#just!!!! Hob being so happy for him!

[just-french-me-up]

For the kiss prompts, Dreamling and joy, happiness, or adrenaline?

@just-j-really said : I meant joy, /habit/ or adrenaline lol. Should've just used the numbers.

How about I give you joy AND adrenaline? I can't get Olympics AUs out of my skull so here it comes! This is 100% inspired by Manon Apithy-Brunet's victory and what came afterwards! Also Death is called Thana in this, cause I couldn't have her go around named Death, so Thana, because Thanatos and all that

"And we're back with James Anderson at the Grand Palais, where the men's foil final is about to begin."

"Indeed, Anne. Team GB's chance to snatch the first gold medal of its history in men's foil fencing! The stakes are high at the Grand Palais tonight, but Team GB can count on Morpheus Endless after the stellar performances he gave us earlier today."

"It's going to be one for the ages!"

"It sure is!"

**

11-13

Hob had lost any semblance of control over his nerves ten touches ago, his legs bouncing up and down relentlessly while his eyes burnt holes into the piste below. Two touches. Two touches to strike gold. He could do it. He was so close.

The South Korean fencer on the other side of the piste wouldn't go without a fight, though. Morpheus was faster, but his opponent was taller, more imposing, covering more ground. Every touch scored was given right back, filling the Grand Palais with the deafening roar of the audience. It is too loud, Hob kept telling himself. He hates it when it's loud. It was everything, the lights, the sounds, the screams... God the overstimulation going on under that mask, he could not even fathom.

Morpheus lunged forward, aiming at the South Korean's flank. Hob felt his breath catch in his throat.

12-13

The room exploded again, members of the audience standing up, waving flags and signs. Hob buried his head in his head.

"God, I can't even watch."

"He's going to be alright," Thana told him, her hand braced against his knee.

Before Hob could look up, cheers erupted again, louder still. Thana's fingers tensed around his knee.

"Fuck! Who scored?"

"He's almost there! He's going to make it! Hob, he's going to make it!"

12-14

One more. One more to the title of Olympic fucking Champion. Hob hadn't even noticed he'd stood from his seat, his heart beating in his ears. He could not even hear the crowd. All he could focus on were the lights. Red or green. Red. It had to be red. Please let it be red. The South Korean came at Morpheus, lunging forward. Morpheus parried, lunged, fleche at the ready.

The red light blinked, sending the Grand Palais into a frenzy. It happened all so quickly, Morpheus yanking off his mask, his face glowing both with pride and relief, erupting in a disbelieving chuckle as the audience chanted his name, Thana's arms squeezing Hob tight, her voice saying words he could not make out under the uproar surrounding them. He did it! He fucking did it!

He didn't know at what point his entire body had decided to move, but Hob found himself rushing down the stairs leading to the pistes. Security met him at the bottom, preventing him from going any further.

"I'm his husband!" he kept saying, oblivious to the fact he and the man standing in his way probably didn't speak the same language. "I'm his husband! I'm―"

In a desperate attempt at communication, he waved his athlete badge under the man's nose. That seemed to do the trick, as the security guard stepped aside, leaving Hob free range to run up to the piste.

His chest could have burst from pride seeing Morpheus there, victorious, facing the crowd, sweat dripping from his brow, years of effort and sacrifice leading him to that very moment. Morpheus Endless, gold medalist, Olympic Champion.

As their eyes met, something in Morpheus seemed to give, all the pressure escaping his body as he fell to his knees, letting go of his foil to wrap his arms around Hob, the strength in them gone as the crowd and cameras, everything other than them, vanished.

"You did it," Hob took his face in his hands, ecstatic. "You did it, duck! You did it!"

Morpheus could barely speak, going from uncontrollable laughter to choked sobs. He pressed his forehead to Hob's before kissing him hard, salt, exhaustion and gold in his tongue. Hob leant into him, his hand combing the back of his hair, bringing them closer. The cameras probably got an eyeful, but who cared. Gold medalist was a once every four years kind of title.

And he couldn't wait for Morpheus to kiss him in front of the whole world again in 2028.

Send me a kissing prompt?

[mortalsilence]

I have two Hobs in my head, both equally canonical:

Hob who was always conscientiously bi, until church told not to be. Now that society allows him to be, he is more open again.

Hob in complete denial because of society and etc etc, until the beautiful stranger convinces him otherwise only by existing.

Having to decide which one to use when I write makes me cry a little 🥲

[weirdfishy]

headcanon/AU where morpheus only went and visited hob bc hob dreamed of him — like death convinced him to go see him, but he didn’t know when he should go, and the longer he stewed the more he thought hob was probably done with him. but then hob unknowingly drew morpheus into his dream where they were talking and laughing like proper friends (or, alternatively, hob had morpheus pressed against a wall) so dream was like yay he doesn’t hate me let’s go visit him :)

[knight-of-blaze]

ok im rewatching the og tailors shop scene and its making episode 9 hurt a lot more

hob directly asks if either rue or binx know who was at fault for the breaking of the engagement. rue let hob leave that conversation still believing it was apollo. they immediately pulled the conversation away, asking him about it being his victories that lead to the engagement.

maybe it was originally a first step. a lead-in to a confession. an explanation of how this has all been a big misunderstanding. but rue never gives that impression. they never make it seem as though they have other ideas of who hob is looking for. even knowing that it was themself.

they go on to have this revelation of their on feelings heightening into love at the reveal of hobs first name. and what do they do next? they scold him. yes, theyre telling him he deserves better and the sentiment behind those words are positive overall. they want whats best for him. but wouldnt it have been a perfect opportunity to come clean? to say "knickolas, i care about you so much and knowing the full scope of what youre going through now i cannot bear to continue hiding this from you"? wouldnt they understand that to criticize his very nature is to use the exact same tactics that his own court uses to keep him in line?

as far as im concerned, all the misunderstandings could have begun to clear in that moment. but rue chose to prioritize the pushing of their own ideals onto hob. they chose to hide. to not give even a hint to hob that they know the answers he seeks.

[naggingatlas]

would u guys haaaaaaaate me if i made a ruehob wuvvy animatic set to not anywhere by alex g <33333333333333333

[seadeepspaceontheside]

I AM NOT GOING TO ADD MORE TOO THIS BECAUSE I GOT TOO MUCH ON MY PLATE but this was my KnightAu I had for Hob and Dream that you can read under the cut where I post about it earlier.

I am never gonna draw house of the dragon fanart but like I love insanity of how Cole and Alicient have for their former love (Rhaenyra) to fuck in her bed and thoughts of her non-stop. Which leads me to this Knight AU because I am honestly torn with the idea of a Dark!Hob that would do anything for their King until he was spurred because God Damn Fabien Frankel looks like a Young Hob. Or Hob Knight who is more like Harwin Strong/Ryan Corr who understands Dream's position and is loyal to him and is very much happy being the consort and a step-father to the King's children. Or even there are two Knight Hobs maybe either brothers (a year or two apart) or twins that are now at each other's throats over it. The older (Robert) who had the favour and then turned vengeful and vindictive not only his obsession with now King Morpheus while his younger brother/twin is now taken with the King. (Morpheus didn't think he would be King because of his older brother and sister. But incidents happen, so his brother Potmos/Destiny and the relm refusing Teleute/Death puts him in line of heir so he had to marry Calliope. Morpheus knowing that giving up the throne to his younger siblings was a bad idea. He would have run away with Robert when he wasn't heir. As well as his Calliope and Morpheus had an agreement that they could love others but Robert saw that as not being as in love with him) Robert hating how his younger brother mocks the nature of knighthood and coming to with such ease and now the King's favour and love. The Younger being always had feeling in his brothers shadow when Morpheus is with him. Hob had always feelings for the young lord when they were young but knowing that Rob and Morpheus were in love he was content with just being in love afar. It is not till later when his brother has no more right to the King's heart that he goes for it. And when his Older taunts him as a replacement and how the King has failed that he needs to be held back by fucking a hoard of knights from kicking the shit out of his older.

