#but I know dream lives happily in hob's dreams...

[hsdreamling]

"But he gave it up, and I'm still here."

[just-french-me-up]

#48 for the ask prompts! ❤️

N°8 : A kiss out of habit

Now buckle up for a Dreamling Green Knight AU ! I had to fist fight myself not to go overboard with this!

It had caught Hob off guard, on the first day. The lady of the castle giving him a kiss had had him dread the return of her lord husband, for they had agreed to exchange the day's earnings, and what else had there been to trade, but the kiss he had been given?

The lord had accepted it, stoic against Hob's trembling lips. In return, Hob had been given a story, a tale of the lord's invention that day. His mind worked beautifully, and Hob had watched his lips as they gave life to unearthly tales, drinking each word in like sweet wine.

On the second day, the lady's kisses had gone from surprising to intriguing. Hob had passed them on that very evening, the lord's scent now familiar as their noses had brushed together, trading breath for breath. The lord had been less stoic then. Hob could remember the knock of his heart against his chest as the lord had pressed his lips to his, opening Hob's mouth into something beyond transactional. Less chaste.

Hob had paid little attention to the lord's tale, that night. He had pretended to, of course, nodding his head, interjecting here or there, but his attention had wandered elsewhere. In the sharp line of his host's jaw. In the pale shade of his eyes, where the flames of the fireplace seemed to burn brighter still. He had itched to kiss him again, feel that fervor again. Patience. They had agreed on three nights, hadn't they?

On the third day, the lady's kisses had become a habit. Hob had expected them. Hoped for them. The poor woman's advances remained unanswered, Hob politely refusing anything further. All he could think about was the evening, when the lord would find him and ask for his earnings.

But the lord was late.

Night had fallen, dinner had been served, eaten, plates taken away, and there was no sign of the lord of the castle.

When the hour had become unreasonable, Hob retired to his bedchamber, pacing the fine floors. The morning would see him leave his hosts' care, for he had agreed to meet the Green Knight at the green chapel. He would die then, he was sure of it. A blow for a blow. He would die without having given the lord his due. How could he bear it?

Someone knocked on the door. Startled, Hob approached it, apprehension and hope both tugging at his stomach. Could it be the lord? Or his wife, seeking him out to attempt to seduce him once more, in her husband's absence?

Standing at the threshold was his host, his black hair slightly damp. His clothes were perfectly dry, but Hob noticed the mud on his shoes. He must have come here straight away, he told himself, far from indifferent to the implications.

"Apologies," the lord said. "My duties have kept me away longer than I realised."

"I thought so," Hob lied.

"I could send for a servant to rekindle the fire in the hall, so we may trade there."

"The household has gone to bed," Hob countered smoothly, keen on the idea of them there, alone. "Let us not disturb them. Perhaps we may conduct our trade here?"

He stepped back, showing the inside of his chambers. The lord seemed to hesitate, but eventually agreed to follow Hob in, closing the door behind them. There they stood. Alone. Hob swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how close they were. They had stood close before, as one must when kissing another, but this felt... intimate. Illicit, almost, in the most intoxicating way.

"Well?" the lord asked. "What have you earned today, Ser Gadling?"

Without a word, Hob inched closer, his hands behind his back. The lord did not flinch at he leant forward, meeting his lips in a slow embrace. They came apart in a soft sigh, the lord's eyes fluttering open as Hob leant back.

"What else?" his host asked, almost as a challenge.

The second kiss was more daring, earning Hob a few more sighs. He held the lord's chin as his tongue brushed his, hunger pooling at the pit of his stomach, but he stopped himself, pulling back. The man was flushed now, his back almost to the door. Hob could not say he disliked the sight. If anything, it called to him, wild thoughts sprouting in his mind of how else he'd like to see this lord, pretty pink mouth and all.

"Is this how this earning was given to you?" the man whispered. He did not sound angry. He didn't even sound curious, really. Only wanting.

"No," Hob's thumb trailed from his chin to his lower lip, tracing the plump, glistening flesh there, hot breath blowing in his skin, threatening to undo him. "This is how you shape it."

"This was not in the rules," the lord pointed out, though he did not move. If anything, Hob could have sworn he was closer. "Is this all?"

"Not quite."

The third kiss was ravenous, Hob pouring his longing and desires into the embrace, pushing the lord against the door until their bodies were entwined, hands grasping for more, pulling fabric as though to meld them together. They were both out of breath by the time they pulled back, lips inches apart.

"I must be gone in the morning," Hob rasped. "I fear I won't come back. I shall meet my end there."

The lord observed him, almost intrigued.

"Stay," Hob asked, on the verge of begging.

"The trade―"

"Tell me your story in the morning, before dawn. Close the trade then. Stay."

"I can not, for you must receive my end of the bargain tonight."

Hob shook his head, desperate to keep him close.

"Keep it. I do not want it. I want you."

Slowly, the man raised a hand to Hob's hair, cupping the back of his head, and kissed his forehead.

"Have I ever told you my name, Hob?"

Hob stared at him, at a loss. Now that he mentioned it...

"No. You haven't."

"I am Dream, Prince of Stories. Such is the nature of my offering, tonight."

Hob frowned, confused. Prince? His host had always had a regal flair to him, but he could never have imagined...

"Dream? You're offering me a dream? How?"

"It hardly matters."

Dream's hand fell from Hob's hair to his cheek, his caress soft, but clearly meant to break the tension between them.

"Go to bed, Hob Gadling. Close your eyes, give yourself to sleep. I may visit you in more ways that one."

Hob pressed Dream's hand to his cheek, refusing to let go. Such promises could not be. The body against his was flesh and bones, he could feel it. He closed his eyes, trying to burn the touch into his memory, the warmth of his skin. By the time he opened his eyes, the lord was gone, as though he'd vanished into thin air, and he was left cradling his own hand, empty.

Hob stared at the door, dejected. Now that he was alone, what else was there to do but lie in bed, waiting for the morning of his death? How could he sleep, knowing where he was headed? Yet curiosity wormed its way through his despair, making him glance back at the bed waiting for him.

He was to be given a dream. One last dream. And his host had ever been gifted at telling stories. How could he refuse him?

Send me a kissing prompt?

[recallthename]

listen. i love fandom, and i love shipping. but the fact that ever since the tv show came out the main dialogue surrounding the sandman has been about ships makes me want to burn the internet to the ground.

[martybaker]

Over the rainbow

So I know we love torturing or at least inconveniencing retired Dream with new human ailments and realities, I love doing that as well, but the thesis of this was - what if Dream retired and he finally got to be at peace and all was well, actually 🥹

(started this for prompt First time for dreamling week but here we are over a week late)

————

“I’ve never been kissed,” Dream announces.

He’s settled on the far end of Hob’s sofa with his knees up, chin settled on top of them and arms loosely hugging his legs, somehow looking both comfortable and relaxed as well as like a model in the middle of a photoshoot.

Hob’s had a hard time not staring but when Dream says that line his eyes immediately snap to the vision on his couch, clothed in hues of beige, wrapped in Hob’s own softest cardigan, and he nearly spills the tea that he was bringing for a sip.

“Huh? What?” He asks dumbly, voice unnaturally high pitched.

Dream merely blinks at him and waits him out.

When the wheels in Hob’s brain start turning again he does try to parse that statement, but all he can come up with is: “But…you’ve had relationships? You had a wife and all, did you not kiss? Was it all like, metaphysical or-“

Dream rolls his eyes, unimpressed. “Of course I’ve kissed my partners. Let me rephrase the statement. Murphy has never been kissed.”

Oh.

Dream’s talking about his new human body. His new self, that he named Murphy, a name to be used for dull but necessary identity paperwork that Hob obtained for Dream through rather illegal means.

It’s only been a little over a month since Dream turned human, but he’s been very…calm while settling into his new reality. The retirement was his own choice and he seemed to be perfectly content with his decision, despite the fact that he was forced to live with Hob in his messy little apartment while they figure something of his own for him.

Well, if.

Dream also seemed perfectly content in Hob’s space and showed no interest whatsoever in looking at flat listings.

Not that Hob minded. He would happily spend every minute every day with his friend, if it wouldn’t make him feel guilty about slacking on his job and his students. After all, Hob’s chosen career wasn’t just to keep himself busy, he really enjoyed teaching young impressionable minds about days past, keeping the history alive. Remembering.

But his joy in teaching was currently found lacking compared to the newfound joy of Dream in his home. Not just visiting, robed in dark colors, taking time off of his duties to spend a moment with Hob, but human, dressed in earthly colors, there in the mornings for shared breakfasts and still there in the evenings when Hob returned. Reading a book, slowly going through Hob’s vast vinyl collection, playing the piano, painting, knitting, molding clay. Pale blue eyes focused and clever hands at work, creating, always creating. He’s always been an artist and that part of him stayed true, despite the big change.

All things considered, Hob’s really been having a hard time keeping his foolish heart in check. And with Dream saying things like this, things like-

“This mouth has never been kissed.”

Hob’s eyes drop to Dream’s lips as soon as Dream says that, just to see them twitch in a pleased smile.

Hob stares at him, at a loss for words, while Dream looks back at him expectantly. Expecting…an answer? A reassurance?

Hob clears his throat. “Well…I’m sure it will be? It’s a very lovely mouth,” he says, unable to stop the blush coloring his cheeks.

Dream sighs a long suffering sigh and pets the couch next to himself. “Come here,” he commands.

There’s no ancient power of a monarch of the Dreaming behind it anymore, but Dream still keeps his regality, his head held high, a quiet gravitas to him. Not quite the same as when he was an Endless, but still there.

Confident, elegant, graceful.

And calm, like the still water of an indigo lake high in the mountains.

Hob blinks. What was the question? Oh, right, he was being summoned. He moves to sit next to Dream.

Dream turns towards him, leans in and closes his eyes.

Is he…?

Hob is frozen in shock once again. “Ahh, you, you want me to…?”

Dream opens his sky blue eyes again, staring into Hob’s soul. “Yes,” he says decisively.

There’s a beat when they just stare into each other’s eyes and then Dream closes his again. Waiting, alluring lips just a few inches from Hob’s.

But Hob’s having a crisis. They’ve never done this before! Dream’s never said anything about being…attracted to Hob, he’s never suggested, he never seemed interested that way.

One time, Hob got drunk and Dream had to drag his ass upstairs to bed, and Hob was just enough at his senses to remember that he slurred: “D’ya know what I like best about being immortal?”

“What,” Dream asked as he pulled Hob upwards, making sure he wouldn’t stumble on the stairs.

And Hob smiled goofily and said: “You.”

Dream just blinked at him. He didn’t say anything, not then, not when Hob got propositioned by the shopkeep when they were out together, browsing for new (old) records, not when Death was visiting and she teased if they changed their dates to weekly instead of centennialy.

Not when they were walking in a park, and Dream seemed to be watching a couple on another path on a stroll as well, holding hands.

Hob’s good mood made him act foolish, he reached out a hand in offering, but Dream… he just stared at it. Hob quickly withdrew it, running it through his hair, chuckling nervously. “I was just teasing,” he said weakly, but by that point he was sure his feelings were transparent and Dream’s lack of reaction was a clear signal.

Then again, maybe this was just harmless experimentation? Wanting to know what it feels like, being kissed as a human?

But Hob still hesitates. He feels too strongly about Dream to casually mess around without being wary of the consequences.

“Uhh, wait. I, are you sure? I don’t-“

Dream sighs and his patience with Hob apparently runs out because he pulls Hob towards him by his shirt, kissing him square on the lips.

Hob makes a surprised sound, but then he closes his eyes and falls into the kiss.

It’s unhurried and rather chaste, yet Hob’s heart seems to be doing its best trying to jump out of his chest.

Dream pulls away, slowly opening his eyes.

“How….how did that feel?” Hob asks, reminding himself that this was just an experiment. A one time deal.

Dream contemplates his answer. “Different,” he says.

“Different than when you were..Endless?

“Yes.”

“Good different or bad different?”

Dream frowns. “No such dichotomy applies,” he says, and then he leans back in again and Hob leans away.

He chuckles nervously. “Ahh, haha, hold on. You’re gonna make me think you like kissing me.” He tries to turn it into a joke, holding Dream lightly by his shoulders, trying to prevent him from darting forward again.

Dream glares at him. “And what, pray tell, is making you think I don’t.”

“Oh…really?” Hob lets go of one bony shoulder to pinch his own arm. Surely, he’s still asleep and this is just a …dream.

Dream’s glare turns even more unimpressed. “You’re awake,” he says, sharp, and as if to prove his point he kisses Hob again, more hungrily and passionately, biting at his lower lip, Hob’s hold too slack to hold him back.

They kiss and kiss and it’s far from chaste this time, Dream seems to have made it his mission to explore Hob’s mouth thoroughly, while his hands explore his chest.

Hob’s hand burrows into Dream’s hair, he isn’t able to hold back now, kissing back with vigor, treasuring Dream’s every gasp.

They’re both breathing hard by the time they part - by the time Hob has to pull Dream back by his hair to stop him from diving back in.

He can’t help but laugh. “You do actually need to breathe now, you know.”

Dream doesn’t seem too pleased with this reminder. He huffs, sitting back onto his heels.

Hob already misses the feeling of him in his arms.

He clears his throat. There’s a very important question to be asked first.

“Is it…just the kissing that you like?”

Dream tilts his head at Hob like a cat, measuring him. “You cannot tell?”

Hob shakes his head.

“You’re not very bright, Hob Gadling,” Dream says, and Hob would protest, he would tease back, but the words get stuck in his throat when Dream takes Hob’s hand into his own, putting it on his chest and making Hob feel his racing heartbeat.

Hob inhales, blushing.

“You…I…,” he sighs, searching for words. “I still have a lot to learn,” he offers, smiling at Dream.

“As do I,” says Dream.

