lady Rothes only last month. Still, the privilege of first class likely meant they would be amongst the survivors. Those below decks… on their way to a better life, well they would not have been so fortunate. What a tragedy, Morpheus sighs and closes the paper. This news rather put his own woes into perspective-

The door bangs open and Desire flounces in without so much as a by your leave, as is their way. 

“Dream!” they shout without preamble, then glance at the newspaper in his hands with a slight moue of disappointment. Being the bearer of bad news is something Desire takes a measure of delight in, “Oh, you’ve seen already, Huh,” They shake their head, before bending over Morpheus to look more closely at his paper, hand gripping his shoulder. This close, the smell of the perfume Desire favours- a rich and spicy aroma deliberately chosen to overwhelm their natural omega scent- makes him wrinkle his nose and move his head away. Desire’s fingers tighten on his shoulder and they huff in amusement. They are not strictly allowed to wear perfumes but Desire goes their own way with everything.  “When Jessamy told me, I thought she must have dreamt it!” Desire continues in a low tone, meeting Morpheus’s eyes in the mirror.  “To think, we were just talking about that ship the other week. Remember how excited old Lucy Rothes was? Supposed to be unsinkable- ha!”

“Every mountain is unclimbable until they climb, so every ship is unsinkable until it sinks,” Morpheus responds neutrally, putting the paper down and shrugging Desire’s hand off to stand. Desire moves with him, smoothing their hands over the non-existent wrinkles on the shoulder of his jacket before adjusting his already meticulously placed tie pin. Morpheus endures the attention for a moment before once again moving away. He does not enjoy this close scrutiny and Desire knows it, but it is always a delight of theirs to make him feel uncomfortable.

“Hm” Desire hums then shrugs, “Come on, now you’re all sorted, lets go to breakfast. Aponoia said she saw the telegram boy come by. I want to find out if there’s any more news. Won’t it be something if someone truly important drowned? Gossip for weeks.”

***

The papers always print bad news. Of course they do. But that news is viewed through a detached lens. Shocking, of course, but not too close to home. Telegrams though- that’s different. They take that news and make it personal. 

Breakfast had proven to be a fraught affair. Their father had been away from the room when they first arrived, speaking with their mother so they were to learn, but he had soon been back and imparted the news of their family’s misfortune to his children with unusual brevity. Then he had left without saying anything further, leaving the three of them to process the news alone: the news that Patrick Endless, their wealthy cousin and Morpheus’s fiance, had been aboard the Titanic with his father, James and neither were listed among the names of the survivors. Morpheus had not felt like eating further and had removed himself back to his rooms with his siblings following uninvited (though not strictly unwanted). He had wanted to think but he also knew the danger of getting lost so deeply in his mind, so Desire’s sniping and Aponoia’s quiet presence would be… grounding. 

The stupid thing was that Patrick was not even meant to be on that cursed ship; he and his father weren’t expected in New York until May. Why? He thought Why did they go? And without saying anything? Perhaps Patrick had planned to telegram from New York- a boast and a surprise. 

“Turns out that the lure of the Titanic’s maiden voyage was too strong.” Desire says as if reading his mind, and with a hint of mischief in their golden eyes. They lounge dramatically against the doorframe whilst Morpheus stands and stares out of his window, gazing at the grounds below. It all looks so quiet, so normal. Why doesn’t he feel sad?  Desire continues, “They wanted to be part of history and now they are history.”

“Desire,” Morpheus chides half heartedly. It is a crass statement but he can’t find it in himself to react more strongly. Maybe they are looking for a reaction from him, or maybe this is now how his sibling processes strong emotions. It certainly seems in character. Aponoia has not yet spoken. She just sits unmoving, staring vacantly ahead, toying with the ring on her finger, turning it over and over. He himself feels oddly disconnected from the news. How is one meant to react upon learning that their intended had been so suddenly and shockingly killed- drowned in the icy waters of the North Atlantic, their frozen corpse not even recovered, just left to sink and rot in the sea. Dream blinks slowly, probably not like this, he thinks vaguely. He feels there should be some weeping and wailing involved at the very least. 

But there is only numbness.

***

“Uh, I detest black,” Desire flounces into the room the next morning whilst Morpheus is busy writing in his journal. He enjoys writing, it helps to order his often scattered and rebellious thoughts. 

Jessamy, the maid he shares with his siblings, has just finished fixing his hair and is busily setting his bed to rights, plumping the pillows and smoothing the coverlets.  Desire regards themself critically in Morpheus’ tall mirror, turning this way and that. Aponoia trails after them silently. She is also dressed in black and it makes her look even more wan and washed out than usual. As for Desire, their outfit may have been the requisite black, but it still looked to Morpheus to be sufficiently rakish as to raise their parents’ blood pressure. Hardly proper mourning material. “At least going into mourning won’t ruin your aesthetic, Dream dear,” Desire stretches languidly and collapses back on the just-made bed, smiling thinly. “Always a silver lining somewhere.”

“Full mourning still seems a lot for a cousin,” Morpheus replies vaguely. He tries to pay little attention to his siblings, bent over his journal and writing quickly. The habit of diary writing was born of necessity: a strategy to help quiet his mind, he’d been told, but now it is a pleasure. 

“But not for a fiance,” Aponoia’s voice is quiet. There is no accusation in her tone, only the retelling of fact.

Morpheus huffs slightly. “He was not really a fiance.”

“No? I thought that was what you call a man you’re going to marry?”

“I was only going to marry him if nothing better turned up,” he turns the page and continues writing.

“Morpheus! What a dreadful thing to say!” Desire looks simply delighted. “Poor dear Patrick was absolutely besotted with you. It was quite pathetic to witness really- your indifference and his lovelorn obsessiveness,” they shudder theatrically. “Perhaps it’s a good thing he drowned; saved him from a miserable life with you as husband.”

“You dare suggest I would have been a poor husband to him?” Morpheus demands, slamming his diary closed and rounding on his sibling. Desire shrugs insouciantly, fiddling with a diamond earring.

‘“Well you didn’t love him. Barely liked him. And he wasn’t the cleverest where you were concerned, but he would have seen it sooner or later, and hated you for it. Of course, I could wish an unhappy marriage upon you, dearest brother. But Patrick? He deserved better.”

‘Better?’ Morpheus raises his eyebrows. Desire’s words were often full of spite towards him but this was such a quick switch around from mocking Patrick to defending him. Was there something here he had never seen? Never bothered to look for, in truth. “You would have considered yourself a better prospect, my sibling? Taken what I would have discarded?” He raises his eyebrows in challenge and they glare at each other for a moment, then Desire drops their gaze.

‘Yes,’ they say softly, vulnerability etching their features momentarily. “Would that I were eldest and not… as I am. Then I would have taken him like a shot.”

They stand, shields quickly  going back up. “Well,” they sniff pointedly, looking away from Morpheus and towards the door,  “It’s not so bad I suppose. Mama says we can go into half mourning next month, then full colour by September. A shame we have to spend the summer so drab- and miss the season down in London!- but at least we’ll be ready for shooting parties in the autumn.  Come on Appy, let’s leave his lordship alone. He clearly craves solitude. To think,” they sneer, “and write in his stupid diary.” They flow out the room without a backwards glance, Aponoia dutifully trailing in their wake.

Morpheus sighs and turns back to his journal, opening it and staring at the blank page but not picking his pen back up. Desire and Patrick… not that he thought Patrick had returned any sort of affection to his younger sibling but still, had he really been so blind?