Much like Eddard and Brandon, I think just because Older Hob was his first love does not mean it was his real or true love. King Murphy would love Younger Hob knight as he is who he is and tells them apart a lot. And Morpheus has always cared for Hob but it grew into a more of a love. Much like later in life like Rhaenyra does hate Cole, he hates !DarkOlderHob for what he has become and how he makes his brother feel.

Either way watching HOTD gave me knight Hob feels. (seeing Harwin Strong do the thing with the nod and the rabbit I am like oh thats so Hob)

Also yes Dream does get kidnapped by the Scorned lord Rodrick Burgess and they cut his hair for proof to ransom! Also I said in the replies but *** Hob when he does get with Morpheus shaves to look more like Rob thinking it would be better to be basically his brothers replacement but Morpheus loves him the way he looks.

[dsudis]

late night calls, sandman: "I know it’s stupid, but I needed to hear your voice.” ?

I almost never manage to write to prompts but hey, it's the summer of 2024! Sometimes crazy shit happens! I wrote this! Don't ask me how long ago I got this ask!

Dreamling, feat. retired Dream & comics spoilers for how he got that way.

The Sound of Your Voice

Hob scrolled back through his texts, reading the slightly disjointed conversation with Dream that had just trailed off into nothing, and then the previous day's exchanges. There were no selfies, but Dream sent pictures of the things he saw on his travels and found interesting--sometimes the sort of holiday snaps anyone might send, but often things that brought it firmly to mind that Hob was exchanging texts with the newly-human former Lord of the Dreaming, who was wandering the world in search of Normal Life Experiences.  

He meant to scroll past, but he found himself studying the photos all over again: the instruction card from an airline seat; a scrap of spiderweb lingering in an unidentifiable corner of two beige walls; a spoon wrapped in a paper napkin; a puddle on a cracked pavement. 

Hob zoomed in on that last, trying to discern a reflection in the puddle, trying to guess what Dream was doing with his hair these days by the shape of the shadow.  

It had been a month now that Dream had been off on his travels. He texted fairly often, and always responded when Hob texted him; they had even spoken twice. The first time had been four days after Dream set out, when Hob hadn't heard anything, and gave up on being cool and called.  

Dream had sounded mildly puzzled, but had been content to chat for twenty minutes. He had actually, haltingly, answered questions about what he was up to, what he'd seen, whether he was enjoying his adventure.  

Hob had managed to compress four days of quietly losing his mind worrying about him into saying toward the end, "Don't be a stranger, right? I mean--you're not my--not a stranger anymore, so--we can keep in touch."  

He'd nearly hung up then just to shut himself up, but Dream had said, "Yes, I see. I will."  

He seemed to have understood, even, because since then he hadn't gone more than twenty-four hours without texting Hob some random observation or sending a photo or just Good morning, Hob, usually at a time that was nowhere near morning where Hob was. 

Dream had even called, a week or so ago. It had taken Hob solidly ten minutes, in which Dream had scarcely paused for breath, to realize that despite speaking perfectly clearly, Dream was so utterly legless that he needed more absurd words for it. He was trolleyed. Gazeboed. Positively coat-hangered.  

"Your turn," Dream had said abruptly, still not slurring a bit but audibly loosened, so that Hob was suddenly sure that Dream was lying down, sprawled somewhere, collar undone, shirt perhaps riding up.  

Hob had been so entranced by that image--did Dream have a bit of an alcohol flush on, lighting up his pale cheeks?--that Dream had had to prompt him again to take his turn speaking. He had managed it just fine once he got going, happy as ever to have Dream listening to him.  

Dream had made a few encouraging noises, then gone quiet, until finally Hob heard a tiny, unmistakable snore. 

"OI!" Hob had shouted into the phone, and been rewarded with something that was almost certainly a snort and the clatter of a dropped phone.  

"Hob?" Dream had said, returning. 

"Drink some water, and lie down on your side to sleep," Hob had said firmly. "Your sister might not take you if you choke, but you don't want her to turn up and laugh at you, either."  

Dream had actually said, "Ugh, she would," before he hung up, and Hob had spent the rest of the day laughing to himself as those words echoed in his ears. 

He couldn't hear them now.  

It was something that had happened time and again. Each time he met with Dream, hanging on every one of the sparse words that dropped from his lips, he felt that he would have that voice etched on his memory, ringing in his ears, forever. For days after, he could hear Dream's words again, playing them over in his memory.  

But every time, before too long, he couldn't remember quite what those words sounded like. He might remember what the words were, but he couldn't hear them anymore. A few months on, he would forget the little quirks of Dream's expression. 

At some point, every time, he forgot Dream's face. 

He could remember what Dream looked like, generally: pale and black-haired, slim and tallish, dressed in black, obviously rich. But he couldn't bring Dream's actual face to mind, had to just wait out the century to see him again, to know him again. There you are. 

He'd already started forgetting after their belated meeting, when Dream turned up again, though Hob still hadn't known his name at that point. There had been a dream, first, and then his old stranger had just--turned up in a pub when Hob was out drinking, having his own miserable evening. He'd pulled out of it enough to realize that Dream was even worse off than he was, that Dream was on the precipice of something unimaginable, but nothing he said had changed any of that. 

And then he'd found himself attending Dream's bloody wake, which was how he'd learned who his oldest friend even was.  

He'd had about a week to try to resign himself to never having another reunion, never refreshing those fading memories ever again, no longer having even one person he could look forward to meeting again on the long road of his eternal life.  

And then Dream had turned up on his bloody doorstep: freshly human and tentatively immortal, as this new incarnation was technically his afterlife. 

Dream had been nearly as bewildered by it as Hob was, and had stayed with Hob for a fortnight. Learning to function in a human body had been undignified and frustrating, but Hob had done his best to smooth the way. He had accompanied Dream through his first experiences of human-sized emotions, which seemed to be something he had no idea how to handle, where had possessed at least a general theoretical understanding of the physically messy bits.  

After two weeks, though, he had seemed to be settling in, and Hob had let himself begin to think of what life might look like with his friend in it--and then Dream had announced that he needed more Life Experience and he was going off to find it. 

Hob knew he'd said it like that, the capital letters audible even though his new voice had lost some slight uncanny edge he'd always had before. He just couldn't hear it anymore, and he couldn't hear Dream's drunken rambling either. He scrolled down through the texts again, trying to hear how Dream would say the words, but he only caught an echo, the velvety depth of Dream's voice.  

It was late; he ought to stop fretting about this and sleep. There would be more texts from Dream tomorrow; sooner or later there would be another call, or Dream would turn up again. Everything was all right now; Dream was safe, and probably reasonably happy, out on his self-appointed quest to get the hang of being human. 

Hob just wanted to hear that from him. He just wanted to hear _anything_, so long as it was Dream. He hesitated another moment, but he had never been good at resisting temptation. He just had time to try to guess where Dream was--and therefore what time it was--before he hit the call button. 

It rang only twice before Dream picked up, sounding not just puzzled but properly disorientated, fuzzy with sleep. "'Lo? Hob? What's..." 

All the circling misery of the last few minutes lifted instantly. _There you are. That's you._ "Hi, love," Hob returned, falling back into his own bed. "I know it’s stupid, but I needed to hear your voice." 

