#hob 'husband of the endless' gadling

[tiabritana]

New hobsbandverse one-shot focusing on Hob/Delirium.

Thank @softest-punk for being my beta.

[maarigolds]

[lokis-bitter-ghost]

ships in the neil gaiman universe are so funny to me because you have

two guys who are both dead, one who died in the edwardian era and then was sent to hell for 70 years and one who died in the late 80s who decided not to (potentially) go to heaven to stick with some guy he met a minute ago

a LITERAL angel and a LITERAL demon who have known each other since literally the beginning of THE UNIVERSE

and a guy who said "actually i think i dont wanna die. what if i just didnt" and then he actually never did because death thought it would be funny and death's brother, the god of dreams, who thought the other guy would get tired of being immortal and is sticking around to see if he does

[ralkana]

LOOK AT THE BOYS. LOOK AT THEM!

I love it so much!

One of my goals for Wondercon was to find an artist in artists alley whose style I liked, to do a Dreamling commission. When I found one I liked, I told @ladytian, 'ooh, I think I like this style!"

She laughed and pointed at the artist's name and said, "that's why."

I commissioned Emil last year at a different con for a different fandom, and I absolutely loved that piece, and she commissioned a Dreamling piece at the same time, and that one is ALSO fantastic, so I knew he would take care of them. And he did! I love this piece so much!

[densewentz]

sorry but if you didn't want me to think these idiots are in love then you shouldn't have given this line such a fruity delivery

[alexxuun]

CW: Drowning ⚠️

Hello everyone! I’m glad to be a part of @the-centennial-husbands-bigbang as an artist! Here’s my little work for a lovely fic written by @wickedsymphony - Of Blood and Water!

Please go and give it some love <3

[banancrumbs]

desperately needed but not expected

[tiabritana]

Hob Can’t Handle The Club Right Now (isn’t that how the song goes?…)

Hob stumbles feeling a wave of dizziness come over him. He can’t remember where or when his colleagues wandered off to or where he left his keys or his coat. At this point he feels like that might be for the best as he’s absolutely boiling under the black lights of the club. The perspiration slides down his forehead into his eyes. He raises his hand, revealing a sweat-soaked circle under his arm, to his face to wipe it away. He can’t remember how long he’s been here for, but he has the niggling feeling he needs to get out soon.

The immortal sighs and looks around, searching for the bar to hopefully find some water to help his parched throat. Turning his head to the right he stops and blinks the sudden lightheadedness away. He thinks the heat might be effecting more than he thought. His gaze finally lands on a figure no one else seems to be able to see; jumping up and down on top of the bar counter and waving at him.

Hob wades unsteadily through the crowd, slowly making his way over in a daze, careful to keep his eyes locked onto her form in case she disappears. When he finally stops in front of the bar, Delirium jumps down, and stumbles slightly. Hob reaches out to steady her and distantly notes his reflexes aren’t as sharp as they usually are. She beams back at him, but her eyebrows crinkle a little a second later.

He scans her over and notes everything about her, from her wild curls, to the paint smeared all over her body, to the neon fishnets she wears, shining luminously under the black light hypnotizing him for a moment. He startles out of his hazy thoughts when Delirium cocks her head to the side almost bird like, similar to Dream, the wrinkling between her eyes becoming more pronounced the longer she stares at him. The immortal comes to the belated realization that she must’ve been talking to him, and shakes his head trying to clear the fog that has started taking over his mind.

“What?” He shouts over the music. He feels the bass beat in time to his own heart. The moving bodies around him feel suffocating all of a sudden. The way they brush against him is setting off his fight or flight instincts though he’s not sure why. He doesn’t remember having had that much to drink.

His wife’s hand on his arm brings everything to a halt. The haze clouding his mind is instantly cleared and he can make out the worry in the Endless’ mismatched gaze.

“Come on.” She says, leading him through the throng of dance club goers. Hob does his best to keep up with her, eager to escape the sudden claustrophobic feeling that’s been building up inside of him, but seems to have gone away at the first touch of Delirium’s hold on him leaving him feeling out of sorts.

She leads him to a side door and pushes it open with the hand not holding his arm. The immortal sags into the cool night air, leaning against the brick of the building as he regains his equilibrium. The Endless leans against the wall next to him, hand still on his arm, though now she’s drawing soothing shapes; colorful splashes appearing where her fingers trace.

“What the hell just happened Del?” Hob asks as he takes deep breaths. The rubbish bins off to the side sours the air just a bit, but still makes him feel better than he did in the muggy atmosphere of the club. He shivers a little as the night air cools down his clammy skin and feels the adrenaline starting to leave his system.

“Someone wanted you to experience wonderland without any white rabbits to show you the way.” She says as she places his coat around his shoulders.

Used to reality bending to this particular Endless’ whims, Hob shrugs on the coat, hearing his keys jingle inside one of his pockets. As he looks closer he notices the inside of the lining has changed colors and has been given an intricate embroidered design that he can’t quite make out in the dim alleyway light, before the meaning behind his wife’s words finally untangle in his brain enough causing him to freeze.

“What?” He asks again, eyes going wide as he turns to look at her. Her form has shifted into something he’s never seen before. The neons and paint and fishnets are replaced with a solid red color scheme. Close cropped red curls grace her head down to a red glittered army coat to red ripped jeans and red combat boots on her normally bare feet. She looks to be in that moment the living embodiment of the horsemen of war; or what he pictures Destruction might look like if he was punk and hadn’t abdicated his function. A dark curl of arousal unfurls low in his belly that he hurriedly shoves to the side. ‘Now is not the time.’ He mentally scolds himself.

The first thing Hob notices when he collects himself and she turns to look at him is that besides the change in Delirium’s appearance, she also looks older than she normally prefers. Late twenties if he had to guess. The second thing he notices is her eye color is going from green to red to blue and silver to fast for his human brain to process before settling on blue. Matching blue. The madness no longer present under her suddenly unsettling clear gaze.