“I was so terribly sorry to hear the news, my lord,” Jessamy offers quietly into the silence of the room as she finishes adjusting his bed again. “You say these things but I know you are sad. Whatever you say.” “You are a dear,” Morpheus murmurs. “But I do not feel as badly as I should. I do not really know… what I feel.”  That is probably a bad reflection upon me, he thinks. The truth was that beyond the normal amount of grief that came with the sudden and untimely passing of an acquaintance, Dream felt nothing.  Patrick had hardly been a grand passion. They had known each other since childhood but had been thrown together through circumstance rather than any actual attraction and they had barely anything in common.  So no, he was not as sad as he should be and that was what was really making him sad.  This marriage would have been a thing of duty. Their family was old, old enough indeed to have had plenty of time to rack up considerable debts. A lack of money hidden behind a fine name. Morpheus’ marriage to Patrick would have secured the estate’s future, shored up its ailing finances and kept the title very much in the family. As an omega, Morpheus would never have been able to inherit his father’s title but his children could, if they were alphas. And now, there was no marriage, no money and a very uncertain future ahead of them. Morpheus’s one duty, his one function in society, was to secure a good match and that duty lay so heavily upon his shoulders. If only Olly had stayed- but no, there was no use in dealing in ‘if onlies’. Practicalities only, and practicalities meant marriage. And soon.

[tj-dragonblade]

Academic Conference au? 👀

Ah, Academic Conference AU my beloved. It's actual title is An Examination of the Benefits of Inter-Departmental Fraternization (by Hob Gadling, PhD) but that's kind of a mouthful so the old label still sticks. I have mentioned this one a lot in various places; it started from the smut prompts 'bed sharing' and '"Then do it already"' and has spawned multiple chapters with a thin semblance of plot by this point. The first chapter is fully drafted but needs a little revision to accommodate details I decided on later. Second chapter is maybe half to two-thirds drafted, and there are outline-y notes and small chunks of chapters three and four. None of it will be posted until the whole thing is done, because I will not finish it otherwise. And also those evolving details I mentioned.

There have been bits and pieces of this scattered in several places over the months I've poked at it and I kind of lose track of what's been shared where BUT. Here is the opening section of the fic, which I don't think has been shared before - at least not in its entirety:

~ "He can share with me."

The grateful look on the poor harried hotel clerk's face is gratifying, but Hob didn't speak up just for her.

Dr. Dream Murphy arches an eyebrow over the chunky black rim of his glasses at Hob, mildly suprised. "Dr. Gadling," he greets, considerably less agitated than just a second before.

"If you're amenable, of course," Hob adds, speaking directly to his colleague now. "It's a single, so we'd still need a rollaway bed—if there's one available?" He glances to the clerk.

"There is," she confirms, fingers flying over her keyboard.

"Perfect. Well?" He turns to Dr. Murphy. "Better than trying to find a room elsewhere? I'll even take the rollaway; you can have the room bed."

Dr. Murphy inclines his head like some kind of old-school royalty. "Very well."

"Brilliant." Hob flashes a smile, directs it back to the clerk. "I'm in 607, Robert Gadling. You can merge his reservation with mine and get him a key, and just send up the extra bed—thanks!"

"Of course." She finishes entering the changes, programs a key card, hands it to Dr. Murphy. "Here you go sir, and again, I'm so sorry for the mix-up—"

"No matter. Thank you," he says, already turning away, and Hob flashes the poor girl one last grateful smile and hurries to follow.

Dr. Murphy says nothing until they are closed in the elevator together, and then he fixes Hob with the crystal blue eyes that have wandered in and out of Hob's daydreams all year. "I. Appreciate your intercession on my behalf, Dr. Gadling."

"Think nothing of it," Hob demurs, shrugging. He catches himself fiddling with his earlobe and drops his hand. "Not like it's her fault they overbooked and gave your room to someone else. Not your fault either. Glad to be passing by with a solution. But." He straightens up, flashes his most winning smile. "If we're going to be rooming together for the whole of this conference, please—call me Hob."

Dr. Murphy does that regal head-incline thing again; his gaze, when it lifts to Hob's, is considering. "Hob," he repeats, like tasting it, and the familiarity stirs a wispy tendril of warmth in Hob’s gut. "Then you must call me Dream."

WIP List

[valiantstarlights]

[Bluebeard Dream AU] Three Types of Flowers

Chapter 1

For Dreamling Week 2024 Day 2: Pirates / Hourglass / Flowers / Exhibitionism

In which letters are exchanged between siblings, a bouquet is sent, and something is published in the scandal sheet, The Starlight Observer, that would seriously impact Hob's reputation.

Not me continuing to further my 'Hob and Johanna are siblings' agenda in the year of our Lord 2024. 💃

CW: This fic is starting to look like it's going to be entirely in epistolary form, so heads up if that's not your cup of tea.

--

Hobsie,

?????

And also, welcome back to London. It would have been nice to receive a letter saying that you'd be arriving. And without El, too.

Your favorite sister,

Johanna II Constantine

--

My ONLY sister,

I apologize if I came back so abruptly without sending any notice. I simply couldn't be in India any longer. I shall tell you everything when we meet in person.

I assume your question marks refer to me being mentioned in the latest The Starlight Observer? If so, then I can only tell you that that anonymous gossip writer doesn't know what they're writing about. Lord Dream has been nothing but courteous to me at the ball hosted by the Riveras, and the debutantes were simply being welcoming. No one was being predatory at all. In fact, I must have been the least charming one there, as out of practice as I am in dealing with nobles in general.

I shall ride for home as soon as my return documents are in order. See you soon.

Your brother,

R.G.

--

Hobsie,

You're a fucking idiot.

But I will reserve the rest of my insults for when you arrive home, so that the message would really sink in.

The smarter sibling between the two of us,

Johanna II Constantine

--

Brother,

If you're getting married again within the next few months, I'm not attending.

Desire

--

Noted.

- 3

--

Rude. You could have at least asked if it's because Unity is close to giving birth and I want to be present when we welcome our first child into the world. And yes, that is the case, actually, so thanks for asking.

Despair says she has a good feeling about this Gadling fellow of yours. I think she's being sarcastic.

Desire

--

That was what I surmised. Please tell Unity that I am looking forward to meeting my niece and/or nephew. I hope they inherit most of their personality from her.

Lord Robert is not mine yet. But I welcome our sister's kind words, sarcastically meant or not.

- 3

--

The Starlight Observer

June 14, [year redacted]

...There is also much talk about two certain gentlemen whom we shall hide under the names Lord Dream Endless and Lord Robert Gadling, who were seen together in Madame Lucienne's bookshop, conversing for hours.

We cannot be certain if talking is all they did, or if they had engaged in a different kind of conversation behind the bookshelves altogether, as Madame Lucienne had closed the doors of her shop to other customers earlier than usual that day. To prevent others from witnessing something scandalous? Or perhaps to join the gentlemen in their 'conversations'?...

--

Hobsie,

!!!!!

Your scandalized and thoroughly revolted sister,

Johanna II Constantine

--

Jo,

For fuck's sake. Do people here do nothing else but read The Starlight Observer?

Lord Dream and I were only talking. And Madame Lucienne closed the bookshop early because she wasn't feeling well. The poor woman; she had been feeling nauseous all day. But perhaps that is good news, as Lord Dream told me that she and her wife Madame Gault have been trying for a child these past couple of years.

Now stop reading that scandal sheet and do something meaningful with your life.

R.G.

--

Can you blame me? There is nothing else as regularly entertaining as reading gossip in The Starlight Observer.

I bet Madame Lucienne was just nauseous because you and Lord Dream were being disgusting.

Shan't.

J2C

--

A note attached to a bouquet:

I have been called a fool many times in my life, and I will undoubtedly continue to be labeled as such for the rest of it. But I would be the biggest fool of all if I remain silent about the feelings that have bloomed within me during the afternoon we spent together at Madame Lucienne's bookshop.