There was a silence, but before Hob could take it back, or say something to give himself away even more, Dream said, "You could... do you think you'd like to--" 

"Yes," Hob said, sitting up again, feeling abruptly wide awake, ready for anything.  

"--Hear it more?" Dream finished.  

"Yes," Hob repeated, standing. "Yes, I--where--" 

"About five minutes," Dream said, which didn't make sense until he added, "it's a good thing you called, I didn't mean to doze off in the taxi." 

"Jet lag," Hob said, mouth running on autopilot as he looked frantically around his bedroom. It was in a bit of a state; he hadn't gotten properly settled into his own newest incarnation before Dream turned up, and in the last few days he'd been... more down than he'd realized until right now, when he wasn't anymore, at half two in the morning. "I keep telling you, you have to respect the circadian rhythm now you have one." 

"I have great respect for it," Dream said, sounding a little amused now. "Unfortunately--" he yawned, "international flight schedules do not, despite being entirely staffed by people who also need to sleep." 

"One of those mysteries we may never solve," Hob agreed. "Uh, your room's a bit--" 

"I will happily sleep on your kitchen floor at this point," Dream said, yawning again before he quite got all the words out. "Perhaps the stairs." 

"Well, we can do better than that, at least," Hob said, pulling on a pair of joggers and giving the covers a few quick tugs so the bed looked plausibly disheveled rather than like a place of insomniac torment. He dashed down the stairs to the front door, and threw back the locks, listening to Dream's quiet on the other side of the line. "Dream?" 

"Still here," Dream assured him, sounding a bit more alert now. "Just a few more blocks, I think." 

Hob leaned out the door, peering down his street, listening as if he would somehow know which car on another street was the one with Dream inside. "Are you..." Hob didn't even know how to finish the question, other than _here yet?_ which was a stupid one.  

"Yes," Dream said anyway, just as a car turned down Hob's street--a proper cab, not an Uber. Dream could be choosy about things like that. "I see you. I--I am very glad to see you." 

Hob raised and arm and waved, to be sure the cabbie would see him too, and cleared his throat before he could say, "Same to you, my friend." 

"Yes," Dream said dryly, even as the cab was pulling up, putting the rear door exactly level with the stairs to Hob's door. "I can see that." 

Hob glanced down at himself and realized that he was both shirtless and barefoot, and showing a wide strip of his pants on one side where he hadn't managed to pull the joggers all the way up. Hob sputtered, already starting to laugh at himself and unable to find a riposte; he looked up again and his breath stopped.  

Time stopped. 

Dream was on the pavement below him, straightening up out of the cab. He was looking straight at Hob, with just as much bright gladness in his face as the first time they'd seen each other again after their longest parting. 

Hob dropped his phone and darted down the stairs, colliding with Dream halfway and flinging his arms around him. He clung tight long after they were both steadied from the impact, pressing his face into Dream's messy hair. "Say something," Hob murmured, breathing in the not-too-recently-washed smell of him, soaking in the solidity of the angular body pressed up against his. 

"Your front door's closed behind you," Dream murmured. "And I think you've cracked the screen on your phone." 

"Bugger," Hob muttered, squeezing tighter; Dream's grip tightened in answer until Hob could feel his ribs creaking, and still neither of them showed any sign of letting go. "The door, I mean, that's a bother. The phone screen's been cracked for weeks." 

Dream gave a little _tsk_, pressed a kiss to the spot just before Hob's ear, and then let go all at once, sliding past him to retrieve his phone. Hob pressed his fingers to the spot where Dream's lips had pressed, and didn't manage to speak, or even think anything coherent, before Dream was straightening up again, phone in hand.  

"They can be replaced," Dream pointed out. "And you gave me a key before I left, so even the door is not such a great bother as that." 

"Yeah, I wasn't that worried," Hob said, fingers still pressed to the spot in front of his ear, staring at Dream, who was going just a bit pink. "Dream, you--" 

"You gave me a key," Dream repeated, making no move to get it out and unlock the door, still holding Hob's battered phone. "Before I left, you said. I could always. Come home." 

"Yeah," Hob said, and finally managed to drop his hand from his own face, reaching out with the same fingers to touch the brightening pink of Dream's cheek. "You always can, love. I always want to hear you, and I always want to see you." 

"I thought I--I thought perhaps--it might have been only..." Dream shook his head, giving up on putting it into words, but Hob didn't need him to spell it out; he'd worried himself that perhaps it was a problem that Dream only had him, only knew him. He'd known it was a good idea for Dream to go out into the world, even while he'd hated it. "But there is no one like you." 

"And no place like home?" Hob added lightly, because he couldn't not, even when he could see Dream's perfectly earnest expression, the steady dark intensity of his gaze.  

Dream snorted softly and put his hand over Hob's, pressing it to his cheek while he leaned in, closing the distance between them again.  

Hob started to tilt his head, ready to guide Dream into possibly his first kiss in a world where noses would not politely reshape themselves to stay out of the way, but Dream first pressed his forehead to Hob's, breathing deeply and saying nothing. Hob settled his other hand on Dream's cheek as well, keeping him close, breathing in for himself the reality of Dream here with him again, safe and sound and wanting to be here, of all the places in the world he might be exploring.  

"We should go inside," Dream murmured, and Hob just shivered at the secret sound of his voice before he made sense of the words.  

He tipped his head back to meet Dream's eyes, and found Dream smiling wryly. "I fear we may be carried away here on your front steps, otherwise." 

Hob dropped his hands to Dream's shoulders, where it was safe to grip as hard as he needed to while he let those words sink in, his whole body flashing hot at the possibilities. "Yeah. That's. Probably wise, yeah." 

Dream nodded, still smiling, and held up a familiar key. "Shall we?" 

Hob forced himself to drop his hands and turn to go back up the stairs. Dream followed him, close enough that Hob could almost feel him; when Hob turned the knob and realized that the door had in fact locked behind him, he had no time at all to be frustrated by it before Dream pressed up against his back, bringing his hands--and, crucially, his key--to join Hob's.  

"You gave me a key," Dream said, so close to Hob's ear that his lips brushed it, so deep and warm that Hob could drown in it. "You knew I would want to come home to you. And now here I am--" the key slid home, and Hob bit his lip to hold back a noise at that altogether unsubtle promise of things to come. "Coming home. To you. With you." 

Hob pushed the door open, but before stepping inside he asked, knowing it was ridiculous to hesitate, with Dream plastered up against him and hesitating anyway, "Will you tell me again tomorrow?" 

"I will tell you again every day," Dream said without hesitation. "Every time I come home to you, wherever that may be, it will always be you." 

"Right then," Hob said, and whirled in Dream's arms to kiss him as he stumbled back inside. Dream followed him, and didn't stop kissing him except to laugh when they staggered into a heap at the top of the inside stair. Hob tugged him back down into another kiss, and let Dream's voice echo in his ears a while longer.  

[valeriianz]

Summary: Part 2 of my Hard of Hearing!Dream. Part 1 here! Dream struggles with his new disability and Hob tries to help... along with Dream's new friend, Jessamy.

Square/Prompt: A1 - Why Did You Do It?

Rating: T

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

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: None

Additional Tags: human AU, deaf!Dream, angst, happy ending, established relationship

Fill for @dreamlingbingo! (thank you @mallory-x for the read through!)

----------------------------------

When Dream turned 30, he celebrated it in a crowded bar that doubled as an art gallery, close to his apartment. It was his favorite bar, because it was an eclectic gallery first, with a bar open for events. Luckily, there was a local exhibit on the night of Dream’s birthday and he knew it would be the perfect place to celebrate. This way, he could appease his friends who wanted to go out and drink and celebrate, and Dream could stare at art and make a quick escape if need be. It gave a chance for everyone to focus on anything else but him after the initial round of shots. 