Hob’s struck with a thought he rarely likes to dwell on. He knows his loves are all powerful personified concepts in unassuming human guises most of the time. And he’s grown rather fond of their inhuman traits when they present themselves, that it doesn’t really faze him anymore. But the one who shape-shifts when something goes wrong is usually Dream, and Hob has gotten used to that eldritch horror as the years passed that he finds it a comfort that his husband trust him enough to allow his otherness to be seen by him. Delirium on the other hand, is always shifting into a kaleidoscope of clothes and colors that the solid look she has on now along with the pair of blue irises in her eyes really hits home that she’s angry. And Hob’s starting to realize that that is far scarier than the nightmare Dream turns into is.

“The co-worker you tell us stories about all the time switched your drink with the nice lady who tries to figure out how many partners you have after the man in the purple shirt slipped something into it.” Her voice when she finally speaks is clear, no longer sounding like it’s on the edge of madness, but is holding back suppressed rage and is solidly bound in the here and now. Hob takes one last deep breath, no longer trying to clear the fog in his mind, but now trying to wrap his head around the fact that one of his colleagues gave him a spiked drink. Nausea claws up the back of his throat as he recalls how he’s been feeling the past while before he chanced upon his wife.

Did Martha think he knew, and knew not to drink it? Did they intentionally let him drink it? Did they purposely leave him at the table by himself? The questions buzz around his mind. The last half hour or so are still blurry. On one hand he’s glad Addie didn’t drink the laced alcohol, but the fact he did causes a sinking feeling in his gut. The immortal swallows thickly forcing the nausea back down.

He’s been around long enough to know the darker sides of humanity. His own past surges to the front of his mind for a second before he shoves the memories away. He knows the other professor doesn’t like him, and as Del mentioned he often regales his spouses with Martha stories. But he doesn’t want to think they could have purposefully orchestrated this to happen.

He straightens from his slouch and reaches out to touch the Endless’s hand. She’s still staring at him with a much to clear gaze, and he knows it must be excruciating for her. The immortal remembers Delirium telling him once that she could pull herself together enough to be coherent and for lack of a better word ‘sane’, but it came at the cost of great pain. The immortal didn’t want her to hurt herself unnecessarily for his sake. “Del, love, I’m okay now.” He gently squeezes her hand.

“But if I weren’t here you wouldn’t have been. And who knows what could have happened. I don't want you to leave like Dreamy almost did.” Her pained voice whispers the last part causing his heart to pang sharply.

Hob steps further into Delirium’s space and reaches for her other hand, grasping both in his own. He leans forward letting his forehead rest on hers realizing now what she has done for him. His wife’s function rules over madness yes, but on the flip side she also rules over sanity. She must have absorbed the drugs that were in his system. He opens his mouth to say something before he’s interrupted by the door slamming open.

A figure emerges from the shadow of the door wearing a leopard print skirt, brogues, turtleneck and blazer dangling over one shoulder. They straighten when they spot Hob and Del and takes in the intimate scene, a sneer quickly darting over their face before it smooths out.

“Isn’t she a bit too young for you Gadling?” They asks, faux concern dripping with the question. The infamous Martha.

‘We’ll speak of the devil and they will appear.’ Hob mentally tells himself. “Martha.” He greets as he straightens back up, though he doesn’t release his wife’s hands. He’s not sure he wants to get into it with his co-worker in the middle of an alleyway behind a club. Regardless if she knowingly or unknowingly tried drugging him.

Martha steps out into the light of the alleyway and lets the door slam close. The noise and music once again muffled behind thick steel. They open their mouth, probably to say another scathing comment before their jaw clicks shut with an audible sound, their eyes widening. Hob looks back down to see what caused that reaction. Delirium has drawn herself up to her full height and locks eyes onto his co-worker. The overwhelming aura surrounding her like a shroud of madness makes the hair on his arms stand up and the arousal he fought down to come crashing back. “Del-,” he tries before he’s cut off.

“Martha Jane Evans, born March 18, 1987, they/them pronouns, suffers from schizophrenia and was institutionalized for most of their childhood. Released in their late teens after showing signs of successful treatment. Highly knowledgeable in linguistics and can speak thirteen languages, but keeps mostly to themselves and lacks any real passion for life and teaching. Only accepting a university professor job to please their parents. Jealous and envious of Hob Gadling once he started working in the History department. The delusions started becoming more volatile so you decided to quit taking your medications, also blaming this on Hob. Your mental health has taken a swan dive, but instead of seeking help you delved deeper into the madness and decided everything wrong in your life right now is also Hob’s fault. You tell you if only he didn’t come, none of this would have happened. If he wasn’t here, you wouldn’t see how you’ve been wasting your life, letting it listlessly float on by while watching Hob living his to the fullest. So you came up with this idea to have a get together at this club, paid the man in purple to slip something into Hob’s drink and panicked with it was placed into the wrong one” Delirium’s words starts rushing together, gaining in speed. The coherency she has kept together for Hob’s sake cracks. Madness spiraling back into her speech as her form vibrates. Butterflies and fish pop into existence around her, swirling in colors to fast for him to name.

She releases herself from Hob’s hold and takes a step towards Martha, her form changing. Changing into how Martha perceives her in this moment after the revelation about them is spilled into the silent night. Her image shifting into two dimensional, abstract, shades of blacks shrouding her in shadows that blend into the darkness around them. The sight hurts his eyes, his rational human brain not able to perceive this level of insanity. His heart twist, and it becomes harder to look at his wife.

The world around them starts being affected. The sides of the building is melting, the ground starts growing fur. He’s not used to seeing her like this. Not in control and slipping further into her realm than he’s ever seen. Becoming a swirling vortex of angry insanity.

Martha turns, one hand clawing desperately to open the door, but his wife is faster. She instantly appears in front of them, hand outstretched and grasping her forearm. “Love.” Hob’s voice is calm as he too reaches out. His reflexes back to normal now that the drugs are gone. His hand catches hers other one again and she turns and levels him with the weight of her mad stare. Her eyes back to their mismatched hue.

“She. Hurt. You.” Comes the garbled speech. More creatures are popping into existence, mixing together forming shapes of creatures he’s never seen before.