It is marvelous seeing Dream like this. His words are confident but his heart beats wildly under Hob’s hand, pink colors his cheeks, chest rising and falling with deep breaths.

He’s trusting Hob with this, with his very human body whose reactions he cannot temper, cannot regulate.

Hob chuckles, feeling warm.

He loves this, the marvelous feeling of finding out your crush likes you back, the feeling that’s always incredible, no matter the time and place, no matter how many times he’s experienced it. One of his favorite feelings, the ones that make life an amazing journey.

“I really thought you weren’t interested in me like that,” he says.

Dream sighs. “I…could not be.”

Hob’s heart aches.

He has to touch, now that he’s allowed, now that he’s invited to. He kisses Dream’s forehead, his cheeks, delighting in the sighs he earns.

He kisses Dream's neck and Dream tilts his head for better access, making Hob feel lightheaded and so full of happiness he can hardly contain it. “I won’t be able to keep my hands off of you now,” he warns. “I’ll kiss you a hundred times every day.”

“A thousand times” Dream says, and Hob laughs, scraping his teeth against alabaster skin, making Dream moan.

He smirks, gaining back his confidence now that he knows Dream means this. He holds him around the waist, pulling him closer.

“I did learn a certain thing or two over the years,” he says slyly, dipping Dream backwards, laying him on the couch. Dream sighs indulgently, wrapping his hands around Hob’s shoulders, holding him close.

“Want me to show you?” Hob asks, and Dream hums in confirmation, pulling him for another kiss.

Soft notes play from the old record player, outside warm spring sun rays melt the last reminders of winter, birds chirp their welcoming songs.

Hope is in the air.

Dream’s here, in Hob’s home, in his arms. The cold weeks when he was distant and quietly hurting and Hob could sense something was very, very wrong but didn’t know how to fix it now seem like a distant memory too.

Hob pulls back for a second, holding Dream’s head in his hands, savoring the moment.

“Will you stay?” he whispers.

Dream inhales, his hand shaking a little when he places it on Hob’s cheek, caressing Hob’s lips with his thumb.

“I’m exactly where I want to be,” he says, smiling.

————

[currently-evil]

You know what?

Hob would love the insanity and lack of care 2022 is full of.

Man who was drowned for suspicion of being a witch, suddenly finding himself in time when nobody cares? when he doesn't have to worry about slip of the tongue? when even if he acts as his most unhinged version possible people would just shrug?

Yes, please love it, sing him up.

Hob not caring anymore about hiding his lack of aging, because everybody jus think he spend all his paycheck on plastic operations. People asking him what his skin routine is and he just answers with a laugh “oh you know i am not telling you i sold my soul to satan, but…” and wiggles his eyebrows not finishing the sentence.

Hob taking his students to a museum where they hang his own portrait commissioned days before he hosted the King, happily posing right next to it, amused to end when his students joke around that their teacher is immortal.

People asking him how old he is and he just murmurs “Oh i don't know i lost the count somewhere between 17 and 18 century” without even raising his eyes from exams he is marking.

Ranting to everybody who would listen how Sheakspear once made his friend walk out on him and everybody just assuming his friend was somehow so irritated by some Sheakspear work that they just walked away

Students saying as joke “oh i just eat fast food today and did nothing i don't think my peasant ancestor would be proud of me” and Hob just appearing out of nowhere starting whole speech “You’re peasant ancestors died by 30, worked until they literally fall asleep from exhaustion and eat the most bland food there is! You’re getting an education they could only dream of! Eating food full of spices they didn't even know existed! Flavors they could only dream off! You're living like a king for them! You’re living the life in standards they dreamed of for their children! Your peasant ancestors are proud of you! They are happy that you live this way!”

Hob sometimes just slipping into Old English speech without even realizing and everybody just being like “Ah that history teachers! They are so quirky!”

Hob being free and happy in 2022.

[hardly-an-escape]

tonight I am thinking thoughts about retired!Dream. about human Dream, weak and exhausted, dropped off on Hob Gadling's doorstep like an abandoned housecat.

I am thinking about Hob and Dream not immediately falling into bed, into a relationship, into orbit around each other. I am thinking about Hob turning his office into a spare room, teaching Dream how to be human, how to be independent, introducing him to new experiences and new people, and then basically sending him out free in the world once Dream knows enough to survive on his own. about Dream wanting this, wanting that freedom, that self-determination.

about Dream renting his own flat. cooking his own meals. choosing his own experiences, trying out everything under the sun completely on his own terms because he’s an adult with agency despite technically being less than a year old in human terms.

I’m thinking about Dream traveling. sending postcards and letters back to Hob in London from Cambodia, from Chile, from Butte, Montana. about Dream dating; about his first sexual adventures in a human body being with people he met in pubs or at the library or on Tinder. about Dream falling in reckless human love and getting his heart broken when the other person didn’t feel the same. about Dream making mistakes, making bad choices, getting hurt – never so badly that it scars him, never so deeply that it really damages him, but enough that it hurts – about Dream learning how to come to terms with that pain in his own right.

I’m thinking about Hob stepping into his role as Dream’s steadfast touchstone instead of the other way around. about Dream continually returning to the safe harbor of Hob’s care before he strikes out again on his own. I’m thinking about the patience and devotion and the longing Hob feels as he watches Dream explore; the highs and lows he experiences alongside him; how he wants Dream so fucking badly and will never, ever, push to have him until Dream comes to him of his own free will. because he will not have Dream if he feels beholden. I’m thinking about the iron lid Hob has to clamp down on his own desire, because that’s not what Dream needs from him.

until… it is. because there’s only one way this can end. I’m thinking about Dream realizing that none of his explorations, none of his liaisons, have brought him as much joy and satisfaction as Hob has simply by being his friend, by being there for him. I’m thinking about Dream, returning to Hob, choosing Hob, because he independently comes to the conclusion that they are, in fact, meant to be. about how much deeper, how much more meaningful that choice will be, coming after months or even years of journey and growth and self-discovery.

about what it will mean to Hob, to know that Dream has come back to him, has chosen him, over everything else; that after all his myriad human experiences he has determined that Hob is who will complete his human life and bring him the most joy. and then they make out disgustingly and live happily ever after.

[lemoneyshipz]

They are both stupid AU fic Idea

So we know Hob doesn't die so what if death literally doesn't come for him? And whenever Hob "dies" he isn't actually dead but unconscious or in coma so he ends up in the Dreaming instead.

At first both of them are surprised to find each other and Dream allows him to stay until he’s waking body recovers and stays to comfort him every time.

But being the cryptic asshole that he is he never bothered to tell Hob his name, and Hob as a result assumed Dream is Death because he just shows up in this realm every-time he “dies”, so this place must be afterlife.

And as they hangout more and more and of course starts to fall for each other. And finally on their 1889 meeting Hob tells Dream he is contemplating on dying, only contemplating because there is still so much to live for, but he might be in love with Death and wants to be with them.

And of course Dream does not take this well. He is like WTF AFTER ALL THAT WE HAD WHY WHOULD YOU? HOW COULD YOU ABANDON ME AND GIVE YOURSELF TO MY ELDER SISTER I WILL NOT FORGIVE YOU FOR THIS and hob is confused asf he is like wait a sec you’re not death? oh FUCK i messed up but Dream has already stormed out of the door.

Death shows up a moment later infront of Hob and he panics a bit. But she reassures him that she is only here bc “MY brother called me for the first time in years and just started yelling at me, and then was willing to owe me a boon to try to talk you out of dying which was a first time ever. And the whole thing is weird because if you actually wanted to die i would know so I’m just here to check on you since he really likes you. “ and they managed to clear up the misunderstanding but Death doesn't tell hob who Dream is bc "That’s for him to tell you."

Hob plans to confess his feelings the next time he "dies" (in WW2 most likely) but when he did he finds the Dreaming decaying so he immediately knows something is wrong and set on to search for Dream.

He finds Lucienne and she told him he is at the waking world so that narrows it down a bit.

When he finally finds Dream and when Dream finally sees hob again he is like “YOU’RE ALIVE?!”

Hob very much resists an eye-roll and explains everything to Dream and that’s how they got their happily ever after.

in conclusion miscommunication at it’s peak and they’re both stupid but especially Dream

[five-and-dimes]

Every Hand to Hold

For the Dreaming Bingo prompt: Threesome

Rating: Explicit

Ship: Dream/Hob/Calliope

Warnings: None

Additional Tags: Immortal Throuple, hurt/comfort, miscommunications, Dream's terrible horrible no good self esteem, happy ending

Summary: Inspired by this post from @cuubism (specifically her tags) that my brain then fully ran away with. Dream thinks it's wild that two separate gorgeous brunettes decided to start hooking up with him, but he's not complaining, even if he does get a little more heartbroken than he should when they both stop seeing him within a week of each other.

Read on AO3

It started with Calliope.

Dream had been wandering aimlessly in a small, secondhand bookstore when he had turned the corner and crashed into a woman with her arms so full of books she could barely see over them. Mortified, Dream had apologized and immediately began gathering up the books she had dropped, all of them either poetry collections or textbooks on the history of poetry. He had shyly inquired about her selections, and she had happily spoken at length about all of them, Dream immediately enamored with her passion and intelligence. She said her name was Calliope, and then she had dragged Dream into a small storage closet and pushed him to his knees. 

And then a week later, he had met Hob. Dream had been sitting in the park, quietly feeding the birds, when a handsome man had sauntered over and asked if the seat next to him was taken. His boldness was startling, the way he sprawled next to Dream and kept an easy conversation going even as Dream fumbled. He had a warmth about him, a bright laugh that never felt like it was directed at Dream, and it had been a shock when, despite the long list of things Dream knew he had gotten wrong during their interaction, Hob had leaned forward and grinned.

“So. Your place or mine?”

Dream lived closer.

It all seemed to happen so fast. Dream was no stranger to the occasional one night stand, something quick and simple to ease his loneliness for even a moment, but never had he been propositioned by two beautiful people in such quick succession. And he’d certainly never had people want to see him again. He had been so flattered when Calliope had asked for his number, and even more so when she actually used it, asking if they could meet again, preferably in an actual bed this time. Hob had left his own number on Dream’s nightstand, and Dream had felt foolishly optimistic when he texted him to let him know Dream’s number as well, but he was glad he did when Hob texted back a few days later, wanting to fool around again. While he had long given up on the hope of ever being relationship material, he thought he could handle some simple hookups.

Apparently he was wrong. 

Dream never had the courage to text either of them first, but at least once a week one of them invited themselves over and Dream would clear his schedule. They were both confident and clear about what they wanted, and Dream felt such relief at how easy they made it for him. He didn’t have to guess and worry about getting it wrong- all he had to do was go where their hands guided him. It was simple. He would bend over backwards to make them happy, give them anything and everything they could possibly want from him, because even if they never stayed long, it was enough that they kept coming back. He just wanted them to keep coming back.

After almost two months, Dream had been typing and retyping a message to Hob, trying to ask if maybe sometime they could grab a drink before going to bed together. Even if Dream wasn’t cut out for a romantic relationship, maybe he could at least convince Hob to a friends-with-benefits situation? He thought maybe he could be good enough to be called a friend. And Hob was so kind to him.

Before he has a chance to hit send though, Hob texts him first. 

Hey, I’m sorry, but I don’t think we should meet up anymore. Thanks for all the fun times though!

Dream feels his heart sink.

Is everything alright?

What happened?

What did I do wrong?

Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you 

Please

Please

I don’t want to be alone anymore

He types, and deletes, and types, and deletes, and ignores the way his vision blurs.

Okay

He puts his phone on silent, but it doesn’t matter. Hob never responds.

A few days later, he decides that he must be brave quicker this time. So he steels himself, and texts Calliope to ask if she would like to join him at a poetry reading the local library was putting on. 

As friends, he is quick to add on. He would not dare to reach for more than that. He does not think he is being unreasonable though. Calliope likes poetry, is a writer herself, and at a reading she will not even have to worry about dealing with Dream’s stilted attempts at conversation. They can simply sit silently together, and enjoy other people’s words, and she can put his mouth to better uses afterwards. It’s perfect.

I don’t think that’s a good idea

Dream wants to cry. He is mid apology, typing rapidly about how he did not mean to overstep, they could just keep their current arrangement, it’s fine, really. But another message comes through before he has a chance to send it.

I don’t think we should see each other at all anymore

He stares at the message for what feels like ages, his own rambling words still sitting uselessly in the text box. Finally, he deletes his reply slowly, typing a new response.

I understand.

He doesn’t though. He really, really, doesn’t.

It’s not like Dream isn’t used to being dumped- most people grew sick of him and his flaws eventually. But he had thought he was at least a good enough lay for them to stick around for a little longer. He had tried so hard not to let too much of his undesirable qualities show during their nights together, and they had always seemed more than satisfied with his performance in bed. So where did he go wrong?

Maybe they could just��� tell. Maybe they could sense each time he touched them that he was putting too much of his heart into it, that he was too attached, too desperate, too hungry for more.

He recalls the way his sibling had laughed at him when he had stated that he had given up on dating.

“Please,” they had drawled, “You’ll always be going after someone. You bleed neediness. Sometimes I think you’ll stain my couch with it.”

Maybe they were right. Maybe Calliope and Hob had grown tired of having to wash off his desperation after each encounter. After all, it was just supposed to be casual sex, and here he was, nursing a heart broken twice over, proving them all right. He had no one to blame but himself.

It wasn’t a breakup. He hadn’t been together with either of them, not in any way that truly mattered. He couldn’t tell his sister, or one of his few friends, why he was even more morose than usual. What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to explain that he kept checking his phone, didn’t want to make plans or go out just in case one of them changed their mind and contacted him, wanted to be available just in case either of them decided they weren’t done with him yet? 