Hob never took his focus off Dream, though. Even when they would float away to opposite sides of the room, Dream would turn his head and find Hob staring at him, smiling at being caught before turning his attention back to the person he was in conversation with.

At that point, it had been two and a half years since Dream had told Hob about his diagnosis… that he would go permanently deaf. In that time, he did indeed completely lose his hearing in his left ear, but his right was still working pretty well. He had just gotten used to tilting his head slightly to the left so people would understand to talk directly into his good ear.

And Hob was still here. Patient, sweet, loving Hob. Who Dream secretly had a crush on probably since they were first introduced. They’d moved in together last year, and while there were some bumps in the road, complications that arose with moving in with a lover, Dream was surprised to find that he was… happy.

He couldn’t stand it, sometimes, how happy Hob made him. Even his friends had noticed how he smiled more, seemed to have a more positive outlook on life and even on his disability. And it felt natural, like Hob just brought out all the good traits about Dream, like they had been lying dormant and just needed the confidence, the reassurance that he was allowed to feel this way. This happy.

And then, 45 days after Dream’s birthday party, he woke up to Hob shaking him awake, because he was sleeping through his alarm that was apparently blasting through his phone.

But Dream couldn’t hear him. Or the alarm. 

He watched with horrifying realization, as Hob’s lips moved, hovering over him, but no words came out. 

So much for five years. 

Hob had clocked Dream’s blank stare relatively quick, his lips shaping the letters of Dream’s name with a hand on his face, Hob’s brows pinched up and–

Dream cried. 

He felt foolish for it. He knew this would happen eventually. He just thought he’d have more time. 

Dream speaks with his audiologist the next day, with Hob by his side. Dream had wondered about hearing aids while he still had a modicum of hearing, but had been hesitant. His insurance barely covered them and, while hearing aids may have helped in the past, after several tests, his audiologist confirmed with Dream that now, they wouldn’t even be able to pick up background noise. They wouldn’t help at all.

Dream and Hob had left the office with defeat hanging heavy in the air. Mostly from Dream. 

He’s not proud of the person he had been in the week following his permanent hearing loss.

But in time (and therapy), Dream was able to move on. And it really wasn’t so bad, once Dream accepted that this was his life now.

If he closes his eyes, he thinks he can still hear Hob’s voice, especially with his lips pressed against his throat, behind his ear, murmuring sweetness into his skin and sending vibrations into his skull. It’s one of the most calming things Dream has ever experienced; laying in bed with Hob, in the absolute darkness and absolute silence, his remaining senses heightened, it’s both relaxing and unexpectedly erotic. To feel Hob completely surrounding him, grounding Dream, warm and solid and safe, it lights Dream up from the inside and reassures him that everything would be okay.

And in time, Dream comes to appreciate the silence. It’s nice, it’s peaceful. Living in a large city, with constant chatter, cars honking and sirens blazing, used to be a sensory nightmare; that creeping, prickling feeling of overstimulation has vanished and now it’s just… nothingness. 

It was scary at first, Dream would be a fool to not admit it; watching the world continue around him, people living their lives, living his own life, all in absolute silence. Not being able to hear the beep of the microwave, indicating when his food was done, or water coming out of the faucet while he washed dishes, or the sizzle of oil in a pan while cooking… little things that Dream had never really perceived whilst hearing them every day. All of that sound just– gone. Like hitting the mute button on a movie.

Dream tries to convince himself that he doesn’t miss the mundane noises, he could barely hear them anyway… but he often feels lost without them. So learning to welcome the quiet was the only way Dream could stay sane.

Though going deaf after decades of being able to hear (albeit poorly) and speak gave Dream the advantage of continuing to communicate in spoken English. He still has an inner voice, can still read lips very well, and so the communication gap with his friends and even strangers isn’t as wide as Dream had feared.

It makes learning sign language difficult. Dream at first did not take the lessons very seriously, especially with Hob being the only person to practice with, in those early days. Hob did help, though; he fumbles and signs broken ASL and Dream fumbles back. But it had been so easy to fall back on the habit of using his voice. But as months turn into a full year, Dream learns by trial and error that he realistically can’t continue traversing through a hearing world without sign language.

The hardest challenge he’d run into, for example… Dream never thought he’d need to prove his deafness.

Of course people get confused when he can speak perfect English, out in public spaces like a cafe or a bookshop, only to then turn around and seemingly ignore everyone around him. It is a strange experience, for Dream, to go around communicating as usual, speaking when he can’t even hear his own voice and reading lips. But he can’t be constantly on the lookout for anybody trying to get his attention. Watching belatedly as someone he had been exchanging dialogue with, roll their eyes and walk away in a huff. Dream truthfully has no idea how he might come off to a complete stranger who can’t realize that he’s deaf. Rude, perhaps. Or uncaring.

It’s enough to convince Dream to get fake hearing aids… he feels ridiculous wearing them, like he’s giving in to a social construct that only exists in his own head. But, annoyingly, while wearing them, the way people communicate and treat him improves exponentially. 

Funny, that.

Hob, of course, notices.

“When did you get these?” He touches the little device in Dream’s ear, his fingers turning into a caress. “I thought aids didn’t work for you?”

Hob speaks while he signs, they both do, to help make the hand motions stick. Though Hob often slips up and signs exact English, not proper American Sign Language, which he’s doing now. It doesn’t help in the learning process, but it’s a start, and Dream has no leg to stand on when it comes to corrections.

Dream swipes his index finger across his nose.

“Fake.”

Dream offers no more explanation, turning a page in the book he’s reading. They’re sitting on the couch, Hob properly facing the TV, and Dream lounging sideways, his legs draped over Hob’s lap.

Hob taps the edge of Dream’s book, getting his attention once more.

“You’d rather put a sign on you that announces to the world you're deaf?”

Dream sighs, knocking his head back.

“I know I shouldn’t have to…” Dream starts, his fingers fumbling, a new sign of nervousness he never thought he’d had before. “But it might make things easier.”

“Things?” Hob finger spells, his hands coming down, palms up, in a sign of confusion.

Dream moves a hand to his mouth.

“Communication,” and then to his ear, “understanding.”

Hob’s brows furrow and Dream slowly looks back to his book.

Dream wonders if they’re thinking the same thing. Remembering how difficult it became, living together, after Dream lost his hearing permanently. Hob would forget that Dream couldn’t hear, which was frustrating enough, but the slip-ups were near constant in the beginning. 

They’d get into arguments over it, a flame that Dream wasn’t proud to admit he’d always fanned. He hated that his hackles were constantly rising, always on the offensive, like Dream was expecting Hob to take the bait and fight back. That would, of course, spiral into meaningless fights over something stupid like leaving the laundry in the dryer for too long, or forgetting to pick up a particular ingredient they needed for dinner at the grocery store.

Dream was ashamed to admit he didn’t help in the situations, often coping out by just– not looking at Hob so he couldn’t see his lips moving or his awkward signing. He’d turn around and stomp away and Hob would be left to chase after him, hand on his shoulder, forcing him to turn around so they could communicate.

It got easier… Hob was so patient with Dream. He never got so angry he would give up. He always apologized, even when Dream was just being dramatic. 

Hob knows by now that Dream would never take the easy route. And sure enough, Dream ditches the fake hearing aids. With them on, people started treating him with gloves on, or stare at him nervously, wondering how to approach. It’s frustrating and annoying– how Dream can’t seem to find a middle ground.