“I know love, I know. But you need to calm down. I don’t want you hurting yourself further.” The immortal doesn’t bother sparing a glance at the shivering mess his colleague has become. Just keeps his focus on his distraught wife. He gathers her in his arms forcing the Endless to let go of the other professor. Her form shifting again, becoming more familiar as it’s wrapped in her usual prism of technicolor and mesh.

The storm around them seems to settle and reality rights itself as Delirium snuggles further into his embrace and tucks her head under Hob’s chin. He can feel wetness on his neck and feels himself struggle to get his own emotions under control. Taking a deep breath and silently counting to ten he releases it and finally lets himself look over to the door where the other professor once stood.

They’re on the ground now, rocking back and forth and their eyes stare into the darkness of the alleyway. Flinching as they see things he can’t. It seems like the crux of the storm latched onto them when Delirium lost control, madness seeking out madness.

He sighs and closes his eyes letting his forehead rest on the top of his wife’s unruly head. The Endless has stopped shaking by now. The immortal doesn’t know how long they stand like that, being soothed by each other’s presence, when the peace is shattered for a second time that night.

Addie sticks her head out, bass bumping music shattering the fragile quiet. “Oh, there you are Prof, I was wondering where you’ve gone off to.” She pauses as she takes in the scene she’s walked into. Glancing down she notices the other professor still rocking back and forth on the ground, tears are now streaming down their face and they have started to mumble incoherently. Addie looks back up raising a judgy eyebrow at the immortal who can do nothing but shrug as best he can while his arms are still wrapped around the figure of his wife.

“Another one of those mysterious spouses of yours or are you babysitting their kid sister?” Her dry tone asks. Looking down Hob notices Addie’s perception has altered Delirium’s age. Her appearance now taking on the indefinite age of maybe late teenager-early 20’s. Yelping he jerks away as the Endless blinks up at him.

“Oops!” His wife shrugs, before deciding to climb onto his back and hanging from him like a baby monkey. Hob sighs for the umpteenth time that night.

“Del, Addie- Addie, one of my wives, Delirium.” Said wife waves from her place on his back.

The immortal was hoping he could avoid this conversation, but looks like his luck has run out. He hesitantly looks back into the darkness to see if Despair is lingering close by. “Come on, this conversation is long overdue. But first, be a peach and call 999 for Martha over there. I’ve a feeling they’ll gonna need to be readmitted.”

[le-panda-chocovore]

I've read that post that said "The funniest thing about Good Omens is that the Enemies to Friends last 2 minutes and the Friends to Lovers was 6000years." which is true. But, what is even more funny is that in The Sandman it's the opposite : the Enemies to Friends was almost 700y and the Friends to Lovers last no more than 1 week in most fanfiction.

[pa-nd-em-on-iu-mp-an-da]

Brave of Neil Gaiman to create the tv adaptation of two of his books (Good Omens & The Sandman).

With two insanely good-looking actors in each show (Michael Sheen & David Tennant, Tom Sturridge & Ferdinand Kingsley (feat Queen Vivienne)).

Who previously played characters in the same film/series without their characters ever meeting (Sheen/Tennant in Bright Young Things, Sturridge/Kingsley in Hollow Crown).

To then years later be playing characters (Aziraphale & Crowley/ Dream & Hob) who somehow manage to be meeting constantly over an extended period of time.

(Plus, their characters are currently the highest ships in their fandoms on AO3).

If I had a nickel....

[rexwrendraws]

[AO3 LINK] 🪸 My illustration for Hell or High Water by @teejaystumbles for @the-centennial-husbands-bigbang !! I was super, super excited to illustrate for this fic, check it out for some very cool Little-Mermaid-meets-Innsmouth Dreamling vibes 🌊 :D

[unpredictable-probabilities]

Where It Goes

Summary:

When a train breaks down during a snowstorm, the passengers are forced to spend the night at a hotel.

Two strangers share their Christmas plans and find themselves enjoying the company much more than they expected.

Rating: Explicit

Notes (more at the end):

For Sandman Connect 4 | @sandman-connect4

Prompts: Train + Breakdown + Feast + Explore

I'd been wanting to write a one-shot inspired by this fic written by @softest-punk, and this combination of prompts finally gave me the window for it~

Word Count: 5,130

[Read on AO3]

———

Snow is falling softly on a Friday evening in December, and the streets are alive with brilliant lights and Christmas carols.

Morpheus sees all this with distant interest as he glances up from his book, making sure it isn’t his station yet when the train begins to slow to a stop.

Some people on either side of him get up to exit, and Morpheus goes back to reading. In his periphery, he notices that a couple and their child have just gotten aboard, and he moves to his left to make space for them on the bench.

The train begins to move again. Morpheus is in the middle of figuring out the clues that the detective has discovered in the novel when he feels something bump against his shoulder.

He looks to his left and sees that the man sitting beside him has fallen asleep, his arms wrapped securely around a backpack on his lap.

Morpheus purses his lips. His first instinct is to avoid the touch, uncomfortable with physical contact even from friends and family. However, he understands how tiring public commute can be, especially with the Christmas Eve rush. So he takes a breath and lets it be, managing to get back to the story.

Two stations later, the train lurches to an abrupt halt, making most of the passengers give a shout of surprise.

The man on Morpheus’ shoulder tips forward, and Morpheus instinctively holds out his hand to the man’s backpack to steady him. The man startles awake and sits up, blinking owlishly as the train makes a screeching sound, grinding to a halt halfway into the station.

“Sorry, mate,” the man slightly shakes his head and stifles a yawn behind his hand. “Didn't mean to fall asleep. Uh, what's happening?” He straightens the front of his brown jacket.

Morpheus furrows his eyebrows as he looks around at the other confused passengers. “I believe the train has broken down.”

No sooner has he said the words when the sound of the tannoy comes on and they hear the voice of the conductor informing them that there seems to be a problem with the engine, and everyone has to disembark the train now while they make repairs.

The passengers murmur and grumble their complaints, but there's nothing else to be done about it. The doors open and people begin filing out.

Morpheus sighs and closes his book. He should have known that going home to attend his parents’ Christmas dinner would bring only misfortune.

—

Hob adjusts the straps of his backpack on his shoulders as he goes with the crowd to enter the nearest hotel from the train station.