You would be well within your rights to reject me. And I fully expect for you to do so. It is far too soon far too fast, and you are too discerning and sensible to bother with the likes of me.

Nevertheless, this bouquet spells out the words I didn't have the courage to say to you last Thursday, in between our discussion of Chaucer, Indian folk tales, and songs sung by the krakens of the deep to their slumbering gods.

Yours,

Hob

--

Sister,

I write to you at a time of great need. I have received a bouquet, and would like your help in deciphering its meaning. I have my own interpretation of it, of course, but I would be most grateful if you were to tell me your own interpretation.

Biting red tulips, white starburst carnations, and black witch's whip, held together by black oil paper of the highest quality and a red silk ribbon.

Please respond as soon as you can.

Dream

--

Dream,

You are my favorite brother and I love you, but I do not appreciate Matthew alarming my staff and having them wake me up at two in the morning because you're 'in desperate need of my help.'

You made me think you had been cursed and were dying painfully, Dream!

No, do not scold Matthew. I know he is anxious by nature and that he is only following your orders to get a reply from me as soon as inhumanly possible.

As for the bouquet you received, it means exactly what you think it means.

Biting red tulips for barely restrained passion (and perhaps a nod to your ruby), white starburst carnations for new beginnings and purity of intent (as well as to mirror your eyes), and black witch's whip to convey that you have wholly captivated the sender and that they do not wish to be free of you.

The sender has also taken great care to incorporate your three favorite colors, and gone out of their way to find high-quality black oil paper, which is rare to find in Europe this time of year. And yes, perhaps they also mean to allude to the red string of fate by using a red silk ribbon.

Now tell me: is the sender of the bouquet Lord Robert Gadling? You know I personally don't read The Starlight Observer, but Jessamy is always up to date, and she has shown me all the relevant sections mentioning you and Lord Robert while Matthew paced outside the door of my study, tearing at his hair.

Do let me know if there are any updates. I prefer to hear news about you directly from you.

Your most patient (and now sleep-deprived) sister,

Death

--

The Starlight Observer

June 21, [year redacted]

"What soberness conceals, drunkenness reveals." This has been proven time and again every time Countess Marguerite Ichihara holds her annual wine-tasting event at her family's country seat.

And as per usual, this author has had a grand time fishing for truths as they surface from the depths of a wineglass.

To start with, let us talk about the hostess herself and her new matchmaking project this season...

...Of the Endless family, only Lady Death, Lord Destruction, and Lady Delirium are in attendance...

...with Lady Johanna Constantine claiming that her brother, Lord Robert Gadling, is indisposed, as he is still re-acclimating to the weather in London...

...And speaking of the forbidden, it is common knowledge among the immortal nobility that while we may tumble in bed with a mortal or two, marrying them as they are is considered beyond the pale.

This author can certainly remember the outrage sparked by the last issue of Argus, The Starlight Observer's predecessor, when it published a blind item that talked about a member of the immortal nobility marrying a human woman.

Well, dearest readers, it is now my solemn duty to inform you, that half a century after that article was published, the entire ton has once again been set abuzz when Mister William Shaxberd, twelfth son of Baron Shaxberd and a clergyman who used to be stationed a stone throw's away from Gretna Green, loudly proclaimed that he had witnessed such a couple be united under the light of the gods.

And if that claim isn't preposterous enough, he also insists that the nobleperson in question is Lord Robert Gadling, though he was married under the name Sir Robert Gadlen.

Is this only a severe misremembering on the part of a heavily intoxicated Mister Shaxberd, who at that point in time was barely able to stand up straight, let alone walk, or does his story ring of truth?

Have no fear, dearest readers. As always, this author shall investigate further.

--

Notes:

I made up all three flowers mentioned in this chapter because I didn't have time to read through the lists of RL!flowers and their meanings. 🥲

The Starlight Observer doesn't know that the real reason Dream and Hob didn't attend the wine-tasting event is because they have their own...tasting event 😏

My brain: Shaxberd is the twelfth son because he wrote Twelfth Night. 😂👍

[delta-pavonis]

Fic: Sold

Dreamling (Human AU) || Rated E || 9.2k words || complete

With special guest appearances from: Johanna Constantine, Corinthian Hob has a shady past, Dream has a shady present (and a shady family), Hob definitely beat someone to death as a teen but this is only mentioned in passing, sideways implied PTSD for Hob, dissociation (mentioned), Hob has tattoos and piercings, bad boy Hob (who is actually a cinnamon roll), previous relationship, charity auction for a date, reunion sex, sex in a car, Dom/sub undertones, anal fingering, anal sex, cum as lube, spit as lube, rough sex, cock warming, orgasm control, orgasm denial, Hob Gadling gets railed, voyeurism, exhibitionism, slight Dream/Hob/Corinthian, breathyplay, language kink, oral sex, cum swallowing, fluff and smut

It’s just… He just cannot fathom why these people are chomping at the bit to pay real money to spend time with him, Robert Gadling, a former fuck-up who just barely made it out alive, whose entire career has been pretty much this one reality TV show, who got himself permanently fucked in the head by one relationship in university… just… why? And yet, despite all this, he stands on the stage and looks up at the screen and sees the current bid for going to dinner and a show with him… and what the actual fuck he is almost fetching as much money as the bloody pop star who was new to the judges’ panel this season! The kid is twelve years his junior! He is a runway model! He has a top-ten hit out there racking up plays on Spotify right now. He is legitimately famous and yet Hob’s ravenous fans are still giving the dancer-turned-model-turned-singer a run for his literal money. What even is his life?

Read on AO3 here.

[doomed-sarcastic-king]

Robert 'Hob' Gadling never really had much interest in clubs, preferring to stay home instead when his friends went to one but when his friends decided to drag him to the most popular bunny boy club in the area, there was nothing else that he could do besides stay quiet and not look at anyone. Which was really hard, considering how his friends kept talking how cute the guys working there were, going as far as say that they could picture Hob in one of those outfits, serving drinks and entertaining the guests with his charm, the idea making him red in the face as he tried to shush them, not wanting someone to hear. But to his dismay, one of the workers mentioned that since they were always looking for more guys to work at the club, he could come in for an interview and become a part of the wonderful bunny crew and before Hob could politely decline the offer, one of his friends said that the brown-haired man would be delighted to be a part of it so it was with a tight-lipped smile that the poor guy nodded, dying internally as he went home, hoping that he wouldn't be hired the next day.

As if it wasn't bad enough that he got in an awkward situation, all because he agreed to go out in the first place, Hob was now working at the bunny boy club, trying his best to retain all the information that his new colleagues were giving him, while also wondering why when of the guys mentioned keeping the new guy away from the creepy bunny-boy, the guy who was mentoring him shuddered, muttering that he never liked working with that guy due to how odd he was and when Hob asked why, his new friend changed the subject by showing him around further while avoiding the relaxation area, something that he found odd but was eager to found out why the bunnies avoided that place most of the time. It all became clear to him when the new-bunny decided to go there to relax after the tour was over, letting out a sigh of relief as he relaxed on the couch, almost dozing off until he was startled awake by a voice asking him if he was the 'new bun'. Trying to hide his shock with an awkward laugh, Hob turned around to introduce himself to the one who spoke but as he looked at the skull-faced bunny-boy in front of him, all that came out of his mouth was a stammering mess, one that didn't seem to bother Hobo Heart too much as he simply waited for him to calm down. After finally introducing himself and talking a bit with the odd-bun to get to know him better, Hob decided to stay close to Hobo Heart in order to get more used to his new job, but also to try to understand why the others seemed weirded out by him, leading to him learning that Hobo Heart's oddness was partly due to the fact that he had a hard time with people and his reserved nature, which then lead to the brighter bunny-boy never leaving his side, their friendship both surprising their colleagues and delighting their guests to the point were when they were relaxing, a fellow bunny came to tell them that a dark-haired man had asked for their presence, which lead to them meeting Dream Endless, a hot divorcee that made Hob loose his ability to use words while making Hobo Heart's stare cold enough to freeze the entire room.