It takes unloading to his new deaf friends about Hob; seeking advice for how to temper these unexpected feelings of disappointment and changes in Dream himself… they never used to fight, before Dream lost his hearing. This is unknown territory for the both of them. 

Dream had discovered the community in his city, for deaf people. He’d found a meetup online, after his therapist suggested looking into attending the weekly meetups.

As always, Dream was at first skeptical. His sign language was still spotty at best, and he wasn’t a social guy even when he could hear so. He wasn’t hopeful.

Luckily the deaf community in his city is more than accepting of him, patient when he slips and signs exact English. And when Dream is done airing out his grievances, they encourage patience with Hob. That having a hearing partner is always going to be a struggle, but Hob is clearly coming from a place of compassion and wants to learn. That’s more than can be said for most people. 

Dream feels foolish, all the sudden, for his actions against Hob, looking sideways at Jessamy. She was one of the founders of these d/Deaf meetings, and they clicked immediately. Unlike most of their peers in the group, she too had been born hearing and then lost it due to illness. Her and Dream were a lot alike, though she was older and had been wading through this new world for over two decades. She was fluent in ASL, and didn’t even speak while communicating.

“It’s considered rude to speak here, during these meetups,” she had explained during Dream’s first time with the group. 

Jessamy becomes something like a confidant for Dream. She too has a hearing partner, Matthew. The amount she and Dream have in common is almost frightening. But in time Dream discovers it’s nice… to be seen. To be understood. She helps Dream comprehend the beauty of the silence even more. And that they can still attend hearing events just as before. 

So with her encouragement, a few months down the line, Dream and Hob join her and Matthew at a music festival. Jessamy excitedly points out interpreters several of the bands have on stage, and Dream feels a bit of relief. He can also feel the vibrations all around him from the loud speakers, though it’s not as pronounced as they would be in a venue with wooden floors; the earth beneath their feet grounds the pulsating bass lines to something dull and unrecognizable.

Dream’s not quite fluent enough in ASL to understand every word the interpreters use, especially at the speed they’re going in to keep up with the song, but he gets the gist. And he has to admit it’s… fun, doing this. He hadn’t been to a concert or music festival in almost five years, and spending it with both Hob and his new friends is nice. It’s easy to stay within their safe space and not feel pressured to speak with strangers or awkwardly ignore them; everyone here minds their own business and in time, Dream loosens up.

After finding available, good seats for the next band they’d all agreed on, Hob and Dream set out to the nearest vendor to grab drinks and snacks for the four of them, while Jessamy and Matthew hold down the fort, so to speak.

While standing in line, Hob asks if Dream is enjoying himself. And, surprisingly, Dream is. He says as much with a smile and taking a playful nudge from Hob.

As the line shrinks and they come closer to the counter, Dream’s gaze moves from the short menu taped to the window to the man taking orders. His lips move sluggishly and hesitantly, speaking with an accent that makes it difficult for Dream to parse. But it doesn’t phase him, what everyone wants is on the menu and the transaction should be simple.

Now, Hob could just place the order for him– for all of them, but Dream had been determined, lately, to converse in transactions like this himself. It was good practice not only for Dream, but also whoever was taking his order as well. To learn patience and practice his communication skills. It was a little nerve wracking, but for the most part it was easy. If a cashier or barista or medical professional had trouble exchanging words with Dream, well, that’s what he carried a pen and pocketbook around for.

The person in front of them moves to the pickup counter and Dream sees the man behind the counter call out what must be a, “Next!” but the way his lips move, it looks more like, “Nect!”

Dream swallows and signs as he speaks, to– hopefully– indicate how this would potentially be a one-sided conversation.

“Two orders of fries, one mac and cheese, three shots of Bacardi, one shot of vodka, and a lemonade, please.”

The man barely looks at Dream while he types the order into an iPad. Dream nods, mostly to himself, and looks down as he reaches into his back pocket to grab his wallet.

When he looks back up, the man is in the middle of saying something to him.

Dream’s brows wrinkle.

“Can you repeat that? I can’t hear you.”

After he speaks and signs, Dream offers up his card, assuming the man just told him the total.

But the man visibly sighs and leans forward a bit, his mouth opening widely.

Dream focuses but only manages to make out the words “fries,” “double,” and “which do you want?”

“Um…” Dream licks his bottom lip. “One more time? Slowly, please.”

With a truly agitated face now, the man moves his lips again, but as Dream studies them, hoping to fill in the words he missed, instead new words are added and Dream finds himself stumped.

“Fries, yes. And singles, for the shots,” he guesses.

The man types something into his iPad but looks again at Dream with a growing look of irritation in his gaze. Dream looks behind him and sees a line of customers, before facing the man again, once again catching him in mid speech.

“Hold on,” Dream grumbles, settling the card down and digging through his pocket for the pen and paper. “Clearly I am deaf and raising your voice is not helping–”

Dream nearly jumps as Hob steps up suddenly to the counter, almost getting in front of Dream.

They exchange a few words before finally Hob nods and hands the guy his own card.

Dream stands silent, his pocket notebook in his hand and blinking slowly at Hob, who gives him a sheepish smile over his shoulder before nodding again to the man and taking both their cards back as well as the receipt.

They walk to the pickup counter without exchanging a word, meanwhile something begins to burn the back of Dream’s neck, prickling down his arms and coiling in his stomach.

Dream tugs on Hob’s arm as they settle next to the mobile vendor. 

“What just happened?” He doesn’t speak. Dream can’t find his voice right now.

Hob rubs the back of his neck, his gaze focused on something behind Dream.

“No french fries,” he signs without confidence. “Curly fries only.”

Dream blinks. The uncomfortable feeling in his gut tightening.

“Did you just order for me?”

Hob’s shoulders deflate, nodding.

Dream gapes like a fish for a few seconds, his eyes darting from Hob to the man that just took their order, and back.

“I don’t want curly fries. I hate curly fries. We could have gone to another vendor. You didn’t have to–”

Dream cuts himself off, balling his hands into fists and taking a long breath, closing his eyes, shaking his head.

Hob always did this. 

It took a while for Dream to notice, how if they were together, Hob would finish a conversation for Dream. Would speed an uncomfortable situation along with an interjection or provide unnecessary context with a stranger “He’s deaf, sorry…” without consenting with Dream first. 

When Dream realized Hob was doing this, he would go quiet, unsure whether or not to stop him or correct him in some way. Dream never knew exactly what to say. Did Hob think Dream was incapable of handling tricky conversations himself? Did he think Dream was a hassle?

When Dream opens his eyes Hob’s hands are out, placating, his eyes apologetic.

“Why do you do that?”

Hob blinks. “What?”

Dream’s heart rate is steadily rising, his fingers shaking slightly. 

“Make my decisions for me.”

“I didn’t realize I was,” Hob starts, his own signing gone fumbly. “I thought I was helping.”

“Yes. That’s the problem…” Dream starts, finally speaking again and letting his hands fall to his sides, his brain struggling to interpret correctly.

“What do you mean?” Hob asks.

“You don’t need to rush me out of an uncomfortable situation,” Dream starts again, his hands gesticulating uselessly. “If I’m communicating with someone whom I can’t understand, we can figure it out. They will learn. They need to learn.”

Judging by the way Hob is nervously looking around, Dream’s volume is surely rising. But he finds he doesn’t care.

“I’m not this thing you need to handle with gloves. Let me see a problem through until the end. No matter how long it takes.”

Dream is breathing heavily, he realizes, sucking in a gulp of air.

“Of course not.” Hob finally speaks, forgetting to sign. “I'm sorry.”