Snow is falling heavily now, and most of the main roads are closed. Some passengers had started complaining to the conductor and security guards and whoever else in uniform they could find, and so a compromise was reached that they would all be booked to stay the night in a nearby hotel, paid for by the train company as compensation for causing such a hassle on Christmas Eve, in exchange for the passengers not suing them or filing a mountain of complaints.

Hob isn't feeling particularly angry; he's sad to miss his parents’ Christmas dinner, but he's seen enough snowy Christmases to know that he can still most likely make it in time for Christmas Day brunch at their house.

Waking up to the bluest eyes he's ever seen also helped a lot with his mood. He scans the hotel lobby now for the man, but it's difficult with the crowd of people. Hob wonders briefly if the man didn't go to the hotel with them, but it seems unlikely considering how there's hardly any cabs driving in this weather.

A hotel staff approaches them and says that unfortunately due to the amount of people coming in all at once, they would have to share rooms for the night. There's more grumbling and scoffing, and the hotel staff says that a simple meal would be prepared for them soon, and they can wait in the lobby while the food and their rooms are being arranged.

People slowly settle down into seats, and Hob looks around to find himself a vacant flat surface to sit on.

His eyes land on a man seated on the third step of the stairs leading to the second floor. The buttons of the man’s black peacoat are undone, giving him a somewhat relaxed air as his gaze focuses on the book in his lap, his slender legs stretched gracefully on the lower steps.

Hob feels himself smile and makes his way towards the man. He unslings his backpack from his shoulders and gets something from the outer pocket.

“While we wait for dinner,” Hob holds out the unopened buttered croissant in clear packaging.

The man glances at him, then at the food in his hand. “Thank you, but it is not necessary. I am not hungry.”

Hob nods and returns the croissant in his bag. “Alright, well, the offer stands if you ever change your mind. Is it alright if I sit?” he points to the stairs. “Everywhere else is full.”

The man glances at the crowded lobby and nods. “Of course.” He turns a page in his book and returns to reading.

Hob sits on the same step as the man, on the farthest side against the wall. Fortunately, the staircase is wide enough that there's still plenty of space between them for people to walk through if they wanted to use the stairs.

Hob places his backpack on the step below him and takes out his phone to message his parents. He informs them of the situation and reassures them that he'll be home for Christmas brunch.

They talk for a while in the family group chat, and Hob is glad to know that the snowfall isn't too heavy at his parents’ place.

He looks up when he sees some people walking around, and he realises that they're starting to set up tables and distribute food.

Hob glances over to the man beside him, and he still looks the same as when Hob first approached; quietly reading his book with a very subtle frown of concentration, partly leaning against the railing.

Hob considers informing him that dinner is almost ready, but he gets a better idea.

He stands up and slings his backpack on his shoulders, and heads over to help with setting up.

A few minutes later, Hob comes back to the man with a plate of food. “Here you go,” he holds it out.

The man glances up and looks at the plate: grapes, cheese, two slices of white bread, and ham.

“Wasn't sure what you'd like so I brought the safest options,” Hob says sheepishly.

The man tilts his head a fraction to the side. “Why did you bring anything at all?”

Hob shrugs and sits down against the wall again, setting his backpack down. “To thank you for catching me earlier? Would have fallen on my face if you hadn't.”

“It was simply common decency,” the man said indifferently.

“So is this,” Hob holds out the plate again.

The man gives a small smile. “Thank you.” He takes the plate, but then a notification sound from his pocket takes his attention. He sets the plate down beside him and takes out his phone, frowning when he reads the screen.

“Something troubling you?” Hob picks up a grape from his own plate. “If you don't mind me asking.”

“I was supposed to go to my parents’ house tonight for Christmas dinner. I informed them earlier of the situation, and the passive-aggressive messages have begun,” he says drily.

“Maybe they're just worried about you?” Hob offers.

“They're worried about their image,” the man corrects him. “For reasons I am yet to understand, they want all their friends to see on social media that we spend Christmas together annually. Perhaps they think it would somehow draw in more business for their country club.”

“Oh.” Hob falls quiet. It’s a bit surreal to hear, especially since it’s a stark contrast to how Hob feels about celebrating Christmas with his family.

There’s another notification sound, but this time the man smiles at his phone. “My older sister told me to be safe, and my younger sibling called me a ‘lucky bastard’ for not being there right now.”

“I’m guessing none of you actually enjoy those dinners?” Hob smiles despite the unhappy sentiment, just glad to see that the man’s mood seems to have improved.

“Indeed,” the man sighs and returns his phone to his pocket. “Ah, where are my manners. I am Morpheus.” He holds out a hand.

Hob grins. “Hob,” he shakes Morpheus’ hand. “Hopefully you have a better Christmas Eve now than last year. No posh parents to tolerate here. Unless you wanna approach any of them in the lobby,” he nods in the direction of it.

Morpheus chuckles. “How about you, then? Where were you headed?”

“Same as you, Christmas dinner with family. We do it yearly, too. No complaints so far, apart from when I extremely messed up that batch of cookies two years back.”

Morpheus raises his eyebrows in curiosity. “How does one ‘extremely mess up’ cookies?”

“When one misreads ½ cup of baking soda as 2 ½ cups. Tasted like chemicals, I nearly choked on it,” Hob scrunches up his face at the memory.

“Where did the 2 come from?” Morpheus asks in amusement.

“It was the second item on the ingredients list. I thought ‘2’ was part of the measurement, since it was right beside the ‘½’,” Hob explains, gesturing with his hands.

Morpheus glances at his plate like it might be poisoned. “You didn’t cook any of these, did you?”

“Oi!” Hob says indignantly. “That was one time! I’ve made excellent cookies since then.”

Morpheus laughs, a real one that brightens up his entire face and makes Hob feel pleasantly warm on the inside.

“Well,” Morpheus says as he calms down. “I’m sorry that your Christmas Eve is turning out to be bleaker than last year’s. It sounds like you actually enjoy spending it with your family,”

“Oh I do, but last year was… different.” A ridiculous understatement, but Hob isn’t sure how much would be socially acceptable to tell someone he just met.