He allowed himself a few weeks to wallow, to mourn, and then, as much as a petulant part of him didn’t want to, Dream knew he had to move on. So when he receives an email informing him of an event at a local bar, he makes plans to attend. Galleria was a favorite of Dream’s, as they displayed pieces from local artists throughout their establishment. It was one of the first places to showcase Dream’s own art, and he has been a regular in their rotation for years now. As such, despite generally avoiding crowds, Dream always made an effort to support the shows of all the artists they featured. 

So he would go. He would absorb himself in new artwork, have a few drinks, maybe throw himself into a one night stand that he would make sure actually remained a one night stand. He would distract himself. There wasn’t much else he could do.

It works, at first. The crowd is not overwhelming, but still a good turn out for the young artist greeting people by the door. Dream accepts a postcard with her information and then splurges on a nicer glass of wine to sip on as he meanders through the bar, weaving through tables to take in the newly hung paintings. He waves awkwardly at the managers who luckily know him well enough to simply wave back instead of starting a conversation, and Dream finds himself actually feeling alright for the first time in weeks.

And then he sees Hob and Calliope.

Together.

Not only together, but together. Holding hands and clearly a couple, each with a drink in their free hands as they chatted with another patron, their shoulders brushing as they leaned together to make room for the people moving around them. Dream can see their lips moving, one after the other, probably finishing each others’ sentences with the ease of two people who belonged together.

Dream feels like the scum of the earth. For all the love in his heart, he never wanted to ruin anyone else’s. He never wanted to be a home-wrecker. 

He is so frozen in horror that he could barely move, the reality of the situation washing over him like ice water, so when Hob and Calliope finally turn and see him, he is still staring, wide-eyed. They stare back, and then look at each other, and Dream sees their mouths moving rapidly, everything coming to light no doubt, and Dream finally manages to get his body to move, to run. He put his glass on the first flat surface he sees and takes off, desperate to escape. But of course, he can’t even do that right, and he soon realizes that in his panic he has run in the opposite direction of the exit, instead standing pressed against the back wall. Trapped. It feels too risky to turn back, and so instead he flings himself into the thankfully single-person restroom, locking the door before leaning heavily against it. 

Everything feels ruined, so much worse than it had felt even just a few hours ago. It had been bad enough losing both of them, feeling thrown away and heartbroken yet again. Now, even the memories are tainted. Seeing Hob and Calliope together had opened his eyes in the worst way. They had looked so right together, both of them so beautiful and shining and bright, glowing smiles and cheerful laughs. Of course Dream wasn’t good enough for either of them. He only hopes that he hasn’t inadvertently destroyed their relationship.

Dream presses his fists against his eyes, fighting back tears. He feels caught between sorrow and rage and shame. They hadn’t told him. He never would have taken either of them up on their offers if they had told him.

A swift series of knocks on the door makes him jump, and he quickly chokes out, “Occupied!” He just needs a little longer to pull himself together.

Unfortunately, a familiar voice calls back, “Dream?”

Hob’s voice is calm, no immediate rage or hatred, but it doesn’t make Dream’s heart pound any less. Especially when another voice joins him.

“Can we talk to you?” Calliope asks gently, “Please?”

She doesn’t sound angry either, but Dream can’t bring himself to trust it. Still. He knows he must face them. Whatever happens, he has been cornered and there is nowhere to go but forward.

His hands shake as he flips the lock, opening the door with resignation. In front of him, the two people he had grown so attached to- the two people who had, within a week of each other, cut him out of their lives- were smiling at him. Hob had an arm around Calliope’s shoulder, and they were both dressed nicely for the event. They were somehow even more beautiful standing together.

Hob grinned, “Fancy meeting you here, stranger,” he said teasingly.

Something about the ease in their posture, their casual smiles, Hob’s joking greeting, ignites a  flicker of fury in him.

“Neither of you told me,” he snaps. They both blink, surprised by the outburst, and he struggles to continue, to get it all out before he either loses his nerve or starts crying, “Neither of you said you had a partner. So if- if you’re upset-… do not be upset with me, because I didn’t know.” He wishes he sounded more angry, but he can’t fully conceal his desperation, or the way his hands shake at his sides, “It’s not my fault.”

Please believe me, he doesn’t say, please forgive me.

Hob raised his hands, “Hey, no, Dream, everything is fine,” he smiled sympathetically, “Nobody did anything wrong, I promise. Calliope and I are in an open relationship. It’s all okay.”

Dream blinked in surprise, feeling the adrenaline slowly bleed out of him, “Oh.”

“We did not mean to keep it a secret,” Calliope chimed in, winding an arm around Hob’s waist and looking at him fondly, “we both have a tendency to get caught up in our… excursions. Sometimes we forget that details might be appreciated.”

Looking between the two of them, Dream thinks he finally gets it. Perhaps they had been attracted to the novelty of him at first. His sickly pale skin versus their golden tans. His sharp bonyness when they are both full and soft. But of course that novelty could only last so long, especially if each time they left him they were going home to each other. He never had a chance of comparing.

“I… am glad,” he responds slowly, awkwardly, “When I saw you both… I had been worried…”

“Understandable,” Hob replies, “And we really are sorry. Didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression.”

Dream shifts uncomfortably, “I apologize. For snapping at you.”

“There is no need,” Calliope reassures, waving the apology away, “We caught you off guard, and we should have told you about our situation from the beginning.”

“But, now that we’re all on the same page…” Hob drawls, rocking on his heels as he glances between Dream and Calliope, “I know I- or, both of us, apparently- texted you to call our whole arrangement off, but…”

He trails off, giving Dream a pointed look that Dream doesn’t understand at all. His mouth opens, but he has no idea what Hob is talking about, what he’s supposed to say. 

Placing a hand on Hob’s arm, Calliope continues, “But now, the arrangement has changed,” she explains, looking at Dream intently, “Now we know that we both desire you, and our interests are aligned in a way we had not realized before. And so we were wondering if you might be willing to give us another chance. So that we might be with you… together.”

For a long moment, all Dream can do is stare. 

“...Together?”

His voice cracks on the word, and Hob and Calliope nod eagerly, looking at him hopefully, and Dream feels lightheaded. He had been resigned to Hob and Calliope not being a part of his life anymore, and after weeks of wishing he could have at least had more time to prepare, now he was being given it. One more night, at the very least.

Surely that’s better than nothing.

“Okay.”

The word is barely out of his mouth when Hob nearly leaps forward to kiss him. Dream thinks he might have fallen to the ground if not for Hob’s hands gripping his hips as he kisses him deeply. It is hungry, biting, impatient. Hob must have been really aching for a threesome if he was this eager already, Dream thinks. When Calliope tugs Hob away to claim Dream’s mouth with her own, he wonders if she had been wanting this for a while, too. 

“We don’t live far from here,” Calliope says, breathless, “Just a few blocks. If you’d like to come to ours this time.”

Dream nods obediently, still trying to catch his breath as Calliope takes his hand and Hob wraps an arm around his waist. They guide him out of the bar swiftly and efficiently, letting out little huffs of laughter as they speed down the sidewalk. Hob’s hand drifts down to squeeze his arse and Dream feels inexplicably nauseous. 

They really do live quite close, and far too soon Dream is being led up a short flight of stairs, Calliope and Hob giggling at each other playfully as they disentangle just enough to tumble through the door of their apartment. Dream closes the door behind him mechanically, and when he looks, Hob and Calliope are kissing. It is heated, and passionate, and they move together with the practiced ease of two people who have loved each other for a long time. He thinks again of how right they look together. And it suddenly occurs to him how wrong he must look next to them. 

And he should be grateful. He knows he should be grateful. He had thought that he had lost them forever, and yet here they were, inviting him into their home for a night of pleasure, a chance to be useful to both of them. He should be honored that out of everyone, out of all the people so much better than him, they chose Dream to be the toy they brought into bed to spice up their relationship. 

“I can’t.”

His voice cracks on the words, choked out before he can think better of it. Hob and Calliope part, turning to look at him in confusion. Part of him wishes he hadn’t said anything at all, almost wants to take it back, but he can’t. He had done this before, had tried so hard to be what they wanted. But he couldn’t do this and not get his heart broken again. 

“I’m sorry, I…. I thought I could…. I can’t do this, I’m sorry.”

His whole body is shaking, and he’s breathless, eyes downcast because he can’t bring himself to face whatever disgust is surely on their faces. His hand fumbles for the doorknob, ready to flee into the night, but soft fingers on his wrist still him. Glancing up through his eyelashes, he finds Hob standing before him, eyes shining with concern.

“Hey, hey… “ he soothes, running his hand up and down Dream’s arm, “It’s alright, dove, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want. But I’m a little uncomfortable letting you run off when you’re clearly so upset.”

Calliope steps forward, taking Dream’s other hand, “Will you talk to us, starlight?”

The pet names make it harder. If he closes his eyes he thinks he could pretend that they actually want him. And that’s exactly why he can’t do this.

“I…like you,” he admits, looking away in shame, “Both of you. And I know I should be happy that you find me good enough to, to even just have sex with you, but… I’m greedy.” All his previous partners had come to hate him for it. For always wanting and wanting and wanting. He was too romantic, too much, too high maintenance, yet somehow also too cold, too awkward, too distant. The best he can hope for now is to leave before they come to truly resent him. “I want… more. More than just sex, and. And I do not think I can do this and just walk away when it’s over.” He doesn’t want to hear them tell him to leave. 

He lowers his voice to a whisper, “It is better that I just. Go now.”

There is a long pause, and he waits for them to let him go, perhaps call him stupid or express their annoyance at having brought him all the way here only for him to not deliver. Perhaps they will just shove him out the door and be done with it.

“Oh, Dream…” Hob’s voice is soft, and sorrowful, and he brings Dream’s hand up to clutch it between both of his own. When he glances up, Hob looks… shattered.

“We’re so, so sorry,” Calliope whispers, bringing a hand to rest on Dream’s cheek, “We should have been clearer,” she tugs Dream down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead so he can feel her words against his skin, “We like you too.”

Dream feels his breath catch in his chest. His eyes are wide with disbelief, but as Calliope leans back, Hob nods in agreement, “Apparently we were both being fools,” he smiles self-deprecatingly,“We have an open relationship, yeah, but the reason I called things off with you was because… I was catching feelings,” he admits softly. Then he laughs bashfully, “And I was too chicken to just talk to Calliope about it.”

Calliope shook her head, smiling sadly, “We truly are a pair, because that is the exact reason I put a stop to our trysts as well.”

“So when we saw you, and we realized we’d both been going after the same person, it all came out,” Hob continued. Dream can barely breathe, his mind racing as he thinks back to how Calliope and Hob had looked at Dream, and then each other, how they had leaned in to talk and gesture with each other. “When we said we wanted to be together with you, we meant together. We want you as our partner. We just… didn’t know we could have you like that. Until tonight.”

They want him.

They want him.

Dream opens his mouth to say something- are you sure, thank you, you won’t regret it, I’ll be good, I promise I’ll be good- but all that comes out is a sob.

“Oh, oh our poor darling,” Calliope cooed, and then her arms are around him, pulling him close and guiding him to lay his head on her shoulder. She pets the hairs at the nape of his neck, her voice heavy with sadness as she whispers against his ear, “You came here with us, and the whole time you thought we were bringing you here to use you?”

Dream wants to rid her voice of the note of guilt he can hear. They did nothing wrong, nothing at all. But before he can get any words out to shift the blame onto himself where it belongs, Hob runs his hands up his back, massaging lightly as he leans in to speak into Dream’s other ear.

“You are far too important for that,” Dream feels his breath hitch, and Hob nuzzles against his neck, “We didn’t bring you here just to fuck you. We want to love you. Will you let us?”

It is everything Dream has ever wanted, and it hardly feels real. He shakes and shivers as he’s held between the two of them, surrounded by their warmth and the soothing sound of their voices as they comfort him.

Eventually, his breath evens, and he is able to pull away slightly, dropping his gaze to the floor. He can feel his face heat with embarrassment. He was making a scene, all because he had misunderstood what was being asked of him, and now as a result he wasn’t giving them anything.

He takes a few shuddering breaths, trying to formulate an apology, something that will convince them that they aren’t making a huge mistake. But before he gets a chance, Hob wraps his arms around his waist from behind.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Hob drawls, his lips pressed to Dream’s neck but his words directed at Calliope, “but when Dream and I had sex, he was always so generous. Only wanted to focus on me and my pleasure, never his own. Got all shy when I tried to return the favor. I get the feeling it might have been similar with you?”

Dream feels himself flush as Calliope hums, running her hands up Dream’s chest languidly, “Hm, yes. So attentive, so eager to please, to do whatever I wanted. Never so much as mentioned his own wants.” Her tone is nearly scolding, and Dream feels lost and frozen.

Then he feels Hob grin, “Well then…” he bites at Dream’s ear, while the tips of his fingers dip beneath the waistband of his jeans, drawing a gasp from Dream’s lips, “sounds like it’s your turn now, Love.”

Calliope tugs at his shirt, stepping backwards as she guides all of them further into the apartment, “Will you let us take care of you? Show you how much we want you?”

Following helplessly, Dream blushes and stutters, so far removed from their confidence and surety. He wonders if this is a joke. They cannot truly want a foolish mess like him.

“Whatever you want,” he croaks, “You can do whatever you want.”

They enter the bedroom, and Hob flicks on some dim lights as Calliope takes Dream’s chin in her hand. She looks sad. 

“That,” she states softly, “is not the answer we’re looking for.”

Dream fears he might burst into tears again at her soft chastisement, but luckily Hob steps in, lightly removing Calliope’s hand as he peppers Dream’s face with kisses.

“It’s alright, Love,” he smiles against Dream’s cheek, “we’ll work on it.” There’s a promise in his voice that makes Dream shiver. “For now, just know that what we want,” he cups Dream’s face in one hand to speak against his lips, “is to give you everything you want.”

Swallowing thickly, Dream bites back words about how he doesn’t know what he wants. He just wants them to stay. He wants to be good enough, he wants to be worthwhile enough. He wants them to stay. 