While others would have squirmed underneath that glare, Dream simply smiled at him, going as far as kiss Hob's hand before doing the same to the icy-bunny, all the while making it his goal to melt the other's ice cold heart.

[theresugar]

TW: homophobia, dementia, toxic family, death

So I just finished watching The Notebook (yes, I cried like a little baby). So, to add to the list of fics that I will never write, I present:

Dreamling: The Notebook AU (with a spark of homophobia, because this is the '40s)

Dream Oneiros Endless comes from a large rich family. Robert (Hob) Gadling comes from the complete opposite and works at a mill. They meet through mutual friends. Hob continuously asks Dream out, which he responds to negatively each time (let's just say that they both managed to find friend groups that are also secretly queer, so they don't care). Eventually, Hob does the "hangs from the ferris wheel" scene, gets a promise from Dream to go on a date with him, the movie scene happens, etc. They finally go on that walk and Dream falls for him. Yay, happy scenes as they fall further in love.

And then Dream mentions that he has to go to New York for college (they can be American in this AU or there can be another reason for this). They go to the abandoned house, where they talk about fixing up the house. Things are heating up when Matthew, Hob's friend, tells them that Dream's parents have the police out looking for him. They go back to his house, the whole argument with the parents happen (perhaps with the siblings looking on or overhearing from another room. Destiny and Death, whatever their names happen to be in this AU, are probably moved out at this point, but maybe they could be visiting for some reason or they find out about this whole thing another way). The argument between Hob and Dream happens and he leaves.

The next day, Dream is informed that they are leaving. He tries to go to the mill to talk to Hob, but he's not there, so they miss each other. Hob writes a letter to Dream every day for a year, but Dream's mother throws them out. Death somehow finds them and saves them all, but something stops her from giving them to Dream.

Hob enlists in the army. Perhaps Dream has some form of condition that prevents him from enlisting, but he works as a nurse instead. There, he meets Calliope, a fellow nurse. They begin to get to know each other and Dream goes back to school once he is able to. His parents approve of Calliope, as she comes from old money and is a (respectable) woman. He proposes and they are engaged.

Hob, meanwhile, returns and finally gets the house that they talked about. When going to get materials to fix it up, he spots Dream and runs to talk to him but ends up seeing him with Calliope instead. He returns to the house and focuses wholeheartedly on that. Once he's finished with it, he lists it as for sale but no buyer seems good enough. He gets involved with Eleanor, but they both know that she's not who he really wants.

Calliope is buying a wedding dress and someone brings her a newspaper, where there is information about the wedding printed. Someone leaves it on a table and Dream ends up coming across it. He unfolds it and sees the ad about Hob and the house. He contemplates for a while and then informs Calliope that he needs to return to Seabrook (or whatever the town is) to settle some things.

He finds the house and Hob. He freezes up and Dream goes to leave, but, being a horrendous driver, he drives right into the fences and the car stalls. Hob invites him in and they catch up and have dinner. Dream leaves and Hob asks him to come again tomorrow.

They have the day out on the lake and it begins to rain. Dream finds out about the letters. Things heat up quickly after that and they finally have sex. Dream and Eleanor meet.

The next morning, Hob is gone but has left a note. Dream follows the arrows and paints, with only a blanket around him, on the porch. Someone arrives and he hurries down to greet them. It's his sister.

Death (or whatever her name is in this) informs him that Calliope is coming. He asks if she knew about the letters and she tells him what happened and then asks him to drive with her. She takes him into town, where she points out a woman who she says that she had been in love with and had tried to run away with but had been caught, but that she sometimes goes there to watch her and think about how life might have been.

She drives him back and tells him that she hopes that he makes the right decision and gives him the letters. Hob and Dream fight again and then he goes back to the hotel, where he and Calliope talk.

Finally, Dream returns to the house and he and Hob remain together.

Years later, Dream is diagnosed with dementia. He writes their story in a notebook together and writes a note in it, asking Hob to read it to him and promising that he will come back if he does. Hob continuously reads it to him, getting him to remember before he soon forgets again.

The most recent time is too much for Hob and he breaks down and is found unconscious in bed the next morning. After being rushed to the hospital, he returns and tells the nurse that he wants to see Dream ("Mr. Endless"). The nurse pretends to insist that he return to his room.

Hob goes to Dream's room and he remembers him. The two talk of miracles and the next morning, the nurse finds them in the bed, having passed away together.

[westleywithatea]

Lost a fanfic

Word Count: 1200+

There was a The Sandman fanfic on AO3 that I had read long ago. I neglected to record or even look at the title and author of the story. And now i lost it. But i want to return and reread it. Or check if it updated.  Help me find it.

I first read it in maybe february or March 2023. I don't know when it was first published or updated. I didn't checked the date. I neglected to. It’s a bad habit where i read a bunch of short fics in a single night, not care for title, and focus more on word and chapter count. Because “i wanted something short.” 

This habit carries over in my YT watching habits and is equally bad. Something to do with attention span and stuff. 

Whenever I return to the site to find it, i fail. The tags and filters fail me. Somehow, it always brings me to less than x number of fics. When I am absolutely sure that there are more than x number of fics with the tags/characters/filters I'm looking for. Maybe because some writers neglected or selectively chooses some tags. 

Idk. the filters weren't helping me. 

Lets see what I can remember about the fanfic and tags and characters. Spoilers below:

I vaguely recall a “angst with happy ending” tag. Im pretty sure the rating was E for explicit. There were some rather graphic scenes. Was it graphic? What if it was actually M for Mature?? 

Idr other tags/ warnings. WIP story. Idr word count and chapter count. 3 chapters? ??

Lucienne and Death makes appearances. Some original characters. Idr order of scenes and chapters. 

Dream arrives to the old tavern but it’s in ruins. Abandoned. He explores and finds a box. It’s a bit stuck but he finds a note. A letter. With holes and missing words. Some other things might’ve been in the box but prolly stolen? A stick inside the box to hold in place. The letter is really old and fragile. It does contain some instructions on where and how to find him. (later revealed to be really outdated) 

He walks to the The New Inn. idr if he steps inside or not. But maybe he did. Maybe he didn't but later. He orders a drink. Wine? Poor employee girl didn't know what to do with gold coins and gets sand blown into her face too many times. Too many times and so much dreamsand that she has to take a break or something and ask another employee to take over. Morpheus rereads the letter over and over.  Accidentally tears it in anger, but catches himself. Makes a mental note ot have it laminated. Dream tries to talk to the owner of the inn. There’s a picture and a plaque. Something about fake name and reall name. Drunk Hob revealed his real name and it became an “inside joke.” But nothing much else. Dream is sad. 

He walks around the neighborhood. And a school campus. He gets recognized by someone. She recognized him from somewhere. Asked if he knew Robert/Hob Gadling/ fake name. Prof Gadling talked about his stranger a lot. She was a student/ student teacher under his mentorship. Or something. She kept close contact with him for while. Even when he left the university and went traveling. Even when she got her degrees and became a professor. But some point stopped. 

Idr her name. 

She invited Dream to coffee to talk. She shared / showed things on her phone. Didn't work out. 

Sad moment where Dream finds out that she and Robert had sent each other so many emails while he only has one letter. He admits that he is someone who is hard to contact. 