Morpheus looks at him curiously. “I’m guessing it was worse than inedible cookies?”

Hob chuckles awkwardly and glances down at his plate. “Yeah, uh… my girlfriend at the time broke up with me.”

“On Christmas Eve?” Morpheus says in surprise.

“She felt like she had to, I think,” Hob shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I proposed. Thought it would be a grand romantic gesture. And it was, which was the problem. She said things were going too fast, I was too much, stuff like that.” He focused on getting a piece of lasagna from his plate, taking a bite of it and chewing slowly to make himself stop rambling.

“I see,” Morpheus said without pity or judgement in his voice, which Hob is grateful for. “I apologise for having brought up such a personal matter.”

“Nah it’s alright. It hurt an awful lot at the time, but I’ve made peace with it now,” Hob says sincerely. “It took a long while and a great deal of support from my friends and family, but eventually I was able to move on from it. We wanted different things, that’s all.”

Morpheus nods and uses his fork to put some ham and cheese on the piece of bread and puts the other slice on it to make a sandwich. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re too much,” he gestures with the sandwich towards Hob before taking a bite of it.

Hob chuckles and tugs at his earlobe, feeling his face warm. “Thanks, mate. Uh, you can go back to reading now,” he gestures to the book still open on Morpheus’ lap. “I just wanted to make sure you got some food before they ran out.”

Morpheus raises an eyebrow. “You don’t wish to speak with me anymore?”

“No, I do!” Hob says hurriedly. “It’s just that, my sister’s a bookworm and I know she hates it when people interrupt her reading.”

Morpheus smiles. “I see. And what does it mean when she willingly puts a book away in order to spend time with someone?”

“Oh, that’s a huge honour,” Hob says fondly. “It means she’s really interested…” he trails off when Morpheus closes his book and puts it in his small messenger bag. “You’re…?”

“Interested? Yes.”

“In me?” Hob says without thinking and almost takes it back.

“Are you opposed?”

“No,” Hob replies probably too quickly.

Morpheus’ eyes are twinkling with fond amusement, and Hob thinks the flush on his face might be glaringly obvious.

He is saved from saying anything embarrassing by the announcement of the hotel staff that the rooms are ready, and that they can queue up to get assigned with roommates.

Hob and Morpheus finish their remaining food and get up to stand in line. Morpheus hangs back a little when they reach the queue and gestures for Hob to be in front of him.

The now familiar notification sound catches Hob’s attention and he turns in time to see Morpheus looking at his phone screen with a sour expression.

“More passive-aggressive texts?” Hob asks sympathetically.

“Yes. I'm muting them now. I shall just claim that the snow had caused disruptions in signals.” Morpheus pockets his phone again, but there’s still a crease on his forehead.

“Are you alright?” Hob asks.

Morpheus lets out a breath. “They keep asking how my girlfriend is and whether I'm bringing her there tomorrow.”

Hob’s heart drops to his stomach. Morpheus has a girlfriend? But then why—

“I have not told them we had ended our relationship more than eight months ago.”

“Oh,” Hob feels guilty about how relieved he feels. “I'm… sorry to hear that.”

Morpheus shakes his head lightly. “It was for the best. She works in Greece, and our relationship could not survive the distance. But as you say, I’ve made peace with it. I just haven’t told my parents about the breakup because I know they’re planning to set me up with an heir to some company or other. I don’t know, I don’t really keep track of their business deals.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re not having dinner with them,” Hob says to lighten the mood as they move up the line. “You can enjoy Christmas Eve for once.”

Morpheus smiles. “Indeed.”

They reach the front of the line and the woman at the desk asks Hob if he already has someone to share a room with or if they need to assign him one.

Hob realises he hasn't thought about it, and turns to Morpheus. “Do you wanna share a room?”

Morpheus nods. “Yes.” He looks at the woman. “How many would we be in one room?”

“Given the limited capacity of the hotel this evening, four people would share a double room, that's our room with two beds,” the woman adjusts her glasses. “And two people would be assigned to each single room with one bed. Extra mattresses and blankets will be provided upon request.”

Hob exchanges glances with Morpheus. He wouldn't mind sharing a room with more people, but it might be more comfortable if it's just the two of them, given that they know each other more than anyone else here. Safer too, since they already trust each other to some degree.

Yeah, keep making those excuses, Gadling, a part of Hob’s brain tells him.

“It's your turn in the queue,” Morpheus says. “You make the choice.”

“It'll be your room too,” Hob points out.

Morpheus looks away for a moment. “I am not prone to socialising.”

“Single room it is, then,” Hob tries not to sound too happy about it and nods to the woman to confirm.

She types something on her computer and gives them their key cards. “That’s on the second floor, down the hall to your right. Have a good evening,” she says with a friendly smile.

“Thank you,” Hob takes the cards and looks at her nametag. “Lucienne,” he returns the smile.

Hob hands Morpheus a key card and they head to the stairs.

“You can now resume your sleep from the train,” Morpheus says playfully as they walk side by side.

Hob smiles. “I guess, but I'm not really sleepy anymore. I think I'd walk around and explore the place for a bit, and ask for that extra mattress. You take the bed.”

Morpheus shakes his head. “I do not mind the mattress. You can have the bed.”

“We'll coin flip for it later,” Hob says when they reach their room.

Morpheus looks around and walks towards a small shelf with drinks and snacks. “All these and not a singular water bottle,” he frowns disapprovingly.

“Oh I have one, haven't opened it yet.” Hob unslings his backpack and places it down on a chair.

He opens the zipper and a small wrapped present nearly tumbles out, but he catches it in time. He takes the bottle of water he bought at a convenience store earlier and puts the present back in the bag before zipping it shut again.

“Here you go,” Hob holds out the bottle as Morpheus walks over to him. “And that buttered croissant still has your name on it if you want it,” he pats the pocket where it still sits.

“Your bag is full of presents,” Morpheus says curiously as he accepts the bottle.

“Ah, yeah,” Hob chuckles. “For my parents and siblings. Stayed up late last night wrapping them, that's why I was dozing off on the train.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” Morpheus smiles and opens the water bottle to take a sip.