Hob’s eyes are welling up with tears and it somehow makes Dream more agitated, more words stumbling from his mouth without his permission.

“Then stop treating me like a burden!”

Dream turns and walks away. 

It’s foolish, and childish. And as Dream stomps away, his own vision becoming blurred with tears, he knows it’s not just this moment that’s made him snap. It’s the culmination of events from the past year of being fully disabled. He hates that he can’t hear. He hates this adjustment period. He wishes he’d been born deaf so at least this hurdle, this life change wouldn’t feel so mountainous. 

Dream wipes his eyes shamefully as his pace picks up to a run, pushing past people blindly. Regret screams in his bones with every step he makes, with every inch he puts between Hob and him. His chest aches with the urge to turn around and apologize, but he shouldn’t have to. He shouldn’t! 

Dream’s shoes clumsily connect with the dirt underneath him, his face becoming hot and, as he rounds the corner of an unoccupied stall, Dream collapses to the ground and allows the tears he’d been fighting back to fall freely, a sob choking in his throat.

He grips his hair as he cries, his face stuck between his knees. The past year flashes before Dream’s eyes, all of the hardships, the doctors’ visits, the fights with Hob. He didn’t deserve Dream. All of his kindness and patience and for what? For Dream to snap on a dime and expect too much out of him all at once? 

Dream groans loudly, agitated at himself for seeing the problem; him, and unsure how to change. He knows he has a right to his feelings, but communicating them was so difficult. He’s becoming impatient with himself, with his slow learning curve, with Hob’s complacency to stay in their safe little bubble and treat Dream like this breakable thing. 

Dream couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but his sobs had stifled down to sniffles, and by the time he felt a hand gently land on his shoulder, Dream was doodling shapes in the dirt.

His head snaps up and finds Jessamy staring back at him, her brows creased in worry.

“Hey…” She’s bent over, her hair falling in her face. “What’s wrong?”

Dream ducks his head, shaking it, officially feeling foolish for running away. The regret he’d felt for leaving Hob starts up again and he suddenly feels so scared. At this rate, Hob would break up with him. Surely he was getting sick of Dream’s dramatics, him lashing out.

“Hob and I never fought…” Dream starts, his hands moving sluggishly. “... when I was hearing.”

Jessamy plops on the ground in front of Dream.

“It’s me,” Dream continues. “I’ve become so… sensitive, since going deaf. I feel like, sometimes, Hob treats me like a child. Like he wants to wrap me in bubble wrap. It’s so infuriating– I’m not some helpless thing that can’t figure things out!”

“No, you’re not…” Jessamy starts, reaching a hand out and giving Dream’s knee a shake. 

“It is OK to feel like this. You’ve only been deaf for a year…” her brows come up encouragingly. “The transition is tough, but it will get easier, in time.”

Dream nods solemnly, tracing lines in the dirt again. Jessamy waves her hand to get his attention once more.

“And you’re not alone, you know.” She smiles gently. “You got me and Matty–” she huffs a laugh at the look Dream gives her. “... and the entire gang to support you.”

Dream knew she meant everyone at their d/Deaf meetups and offered her a small smile. She’s right, of course. Despite how withdrawn and antisocial Dream had been in the beginning, even now still creeping out of his shell, the people he’d surrounded himself with had been nothing but kind and accepting and willing to listen and connect in ways Dream hadn’t thought possible. 

“Hob is still around, too,” Jessamy interrupts his thoughts, her brows lifting knowingly. “That man loves you so much; you should see the way he looks at you– it’s disgusting.”

Dream manages to crack a real, genuine smile at that, especially with the way Jessamy is fluttering her eyelashes and putting on a spot-on impression of Hob’s puppy dog eyes. 

He pulls a hand through his hair and looks down again. Images of Hob’s easy smile flashing behind his eyes, his hands caressing Dream’s skin, his strong arms lifting him in a hug, his sweet lips tracing the lines of his jaw and ear, murmuring sweetness that Dream could no longer hear but feel instead. Could plainly see Hob’s devotion and affection in their everyday lives together, how he would always start the coffee in the mornings so Dream would wake up to the smell of it. How Hob would leave the hallway light on during the day so Dream would come home– late from work– and have something to see by. How he always offered to help with dinner prep, chopping veggies or stirring something, often using the excuse to crowd Dream against the counter and kiss Dream silly.

“That man would pull the moon down for you, I hope you know.”

He would, Dream realizes, swallowing thickly. And he would do the same for Hob.

Dream nods, wringing his fingers out as Jessamy continues on.

“Remember, this is a learning experience for him, too.”

Her painted nails move with perfect fluency, always slowly for Dream to understand. And as one thumb comes down from her forehead to meet the thumb on her other hand, Dream nods again, sniffling and wiping his eyes.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Her lips curl sweetly, gaze flicking sideways suddenly.

She nudges her head. “Speak of the devil…”

Dream looks too, and finds Hob approaching them.

He curses to himself, wiping his eyes with more urgency and catching the almost giggle that Jessamy makes.

“I’ll leave you two alone?”

Dream takes a steadying inhale, pushes his shoulders back, and makes a weak fist and nods it back and forth.

Jessamy stands just as Hob steps up to them, his eyes guarded yet hopeful. She makes a sign of texting before stepping around Hob with a clap to his shoulder.

Hob watches Jessamy leave before meeting Dream’s gaze again, but says nothing. His eyes never leave Dream as he crouches down and takes a seat next to him, leaning back against the wall.

Dream stares back, studying the lines of Hob’s face, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, which are shiny and puffy, like he’d been sobbing, too.

“I’m sorry,” Dream whispers, pushing a fist into his chest.

Hob sighs, his shoulders going with it. He speaks as he signs.

“I’m sorry, too.”

Dream shakes his head. “You’re always the one apologizing for my outbursts–”

“But you were right,” Hob interjects, his eyes pleading. “Dream, can I say something?”

Dream’s heart leaps into his throat, swallowing harshly. He nods.

“You need to tell me…” Hob’s gaze shoots up to the sky, as if searching for the words for his hands to convert. “... the first time, when I do something that makes you uncomfortable. So I can remedy it immediately.”

Dream takes a deep breath as Hob continues, his hands moving slowly but surely. 

“Don’t let bad things fester and build. Talk to me.” His hand comes to his mouth in a motion similar to how Dream explained on the couch months ago. “Communicate. If you don’t correct me in the moment, I’m bound to repeat it.”

He takes Dream’s hands, his thumbs tracing circles over the knuckles. 

“I want…” Hob awkwardly makes the simple motions with his hand still clasped with Dream’s, making him bite back a smile. “... to do this right.”

Dream takes another breath that rattles, his eyes prickling at the corners.

Hob’s eyes have gone watery, too, his smile lopsided.

“OK?”

Dream nods. “OK.”

Hob rises up on his knees just as Dream does, falling into each other. Dream squeezes his arms around Hob’s shoulders, tucking his nose into Hob’s hair and breathing in the scent of him, letting it envelop him and calm him.

Hob’s lips brush the skin behind Dream’s ear, pressing a kiss there, before he feels them move.

I love you.

[gabessquishytum]

Hob is happy serving up good food and feeding people comfort food from his truck -- he's not looking to be famous; Dream is a Michelin star judge who stumbles upon his truck and loves his food.

Dream is used to liking small portion tasting menus with ingredients sourced from yurts or dug up during an irregular moon cycle. Comfort food that "sticks to your bones" is not what Dream eats, even when he needs comfort!

Dream stumbles on this food truck when he gets lost looking for his car after having a forgettable meal at the hot new speakeasy concept that recently opened.