She mentioned visiting his old house. There was a large framed painting of him. Thats how she recognized dream. He never sat for a picture. “You’re telling me he got it commissioned?” 

Dream tried visiting the old house. Hob had moved out. New family moved in. let him borrowed a phone. Landline? Im pretty sure theres some humor of him not knowing how to operate the phone. 

Meanwhile, Death visits  a museum of ancient Egyptian stuff. Hob is there looking at a statue of Anubis. He asked if they always looked like that. Death responds, sometimes. Startles him. He didn't see or hear her arrive. They meet and talk. She explains (and apologizes) that she is responsible for his immortality. And her brother is his stranger. He laughed. I think. He asked questions. No answers. Sad sad. 

He was about to ask another question but gets distracted by a school trip group of students. Death slips away. Hob gets frustrated. 

Hob gone traveling alot .

Some point Dream tries contacting Death. Asked if hob's well / alive. Yes. 

Btw, death arrived wearing a different outfit and holding a snake. But she later changes to typical tank top and jeans. Brings the snake back wherever it was previously. 

She takes Dream to a cliff?? Unless this from a diff fanfic. Idk. but they talked at the cliff over the ocean. Idr the conversations. 

Dream visits hob’s dreams. 

We see Hob entering his old house with arms full of wine and food. Dream is disguised as a raven. It’s raining. Robert sees the raven and tells “it” to leave to somewhere safe and dry. Get out of rain and get dry.  Hob  knocks on his front door after struggling to get his keys. Opens. Enter. We see lots of shoes and coats. Dream the Raven sneaks into the house.

We meet the (former) boyfriend who is an “older” man. They laugh, joke, kiss, and talked. Ex BF asked when will Hob ask the question. What question? Marriage. Ex explained: grandfather and father got dementia at age 50. And he’s turning 50 in a few years. They fight. Sad. 

Scene shifts. The painting is visible now. Obvious on the wall. Raven disguise disappear. Dream walked up the stairs to a door slightly ajar. He spies inside and sees a copy of himself. Sorta. Whatever Hob imagines his stranger would’ve looked like if nude. Description of Hob’s version of Dream is different from the real Dream in body shape. 

Hob is (smut scene) bottom to Dream’s top. 

Lovely description of what Morpheus would’ve done in 1000 yrs ago, 100 yrs ago, 10 yrs ago, now. (Not those exact numbers or era. Idr. ) In a few sentences. Maybe it was 3. Morpheus stays and observes. Pervert. 

Hob asked Morpheus if he will stay after he wakes up. He responds, yes. (cries) 

Real Morpheus quietly leaves. The voices in the bedroom are still very loud. 

Out of the water, Lucienne arrives with an umbrella. It’s raining hard. 

They visit the library and look thru Hob’s books. Lucienne silently screams at every accidental dog-ear and mishandle of pages. I would too. Hob has entries: wha’ts teh point of dreaming anymore. And stuff. Sad stuff. Angry stuff. 

Morpheus in frustration. Throws book at wall. Book breaks and falls apart. Lucienne is hurt. Me too. He says something to her, angry. She tells him “then you must leave my library” and snaps her fingers. Forces him out and slams the doors. She picks up the book and carefully rearranges the pages and binding. Sets aside in a book press. “You’re a good book.” Awww

And that was the ending. No more updates at that date and time. 

Story obviously WIP. 

[unpredictable-probabilities]

Crossroads of Duty and Devotion || Chapter 2: A Visit and A Confrontation

Summary:

Morpheus reunites with his childhood friend Calliope, and hatches a plan about their shared problem of finding a betrothed. Hob witnesses an unexpected side to Morpheus and learns that the Crown Prince is not as cold as he is rumoured to be.

Word Count: 3,148

[Read on AO3]

══════════ ⛉ ⚔︎ 🜲 ══════════

Prince Morpheus stared out at the passing scenery of trees and fields as they rode to the neighboring kingdom of Grecia. Since they were the ones who had locked him in, none of his knights had so much as mentioned the glaring fact that they were now traveling in a doorless carriage. 

He didn't want to make the hour-long trip back to the palace only to set out again for Castle Kardinef, so he had declared that they would continue on in the carriage as it was, and explain to the King and Queen of Grecia upon arrival the predicament that happened along the way. 

He had not said a word to Lucienne ever since leaving the village. He would always be grateful for her unwavering loyalty in remaining by his side, most especially today in the midst of the attack, but it still left a bitter taste in his mouth how she had locked him in the carriage knowing what had happened last time he was locked in somewhere. 

He did not wish for his emotions to fester into resentment against Lucienne who was only following the King's orders as she always did, so he turned his thoughts elsewhere; namely, to Robert Gadling, the patrol guard whom he had mistaken for a bandit and who had ended up taking a sword for him. The guard was currently at the village infirmary, and they would be fetching him on the way back to the palace so that Morpheus would be able to keep his word and have the guard’s injuries be checked by Gilbert Greene, the royal physician. Morpheus was not proud of how his rage had blinded him into attacking the guard, and he would give proper compensation. 

Thanks to his mother's reminder for him to leave relatively early at breakfast, they reached Castle Kardinef just in time despite the delay. As Lucienne made the necessary arrangements and explanations about their carriage, Morpheus was escorted into the grand hall, his other knights following silently a few paces behind. 

They passed through several hallways until they reached the gates opening out into the gardens where the royals were seated at a table laden with fruits and sweets. 

“Ah, Prince Morpheus,” King Styrmir greeted him warmly as he approached them. 

“King Styrmir, Queen Reminara, Princess Calliope.” Morpheus bowed deeply. 

The royals stood up and returned the gesture. 

When Morpheus straightened up, he met Calliope's playful gaze with his own. They walked towards each other and embraced warmly, foregoing the formal pleasantries. 

“It has been a while, Morpheus,” Calliope said into his shoulder. 

“Weeks. Too many.” Morpheus agreed, holding her close. 

They released each other and smiled fondly. The duties of an heir kept the both of them preoccupied in their own kingdoms on most days, leaving little time for leisure, much less the luxury of going to another kingdom for a social visit. 

“It is an honor to have you in our home, Prince Morpheus,” Queen Reminara said. 

“The honor is mine, Your Majesty,” Morpheus tipped his head. 

“Please join us for some refreshments,” Queen Reminara gestured to the table in front of her. 

They talked amiably in the cool shade of trees as the sun rose higher in the sky. Morpheus told them about the attack of the bandits, reassuring them that no one was terribly hurt, but that he might need to borrow a carriage home. He did not elaborate on what exactly broke the doors of his, and only said that he did not want his mother to worry upon seeing him return in such a vehicle. 

Queen Reminara was appalled that such bandits would dare attack a royal carriage, while King Styrmir said that he would lend Morpheus one of their new carriages and two of his own knights for Morpheus’ trip home. 

Calliope looked over in worry at him, but she remained silent, knowing that her friend would always say he was all right in the presence of the King and Queen. 

After a while, Morpheus brought up the subject of the Summer Solstice Ball, as they were all aware that that was the main purpose of his visit. Morpheus’ parents had sent a letter a few days past, enclosed with invitations, but King Horatius insisted that Morpheus still invite them personally. He did not mind, as it gave him the opportunity to visit his closest childhood friend. 

When their plates were cleared away by the servants, the King and Queen rose. 

“Very well, we shall get in your way no longer. We are aware that you have not seen each other for nearly two months, you must have plenty to talk about,” King Styrmir said. 

“We look forward to seeing you at the ball, Prince Morpheus,” Queen Reminara smiled fondly. 

After her parents had gone, Calliope looked at Morpheus curiously from her seat across the table. “What's troubling you, Morpheus?”