“They'd have some for me too, we like giving each other presents. Nothing fancy, just small trinkets and things that we think would make each other happy.”

Morpheus' smile turns wistful. “Your family sounds lovely.”

“And your siblings would want you to have a lovely evening. How about it, then? Stroll around a bit before we argue who takes the bed?”

“There shall be no arguments. We will take the stroll and you will be too tired afterwards and fall asleep on the bed,” Morpheus declares lightly.

“You're not gonna outlast me that easily, I've spent many nights telling my nieces and nephews bedtime stories. And they do not fall asleep after just one.”

Morpheus huffs out a chuckle. “Lead the way, then.”

They go downstairs and order cups of hot chocolate from the crowded café before walking aimlessly around the hotel. They find a garden blanketed with thick snow, and a small gym that's closed for the night.

They eventually end up on a small balcony on the second floor overlooking the amenities at the back of the hotel.

“There's a tennis court,” Hob notices. “Do you play?”

Morpheus shakes his head. “I am not inclined towards sports.”

“What do you do, then? When you're not getting stranded in hotels with strangers.”

“I own a pub that also rents out rooms for those who need a place to stay.”

“Wow, I wouldn't have figured you as a pub owner.”

Morpheus arches an eyebrow in amusement. “You’d have expected me to have a beard? To be more extroverted like a bartender?”

“No,” Hob chuckles. “You just look like an artist, that's all. One of those fancy ones. With your eye for books and gorgeous fashion sense.”

Morpheus smiles. “I do play the piano and write songs, so you're not entirely wrong.”

“Really? I'd love to hear you play some time,” Hob says and instantly regrets it.

It implies a next time, that he wants to keep seeing Morpheus even after tonight.

Too much, too soon. A ring discarded on the coffee table—

“I would love to play for you,” Morpheus' soft voice puts a halt on Hob's thoughts. His blue eyes are bright with sincerity, and his lips curve with that smile that Hob is beginning to grow fond of. “And what do you do, Hob? Apart from judging people based on their appearance.”

“Hey, you just said I wasn't entirely wrong,” Hob points out.

Morpheus just chuckles and takes a sip from his cup.

“I'm a college professor, Literature.” Hob leans against the railing.

“I see,” Morpheus sounds pleasantly surprised. “Do you nurture young minds to express themselves through the written word, or torture them with poetry analyzations?”

“I delight them with Christopher Marlowe, thank you very much. I torture them with Shakespeare.”

Morpheus laughs and glances down into his cup. “I must admit I… did not expect this at all when they said we would have to spend the night here.”

“You didn't expect a college professor with a bag full of wrapped trinkets?” Hob finishes his hot chocolate and places the cup on the railing.

Morpheus smiles and looks at Hob again, and Hob feels something flutter in his stomach at receiving a smile like that.

“I did not expect anyone at all. I am not the most… approachable, I've been told. I had thought I would be spending Christmas Eve by myself.” He empties his cup too and sets it down beside Hob’s.

Hob wonders who could have told Morpheus that, but he decides not to pry and just shrugs. “I didn't want to spend Christmas Eve alone, and you're good company.” He takes a step closer and playfully leans forward. “I'm glad it's you I accidentally fell asleep on.”

Morpheus chuckles and also takes a step closer. “And I'm glad I put my book away to spend time with you.”

“Still interested, then?” Hob says even as his face warms.

“Yes.” Morpheus holds his gaze, eyes glittering with intent.

Hob’s mouth suddenly goes dry, and he can’t help but stare at those rosy pink lips, wondering if they would taste like the chocolate drink Morpheus just finished.

“You're the one who told me to enjoy Christmas Eve, correct?” Morpheus steps even closer.

Hob swallows, meeting Morpheus’ eyes and unable to look away. “Y-Yeah, you should.” He could easily step backwards to put more distance between them, but right now there's nothing on this earth that could make him want to do that.

“Hob…” Morpheus whispers and noses along Hob’s cheekbone, his warm breath like a caress.

Hob grabs Morpheus' face with both hands and presses their lips together, swallowing the pleased hum that slipped out of Morpheus.

The glide of their tongues against each other is soft, and Hob was right that Morpheus’ mouth would taste like the hot chocolate, except it’s infinitely better and Hob can’t stop chasing the heat of it.

Morpheus wraps his arms around Hob’s waist, and Hob summons a great deal of willpower to pull away from the kiss, placing his hands on Morpheus' shoulders.

“Morpheus…” Hob says breathlessly. “I want… I want to keep seeing you after this. So if this is just a one-time thing for you, tell me now so I know to expect it. We’d both been with other people relatively recently and I don't want you to think I'm just using you as a replacement because I was really sad this time last year—”

Morpheus gently places a finger to Hob's lips. “I wish to keep seeing you as well.” He retracts his finger to cup Hob’s face instead, running a thumb across his cheekbone. “And neither am I using you as a mere replacement. I said I would love to play music for you, and I meant it. Even if we go no further tonight, I am already glad to have met you.”

Hob takes a steadying breath and tightens his grip on Morpheus' shoulders to ground himself. “Okay, okay… If you're alright with it, then I wanna see you again some time after tonight. I'm really glad to have met you too, and I wanna see where this goes.”

Morpheus tenderly rests his forehead against Hob’s. “I dearly enjoy your company and I would like the same.” He pulls back to look at Hob. “Though I am hoping that where this goes next is to our shared bedroom?” he says with a fond smile. “Even if all you want to do is talk, I wish to keep holding you in my arms and—”

Hob has surged up to kiss him again, pushing him backwards against a wall.

Morpheus puts his hands on the small of Hob’s back and pulls him closer, meeting the kiss with such enthusiasm that it makes Hob pleasantly lightheaded.

They do eventually make it to their bedroom, though Hob can't at all remember how. He just hears the click of a lock and the next thing he knows he's on his back on the bed, Morpheus looming beautifully over him.

He grabs the front of Morpheus' coat and pulls him down, kissing him like he needs it to breathe.

Morpheus' tongue dives deep, exploring Hob's mouth and eliciting sounds that Hob might have been embarrassed by if not for the fact that Morpheus is making them too.