Eating/tasting is a job and Dream is so tired of his function. So when he hears music and people having fun, Dream figures he can at least ask someone where he is and/or get his bearings. What he see when he rounds the corner are people queued up at a funky painted food truck -- laughing, joking?! with someone who is making his food safety hair net look good, and happily eating. The smell hits Dream in the face -- it's so good.

When Dream makes it to the counter, he forgets that he needs directions, hot chef hairnet, is so pretty - engaging smile, the stereotypical tattoos on his forearms, soft doe eyes -- Dream is momentarily speechless. When the chef ask him what he wants, Dream says surprise me (the same Dream who always has a plan when he's eating for his job); he gets a roguish smile and a wink,,,,, and falls a little in love.

Then he tries the food he's handed falls all the way in love.

Oh, this hit me right in the soft spot!! Absolutely love it.

I can so imagine Dream being used to those nouveau cuisine dishes where you get like, a sliver of horseradish, one grain of rice and a sauce made from gold leaf. He thinks that he likes it, that he's reasonably content. But he's never looked at one of those kind of plates and smiled. Not the way he's smiling at the loaded paper plate Hot Hair Net chef just gave him.

He sits a little way from the truck and eats, slowly, carefully. There's pilau rice, delicious curry, veggies that are clearly fresh. Its warm and filling, and Dream can't quite finish it all. But he's still smiling.

And he still doesn't know where his car is. So he goes to the counter again. The gorgeous chef seems to be packing up for the day and he positively beams at Dream. "Back already? I was hoping I'd get a chance to feed you up, but I didn't think it'd be so soon."

Dream blushes and asks for directions, and Hob says that if Dream can wait a minute, he'll walk there with him. His car is over that way too. While Hob packs up, Dream dares to ask about his ingredients, and Hob absolutely lights up while he talks about where he sources his fresh stuff, how much he values his suppliers, and how excited he is to keep building his business. He's got dreams of a restaurant someday, although he dearly loves his truck - maybe he'll do both!

By the time Hob helps him find his car, Dream is absolutely ready to give his heart and soul over on a paper plate. There are spices zinging on his tongue, and Hob has taken off his hair net to reveal an adorable, sexy little man-bun. He's got measuring spoon tattoos on his hands. Dream wants him.

He's back the next day. And the next. He's driving out of his way to get to Hob. Nothing else tastes good. And when he finally, shyly asks if Hob would like to come over for dinner sometime, Hob lights up. "It's about time you cooked for me! I'd love it. And... I'll bring dessert."

When Hob winks at Dream this time, he follows it up with a kiss on the cheek. And Dream’s not hungry anymore. He's just thirsty 😉

[cuubism]

a small snippet of math au - elopement chapter

In part 3 of Math AU Dream rage quit the family group chat after Desire started making fun of Hob. More than a year later he finally rejoins just to drop this.

--

Monday, 7pm

Dream rejoined the group.

Dream

Behold.

Delirium

Omgggggggggggggggggggg 🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌

Desire

I’ll believe it when I see the marriage certificate Dream Wait is it for real still Hob??? That actually lasted this long????

Dream

Silence. I’m killing you in my mind.

Desire

I’m so scawed @ Death make him stawp 🥺

Death

This is news to me Wait when tf did this happen??

Dream

Today.

Despair

You can’t get married in 1 day There’s paperwork

Desire

Your favorite, bureaucracy

Despair

My favorite :)

Desire

So you’re not actually married YET Dream oh my god 🙄

Desire added Hob to the group

Desire

@ Hob IT’S NOT LEGALLY BINDING YET. STILL TIME TO BACK OUT BLINK TWICE IF YOU’RE BEING HELD HOSTAGE

Dream

🔪

Hob

🖕 Tell me you’re jealous without telling me :)

Hob changed Dream’s nickname to Hob’s Beloved

Dream changed Hob’s nickname to Most Gallant of Husbands

Desire

I’m literally throwing up in my mouth rn

Delirium

Aww it’s cute congratulations Dream! ✨

Most Gallant of Husbands

[ Selfie of Hob kissing Dream on the cheek ] [ Second image of their clasped hands both wearing wedding rings ]

Death

I’m happy for you both Dream come talk to me later about the logic of getting spontaneously married overnight

Hob’s Beloved

No ❤️ We are going to get cake. Goodbye.

[dradrianmilk]

I feel that theres a distinction between hob liking dream still despite him being Like That as being a moral highground where hes just like,, just an extremely empathetic Good Person Saint and hob liking dream bc hob is just fucking buckwild and hes just into whatever dream already has going on type of "i like watching him commit atrocities but if my consistent love (obsession) makes him more emotionally stable thats cool too i guess" like,, he wants dream to be happy but theres a "support womens WRONGS" trait in him where he would probably put up little to no fight if dream just wanted to be this just awful being.

Death or someone idk: dream has literally just become a swarm of locusts and is attacking london as we speak because someone gave your pub a bad review in the paper

Hob: but look at how good of a time hes having biting people and destroying things!!

Like this is nothing but shitposting and im not telling off anyone elses interpretation but theres something so great to me about hob having a bright curious personality but also he genuinely pats himself on the back for his restraint of only breaking the kneecaps of the dude who stole his parking spot and not full on draw and quartering the bastard

[kydrogendragon]

Hob stares down at the small medicinal tube in his hands. He has been staring at it now for nearly an hour, and the ripple of excitement still runs through him. He takes a breath and unscrew the cap. The scent hits his nose immediately, and it's not...unpleasant, not really, but it certainly is strong. He squeezes a small dollop onto the pad of his finger and presses it against the under-responsive scent glands.

He knows, from his doctor and testimonials on the internet and even from friends he knows that the effects aren't instant. It's a gradual process, one that will take time, and yet the moment the cream is absorbed into his skin, Hob just feels better. He feels right.

Hob screws the cap back on and sets it down on the sink, beside his toothbrush and razor, ready for daily use. He looks up into the mirror and smiles.

It takes less time than he expects for Dream to notice. He's now been two months on A as of last Friday, and he's starting to notice changes (finally!) Nothing major, mainly that his scent glands have gotten more noticeable—to him, that is. They've started to itch in a way they never have before. And his sense of smell has gotten sharper too. The first time, he caught a wiff of Dream's scent from inside the crowded bar and knew it was him? Hob was ecstatic. So it shouldn't come as too big of a surprise when Dream stares at him with an even sharper gaze than usual when he answers the door.

Hob stands, bag of take-out in one hand, and a copy of the extended Lord of the Rings movies in the other. Dream looks him up and down, his nostrils flaring. Hob wonders, perhaps a bit tok late, if his scent is finally beginning to change as well now.

"You..." Dream starts, then shakes his head. "Come in."

Hob blinks but steps through, making his way to their usual movie spot in the living room of Dream's flat. "Mrs. Chen tossed in an order of samosas for you again," he says, untying the thin plastic bag handles. He hears the telltale sound of drinks being prepared in the kitchen.

"Mrs. Chen is simply determined to fatten me up," Dream calls back. Hob chuckles as he sets out the containers of food, then sets the DVD case on the television stand.

While Dream's still preoccupied, Hob takes a moment and wipes his hand across his scent glands, and takes a whiff. It's stronger, perhaps, than usual, but it still smells like him, he thinks. Maybe he just stinks in general, and Dream was being polite and not saying anything. He has been sweating a lot more since being on HRT.

He hums and settles into his usual spot on the couch.

[Transition stuff. They're chatting/watching the movie, ect.]

"Have you started seeing someone?" Dream asks him right as the screen prompts them to put in disk two. Hob whips his head back to find Dream staring at him with that piercing gaze once more.

"No? Why?"