“What? Nothing is troubling me,” he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “What did I say that would warrant such a question?”

Calliope gave him a soft smile. “We have known each other even before we could walk; I can tell when something is on your mind.”

Morpheus pursed his lips. There never was hiding anything from Calliope.

“Your face sours just a bit whenever the ball is mentioned. What duty has your father saddled you with now? Diplomats to attend to at the event?” Calliope asked. 

“Would that it were.” Morpheus sighed. “Father has been speaking to me about a betrothal as of late, and this morning he did not bother with subtleties.”

Calliope nodded in understanding. “My parents have brought up the subject with me as well, though they have not chosen a suitor. Has your father chosen a bride for you?”

“He expects me to begin looking for one at the ball, as if I could find anyone who would be remotely interesting in such an event,” Morpheus wrinkled his nose. The elite guests at most palace events—men and women alike—never passed up an opportunity to grab at the crown. They would preen themselves in front of the royals, shallow praises falling from their lips. He did not wish to choose a bride from such a selection. 

Calliope chuckled, all too familiar with how nobles behaved at royal gatherings. “Indeed. I suppose I'm lucky that my best friend is one of the few tolerable royals within a mile of the kingdom.”

Morpheus sat up straighter; something about that remark made the wheels turn in his head. Calliope was being readied for marriage as well, wasn't she? And they have always gotten along despite the disagreements they have faced throughout their years of friendship. 

“That is not a bad idea…” he narrowed his eyes in thought, a plan already forming in his mind. 

Calliope tilted her head. “What is?”

“What if you and I get married?” 

“What?” Calliope's eyes widened in surprise. 

“Consider it: We are both uninterested in finding actual spouses, we're dear friends and would not get sick of each other's company, we understand what the other likes and dislikes, and most importantly, our marriage would be beneficial to both our kingdoms, thus appeasing our families and preventing them from persuading us to marry complete strangers,” Morpheus explained. He couldn't believe he had never thought of it before. 

Calliope's expression changed into that of understanding, and her eyebrows furrowed as she considered it. “I see…”

“There is of course the matter of producing heirs, and I must admit that is where my plan becomes less detailed,” Morpheus said. He would never force anyone into such an activity, especially not Calliope.

His friend smiled in good-natured amusement. “I don't think that is something we have to worry about in the immediate future, and even after marriage we could always postpone it. If we do decide to proceed with your idea.”

“We could postpone the announcement as well, for as long as we can. Let us not tell our parents that we have decided to marry until they absolutely demand a spouse from either of us. How does that sound? And know that if you feel any discomfort towards the plan, I shall never bring it up again,” Morpheus said sincerely. He would sooner marry a gold-digging noblewoman than lose his friendship with Calliope. 

The princess sat in thoughtful silence for a long moment. “I think it's possible. Our kingdoms are right beside each other, it would be easy enough to rule over both of them, or even merge them into one if we so wish. Our parents would not be able to deny the advantages of such a union. It is almost a guarantee that they would agree, even if we do put off the announcement at a much later time.”

Morpheus smiled in relief. “I am glad that you find the plan agreeable. But even then, please do let me know should you ever change your mind; no matter the reason. I shall not harbor any grudges, and still treasure our friendship as much as I always have.”

Calliope returned his smile. “And do let me know as well should your mind ever change. It is entirely possible that you find someone to whom you would want to give your heart before we announce our intended betrothal.”

Morpheus furrowed his eyebrows in skepticism. “I cannot imagine such a thing happening.”

══════════ ⛉ ⚔︎ 🜲 ══════════ 

Hob climbed in the carriage with Prince Morpheus and his knights. He could hardly believe he was being allowed to ride in such a fancy thing—a new one, with intact doors and a larger interior—and sat right next to the Crown Prince, no less. 

The Prince and his captain were amiable enough as they fetched Hob from the infirmary, though the former had stayed silent ever since the carriage embarked on the journey to the palace. 

Captain Lucienne was seated across from him, and Hob expressed his admiration on how she battled the bandits from the village. Once their conversation had started, the captain turned out to be much friendlier than Hob had initially thought. They began talking about swordfighting techniques and how they learned them. Hob sheepishly apologised and admitted that he thought she was a man at first. The captain just chuckled and said she was used to such first impressions. She had come from a long line of knights that served the Endeleas family, and she endeavored to continue the tradition despite how unorthodox a female knight appeared to be. 

Hob was fascinated and was about to ask how her family had reacted to her wanting to be a knight, but a commotion outside caught their attention. 

A small crowd had gathered on the streets, watching in concern as a nobleman ordered his guards to bodily drag an old woman and two children out of a house. 

The nobleman distinctly wore finery that made him appear as such, but the display of vulgarity he was showing as he yelled at the old woman did not befit that of a gentleman at all. The older of the two children–the older sister, it seemed, as the two looked quite similar–pulled her brother to the side of the road and away from the nobleman who continued with his tirade, something about the family unable to pay their rent on time. 

“Stop the carriage.” Prince Morpheus spoke for the first time since they began their journey. 

The coachmen promptly halted the horses and they stopped just across the house. 

Prince Morpheus gracefully exited the door and walked directly to the nobleman, Captain Lucienne right behind him. The other knights had gotten out of the carriage as well but kept their distance, standing guard near the horses. 

Hob wasn't certain where he should go, but his curiosity made him follow a few paces behind the captain. 

The nobleman raised a hand to strike the old woman, but Prince Morpheus grabbed his wrist and roughly pulled him backwards. 

“Who in hell’s—” the nobleman instantly turned pale when he saw at whom he had been snarling. “Your Highness!”

Prince Morpheus stepped between him and the old woman. “What is the reason for such undignified behavior in the middle of this town?” His voice was even, but there was no mistaking the anger in his eyes as he stared down the nobleman. 

“Th-They are two weeks behind on their rent, sire!” the man said defensively. 

“And you believe that hitting this woman would cause the money to appear before you?” 

“A man must keep a careful eye on his business, sire!” the nobleman had the audacity to puff out his chest. “Lest we starve and end up in the streets!”

Prince Morpheus looked at the man up and down, dressed in silks and adorned in more jewelry than the prince himself who was at present wearing no such accoutrements. 

“There is plenty to be said of a man who values gold on his person more than the lives of people on his property. However, there are children present so I shall not say any of them.” Prince Morpheus looked at Captain Lucienne. “Take this man to the town hall and explain to their governor his crimes. Say that the Crown Prince expects a letter detailing the progress of this man's punishment by tonight.”

“Yes, sire.” Captain Lucienne moved to hold the man by the arm, but he dropped to his knees and all but groveled at the prince. 

“Please, Your Highness! I only wanted what I was owed!”

A dark shadow seemed to pass over Prince Morpheus’ face, and his lips curled in disgust. When he spoke, his voice was as cold as a steel blade. 

“A man might need to keep a careful eye on his business, but a Crown Prince must be even more careful with his kingdom.” He nodded to Captain Lucienne, and she took the man away with help from the other knights. 

The crowd thinned significantly after that, the townspeople going elsewhere and retreating into their homes, reluctant to get caught in the Crown Prince’s stormy mood. 

But they needn't have worried, for Prince Morpheus turned to the old woman behind him with a soft expression that was a stark contrast to what he had worn mere moments ago. 

“My deepest apologies that this should happen in the kingdom that is supposed to protect you,” Prince Morpheus bowed to the woman, who looked flabbergasted at the gesture. “Might I extend an invitation for you and your children to stay at the palace until you get back on your feet? There is often much work to be done at my home, and I am sure they can find a job for you with a fine salary.”