But he is distracted from his thoughts when Calliope steals him away from Hob for a kiss of her own. She tilts her head back, offering her mouth for Dream’s tongue to explore shyly as she dips her hands beneath his shirt. Hob walks around her, standing at her back and brushing her hair over her shoulder as he unzips her dress. She moans against Dream’s mouth, biting down gently on his lower lip as Hob kisses between her shoulder blades. The dress falls easily to the floor, allowing her to step out of it gracefully, and even after all the numerous times they have slept together, Dream still finds himself staring in awe at her. Her bra and panties are a muted lavender colored lace, contrasting against her golden skin beautifully. In the dim room he can just make out the soft, dark hairs along her arms and legs, and he cannot resist reaching out to run his fingers along the edge of her panties, where he knows just below is hiding a thatch of dark curls.

Reaching out, Calliope covers Dream’s hands with her own, pressing them more firmly into the soft flesh of her hips. Behind her, Hob unclasps her bra, tossing it to the side as she steps out of her underwear. Once she is naked, she turns to Hob, smiling gently as she unbuttons his shirt.

Dream watches, enamored as Calliope kisses along Hob’s jaw as she unbuckles his belt, Hob nearly ripping his clothes off as soon as every button is undone. They are beautiful together, Calliope leaning up to press her breasts against Hob’s hair covered body as they kiss. He wants to paint them, to try to capture the way their beauty only enhances each other. 

Then, they turn to look at him, and Dream feels frozen under the combined weight of their piercing gazes. A part of him wishes he could turn the lights completely off, could hide in the darkness to try to make his lacking less obvious, and he moves his arms jerkily to hug his middle.

And yet, as Calliope and Hob descend on him, their eyes are full of appreciation. 

“We haven’t forgotten you, gorgeous,” Hob grins, leaning in to kiss at Dream’s neck as he slides his hands under his shirt. Dream gasps as his fingers ghost over his nipples. Calliope runs her hands along his arms, guiding him to raise them as Hob pulls his shirt over his head. They are so warm, and when he closes his eyes, he forgets for a moment how ridiculous he must look between them, getting lost in the sensation of hands running over his skin reverently. Before, they were always in a hurry. Either coming to Dream before work or an appointment, or at the end of the day before returning home. It was not uncommon for only the minimal amount of undressing necessary to happen, and certainly it was never a drawn out affair. 

Neither of them had ever undressed him themselves, never unzipped his jeans like they were unwrapping a present, never smoothed their hands over his exposed skin like he was something to savor. 

“Breathe, darling.”

Dream startles at Hob’s gentle reminder, gasping sharply because he had, in fact, been holding his breath. Hob smiles encouragingly, dragging his hands over Dream’s ribs to feel the way they expand with each breath, pulling him close and nuzzling behind his ear and inhaling happily. Hesitantly, Dream wraps his arms around Hob, letting his fingers trace the strong muscles of his back. His grip tightens when he feels Calliope press a kiss to the base of his spine as she slides his jeans and underwear down his legs, gripping his shins as she helps him to step out of them. 

Even biting his lip cannot fully stifle the gasp as she stands, the soft swell of her breasts pressing into his back at the same time as he becomes aware of the heat of Hob’s cock sliding against his hip. His own erection is a distant thought, and it feels insignificant in comparison to the scratch of Calliope’s pubic hair against his arse, and the way Hob pulls him in for another kiss. 

A soft whine escapes him as Calliope steps away, feeling cold without her warmth to blanket him. Hob hushes him gently, moving them both to follow after her, and when Dream turns to look, he sees Calliope moving onto the bed. She leans against the headboard, legs spread wide, and holds a hand out, beckoning Dream to her. Dream feels a brief sense of relief at the familiarity, moving to crawl between her legs, ready and eager to bring her pleasure. To earn his keep.

But before he can reach her, there is a hand on his arm, twisting him around until he is facing Hob. He grins, and pulls Dream into a heated kiss, his tongue exploring his mouth when Dream gasps. As he deepens the kiss, he presses forward, crowding against Dream until he begins to crawl backwards. Hob continues to guide him back, barely giving him a chance to breathe, and before he knows it his back is pressing against Calliope’s chest. She wastes no time gripping Dream’s waist, tugging him even closer as she mouths at his neck. Her legs bracket his hips, and her tongue is tracing the shell of his ear, and Hob still hasn’t let up his kissing, and Dream feels dizzy on their attention.

When Hob finally leans back, Dream is panting, and Hob has a look of pride at how worked up he’s gotten him. Dream feels overwhelmed, and they’ve barely even done anything. 

Hob sits back on his heels, resting his hands on Dream’s ankles and smiling softly, “Will you open up for me, sweetheart?”

Dream didn’t even realize, but his knees were pressed together so hard it was nearly painful. Yet even with the realization he could not bring himself to spread his legs. This felt backwards. No matter what they said, it felt wrong not to be focusing on them. They were already giving him so much.

“You do not need to…” he choked out, pressing his legs together even harder and drawing them towards his chest, so afraid of asking for too much despite not having asked at all. “I… I do not mind- truly, I don’t, I-”

His words are cut off by the feeling of hands running up his thighs, Calliope’s chest pressing against his back as she gently brushed from hip to knee. At the same time, in unison, like the practiced couple they are, Hob drags his hands up Dream’s shins. They meet in the middle, Hob and Calliope lacing their fingers over Dream’s knees. And together, they gently pry his legs apart, until he is left open and exposed in front of them. 

“There you are,” Calliope breathes in his ear, her hands slipping back down to stroke at his hip bones. Hob takes advantage of the distraction to slip his torso between Dream’s legs, peppering soft kisses up his leg. Dream shivers at the touch, Hob hooking one leg over his shoulder to stroke his flank as he kisses the inside of his knee.

“I couldn’t help but notice,” Calliope purrs, running a hand through Hob’s hair to get his attention as she smirks down at him, “he always made the prettiest noises when I scratched at his inner thighs.”

Hob looks up, grinning mischievously, and before Dream has a chance to brace himself, he grazes his teeth across his skin and then bites, putting just enough force to leave the slightest indent of teeth. Dream slaps a hand over his mouth as he keens, his toes curling, and when Hob grins he can feel his teeth.

“So sensitive,” he says, clearly delighted, “but I didn’t quite hear you love.”

As he moves to Dream’s other thigh, Calliope takes Dream’s wrist and pulls his hand away from his mouth. She holds both his hands as she wraps her arms around his chest until his arms are crossed. With her gentle restraint, he cannot muffle his sounds as Hob drags his teeth all the way to where his thigh creases. 

It is overwhelming, so much sensation all at once. Hob sucks and bites at his thighs, leaving a trail of little love bites behind, and Calliope loosens her hold as she begins to stroke at his nipples, an embarrassing squeak escaping him as she pinches just as Hob bites down. Trembling, Dream can’t help but shrink into himself as much as he can. Head bowed, Calliope’s arms preventing him from curling over as her clever fingers play with his chest, Hob’s body preventing his legs from snapping shut at each graze of teeth. It is so good. It is also so much, and when he feels Calliope raise a hand to his hair he flinches, bracing himself without meaning to. 

Hob’s eyes dart up to look at him, and Dream does his best to exhale, to relax, to act normal for once. Pulling back just slightly, Hob rests his head against Dream’s leg, one hand petting his thigh softly. His other hand reaches out to tap Calliope’s knee, drawing her attention as he hums thoughtfully.

“He’d never admit it, but he doesn’t like having his hair pulled.”

Dream feels himself flush, eyes wide with embarrassment and looking at Hob with shock. He has no idea how Hob figured that out, he thought he hid it pretty well, and he feels a stab of betrayal at being called out. He feels Calliope suck in a breath behind him, and just knows she’s thinking of all the times she had gripped his hair harshly, twisting and tugging as Dream pleasured her, his discomfort hidden between her legs. 

It was worth it, though. He would do anything for them.

Hob looks at him a little sadly, and Dream wonders how much of his thoughts are written plainly across his face. His eyes move to Calliope, smiling at her as he continues, “But if you just scratch his scalp lightly? He’ll melt under your hands.”

Calliope moves before Dream has a chance to respond, and he can’t hold back a shuddering sigh as he feels her manicured nails run through his hair, just barely grazing his skin. She does it again, and again, and Dream’s eyes close in bliss.

Tears sting at the corner of his eyes, and he swallows thickly as he forces himself to speak, “You… you can pull. If you want to.”

Calliope hums, but makes no move to stop her gentle petting, “I don’t want to, actually, thank you.”

He’s doing this all wrong, but the tears escape despite his best efforts. He feels his chest hitch and he waits for Hob and Calliope’s frustration, their impatience, their jeering mockery. It never comes. Everything seems to slow down for a moment, both of them just petting him, holding him, quietly giving him the chance to catch his breath. 

Almost without noticing, he finds himself relaxing. Just as Hob predicted, Dream slowly melts back against Calliope as she continues stroking his hair, sinking against her chest as the rigid tension he had been holding himself with slowly bleeds out of him. His legs fall open a little wider, no longer pressed against Hob’s shoulders with locked muscles. The tears slow, his breath evens, and his eyes drift shut. Calliope presses a kiss to his damp cheek, and Hob nuzzles against his hip bone, and it feels good without feeling like he’s going to drown in it.

“There’s a love,” Hob whispers against his skin, “We’ve got you. No need to rush. We’re more than happy to take our time with you.”

Leaning up, Hob trails kisses up Dream’s stomach and chest, until he finally reaches his mouth and presses against him deeply. Dream sighs against his mouth, letting his head drop back onto Calliope’s shoulder as she claims Hob’s lips next. The overwhelming fire has calmed to a simmering warmth, and when Calliope turns her head to kiss him, Hob’s movement makes him gasp as their cocks briefly brush against each other. He hears Hob whine softly as well. 

He is panting again when Calliope moves to suck at his neck, and he feels Hob grin as he places wet, open mouthed kisses across his stomach, chin just barely brushing against his straining cock. With the tension eased out of him, he finds himself unable to hold back the soft, desperate moan as Hob’s hands glide up his inner thighs.

Calliope reaches her hand around and, with practiced ease, grips a fistful of Hob’s hair in her hand, dragging his face firmly against Dream’s groin.

“I think we’ve teased him enough, my love.”

Dream sucks in a breath as he feels Hob’s moan against his skin. It occurs to him now, as he takes in the pleasure on Hob’s face as he’s manhandled, that Calliope probably treated Dream the same way simply out of habit. Her hands moved with confidence and familiarity, Hob’s eyes fluttering with arousal. He feels a sharp stab of guilt for daring to have different preferences than them, for not hiding it well enough, for disrupting their routine.

But whatever half-formed apology was on his lips dies when Hob parts his lips and Calliope guides him to take Dream’s cock. He has to bite his lip to muffle his cries, and his body trembles with effort to not thrust up into the warm, wet cavern of Hob’s mouth. 

“I’m surprised he managed to hold himself back so long,” Calliope whispers against Dream’s ear, stroking Hob’s cheek reverently, her fingers tracing his lips where they’re stretched around Dream’s length, “A large part of why we opened our relationship was because he loves sucking cock so much. My strap-on just couldn’t quite satisfy him.” 

Dream shudders at the words, whining when Hob hums, glancing up with bright eyes, looking like he would be laughing in agreement if his mouth wasn’t full. Calliope tugs at his hair, and Dream keens at the feeling of Hob’s tongue dragging across his prick as Calliope pulls him off. 

Hob grins, licking his lips, “Didn’t want to scare you off,” he admits to Dream, “Didn’t want to push when I wasn’t sure why you wouldn’t let me reciprocate.” His hands move to Dream’s arse, squeezing gently before tugging him forward, sliding him down the bed just slightly until his head is pillowed against Calliope’s breasts and Hob can bury his nose in the crease of Dream’s thigh. 

“Nothing to be afraid of now, darling,” Hob says, smiling, “So let go for us.”

He opens his mouth, and does not have to wait long before Calliope has his hair in her grip again, moving him to swallow Dream back down as she sets a gentle pace for them. Dream shudders and moans, his breath hitching when he feels himself barely brush the back of Hob’s throat. He tries to pull away slightly, but as he does Hob looks up at him, and Dream just knows he would be grinning if he could. He hooks his arms under Dream’s knees until his legs are over his shoulders, and ignores Calliope’s guiding hand in favor of pulling Dream close until his nose is pressing against his pelvis and Dream can feel him swallowing around him.

The cry Dream lets out is more like a muffled scream, his whole body going taut as he throws his head back against Calliope’s chest. When she laughs, it is not mean, or mocking. She just sounds happy.

“Someday,” she promises, “I will show you how to really fuck his face exactly how he likes.” Dream shudders at the words, and Calliope allows Hob another moment to choke on Dream’s prick before pulling him off. Hob sucks in a gasping breath, drool running down his chin, smiling and laughing even as Calliope turns her attention to him to chide him fondly, “But for now, we must be gentle with him, my love.” She wipes at the saliva on Hob’s face as she leans to kiss Dream’s cheek, “We have been too careless already.”

Whatever part of Dream’s brain that is still working wants to argue, but before he gets a chance, Hob is placing a kiss at the base of his cock, looking up at him warmly, “No argument here,” and then he is licking up the shaft and returns to the easy pace from before, and all Dream can do is whimper. 

Heat curls in the bottom of his stomach as he watches Hob’s head bob steadily. He is so caught up in the sensation, in Hob’s tongue swirling over the head of his dick, and Hob’s hands massaging his arse, and Calliope still idly stroking his nipples, that it takes him a moment to notice that his voice is not the only sound echoing through the room. Blinking dazedly, he realizes that Hob is moaning around him, and his hips are rutting desperately against the mattress, a dark spot spreading on the sheets where his precome is leaking. Behind him, Calliope’s breath is panting by his ear, and he feels the knuckles of her free hand brushing against his lower back rhythmically as she fingers herself.