Morpheus' fingers slip under Hob's shirt and he shivers, earning him another pleased hum.

They push and pull and squirm until coat and jacket and shirts fall unceremoniously to the floor.

Hob feels the hard line of Morpheus' cock against his own through their trousers and a wounded noise escapes him, his hips bucking up to chase more of the sensation.

Morpheus mirrors his impatience and reaches with trembling fingers to undo Hob’s fly. Hob bites his lip to maintain a modicum of composure as he returns the favour, and soon enough they've divested each other of the rest of their clothing.

Hob gets impossibly harder at the sight of Morpheus cock, but he doesn't have much time to stare as Morpheus captures his lips once more.

They rut against each other, precome making them slick and sticky as they moan into their kisses. Hob remembers seeing snow outside but he doesn't feel the slightest bit cold; his skin is on fire and every touch of Morpheus only stokes the flames.

Hob threads his fingers through Morpheus' hair, keeping him in place and relishing in the feeling of soft raven locks under his hands.

He feels a hand wrap around both of their cocks and Hob gasps, breaking the kiss and eyes rolling back in his head.

Morpheus sucks and nips at his neck as he strokes down their lengths, his pace quickening until he's making muffled whimpers against Hob's skin.

Hob’s legs begin to tremble, he digs his fingernails into Morpheus' back and his mouth falls open in anticipation as he feels the familiar pull at the base of his spine.

“Hob…” Morpheus moans sinfully into his neck.

Hob's response is a sound that's all vowels, but he thinks he can't be blamed when Morpheus is tightening his hand and twisting his wrist in a way that's slowly driving him mad.

Hob takes Morpheus' face and brings it up to him, wishing once more to feel those soft lips against his own.

Their kiss is more gasping and panting than a proper kiss, but Hob is too far gone to care. He thrusts up desperately into the circle of Morpheus' hand, his eyes squeezed shut and his heart thundering in his chest.

Morpheus deepens the kiss and sucks on Hob's tongue at the same time as he twists his grip—

Lightning shoots up Hob’s spine and his vision goes white as he comes, shaking uncontrollably with his screams muffled against Morpheus' mouth.

Morpheus follows him a moment after with a strangled sob, thrusting and pressing Hob’s body repeatedly into the bed as he milks them both of every drop of spend.

They're both whimpering when Morpheus slows down his pace and stops entirely, collapsing on top of Hob.

Hob can barely feel his limbs but he manages to put a soothing hand on Morpheus' back, and they catch their breaths together as they feel each other’s heartbeats return to normal.

Somewhere outside the hotel, a clock strikes midnight, and the distant sound of Christmas songs can be heard.

“Merry Christmas,” Morpheus smiles and gives him a soft kiss.

“Merry Christmas,” Hob whispers, still on this side of breathless.

Morpheus slides off him to lay on his side, and Hob immediately turns around and pulls him into an embrace, their noses almost touching.

“I never asked, what were your plans for Christmas Day?”

Morpheus hums and idly runs his fingers through Hob's chest hair. “Pretend to still have no phone signal so I can keep avoiding my parents. Though I shall send a text to my siblings to let them know I am safe.”

“Then… Then, if you'd like, you can come with me to brunch?” Hob asks hesitantly. “It's another yearly thing we do as a family, and you're welcome to join.”

Morpheus' eyes widen slightly, and Hob starts to panic.

“I know I said we'll still see where it goes, you and I, I mean. But it doesn't have to mean much, it's just brunch and I want you to have a happy Christmas too and—”

Morpheus stops him with a kiss, and Hob distantly thinks in the back of his mind that that's a dangerous way of spoiling him. He might never shut up if that's how Morpheus always quiets him.

“Hob,” Morpheus says softly when he pulls away. “I would very much like to spend Christmas with you and your family. Though I'd argue I'm already having a happy Christmas right now,” he smiles.

Hob chuckles in relief and presses closer to Morpheus, tucking his face in the crook of his neck. “Just you wait, we haven't even begun yet. I'd make you breakfast but there's nothing to cook here, so we'll just have to see what's in the café tomorrow before we leave.”

“Does that buttered croissant still have my name on it?” Morpheus asks as he caresses Hob’s back. “I'll have that for breakfast if it means I get to spend a few more hours cuddling you in this bed.”

Hob groans and pulls away to look at Morpheus. “You're actually driving me mad, you know that? You can't be gorgeous and sweet, it's not fair.”

“You are very much the same, yet you don't hear me complaining.”

Hob feels himself flush, and Morpheus smiles and snuggles into him, resting his head under Hob's chin.

Hob can’t help but smile as well, and he lets his eyes close as he feels the pleasant warmth of Morpheus' body against him.

Hob pulls the blanket over them both, and as they fall asleep in each other’s embrace, Hob thinks that he's already having a happy Christmas too.

———

Notes:

Hob's Baking Soda Bungle is based on that time my sister misread the baking soda measurement in the recipe. The cookies really did taste like chemicals 🥲

Thank you for reading! Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments! <3

———

(2024 Sandman Connect4 Masterpost)

(Masterlist)

[fowjiyo]

[chrysanthemumskies]

🌊🌊🌊 dead men tell no tales || I had a lot of fun creating this illustration for @pumpkinkingsalem's fic for @the-centennial-husbands-bigbang !!! 🌊🌊🌊

🌊🌊🌊 read the fic here 🌊🌊🌊

[obsessiveagony2point0]

Home

Hob gives the boys a living space. Edwin isn’t sure how to feel about this.

—-•—-•—-•—-•—-

Ghost didn’t have homes.

At least, according to Edwin’s understanding they didn’t.

They had haunts, of course, and places their unsettled souls would return to, but they didn’t have homes.

Edwin wasn’t even entirely sure he remembered what a home truly was. He’d spent so long in hell in the same place over and over again, that when he left…he didn’t want to be stuck in the same place. Luckily for him, Charles was willing and enthusiastic to travel and explore.

It wasn’t until the ghostly duo met Hob Gadling that things slowly began to change.