The woman's eyes filled with tears. “Your Highness! I… I don't know what to say…”

Prince Morpheus gave a gentle smile. “I can send a carriage for you tomorrow morning, to give you time to pack your things and sort your affairs. Continue to stay in that house for tonight, and if anyone dares question you, present them this.” He produced a short length of blue ribbon from his pocket, affixed with a ruby engraved with a star–the Crown Prince’s symbol. “I shall speak with your governor and tell him to post guards at your gate.”

“Sire… Isn't this too much?” The woman stared in disbelief at the gem as she took it. “To stay at the palace…”

Prince Morpheus shook his head. “It is our job to ensure the well-being of our people, and it appears that we have done poorly for this town. That man must have done such despicable things for a long time now, and we were none the wiser. I assure you that we shall endeavor to make it right.”

The woman bowed deeply, and a smile brightened her face as she straightened back up. “You have our endless thanks, Your Highness. We shall not forget this.”

Prince Morpheus returned the smile. “May I have your name, my lady? That I might inform the palace of your arrival tomorrow.”

“Unity Kincaid, sire. And these are my grandchildren, Rose and Jed Walker,” she gestured to the two children standing several feet away. The sister was watching their interaction with cautious curiosity, while the younger brother hugged her and had his face turned away. They could not have been more than twelve years of age.

Prince Morpheus tipped his head politely at them before turning back to the woman. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Kincaid. Would that we had met under better circumstances. Nevertheless, I look forward to seeing you at the palace.” He bowed once more to her and left, paying no mind to the stares and whispers that followed his wake from the few people that remained. 

Hob could only stare as the prince walked past him and told Captain Lucienne—who had returned from the town hall—that they would continue on to the palace. 

The prince returned to the carriage, and Hob went up to Captain Lucienne. 

“Has he always been like that?” Hob couldn't keep the wonder out of his voice. Never before had he seen any nobleman or royal behave like how the Crown Prince just did. 

The pride captain smiled in fond amusement. “Not at all. He was quite the self-centered and temperamental prince. But he became much kinder after recovering from…” her expression sombered. “Anyway, he's doing much better now and we're all glad of it. Come along.” She led the way back to the carriage. 

Hob furrowed his eyebrows as he walked after Captain Lucienne. He tried to remember if he had heard any news of the prince falling into illness, but his village was far enough away from the capital that such news was not likely to have reached its people, especially if the royal family had intentionally kept it private. 

He couldn't help stealing glances at the prince beside him as they continued their journey. In the span of a few hours, he had seen such aspects of the Crown Prince that he had never expected of a royal. But even so, Prince Morpheus seemed to close himself off from everyone when he was not attending to his duties. Once more he was silent and still in the carriage, as if what had transpired in the town never did. 

Hob had always been too curious for his own good, and he was not about to stop now. Not when he was so close to this beautiful man who was as ferocious as he was kind. 

“Yes?” Prince Morpheus raised his eyebrows questioningly. 

Hob blinked, realizing that he had been caught staring. “Pardon me, Your Highness,” he ducked his head. “Just lost in thought.” 

Prince Morpheus looked out the window without another word. 

Hob sighed to himself. At this rate, it might take him a hundred years to get to know the Crown Prince. But he'll be damned if he didn't try. 

══════════ ⛉ ⚔︎ 🜲 ══════════

<- Chapter 1

Chapter 3 ->

Chapter Index

(Masterlist)

[iprefertheterminsane]

Ive mentioned this on twitter but i feel the absolute need to reiterate how absolutely FUCKED the circumstances of Hob's immortality actually is.

It isnt a REWARD or PUNISHMENT for something he'd done. At no point was Hob ACTIVELY consulted about it. He was DRUNK, freshly returned from fighting a war for a king that let half his village (and likely his entire family) die from the Black Plague. Hob's immortality was the result of a wager between two entities of higher power than most Gods, he was the pawn of a GAME. Sure, Death had ulterior motives (wanting to give Dream a friend and for him to get out of the house.) But as far as Dream was aware this entire debacle was to see how long this measly peasant of a human could stand being alive before it drives him insane. In fact, the Centennial dates were so he could periodically check and WATCH.

Effectively, it was like if two people picked up some random grasshopper and dropped him into a mug of wine, watching to see how long he would stay alive with no lifeline. Humans arent DESIGNED to live that long.

AND YET. HOB DID.

For the most BATSHIT reason of....wanting to experience the mundanity and unfiltered joy of simple living. Do you understand how INSANE that is? And Dreamling as a concept is...my friend had explained it as; imagine defying God's will SO HARD HE FALLS IN LOVE WITH YOU. Imagine being SO UNHINGED in hope and optimism of Earthly Experiences an entity powerful than most Gods that HATE humans FALLS IN LOVE WITH YOU.

Like, FUCK. This ship drives me crazy. There is simply nobody out there like Robert "Hob" Gadling and there will be no other.

[merinsedai]

for the @dreamlingbingo

Square/Prompt: E2-Good Omens

Title: 1389

Rating: G

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

Warnings: n/a

Additional Tags: 1389 meeting, Crowley's there.

Crowley's mid-tempt when Dream scuppers his plans to collect Hob's soul for Hell.

It was not an everyday occurrence when the Dreamlord himself turned up mid-tempt.  The poor sap Crowley was working on was already half in his cups before Crowley had even insinuated himself into the group’s conversation, sidling into a seat baring fresh cups of ale and whispered words of encouragemtn. It was not going to be his best work, but it was certainly going to be efficient. His target, one Robert Gadling, was hardly going to need a nudge to make a move on the serving wench he’d been eying up for the past hour, and with said serving wench’s possessive beau also half in his cups and all the more murderous for it… well, it’d be bang, crash, wallop, stab and a new soul collected for Hell before the hour was up.

Crowley was just getting up steam, waxing lyrical about Robert’s clear prowess in the bedroom and how the comely wench with the come-hither eyes just couldn’t stop staring, when he sensed a presence entering the inn. 

A very powerful presence.

“Death?!” he says stupidly, cutting his companion off mid-sentence and not even noticing. Helightly dumbfounded to find the Endless (and top dog of the horseman) frequenting this grotty English tavern. Well, actually, he was expecting her later to pick up dear Robert’s departed soul and pop him on down to Hell, but that was business, and she seemed to be here off duty so to speak. Enjoying the sights, supping the ale and… in the company of her brother? That was, if anything, even more unexpected. Crowley was well acquainted with Dream of the Endless, of course, having spent a good deal of his time over his stint on Earth partaking of the comforts of the Dreamlord’s realm, but he had not heard or seen him on this mortal plane for… had to be at least a thousand years. 

“Death?” Gadling repeats, seemingly not at all bothered by the shift in conversation and perfectly happy to go with the flow.“Look, I've seen death,” he declares, thumping his flagon down for emphasis. “I lost half my village to the Black Death. I fought under Buckingham in Burgundy. It's not like I don't know what death is. Death is... stupid.”

Crowley cringed. Death and Dream had both turned their attention towards them at the first mention of Death’s name and were exchanging unreadable looks while Gadling continued to unknowingly dig himself a deeper and deeper hole.  Well, Crowley supposed, it looked like he wouldn’t even need to finish tonight’s temptation. Gadling was doing all the work of getting himself smote by Death herself for his insults.  

“Nobody has to die!” Gadling continued. “The only reason people die is because everyone does it. Well, not me. I’ve made up my mind. I’m not going to die.”

The rest of the humans at the table roared with laughter and Crowley risked another glance over at the Endless. Death… didn’t actually look all that bothered. There was even a small smile on her face. Huh. Dream, though… ah, Dream was approaching their table. Crowley ducked his head- there was no chance that he wanted to get involved in the crossfire, not when it involved the notoriously bad-tempered Dreamlord, but he needn’t have worried: the Endless had eyes only for Gadling. Satan, Crowley hoped he wasn’t going to lose this one to centuries of eternal nightmares instead. That would be annoying.