Hob’s face is flushed, his tempo faltering as he climbs towards his peak, until Calliope has to grip his hair again to keep him steady. As she does, Dream can hear the slick, wet sounds behind him as her hips start canting to fuck herself on her own fingers. Her movements jostle Dream, each thrust of her hips pushing Dream’s into a mirroring thrust into Hob’s mouth. Dream isn’t even doing anything, is simply laying at their mercy and writhing at every pleasure they wring from him, and yet somehow, impossibly, he is surrounded by the evidence of their pleasure as well. 

Whining desperately, Dream moves one hand to grip at Calliope’s thigh, the other covering her’s over Hob’s hair, pushing back weakly, “I-... I’m going to-....” he tries to warn.

Calliope only grinds against him harder, her voice breathless as she keeps her hand on Hob’s head, “Go ahead,” she pants, “Let go, let him taste you, let us see you lose yourself with us.”

Hob hums in eager agreement and just like that Dream is coming hard. His fingers tighten on Calliope’s thigh and Hob’s hair, pressing them close as he throws his head back and keens, long and loud. Hob takes him as deep as he can go to swallow around every drop, and just as Dream is starting to come down, Hob lets out a strangled cry and Dream nearly shrieks in overstimulation. Calliope pulls Hob off and Dream realizes that he is coming too, his red, red lips hanging open and drool dripping from his chin as he moans, long stripes of come streaking between his legs. Finally, Calliope buries her face in Dream’s neck, her hand speeding up until Dream feels a puddle of wetness bloom on the mattress where their hips are pressed together. 

For a long moment, all three of them simply lay together, panting and boneless. Hob has collapsed forward, uncaring of laying in his own mess, resting his head on Dream’s stomach. Dream feels like a ragdoll, limbs loose and limp as he leans back heavily on Calliope. She in turn is curled forward, forehead pressed against Dream’s shoulder, her hips occasionally twitching with little aftershocks of her orgasm. 

Eventually, Calliope shifts, humming in contentment as she stretches an arm out to tug on a strand of Hob’s hair. When she has his attention, she crooks a finger still shiny with her own fluids at him, beckoning him to her. He smiles, and slides up Dream’s body languidly until they are chest to chest and Calliope can draw him into a deep kiss just over Dream’s shoulder. He watches with half-lidded eyes as Calliope licks into Hob’s mouth, and he can feel the way her chest rumbles with a noise of satisfaction. 

“Oh, Dream,” she purrs, and Dream blinks in surprise at being addressed as she runs her tongue across Hob’s lips, “you taste divine.”

Dream thinks his face might be on fire, and even as he ducks his head to hide his face in Hob’s chest, he is certain Hob must feel the heat on his skin. But Hob is nice enough not to say anything, petting Dream’s hair softly as Calliope allows him to lick her fingers clean.

Hob runs his tongue over her fingers thoroughly, moaning happily at the taste of both his lovers mingling in his mouth, “Truly, I’m being spoiled tonight,” Hob grinned, his voice rough and rasping in a way that only made Dream blush harder, “I thought this was supposed to be about Dream?”

Shyly, Dream raises his head from Hob’s chest. He knows that Hob is teasing, but he still feels the need to make sure they know, “I am… more than happy with the outcome of this evening,” he whispers.

“Hm, good,” Calliope tilts his head, kissing him softly, nearly chaste, “Tonight was a good start, I think.”

Dream blinked in confusion, “A… start?”

“Of course,” Hob chimed in, placing a finger under Dream’s chin to tilt his face up, “We haven’t even taken you on a date yet.”

It only makes him more confused, even as his heart flutters with something hopeful, “But… you already have me?”

His fondness for romance was something that has long been beaten down in him. When he wanted to do something for his partner, he was too much, he embarrassed them, and it was still never enough to forgive him his flaws. When he wanted something from them, a sign or a gesture or even just time together to make him feel wanted, he was high maintenance, spoiled, unreasonable.

“We’re already dating,” they’d say with rolled eyes, “That shit is for when you’re trying to get someone,” they’d grin meanly, “You’re already got.”

Romance was for his books, not his life. And yet, Hob tilted his head in curiosity “And we would like to keep you,” and he says it so easily, as if he is not the first person to ever express such a thing to Dream. He must see it though, in Dream’s glassy eyes, because his expression softens, and he strokes Dream’s cheek lovingly, “We want to treat you right. Give you all the good things you deserve. And that includes dates, and gifts, and excessive wooing.”

“And it will be excessive,” Calliope warns, “Now that it is allowed, we will both be broken floodgates of affection. You must tell us if it is ever too much.”

Dream shakes his head immediately, “You could never be too much,” he chokes out, lowering his gaze, “You don’t… you don’t have to…”

He jumps when he hears a thud and two yelps, looking up to find Calliope and Hob both holding a hand to their foreheads, having collided in their mutual rush to kiss him.

“Excuse you,” Calliope glares, voice haughty and offended, “it is my turn!” 

“It absolutely is not,” Hob pouts.

And whatever feelings were overwhelming Dream even a moment earlier evaporate as he claps a hand over his mouth to stifle his rasping giggles. He loves these two ridiculous people so much and he thinks- hesitantly, tentatively- that he might be allowed to.

This time, Calliope and Hob maneuver carefully around each other, each pressing kisses to Dream’s face and shoulders. When Dream’s laughter has died down and it feels safe to remove his hand from over his mouth, they carefully disentangle from one another.

“Come on, beautiful,” Hob says, and Dream flushes at the endearment, “Let’s get cleaned up. I’ll find some pajamas for you, then we’ll change the sheets and head to bed.”

Despite everything, Dream cannot help the words that bubble up in his chest. He just has to make sure, “I can stay?”

They look a little sad, but still don’t hesitate to both nod. “Of course,” Hob whispers, “We want you to stay.”

Calliope takes his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, “And we will be here with you in the morning. And the day after that, and the day after that.”

“I’ll make you breakfast, because Calliope can’t cook. But she’ll make the coffee, because the machine hates me for some reason. And you can decide what we watch while we eat because neither of us can ever decide on a show and you always have good suggestions.” He turned to raise a teasing eyebrow at Calliope, “Am I wrong?”

To Dream’s relief and delight, Calliope only laughed, “It’s true, I have enjoyed all of his suggestions thus far. And left to our own devices, Hob and I will simply scroll for hours and not watch a single thing.”

Something in Dream’s heart blooms. He hadn’t even realized they’d been listening to him. Before, each time they’d finish, as they were getting dressed and making themselves presentable, Dream would recommend a show or a book or a movie. It was an easy script, something he could easily practice in his head beforehand and recite in the moment with ease. A little filler in the aftermath, a reassurance that Dream could talk like a normal person, a subtle implication that he thought of them outside of sex. Have you seen this show? Have you heard of this story? I think you’d like it. 

But he hadn’t really thought they were listening.

Dream does his best to move with them as seamlessly as they do each other, but each time he fumbles and finds himself in their way, they merely take it as an opportunity to ply him with kisses. They wipe each other down with warm washcloths, letting their hands linger longer than strictly necessary simply because they can. Hob and Calliope replace the sheets swiftly while Dream changes into his borrowed pajamas. The oversized tee continuously slips off his shoulder, and when Calliope and Hob see him they immediately begin elbowing at each other in their haste to put their mouths on the exposed skin. 

When they finally climb back into bed, they guide Dream into the center, slotting him between them as though he was made to be there. They pet his hair, and kiss him, and lace their fingers together over the dip of his waist. They fall asleep quickly, easily, as though Dream’s presence has not disrupted them at all. He stays awake as long as he can, savoring the feeling of their bodies surrounding him. He places his hand carefully on top of theirs, holding his breath. When they do not stir, he releases it slowly, allowing his eyes to finally drift shut. 

Dream falls asleep, three hands tangled together, and thinks he might actually have a place here.

[gabessquishytum]

Dress-wearing Hob is out running errands. He's something akin to a Red Riding Hood figure for his little town, except you know an adult - he helps little old ladies; sometimes watches the village babies and kiddos; he bakes the best baked goods in the town (people fight over his bread); he takes care of stray animals.

Hob loves his little patch of the world.

Recently, there has been rumors of a wounded wolf (creature) in the forest. It's seems to be eating wayward livestock and the men of the town are looking to chase it off or kill it, especially the Burgesses.

Hob hates to see an animal, especially an injured one, killed, so he goes out in one of his heavy work dresses to see if he can find the animal first. It doesn't take him long before he finds the massive wolf, injured and snappish, and looking like he's not eaten anything in weeks.

Hob isn't sure how he's going to get the enormous animal back to his house and he can't leave him where he is with the hunting part about. So he starts talking to the wolf -- telling him about the hunting party, about how he wants to get him away from here and danger, how he's not sure how he can carry "Mr. Big Bad Wolf" all by himself, how it would be so much more convenient if Mr. GrowllyPants helped out.

As Hob is walking around to see if he can find strong enough wood to create a stretcher or something to help move the wolf, he hears.......

BIG BAD DREAMY WOLF: I would thank you, but my name is not GrowllyPants.

Hob stopping and turning to stare at the pretty (panting) injured man where the injured wolf used to be.....

LITTLE-BIG MODERATELY-SIZED RED RIDING HOOD OR HOB: Well it will certainly be easier to take you home now.

Moderately-sized Red Riding Hob and Mr Growllypants are my new favourite couple, actually.

Of course Dream is also naked (the perils of being a shifter) and Hob gallantly offers his red cloak to cover his modesty - Dream accepts and stares at Hob in his pretty gingham dress, and quietly falls in love.

And now he's a normal size, Hob can carry him back to his cottage. He gets Dream settled in the (single) bed and begins tending to his wounds: Dream was caught in a trap, managed to escape, but ended up badly hurt. In his human form his leg is pretty mangled, and Hob immediately sets about making poultices and potions for healing. He HATES those awful traps, and he's not going to let Dream die or lose his leg.

Unfortunately the Burgesses put 2 and 2 together when they hear about the injured man at Hob’s cottage (who has been there since the wolf creature mysteriously stopped being sighted). The hunters show up at Hob’s door, only to be greeted by Hob wearing his prettiest dress and holding a VERY large axe. After Roderick nearly gets his hand chopped off, the hunters wisely leave.

Inside Dream is wrapped up snug in Hob’s red cloak, wondering how he can possibly make it so that he never has to leave this wonderful place where he's protected and cared for. At least his wound will take a long time to heal.

And little does he know, Hob has a soft spot for pretty, grumpy men. He may be concocting a plan to run the Burgesses out of town forever... so Dream can stay in safety, and they can live happily ever after!

[avelera]

I definitely don't need more WIPs right not for Dreamling, but sometimes it is fun to brainstorm a total nonsense fanfic-y premise played totally straight, which is why I'm fondly remembering the Cinderella Dreamling AU I brainstormed on one of the servers.

(Canon Divergence AU, because that's how I roll)

2022 rolls around and Hob and Dream are friends. Just... friends. Hob would love there to be more. He sometimes suspects, more like wishes really hard, that Dream would like more but, as usual, the guy isn't talking if he does. And Hob is too chicken to ruin the friendship they finally achieved to do something so uncouth as proposition his oldest friend.

He comes to the sad and perhaps inevitable conclusion that Dream has had all the chances in the world to say something so the only conclusion is that Hob's just not that interesting to him in that way. Stands to reason. The more Hob learns about the Dreaming and Dream's fantastical realm and all his adventures, the more Hob's almost single-minded dedication to living a normal life despite his immortality seems a bit... dull.

Enter Desire. Or Death. Or both. This is fanfic-y nonsense, after all, the point is there is a device and the device is our fairy god-person who is also sick to death of watching Dream pine from afar but is also a huge fan of chaos.

They (let's go with Desire for now, even if the trope is a bit overplayed, because it seems like their sort of thing) offer Hob a proposal. The chance to go into the Dreaming each night to woo Dream. Best of all, it will be with Desire's protection of his identity and a small amount of magic to create a persona for wooing Dream that won't be immediately obvious.

Oh, also, Dream is throwing a big fuck-off bash for Faerie or some other Dreaming ally so there's gonna be a party for weeks up there. Perfect place to slip in a new stranger. (Hob is a little charmed by the idea that he gets to be the stranger for once.)

Enter: the Knight of Roses.

Basically, Hob creates a persona into which he pours all of charm, wit, and courtier's polish from 600s years of life. If nothing else, he's having the time of his life at what is essentially a fancy magical masquerade ball where he gets to try his damndest to sweep Dream off his feet.

And it seems to be working. Hard to tell with Dream. But each night, Dream seems excited to see the Knight of Roses again.

(It is working. It's working very very well. The Dreaming is awash in flowers. Dream spends every waking moment he's not at the ball pacing his quarters, interrogating his subjects as to how in the world he can't get to the bottom of who this is, and every person who could nominally be considered his friend including his siblings and subjects are tearing their hair out with how sick they are of hearing about the Knight of Roses.

Hob doesn't hear about it though in the waking because Dream is in love with him and doesn't want to ruin any chance they might have together someday by agonizing over a mysterious guest who is probably some trick sent by Desire or Lucifer or someone to mess with Dream. He has no idea how right he is and how wrong he is not to bring it up to Hob.)

Secret Identity shenanigans ensue, of course, until we hit a breaking point with drama, tears, etc etc the usual for the trope because of course (gasp!) Hob is the Knight of Roses and there never was any need to create a separate persona because Dream was also agonizing over whether Hob was interested and Hob was so chill around him he assumed he was misreading all the signs. (Hob was working so, so hard to appear that chill around Dream.) Identities are unmasked and everyone lives happily ever after.

(But Hob is keeping the outfit once they're officially together, because Dream really, really liked the romance of the whole Knight of Roses identity but he likes it even more now that he knows it's Hob and not an evil trap laid by one of his enemies.)