It started with a small, friendly conversation, which grew into the boys coming around to the pub every night to talk and…well, relax. Which was something Edwin definitely wasn’t used to.

One day, Hob ushered them to the basement. He flicked on a light, and Edwin and Charles stared in shock.

It was a whole living space. There were tables and chairs and bookshelves, a couch and plush arm chairs on top of a large, ornate rug.

“It’s not much,” Hob said as he ran a hand through his hair, nervously. “But I didn’t like the idea of you boys not having a place of your own to be able to come back to.” He gave them a small smile. “Ghost or not, everyone needs a space of their own.”

Charles immediately took to their new surroundings, cheering as he claimed the worn couch that had been provided as his very own spot.

Edwin was more hesitant, his mind spiraling. He didn’t want to be locked and trapped to one place. Not again.

A heavy, yet gentle hand on his shoulder pulled him from his mind, and he turned to look at Hob, who was smiling softly at him. “I’m not trying to keep you here, Edwin. You’re free to come and go as you please. I just wanted you to have somewhere you could always come back to.”

Edwin stared a moment, then nodded. “Thank you, Hob.”

Hob grinned, and gave his shoulder a small squeeze before he launched himself onto Charles, who screamed and laughed.

Edwin tried not to latch onto this place. He liked Hob, a lot, and Dream, but he was still wary.

He hadn’t really realized how much he’d become accustomed to their new place until a particular case kept them away for a week.

When they had finally returned, it was the dead of night. They slipped in through the walls and floorboards to their living space, in case Hob was asleep. It was hard to tell when Hob was awake or not. He always kept a lamp on in his flat regardless of the time of day and his sleeping patterns were…strange. Sometimes he was up all hours of the night, and sometimes he wouldn’t sleep for days until Dream came to scold him and make him sleep.

As they entered into the basement Charles let out a happy sigh and slumped onto the worn couch, stretching as he said, “God, it’s great to be home.”

Home.

Edwin paused and looked around the space.

The walls that had been once bare held a mosaic of art Edwin enjoyed as well as odd little knickknacks from Crystal and pictures torn out of magazines that Charles liked. There were plants that Crystal had been growing on the table along with random things Charles had picked up during their adventures. The bookshelves held a strange collection of books that ranged from poetry to history to occult tombs to manga Niko brought in case Edwin wanted to read them. By the door, leaning against the wall, rested Charles cricket bat as well as a coat rack that held ridiculous disguises Charles and Crystal would wear, swearing that they worked.

“Edwin? You ok?”

Edwin blinked, not realizing he was crying until warm tears ran down his face.

Home.

They had a home.

This wasn’t a prison, this wasn’t hell, this wasn’t the attic or the chest.

This was home. His home. His home with Charles and Hob and Dream.

He turned around immediately and went through the wall and up to Hob’s flat. He raised a fist to knock, then hesitated. If Hob was asleep, he certainly didn’t want to wake him, especially since Dream was so insistent that Hob actually sleep…but then again Hob always told them if they needed him, to please get him.

He took a deep breath and knocked. He was surprised to hear Hob say, muffled, “Come in, Edwin.”

Edwin passed through the door and saw Hob leaning over kitchen counter, with a mug in his hands, smiling.

“How…”

“You’d be surprised how the building sounds when you both pass through walls and doors. It’s like an exhale, as if the old place is at ease. Plus…” He grinned. “Dream and Charles don’t knock.” He waved at one of the stools at the counter. “Come, sit. Tell me where you two trouble-makers have been for the last week.”

Edwin smiled a little, settled on the stool, and began regaling to Hob their latest case.

As Edwin finished and Hob turned to fill his coffee again, the ghost boys said, softly, “Thank you, Hob.”

Hob stopped and turned back, tilting his head to one side in confusion. “For what?”

“For…for giving Charles and I place. A…a home.”

The immortal smiled wide and warm. “You don’t need to thank me. I was hoping it would eventually feel like a home to you boys.”

Edwin dropped his gaze to his entwined hands. “It’s been a long time…since a place felt like that. I…honestly thought I had forgotten what a home felt like entirely.”

That same heavy yet gentle hand that had been on his shoulder as reassurance weeks ago now placed itself over Edwin’s hands. He looked up into Hob’s gentle, unchanging face. “No matter how far you travel or how long you’re gone for…you will always have a home here, Edwin. I promise you that.”

Edwin’s smile trembled as his eyes filled with tears, but if Hob noticed he didn’t say. Instead, he gave the young ghost’s hands a small pat. “I’m sure Charles is feeling lonely. Should we continue this downstairs?”

Edwin blinked, slightly confused. “But…I have already told you about the case.”

“Yes, you did, but…” He winked at Edwin. “I always enjoy listening to Charles stretch the truth a little. Weave his tales.”

Edwin chuckled and stood up from where he was seated. As they moved towards Hob’s door, the immortal placed a hand on Edwin’s back.

“By the way, welcome back home, Edwin.”

Edwin smiled.

Yes.

Home.

—-•—-•—-•—-•—-

Im probably gonna post a few of these warm, sweet little headcanon ficlets.

Because I like them and they make me feel good.

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

[starlightseraph]

yes, save dead boy detectives. yes, save good omens. yes, continue sandman. but fucking fire neil gaiman first. have him renounce his royalties. the lump sum for the rights, the producer/writer salary, any residuals. if that doesn’t happen (and it seems unlikely), then don’t go ahead with the shows. don’t give him more money.

his backing out voluntarily or being forced out of financial benefit is a prerequisite for my willingness to support any of these projects in the future. i hope it is for you, too.

these shows and their accompanying works are dear to me. dbd is one of my favourite shows of all time. i want it to go on for so many reasons. but not at the price of funding an alleged predator. go was formative for one of my own writing projects, and it’s influence is seen in a lot of my writing. but i can’t in good conscience support go itself as long as he’s involved. sandman is brilliant and i’m fully emotionally invested. but i won’t invest financially unless he’s gone.

the other wonderful and talented people involved in these projects deserve to continue them. ng doesn’t. the casts, crews, other writers, and specifically terry pratchett, they deserve these things. the fans deserve them. we can make these our own, but only if neil is gone first.