“Did I hear you say you have no intention of ever dying?” Dream asked the human, and Gadling looked up, his expression quickly morphing to drunken awe. 

 “Uh, yeah. Yeah, that's right.” he said with a nervous chuckle.

 “Then you must tell me what it's like.” Dream said and Crowley gawped. “Let us meet here again, Robert Gadling, in this tavern of the White Horse in 100 years.”

The rest of the table burst into laughter again.  “A hundred years and I'm Pope Urban!” shouted one, and Gadling gave him a brief quelling look before turning all his attention back to Dream.

“Don't mind them,” he said.  “A hundred years' time, on this day?” At Dream’s slight but definite nod, Gadling raised his tankard to him in a salute. “I will see you in the year of our Lord 1489, then.”

With a smug smile, the Dreamlord withdrew without so much as acknowledging Crowley’s presence. The human’s briefly discussed the bizarre interlude before returning to more important topics of war and wenching. The pert serving girl of the White Horse seemed to have been forgotten by Gadling and what did it matter anyway? Crowley wasn’t going to waste any more time trying to instigate that particular tavern brawl. Gadling had been marked by the Endless. He was officially Off The Menu. Lucky bastard.

Ah well, plenty more souls in the sea, thought Crowley, downing his ale. Maybe he could keep an eye on Robert Gadling over the next hundred years. Who knew what manner of sin a man of his character could cook up in a century of living? It could be most instructive indeed.

[kirkenovak]

Dream of the Endless, the lover of Hob Gadlings throughout the centuries.

Yes, Hob GadlingS

Death never gave 1398!Hob immortality because, frankly, why should she, but that didn’t stop Dream from spending a couple of very intense and pleasurable hours in the company of this ridiculous, boisterous, joyful creature.

Dream is surprised when he returns to the waking world several decades later to find Hob Gadling seemingly not aged since their meeting, only for the latter to explain to him that he surely must mean his father. Yes, Hob had a son he called Hob. Yes, Hob Sr mentioned knowing once this dark, ridiculously handsome and clearly rich lording. No, Hob jr doesn’t believe Dream that he is him, that’s ludicrous but hey, if he fancy a tumble in the haystack, why not.

And so Dream returns to the waking world every couple of decades to find another Hob in the long line of Hobs (Roberts). He becomes a Gadling family legend, a stranger who appears once in their lifetime to ~spend the night~ in whatever manner the current Hob wishes. Some believe this story without a hesitation, other don’t believe it until The Stranger literally walks into their lives and then walks out again.

The cycle continues until 1889, when the 1889!Hob says something that insults The Stranger so badly that he walks out never to be seen again.

The family legend of course continues to be passed on through generations but at this time as more an amusing anecdote that anything anyone can actually believe.

That is, until in the year 2022, Robert “Hob” Gadling the uptenth, a professor at the local collage, is interrupted in his paper-grading by a dark, mysterious stranger…

[lenreli]

Day 19 - Club [Human AU]

[AO3]

Morpheus stares, a simple night out to get out of his head, derailed by Robert Gadling ― of course. Hob isn’t aware that he’s here yet, otherwise they’d be sniping at each other, most likely. Morpheus sits at the bar, watching as Hob dances with his friends, in very ripped jeans and a henley, and Morpheus seethes quietly, quelling the attraction he feels as he downs his cocktail.

It’s not like he and Hob hate each other, it’s just ― friction, but really, that has nothing to do with now, finding it hard to be anonymous and to land someone with Hob right there. And staring at him, blinking in shock when he glances in that direction. Bracing himself as Hob comes over, his pulse jumps at the way Hob leans against him, “you know what a club is?” 

Morpheus scowls, ear prickling from Hob’s breath, and his ready remark dies on his lips as Hob stares at him, brown eyes lined with black eyeliner, and up close he can see the peek of chest hair from Hob’s shirt, not to mention more hair through ripped jeans. Morpheus bites his tongue, stopping from himself doing absurdly impulsive. 

“Of course I know what a club is, Hob Gadling,” Hob says in an imitation of his voice, rolling his eyes.

“Are your friends that boring?” He asks, annoyed enough by the mimicry to stop ogling. Hob laughs brightly, grinning at him and putting a hand on his arm, and he swallows, feeling Hob’s eyes rake down his mesh shirt and leather pants and boots, expression melting in the changing lights of the club. “What?”

Hob continues to stare, and Morpheus can only see the shadow of Hob’s lashes ― and suddenly Hob’s mouth is on his, a warm hand on his jaw and he exhales, kissing back roughly as he holds onto Hob’s hips, gasping as hands grab his arse to pull him closer to Hob, feeling the bass of the music in his bones as they kiss. 

“So. Yes, your friends are that boring,” he says into Hob’s mouth, feeling the other man groan and he shivers as a hand goes under his shirt, fingers scratching up his spine. 

“Shut up,” Hob whispers as he slots between his legs, and Dream lets out a breath at the hardness he can feel against his own, and his brain stutters at a hand in his hair, tugging it and he moans, pressing against Hob’s warm body.

[doomed-sarcastic-king]

Despite his growing exhaustion, the countless sleepless nights, the one thing that motivated Robert 'Hob' Gadling to wake up in the morning to head over to his job was his students, who made it all worthwhile with their curiosity. Well, some of them did : most of them were awful, barely paying attention in class, but there were some who always payed attention. Out of all his students however, none of them intrigued him like Hobo Heart did, the lad rarely speaking up in class, preferring to take notes while doodling away, sometimes frowning whenever Dream leaned in discreetly to talk to him. While he didn't really know much about the artist's life; Heart never mentioned anything about himself, looking rather glum when asked questions about his past; the professor couldn't help but feel a certain fondness for his student, letting him know as often as he could that if he ever needed help, his office was wide open, should he take him up on that offer. Then came the first sign that something was wrong : for the first time in his life, Hobo Heart showed up late for class, looking disheveled and nervous, muttering an apology while keeping his head down, as if doing all that he could to not sink further into shame.

Hob for his part felt rather worried, for it wasn't like him, but he chose to let it slide for the moment, instead nodding while suggesting that he would use an alarm to wake himself up next time and during the lecture, the professor's attention was focused on the young man.

Sure, his usual look screamed 'sleep deprived painter', but this time he looked worse for wear, silently mouthing words while taking notes, trying to doodle like he normally did and getting visibly upset when it didn't turn out the way he wanted it to be. What struck him as odd was also the way that he reacted to Dream's touch, leaning in shakily, on the verge of tears, instead of pushing him away like he used to do. Then, it all came together : the source of the boy's torment was love, a new blossoming relationship that he had difficulty dealing with, the thought of it brought a fond smiled out of the older man. He himself had been in a situation like that multiple times before, so when classes were over, he asked Heart to stay so that could talk to him, quickly adding that it wasn't anything to worry about when he saw the look in the other's eyes and, after every other student had left, began to explain that while love can be scary, it can also be beautiful, but that at the same time he also couldn't let it affect his grades.

Seeing Hobo Heart nod a bit, softly apologizing for his tardiness again with redish-eyes tugged at Hob's heartstrings, and he didn't know what made him say the next words out of his mouth, it was probably fascination turning into a little crush that was about to become more, who knew at this point, but it was what sealed his fate forever : if you need anyone to talk to about this, my office is always open for you, I could even make you tea to help you relax. Oh, poor Professor Gadling, he truly didn't know the extent of how dangerous the lad's relationship was and soon, he'll find himself entangled in a messy web, one that he would struggle to get out of but give up later, realizing that perhaps it was better to stop resisting