[zzoomacroom]

Retired amnesia Dream + coma Hob for WIP ask game please 🥺🥺🥺

Thank you for the ask! @linzod asked about this one too, and I'm super excited about it! I only have it outlined so far, but I'm hoping to write it once I'm done with the mpreg fic.

So Murphy is just some guy, as far as he knows. He's an artist, and he's kind of a shut-in with no friends and no life to speak of. He starts having really vivid dreams that, unbeknownst to him, are showing him memories of his past life. He also keeps having these recurring dreams where he meets with this guy named Hob who seems really familiar and keeps telling Murphy that he's real, he's been looking for him, he's trapped in the Dreaming and he needs Murphy to find him in the waking world. Murphy doesn't believe any of it, thinks his unconscious mind made the whole thing up, and he's like, "great, I'm so lonely that my sleeping mind made me an imaginary friend." But then he keeps finding clues suggesting that Hob is telling the truth. He goes to the White Horse and, even though it's abandoned and boarded up, he recognizes it from his dreams. He also maybe finds mentions of Hob in historical texts, the drawing of them from the 1789 meeting, etc. So now he understands that it's all true, and he has to find Hob and hopefully regain his memories in the process.

Now I'm going to put what's happening from Hob's perspective under the cut, because it's a plot twist that would be revealed later in the story.

So how did they end up in this situation? Well, after the Wake, Hob became more unhinged than ever and couldn't accept that Dream was dead. So he planned to do a whole "Dream of a Thousand Cats" style thing and have a thousand people dream that Morpheus is alive again. But in order to organize and orchestrate this whole plan, Hob puts himself into a magically induced coma so he can stay in the Dreaming and make sure the plan works. But once it does, he finds himself stuck there. The mysterious and sketchy person he hired to put him into this coma has disappeared, and now he's trapped with no way to wake up. Morpheus keeps finding him when he dreams, so Hob is overjoyed about that but heartbroken that Morpheus doesn't remember him and doesn't believe any of his dreams are real. Eventually, Morpheus finds Hob in the waking world, wakes him up, gets his memories back, and they live happily ever after.

I don't want to give too much away, but I will say that this fic will also feature Death, Delirium, Daniel, Lucienne, Matthew, Johanna Constantine and Mad Hettie.

Hopefully I'll actually be able to get it written before too long 😭

[roguelov]

Imagine Morpheus and Hob helping their soulmate get used to being immortal and also helping her get used to living in the Dreaming permanently ( Hob having started living there permanently after they reunited, before they both met their soulmate)

I was just gonna group these two together because they have the same vibes 🥰 and y’all are right it’s going to be cute and lovely and just overall wonderful

You gasped taking in the beauty of the Dreaming. You stood upon a hill on Fiddler’s Green, overlooking the castle with its moat. Flowers swayed in the breeze, birds and butterflies fluttered around and dare you say a butterfly kisses your cheek with its wings.

“It’s just … gorgeous,” you breathed out.

Morpheus strolled up to your left side. “And it is your home now.”

“Our home,” Hob corrected. He smiled at you and Morpheus.

“Yes, our,” Morpheus smiled softly.

“I - I still don’t know how I will ever get used to this,” you muttered as you stared off in the distance to see one of the guardian - the wevryn - take off into the sky. You glanced over your shoulder seeing woods and possibly mountains behind you. “And there is still so much.”

The Dreaming was expansive, and ever changing. One could walk along a beach with the white softest sand and picturesque ocean only to take another step and find themselves in a museum filled with art only ever dreamt about.

“And we will show you everything,” Morpheus whispered fondly.

“But there is no need to rush,” Hob added. “For today how about we just take a stroll? I’m sure Fiddler will enjoy the company.”

As if it answer yes, the flowers grew more vibrant and birds seemed to sing a happier tune. You laughed, unable to contain your joy. “That sounds lovely.”

Without waiting for them, you grabbed each of their hands dragging them along on an unknown path you were creating. The men smiled at your happiness.

“Although, I do have a question,” you started.

“Then ask,” Morpheus prompted.

“Given we are in the Dreaming, can I conjure certain things?”

“You can, all dreamers can write their own stories. I provide them the pen and paper, yet sometimes the Dreaming will give one a story to fill their time here.”

You hummed, biting back an excited smile.

Hob raised an eyebrow, smirking, “And what are you possibly planning now love?”

“Just thinking of all the possibilities and adventures we will have here.”

Hob and Morpheus blinked at your answer. Their hearts skipped, and a warmth filled their chests. You tugged them along, urging them to pick up their pace.

“Come on, I want to see what Fiddler will show us.”

They followed after you happily. In a realm filled with the impossible, you somehow made it all the more magical and wonderful.

Their precious soulmate, their love, their life.

[mollymagician]

Helllooo so, reading certain fun posts over at @gabessquishytum ‘s place got me thinking of one of my fave movies and like—

Dream spent years trapped by social expectations in an unhappy and unwanted marraige with Alex Burgess, ignored and withdrawn into his own little world. He has his greenhouse and his bizarre prize-winning hybrid roses, his unpublished forever-not-quite-finished manuscripts, and that’s enough, he thinks.

Until Alex kicks the proverbial bucket and Dream learns that the Burgess family fortune has been so badly mismanaged, he’s inherited nothing from his late husband but a drafty old mansion sitting on a pile of debt.

The creditors are closing in and Dream…hates the house. He always hated it. But dammit, spite is a hell of a drug. He hates his family as much as he ever hated Alex and Fawney Rig, and he refuses to be kicked out of his own home. He needs a source of income, asap.

Luckily his gardener Matthew has pot plants growing in the hedges and more optimism than sense. Win win!

Pretty soon there’s A Lot More than prizewinning roses growing in Dream’s greenhouse. A lot more. Dream must have some sort of eldrich gardening powers, because this stuff is insanely potent and is also growing out of control. They need to find some way to unload this crop, and fast. Dream needs money. The authorities are getting suspicious. Matthew doesn’t want to go to prison. The whole town knows. So off they head towards the big city to try to find a buyer.

And find a buyer they do!

Hob Gadling isn’t…exactly a crime lord. He’d never describe himself that way. He’s just a creatively savvy businessman. And he’s never been more entertained by ANYONE more than he is by this gorgeous and charmingly awkward lunatic who’s somehow wandered into his little seedy underworld with a gardener and the weirdest story that he’s ever heard. He’s head over heels, instantly. And he’s determined to keep Dream out of trouble, if not just because Dream’s wildly delicious, than at least because Hob firmly believes that no one should go to jail for objectively funny crimes.

…I’m just trying to decide who it is in this version of the story that ends up on the floor, stoned out of their mind, eating cereal out of the box and wearing googly-eye glasses. Please watch this movie, for that scene ALONE.

…The gardener in the film’s actually named Matthew and I tend to envision my Sandman-verse human!Matthew based on the Matthew from this flick. Though Grace’s gardener!Matthew was actually Scottish. (The trying-pot-for-the-first-time scene works just as well with Dream looking at Matthew, blurting out “…you’re American!” and then laughing like a lunatic.)

…After the Whole Incident At The End That No One In Town Can Remember, Dream and Hob rename Fawney Rig to Fiddler’s Green, Dream publishes his novels, and of course they rebuild the greenhouse. Bigger this time. And everyone lives happily ever after.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 The Places We’ll See

The Places We'll Be: Your mortality comes into question and the two beings who love you more than life can’t handle the inevitable.

Warnings: Angst, Morpheus and Hob Are Idiots™️.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Female!Reader x Hob Gadling, Idea from this post by @writing-fanics.

Word Count: ~4.2k

Previous | Masterlist

“Something is bothering you,” Monica commented, eyeing you up and down as the pair of you sat at a cafe and enjoyed a spot of afternoon tea. You both had gotten jobs in the city after graduating from your PhD programs and regularly had lunch for afternoon tea together to catch up on your daily lives. Ergo, she was quite privy to your relationship between the Professor and the ‘Broody Hot Guy’. “Did you have a fight with them? Can’t imagine what you’d get into a squabble over considering they worship the ground you walk on.”

“They’re avoiding me,” You absentmindedly replied, your mind wrapped up in how distant Hob and Morpheus had become lately. You’d spent seven months happily in a relationship with them, nearly overwhelmed by the magnitude of their love, and not once had a bump in the road. At least twice a week you fell asleep wrapped up in their arms and love, and woke with innumerous marks upon your body along with incredibly sore muscles… You had never felt this loved before. But now you were drifting away. Monica raised an eyebrow at you in concern, lowering her cappuccino.

“Hob and Broody Man, avoiding you?” She repeated for confirmation of your nearly unbelievable statement. You continued to stare out into the village, oddly undisturbed by such revelation. “Has anything come up that they’re busy with?”

“No,” You softly replied, feeling the painful sting of their avoidance fresh within your aching heart once more. “They— there’s nothing going on with them… they’re just avoiding me.”

“Oh babe,” Monica replied, fully taking in how much this change in events was effecting you. You’d been the picture of elation these last seven months, glowing with happiness that infected anyone who laid their eyes upon you. But now you were retracting your sun, your happiness, and the signs were staring to visibly appear. “Maybe, maybe you just need to get away from them for a couple of weeks, sort yourself out you know? Focus on you. Don’t think about boys. Don’t think about your heart. Just think about yourself.”

You wanted to, but you could no longer see yourself without seeing Morpheus and Hob standing by your side. The future seemed ever so bleak without them in your life…

“God, Monica I can’t,” You whispered in frustration. “Every time I close my eyes I see them. I can’t escape it no matter what I do.”

Monica blinked, then frowned, mulling over your words. You really had been completely enraptured in your relationship. There was never bringing up you without bringing up either Hob or Broody Man. Well, there was only one thing she could think of when pulling you out of this dip.

“Okay, so, I was going to save this for your birthday, but I’ve got vouchers for a super exclusive spa outside of the city. I think I should cash them in early and drag you away from all this relationship hub bub.” You went to protest but Monica shut you down before you could get a word in edgewise. “No, babe, you need time away from them, clearly. Whatever bullshit they’re up to that’s affecting your relationship goes bye bye.”

Your eyes dropped to your cup of tea and your shoulders slumped. Perhaps it really was time to put some distance between yourself and your lovers. Something wasn’t working anymore and it was affecting you.

“Alright, I’ll put in notice for PTO,” You agreed, lifting your eyes back to Monica. “I think — I think it’s time I get some space from them. If they’re avoiding me, it’s not like they’ll notice if I start avoiding them.”

“Something is up with her,” Hob softly commented as he gazed out the window of The New Inn. Morpheus had been quietly contemplating the dreams and nightmares of his realm as of late when Hob spoke, and quickly turned those thoughts away to address his love.

“To what do you speak of? Is she ill?” Morpheus questioned, straightening up in his seat. Hob blinked and then sighed, slowly turning his head to look at Morpheus.

“Ill? I don’t think so… but it’s been nearly two weeks since she last visited and we haven’t really been talking on the phone. She rarely even texts about her day.” Hob explained, worry filling his body. Your behavior had changed. You weren’t nearly as open about your daily activities, you no longer made sure to update him or Morpheus on the drama in your workplace, Hob couldn’t even remember the last time he got to kiss you let alone have you in his bed.

“She is being… distant,” Morpheus spoke, his mind now entirely focused on you. Your smiles. Your voice. Your kisses. The way your naked body felt snaked with his. Now he was thinking about what he and Hob had been agonizing over these last few weeks: your mortality. They were going to lose you, the one they adored most, to the inevitable: death. Morpheus had thought to speak with his sister about such topic, but he knew that he could not change what Destiny preordained.

Yes, something bothered you and Morpheus was upset that you weren’t automatically finding comfort from either Hob or him. Were they not there as your partners to support you? A cloud of upset and depression began forming over Morpheus’ head, for he loathed the idea of you upset and alone. Clearly he had done something wrong! Both Hob and Morpheus began stewing within their minds, wondering what was wrong with you and still dreading the idea that at some point, they were going to lose you.

You’d packed a bag for your week long stay at the Spa resort Monica had booked with her vouchers and shipped off to the country side without a word to Hob or Morpheus. You’d wanted to tell them where you were going, but you had been reminded by Monica that this was to get away and not think about them. So you kept your mouth shut and just left… it wasn’t like you had been talking with them regularly every day recently so they weren’t going to even notice you’d gone. You hadn’t even gotten a text from Hob yet about your whereabouts.

That was a clear sign something was indeed wrong.

Laying on the bed of you room, you stared at the ceiling and tried to take your mind off what your world revolved around. You thought about the spa pool fed by natural springs, that would surely feel nice on your skin. Or maybe you’d cash in the deep tissue massage Monica had told you that would be life changing. You were skeptical and didn’t think it would be that effective in changing your life… but your friend was convinced. Speaking of Monica… Her ringtone started blaring and your hand searched for where you had dropped it on the bed beside you. You found it and answered.

“What’s up?”

“You’re already thinking of them, aren’t you.” You blinked at her astuteness and draped an arm over your eyes.

“I’m not intentionally doing so, Mon,” You said with a sigh. “I really am not.”

“We’ve been here for a day, babe, it’s time to think about you.” Monica stated. “Put your bathing suit on, we’re going to the thermal suite to get our pores opened up and ready to be pampered.”

“I don’t think the pores will be the one that’s pampered.” You replied dryly. Monica snorted at you, not humoring you in the slightest.

“Bathing suit, on, now.” She commanded. “I’ll be over to collect you in five minutes.” She hung up on you and you stared at the ceiling, not feeling the slightest bit interested in visiting the thermal suite. Monica wouldn’t take no for an answer so it was best that you went and changed before she arrived. Rolling into a sitting position, you looked to your suitcase and sighed yet again.

You got yourself into your simple bikini and wrapped a robe around your body, tying it at your waist. From hat you had read about the thermal suite, you could have either a hot or cold experience, or both. Knowing Monica the best, she was going to try and steam cook you until you were an overly steamed vegetable. Maybe that would steam your brain to mush and you’d stop thinking about them. Monica arrived and you departed to the thermal suite. As you walked she chatted to you about her office gossip and her office neighbor’s proclivity to stick fish in the microwave at work. Your nose wrinkled at the thought of microwaved fish. Bleh.

Monica approached the door to the thermal suites and grasped the door handle, making a spectacle of opening it for you with a flourish. Rolling your eyes, you entered the suite and took a deep breath. There was an almost overwhelming scent of herbal oils, but that scent made your muscles relax just from the smell. Perhaps this would make you stop thinking about Morpheus and Hob. Monica talked with the attendant for a moment, discussing the plan you and she had for the spa. More like what she had planned.

First you’d enjoy the steam bath to open your pores and sweat out the supposed ‘impurities’ in your body. Then you’d take a plunge in cold water to wash off your body. You really weren’t looking forward to that, but Monica had bribed you with a body massage afterward so you’d take the plunge. Once you had your massage, then you would sit in the dry sauna while Monica repeated the steam bath cold plunge combination. You thought she was a bit crazy but if she liked it… Dropping your things off in one of the lockers, you stepped into one of the steam bath room and took a seat on the bench.

The air was thick with steam, obviously, and made it seem like it was hard to breath for a few moments. You adjusted to the steam and leaned your head back in your eyes closed.

“Glad to see you actually attempting to relax.”  Monica’s voice floated into your ears and you made a face rather than open your eyes.

“Well I’m here aren’t I? Might as well try and relax and not think about Hob and—”

“Ah!” Monica cut you offbefore you could finish your sentence. “No, bad Y/N, bad. Now repeat after me. We are not talking about boy troubles, we are relaxing.” Seriously? You opened an eye to see Monica staring you down with an entirely serious look upon her face. “Come on, say it.”

“We are not talking about boy troubles, we are relaxing.” You robotically replied, closing your eye again and taking a deep breath of the water logged air. You had to admit that she was right. You were relaxing, not thinking about the very reason you were at the spa in the first place! Letting your body and muscles relax, you sank into the wooden bench and focused on the way the steam reacted with your body. Your pores did open up, but you also could feel the beads of saline sweat running down your temple and gathering at your back. Periodically little jets would add more steam into the room, making you feel like you were going to melt right into the bench. “I think I’m melting, Mon,”

“That means it’s working,” Monica sighed to you, her voice revealing just how relaxed she was. You cracked open your eyes and rolled your head to look at her. She was sprawled out, limbs askew and clearly enjoying the almost insufferable heat.

“Well if it’s working does that mean I can leave? This is suffocating and I feel gross,” You complained to her. Monica snorted at you opened her own eyes. You were staring at her with a pleading look, hair sticking to your neck and beads of sweat rolling down your skin.

“Fine, but no skipping on off to your hotel room. Go and enjoy the cold plunge and the dry sauna.” Monica told you, closing her eyes and relaxing once more. “I’m gonna sweat every drop of impurity out of these clogged pores.”

“Whatever floats your boat,” You muttered to her while pulling your body to your feet. Departing the steam room, you took a deep breath of the fresh and water laden air. It felt nice to be out of the heat and humidity. You eyed the cold plunge pools and chewed your lip. Well if you were going to truly experience the full spa experience you should go and jump in. “Damn it,” You grumbled to yourself.

Walking over to the edge of the cold plunge, you eyed the water and pursed your lips. This wasn’t going to be pleasant, but it was supposed to have health benefits.

“Okay, here goes,” You murmured before stepping forwards. Dropping into the cold water, your body jerked at shivered from the shock of the cold water hitting your hot skin. You had to admit to yourself that as your head popped back out of the water, you felt refreshed and clean. But you were cold. So you hauled your body out of the cold plunge and reached for one of the fluffy robes on standby. It felt just as soft as it looked brushed against your skin.

Pushing back your hair, you looked around to see what else the thermal suites offered. You picked out the doors to the dry sauna, so you could go and enjoy the heat again… but something in you pulled you away from sitting in the heat again and you chose to head for the small sitting area overlooking a picturesque view. Taking a seat on one of the chairs, you grasped your upper arms and stared out at the perfect landscaping. You had promised Monica that you wouldn’t think of Hob and Morpheus, but they had become your entire world. Your entire universe actually.

“Heat getting to be too much?” You weren’t expecting someone to speak to you, but twisting your head to look at the person who had spoken, you were greeted by a kind smile from a woman.

“Very,” You agreed with a small smile. “I don’t usually go to spas.”

“Then what brings you to one now?” The woman asked, soft brown eyes meeting yours. Something about her, something about her reminded you of the same energy Morpheus gave off. 

“My friend is trying to distract me from my complicated relationship but all this heat seems to do is make me think about it more.” You explained to her, twisting your fingers together in your lap. “Never had a relationship that literally consumed my every waking thought. It’s ridiculous.”

“Mmh, my brother will do that to you,” she replied with a small chuckle. Brother? You blinked and eyed her closer. The necklace she wore giving you a big fact cue to who she was. You gulped.

“Oh, so… is it my time?” You tentatively asked, feeling unease and regretful that you would die like this. Hob and Morpheus was be beside themselves wondering what had happened to you… then again with the way they had been avoiding you the past few weeks... Death shook her head.

“No, no it’s not your time.” She told you with a calming smile. “I decided to drop by and talk to you because my brother is known to be an idiot on occasion.” You blanched at her openly calling Morpheus an idiot. Wow, she really was his older sister. Death chuckled at your facial expression. “I’m not afraid to call him out, Y/N.”

“Wow I like you already,” You unconsciously murmured. You knew that Morpheus had a fragile ego he would never admit to and bristled at the slightest criticism. It was refreshing to hear that someone could knock him off his high horse.

“Dream is a complicated being,” Death continued. “And I know you aren’t at this spa because you want to be.”

“Hob and Morpheus are ignoring me,” You stated before cringing. That sounded so needy of you. “I don’t mean that as a clingy girlfriend or something. I spent seven months almost at the point of running away from them they were so clingy to me. Now it’s like I hardly exist to them. I swear they’ve even been ignoring me.”

Hurt was clear on your face and Death had half the mind to smack her brother over the head. You continued to speak.

“I mean, do they not realize they are squandering the time we have together?” You asked, waving a hand. “They’re both going to outlive me, I know that, they know that. Why are they wasting our precious time together?”

“I think your mortality is the very reason why they are avoiding you.” You blinked at her words and raised your eyebrow in disbelief. “They know your mortality has a time limit and that scares them.”

“So their automatic response is to stay away?” You asked incredulously. “Do they not see how much that hurts?”

“Sometimes men act irrational when they’re in love. Hob and Dream are no different.” Death explained to you. “Time is precious to you, how much are you willing to give them?”

“All of it.” You softly murmured, staring out the window. “I’d give them ever second I have left if I could, but at this rate…” You trailed off and sniffed, reaching up to wipe your burning eyes. You hadn’t cried over it yet, but now you were pretty damn close. “So here I am venting about my relationship woes to Death while Hob and Dream probably have no idea I even left London.”

“If you had all the time in the world, what would you do?” You snorted indignantly at Death and eyed her with a wry smirk.

“Smack both of them over the head with a wooden spoon for being such idiots. Hob barely takes care of himself these days and Morpheus has been so moody it’s getting pathetic.” You grumbled, crossing your arms and slumping back in your seat. “Someone has to take care of them, especially after I’m gone.”

Death never made deals, never strayed from her job save for once centuries ago because of a bet. But now she was thinking otherwise. She could make an exception, just one more time. For her little brother.

“I’ll tell you this, Y/N,” Death told you, making sure you were looking her in the eyes. “You can have all the time in the universe to love them, as long as it is what you want. It’ll be a challenge, my brother isn’t easy to love. But I think you can do it.”

You stared at her with your jaw slack. She wasn’t saying what you think she was saying… was she? But the smile on her face was telling as Death stood up from her seat. She bid you goodbye and left you sitting by yourself contemplating your entire life. Immortality as long as it was what you wanted. That took your worry of time out of your relationship. Your heart didn’t ache nearly as bad as it had five minute earlier. You were still going to give Hob and Morpheus the riot act for avoiding you. Stupid men. You leaned back in your seat and sighed deeply, now you could actually start relaxing.

You’d gotten back from your spa trip pampered, preened, and softened. You were pretty sure your skin had never been this soft nor glowed this beautifully. Monica had picked up on your attitude change but hadn’t said anything for the rest of your spa trip. She had just enjoyed the spa with you. After she had dropped you off at the New Inn, you headed upstairs to Hob’s flat. You knew that it was finals time and he would be busy grading papers and exams so you figured that you would get his laundry done while washing your own and perhaps fix a meal or two so he had something to eat.

Key’s in hand, you unlocked the door while adjusting the bag on your shoulder and relaxed as you entered the warm flat. Home sweet home. Funny how Hob’s flat felt more like home than our own. Kicking the door shut behind you, you headed for the kitchen first to drop off your purse and jumper. Entering the large kitchen, you dropped your keys in a bowl and eased your purse from your shoulder with a heavy sigh.

“You left,” You paused in place at the accusatory words of your anthropomorphic lover. Taking a deep breath, you eased your bag from your shoulder and turned to address the Endless.

“You and Hob seemed plenty busy at the time,” You coolly shot back, raising an eyebrow. “Given your lack of presence in my life as of late, I hardly thought you’d even notice.” Morpheus’ eye twitched at your words.

“Y/N—” You raised a finger, cutting off the Endless.

“No,” You said sharply. “You do not get to call me in that tone, Morpheus. Not after you and Hob all but ghosted me for the last three weeks.”

“Beloved, Hob and I—” Morpheus tried again, desperate to appease your clear iration.

“Are being entirely idiotic!” You exclaimed with a flourished. Morpheus’ eyes glowed at your insult but you didn’t back down. “You two imbeciles have been avoiding me!? Why!?”

“My love, we have been agonizing over your mortality and the reality that one day we will lose you.” Morpheus explained to you, his being aching at the inevitable idea that he and Hob will lose you to Death. You snorted at him and the Endless glared at you for making light of your death.

“Seriously?” You questioned incredulously. “That’s why you and Hob have been avoiding me? Because I’m going to eventually die?” Morpheus flinched at the word, cementing the fact that you were correct in your statement. Death had told you they were agonizing over your mortality, but finding out that your eventual death truly was the reason the men you loved more than anything in the universe had ben avoiding you, made you so mad. “You— you— you absolute ninny head!!” You burst out, making Morpheus blink at you in concern. Clearly something had happened to you on your trip.

“Beloved, Hob and I love you so intensely that the mere thought of you perishing brings us agony,” Morpheus explained to you, stepping up to your body and reaching for your face. His fingers lightly traced your jaw. “Have you any idea the pain it brings us?” Oh you could see the visceral pain in his eyes, you could see it clearly.

“Morpheus,” You sighed out, raising a hand to lightly wrap your fingers around his wrist. “Hob can barely take care of himself and you look like you’re going to start crying every ten minutes unless you receive a hug, you think I’m gonna let you two go back to your old lives? Death won’t come for me until I want her too.” Morpheus froze beneath your touch, his mind soaking in the meaning of your words.

Death would not come for you until you wanted her too.

“Truly?” Morpheus hoarsely broached, struggling to comprehend that his sister would grant him such a precious gift as having you for eternity.

“Someone has to keep you and Hob out of trouble,” You reminded him, taking a firmer grasp on his wrist and sliding your fingers up so you could hold his hand.

“Glad to know you think we can’t take care of ourselves,” A hoarse voice spoke from behind you. Looking over your shoulder, you saw Hob standing in the doorway.

“You’re immortal not infallible,” You stated, holding out your free hand towards the immortal man. “And if I have to beat that into your mind I will.”

“Words’ll do, love,” Hob replied, stepping closer and taking your hand. It warm and fit just perfectly in his. He pulled your palm to his lips and kissed it. “I know were difficult—” You raised an eyebrow and Hob corrected himself. “Stupid, at times, but we love you more than our own lives. The thought of not having you at your side was unbearable.”

“Then stop being an idiot and communicate, we are in this together, Hob Gadling,” You said while pulling the man to you and Morpheus.

“She’s certainly gotten bold,” Hob commented to Morpheus who smirked and leaned into both of his loves.

“It is quite ravishing to watch,” Morpheus added. You fumed with a growl and stomped your foot.

“Would you two knock it off! I’m trying to have a serious conversation here!!” You griped, giving the men a look. “You need to communicate with me or this is never going to work!”

“Forgive us for our egregious folly, beloved, we did not mean to cause you such duress,” Morpheus purred, nuzzling his face into your neck while Hob wrapped an arm around your waist.

“It’s just been the two of us for so long, love, you’ll have to forgive us for falling back into old habits.” Hob said, exchanging a look with Morpheus. “But what is this I hear of Death not coming for you?”

You contemplated on explaining what you had been up to at the spa for you wanted to make Hob sweat after the emotional pain you’d felt… but ultimately chose to divulge your newfound immortality. It was safe to say that when Monica called the next day to inquire if your men where still being idiots, you were still passed out from a night spent sandwiched between Hob and Morpheus.

Date Published: 12/7/23

Last Edit: 12/7/23

Previous | Masterlist

[writing-for-life]

Sunday Mourning—About Dream Entities and Stars

Why Head-Canons Are Wonderful, But Forcing Them On Creators Isn’t

And as always: Send me asks about everything Sandman-related!

First of all: I don’t want to take anyone’s head-canons away from them, it’s what fandom is partly built on. I support them, I love them, I have plenty of my own. The Sandman very explicitly tells us about “books never written” in Lucien/ne’s library, and we can be sure ours is in there.

But that’s not quite the same as harassing both creators and other fans in an attempt to make fanon canon, and that’s what partly sparked this post. So if a super-long meta exploration of “Sunday Mourning” (and there is a lot in this post) that also contains a bit of fandom criticism (feel free to skip that if you just want the meta) isn’t your thing—this is your warning 🤣

Also: Massive spoilers ahead…

The theory that Morpheus forever lives in Hob’s dreams (and with Hob) as a dream entity regularly makes the rounds. And it’s a nice theory, and I get why people like it. I also get that “The Wake—Sunday Mourning” is maybe ambiguous enough to consider it a possibility (which then goes into head-canon territory). All good so far.

What’s problematic is when fans begin to leverage their head-canons/theories as “true because Neil gave it a like”, and then proceed to present them as canon.

Neil likes posts, yes, but he said *several times* and *very explicitly* that’s never endorsement of anything, but rather valuing that people put thought into stuff and engage with his stories critically (and he also said that it’s sometimes just a slip of his finger, but that just as an aside, you’ll find one example here).

So if Neil liked a happily-ever-after-dream-entity post, that means he supports your head-canons as head-canons because he always does (or his finger slipped—I guess we’ll never know). Again: In a way, it’s even an integral part of The Sandman. It also means that he likes the fact you engaged deeply with the source material, in either a heartfelt or critical way.

What it *doesn’t* mean: Head-canon is the same as canon despite both being valid in their own way. He said all of this a million times in a million posts.

Let’s explore that particular theory and start with an ask:

His endorsement goes as far as acknowledging that “it’s never only a dream,” and that “dreams are where the stories are.” And we need to stop pretending it’s anything more than that, even if he likes a few posts here and there (posts that go in all different directions, btw). Neil used his own experience with grief and mirrored it 1:1 in how Hob handles Morpheus’ death in The Wake and Sunday Mourning.

Here is a quote from the Sandman Companion:

NG: […] Bette's stories have happy endings. That's because she knows where to stop. She's realized the real problem with stories—if you keep them going long enough, they always end in death.

HB: It also makes me think of Hob's dream in part 3.

NG: That was something that actually happened to me. [1]I dreamt about a friend who'd died six months earlier, woke up completely upset that she'd died, [2]and then realized I'd simply had a dream and felt enormously relieved... [3]and then I woke up all the way and remembered that she really had passed on.

[numbers and bold by me]

And then remember what happened to Hob:

1. He found out in a dream Morpheus had died and woke up upset and crying in The Wake, Chapters 1-3 (#70-72).

2. Then he had another dream that somewhat gave him closure and a sense of relief (Sunday Mourning, #73).

(Can I also just point out where Destruction’s fingers are pointing here and then contrast it with what he told Daniel in The Wake about “walking amongst the stars”, or Morpheus actually turning into a star?)

(What might the end of the story be? Who knows, but once again, have a look where Destruction’s fingers are pointing.)

3. Then he woke up all the way and felt peace (also in Sunday Mourning).

Make of that what you will, but to me, saying that scene was based on his own dream is basically Neil confirming that Morpheus has “really passed on.”

Will Hob remember Morpheus? Of course he will. That’s what humans do. Does Morpheus live a happily ever after in Hob’s dream with Hob? And would that be in character? And would he want his memories to be intact to make that happen? Would that truly be passing on?

I will explore why canonically, we don’t find much to support that notion, and why it would seem OOC. But if you believe it, it’s your personal truth. Should we call for the ending to be changed though to make our personal truth that of the author?

Life and death are our own, and it’s never just a dream

Destruction was in Hob’s dream (when Hob never really knew him), and Destruction walked away from it all. As did Morpheus. They’re both free. It was very likely (and I'm phrasing this carefully on purpose) a dream gifted by Daniel!Dream (who had a very long talk with Destruction during the Wake) to give Hob closure, and it seems straightforward enough if you read The Wake not just single-mindedly focused on one thing. Daniel!Dream is not in the original panel, but he is in the background of concept art of that panel for a movie pitch by Jill Thompson and Neil Gaiman, so we can probably assume it was always the intended subtext.

And what does Death say in Façade? Or what does Morpheus say to Orpheus, or to Delirium after he killed Orpheus? That life and death are our own.

Destruction’s life is his own.

Morpheus’ death is his own.

And Hob’s life AND death are his own.

The three of them are the literal embodiment of that sentiment:

One walked away and chose life.

One walked away and chose death.

One chooses life for as long as he sees fit and can choose death if he stops doing so.

It makes sense to put them in a panel together at the end for that very reason (and a few others of course).

That, right there, is already “more than just a dream.” It is the story, not just a metaphor. It is canon, and it is fairly explicit.

Would Morpheus ever want to be a dream entity with all his memories intact?

From this point onward, we get more into interpretation based on canonical character traits:

Morpheus living forever as a dream entity *tied to Hob’s dream* is canonically antithetical and OOC. There, I said it. He wanted to be free from the Dreaming, he even said so to Death (“But even the freedom of the Dreaming can be a cage, of a kind, my sister,” in #69).

But existing as a dream entity WITH ALL HIS MEMORIES INTACT (that alone should make people say, “He would never want this in a million years” because it’s the very source of his pain—he wanted punishment for Orpheus’ fate/death—Nuala called him out on it) would forever tie him to it. Plus, it would make him Daniel’s subject in a way. It would be, again, very OOC.

Also: Dream had very strong feelings about the dead NOT belonging into dreams/the Dreaming permanently, or the living building their lives around them. WHY would that apply to Hector, but not to Morpheus himself? Again, it makes no sense in continuity.

But Destruction was in that dream…

Destruction visited Daniel!Dream during the Wake. They talked about a lot of stuff that’s very relevant, I recommend a reread if you’re not certain (this is long enough as it is, so I’ll skip it at this point). And it makes narrative sense to anchor that in Hob’s dream for reasons already outlined (they might not make sense to Hob, but they make sense to us, the reader, if we are willing to see that “it’s more than just a dream” isn’t equal to two people riding off into the sunset together, as nice a head-canon that might be). What I *do* want to point out though is that Destructions talked about “walking amongst the stars” and again, where he points in Hob’s dream.

Someone said this somewhere else and drew parallels to Stardust: Morpheus *does* become a star (or returns to them, who knows), it’s all over The Wake. That star is in literally *every* panel with a window/sky after his barge has transformed. And what becomes of him as that—who knows, since we all know stars have some sort of sentience in Gaiman’s universe, and that “oblivion is not an option” if Death took your hand to lead you into the afterlife. Again: Head-canon territory…

Head-canons are beautiful

No one is trying to take them away from us. Let’s knock ourselves out in fanfic and fanart, it’s comforting and healing. The Sandman is a story about stories. Our stories are our own, and they are true for us, that’s the whole point. And Neil will *never* tell you your head-canon is not real, because for you, it is, and that’s all that matters. But the constant need to elevate fanon to canon really gets exhausting at times, especially if it involves pestering the creators, constantly being on their blogs/tagging them and trying to get them to confirm what we want.

And to those that insist we will undoubtedly get a happily ever after because “Hob’s dream says so”, and think the writers somehow should “read the room” and provide fan-service (side-note: What is it with this entitlement in fandom? The creator tells *their* story, not yours):

One of the main messages of the story is (already in 24/7) that stories only have a happy ending because we know when to stop, but that they ultimately *all* end in death. No matter how much people say that “the show is so much more hopeful”, that very line has already been brought into the show. They didn’t take it out. It will have weight at some point, I’ll put my money on it.

But show!Murphy isn’t comics!Murphy...

People point out that show!Morpheus is different from comics!Morpheus to justify we will get a different ending. Making Morpheus a bit softer around the edges seems, at least to me, a move to make him likeable as the protagonist, because it would be very hard to like early comics!Morpheus, to be frank. The fact that he brought Gault back from the darkness—I saw that as giving show!only fans a nicely wrapped end of the first season, because we didn’t even know if we would get a second one at that point. It also shows us that he is capable of change—a thing I am near certain he will repeatedly deny as we go on (he already did). So no, I personally don’t think it set him on a different path. There are even scenes in the show that very heavily foreshadow The Kindly Ones (the cracks in the window are overlayed onto his face in such a way that they heavily hint at the scar he is going to receive).

So yes, by all means, let’s have a bit of ambiguity in Sunday Mourning for the people who don’t like the tragic ending, but let’s also focus on more than just making everything about the ship. Their relationship is important, and even more so because it isn’t romantic—that’s why it grows and lasts (unlike Morpheus’ romantic relationships). But it’s only the tiniest fraction of what The Sandman is about.

I write fanfic. I give Morpheus happy endings, too. I get it, I want him to be happy, too. But no matter how much we write him in character, we will ultimately break character the moment we make him do things that lead to a different outcome. In canon, he is the way he is. And I am afraid to say:

I personally think he is also like that in the show, even if they softened him a bit around the edges and shoved certain messages down our throats that people who know the comics didn’t need, but newbs to the Sandman did (“I’m listening now…”)—it was a good move, and all of that made sense for show-narrative reasons. But not once did I have the feeling that he wasn't exactly the same Morpheus underneath it all, and we already had too much foreshadowing to think that we would really get a different ending.

Why chemistry isn’t confirmation of the ship

That’s another one: To turn one (!) show-writer’s comment that Morpheus’ and Hob’s chemistry was a thing, and that they allowed that type of ambiguity, into, “Their romantic relationship is canon.” These two things are not the same. And Neil said that Benton’s comment did not make Dreamling any more real/canon, but people conveniently forget that. He also didn’t deny it, he just didn’t confirm, because, again: He doesn’t confirm or deny head-canons. They’re ours. Let's please stop pestering the man to confirm our head-canons and fantasies, but that just as an aside.

It shows one thing, however:

How conditioned fandom is to make everything about romantic relationships (ideally m/m), even if they have nothing, and I say nothing, to do with the main message.

And it’s okay the wish for these relationships matters to some people, but they don’t have to matter to everyone else, to the extent that we expect the actual story to change. Why try to twist his arm into changing his own story, and the way he wanted to tell it?

So again: Head-canons are beautiful. Trying to get them confirmed by creators and foist them upon everyone else (to the extent that people get harassed) is not.

And if I'm proven wrong on this, I’ll still die happy, but I'm putting my chips down right now and say:

Morpheus will die in exactly the same way as in the comics. And if we get The Wake, we will get a scene in Sunday Mourning that can hold ambiguity for processing our grief, just like the comic can. And the shippers will say, “He’s with Hob, yay!”, and the non-shippers will say, “Nah, not what I saw.” And Neil will get a million asks and answer each single one with:

“What do *you* think?”

[wordsinhaled]

i started writing this post ages ago and it’s been languishing in my drafts, sorry @teejaystumbles ! i mentioned bard!hob like EONS ago so i’m throwing this post out in the wild finally

what about, like... (no, i promise this isn't a witcher au) bard!hob canon divergent dreamling??? like. everything is the same except when dream and death enter the white horse in 1389 hob is performing a song about evading death, for a small crowd. dream is intrigued not because hob is particularly good but because as we all know, dream's a sucker for art and music. he buys hob a drink after his performance and invites him to sit together and by the end of their conversation, he's betting with his sister that hob will run out of things to sing about in 100 years

dream isn’t hob’s inspiration in the same way that he inspires shaxberd. hob isn’t a great talent vocally or musically. but there’s a light and warmth in his eyes and a deftness to his fingers on lutestrings, an earnest relatability in his tone, and a contagious enthusiasm when he talks to dream about his hopes, his dreams. and dream is intrigued

thinking about how their centennial meetings would be almost the same, but slightly different. hob reserves rooms for them when dream comes to the white horse so he can perform for dream privately. he still thinks dream is a lord, and deserving of special attention (and even if he weren’t a lord, he’s ethereal and gorgeous and the subject of more than a few of hob’s bawdier verses, which hob writes only for himself)

and the Tension??? the tension would be unreal???

thinking about 1689 hob, bedraggled and penniless, and maybe dream finding him busking on the street outside the white horse for coin, because the inns won’t let him in. he brings hob inside with him where it’s warm and dry and buys him a meal, and hob lays his instrument on the table between them and says, “it’s all i have left. i’m sorry, old stranger, i’ve no rooms for us this evening—” dream gets their room, and for the first time he says when they’re upstairs, “there is no need to sing for me tonight, hob gadling,” and he helps hob bathe and makes sure he is dressed in fine clothes again. hob looks lost and grateful and not a little in love and maybe he tries to kiss dream - after all he’s been pining for 300 years. but dream lays a hand on his cheek and says, “if you still feel the same in one hundred years, let us revisit this, hm?”

so of course 1789 is… 1789. the tension is there a thousandfold. by this time hob’s writing poetry and plays and he’s part owner of a bookshop. he’s been writing letters to dream as well. he hands them to dream, tied up in a red ribbon. “i still feel the same,” he says. “do you?” dream thinks he does. but then for the first time they have a conversation, outside of a performance; a real conversation. when it comes out what hob’s been doing, the kind of material hob’s bookshop sells and where he invests his money, dream turns on his heel and leaves

thinking about 1889, hob earnest and rueful, wondering if dream will attend their meeting this year. he’s taken a chance and hasn’t written anything. he wants to talk, to fix things. “old stranger,” he says when they’re seated by the fire in the rooms hob has rented for them. “i have changed. i hope that as you learn more of what i have done this past century i might raise myself in your estimation. but my feelings for you have only grown.” and maybe this is the year of their first real kiss, the year they go to bed together, and hob wakes up the next morning alone, fine sand under his fingernails and the taste of dream still on his tongue

and perhaps soon after dream goes missing hob hears whispers of it from some of the more eccentric patrons of his bookshop, and he goes and rescues dream. he dusts off his musicianship and gets himself in as an entertainer at one of burgess’ lavish parties as a cover

and then dream is free and they live happily ever after, the end, right?

cue modern day hob, teaching a course on the history of story and ballad, looking at old lyrics from the 15th century, asking dream, “remember when i sang this for you? god, i was bloody awful, don’t know what you saw in me…”