"Because you do not smell like yourself." Dream's eyes narrow. Hob's heart jumps in his chest. Shit. Maybe he's gotten a bit nose blind to his own scent.

"I'm not seeing anyone, I promise. I'd tell you if I was." Dream eyes him a moment longer before huffing and turning back to the screen.

"I am not a fragile thing, Hob Gadling," Dream says coolly. "I will survive if you have found a possible mate. It is not as if I am some—some charge you are responsible for, that if you leave, I will shatter. Despite what my sister might claim."

"Dream—"

"And if you have found an alpha you are happy with, then I will be... happy—" his tone is anything but "—for you. But you needn't lie to me when I can smell their scent all over you."

"Their scent..." Hob's hand trails up to his neck, palm resting just above his itching gland.

"Yes. You reek of it. It permeates from you as if you have drowned yourself in it." Dream stands, stepping towards the DVD player but not quite finishing the small journey there. "I will understand if you find yourself with less time for me because of it. It is only natural to want to spend time with the one that makes you happy," he adds on, voice smaller than before.

Hob stands and reaches out, grabbing a hold of Dream's arm. He tenses in Hob's hold but doesn't turn, nor does he pull away.

"Dream, I—There's something I need to tell you." Dream takes a deep breath in as if preparing himself for the inevitable. "I should have told you sooner, I just...I didn't know what you'd think.

"I'm not seeing anyone, that's true, but you're right. This scent you're smelling is new. Guess I've been nose blind to it lately. But it's not anyone else's. It's...it's mine. Well, my new scent, I guess. For this moment of time. It might keep changing, I'm not really sure."

Dream angles his head to stare at Hob from the corners of his eyes, his face confused. Hob smiles, though it doesn't reach his eyes. "I'm transitioning. To an alpha. S'why I smell different. And why a whole bunch of other things about me might soon be...different."

Hob waits. Dream just stares. He can practically see the gears turning in his friend's head.

"Why were you afraid of telling me this?"

Hob lets Dream's arm go and slots his hands in his pockets. He looks down as he speaks. "Dunno. I know after Alex—" Hob sees Dream's muscles in his leg twitch at the name "—you weren't...I thought..." Hob sighs, neck tensing as he struggles against the persistent nagging fear lodged in his chest. "I didn't want you to be afraid of me. I didn't want to scare you off or lose you because you couldn't feel comfortable around me anymore."

"Do you truly believe me to be so weak?"

"That's not what I meant. You're not weak, I've never thought you were weak, Dream. But you can be uncomfortable. I can count the number of alphas you're fine with in close quarters on one hands and three of them are your own family."

"And why would you think you would not immediately be added to that list?"

Hob inhales, breath catching partway. "I...I don't know. Didn't want to presume? Thought maybe you'd find my new scent unbearable or something."

Dream shakes his head. "You are a fool, Hob Gadling." He turns to him fully, eyeing him no longer with doubt or concern, but with a new hunger in his eyes. His nostrils flare again as he takes in Hob's scent properly. Hob smiles when he hears the quiet happy trill in Dream's chest.

"Acceptable smell then?"

"Quite," Dream replies, stepping closer. "In fact, it is possibly the best scent I've smelled from an alpha before."

Hob's heart sings as Dream calls him an alpha. It's the first time he's heard it from someone he knows, someone who's not a doctor or pharmacist. It feels good. Feels right. And then Dream's leaning closer, and Hob can feel his soft cheek against Hob's neck, and his body flares at the touch. Dream rubs his cheek against his skin, scenting him, letting their scents combine.

Hob takes a deep breath and is smacked by a nose full of Dream. It's intoxicating. It's rich and smooth like silk. And it's doing something to his mind that it never did before. His instincts scream at him, tell him to hold, to touch, to claim. His skin ripples with anticipation, and it's torture. And it's this that he was afraid of. That he wouldn't be used to the instincts that come with being an alpha, that he wouldn't be able to resist or wouldn't be used to stopping himself.

He steps back, pushing Dream back by his shoulders. His hands dig into Dream's shirt, and when he sees the hurt expression on his face, Hob wants nothing more than to pull him back close, to comfort his omega.

No. Not his.

"I'm sorry, I..." Hob grimaces as he drops his hands and wraps them around his chest as if it would somehow quell the utter need to bite and to mate. "I should go, I—I don't want to accidentally hurt you."

"What is wrong?"

Hob growls, heat beginning to rise in him "Fuck," he hisses. "I think it's a damn rut. Well. A pre-rut, technically. Not a true one but—" he's cut off as a sharp lance to his side causes him to gasp. He stpes back, falling into the couch. When he looks back up, Dream's eyes are dark.

"That is what I smelled on you. Rut. Or the start of it. No wonder your scent was so strong. Is this your first?" Dream closes the distance, standing between Hob's legs, which does nothing to help the deaire to pull him down into his lap and ravish him.

"Technically," he replies, breathing growing shorter. "It won't last as long, at least it shouldn't. Maybe a day max. But they'll start more frequently until I get my first actual rut." Hob growls once more as that lance of pain shoots through him again.

"Fucking hell," he yells. "Do your heats hurt like this?"

"Sometimes, yes. Though, it is easier if shared with a partner."

Hob squeezes his eyes tight as he rides out the wave of pain. "Yeah? Guess I'm shit out of luck then."

There are hands on his knees, slowly pulling his legs apart. When he opens his eyes, he sees Dream knelt between them looking predatory. "Not quite. I am here, after all."

Hob's breath catches in his throat. "Dream—"

"I know you do not want me for a mate, but it is not uncommon for friends to help one another through ruts and heats—"

"—the fuck do you mean I don't want you for a mate?" Hob cries, his hands cupping Dream's face. Clearly this was not what he expected Hob to say because Dream kneels there, blinking for a moment before continuing.

"You...do? Wish me as a mate?"

Hob laughs. Dream scowls, but Hob just leans forward and presses a light kiss to his forehead. "I've wanted you for years now, Dream."

[They figure their shit out briefly]

[Then Dream rides Hob like a goddamn professional bull-rider. Hob's never come so much in his life. And he even gets the barest hint of a knot going. Dream compliments it and tells Hob he fills him so well, that he can't wait to get Hob's final knot in him and how he looks forward to going on this journey with Hob as well.]

[lorastyrels]

some dead boy detectives headcanons:

charles loves it when edwin reads out loud to him, he’s totally content to sit around and have edwin read stories to him for hours at a time

edwin being nervous about very simple pda when they start dating; little things like walking together and holding hands, charles would have to coax him into by rubbing the back of his hand

charles pretends to sleep, just throws himself down on the couch while edwin is reading and closes his eyes even if he physically can’t sleep, edwin never complains

edwin writes down little questions to ask charles after they finish cases, modern things like what microwaves do and what online shopping is and charles is always happy to answer even if they can get a little weird

they take walks together, often at night when they’re not working cases. mainly because charles likes watching the living and how London comes to life at night but also because edwin's love language is time spent together while charles is physical touch

hob absolutely rents their office out for them, has probably run into them too many times in the past 30 years so keeps the place up to date. he also sends cases their way. they're two ghost kids he wants to keep safe and they remind him of himself and dream

edwin would rather hear about charles life when he was alive than tell charles about his own. he likes listening to charles talk about what he enjoyed when he was alive

their first kiss would be in the middle of some petty argument in a graveyard while they're on a case and crystal and niko are late so edwin is complaining about the living again and charles kisses him to shut him up under the moonlight

[wordsinhaled]

dream overworking himself and sulking and stressing everyone out in the dreaming until he basically gets sent on an enforced vacation, so he's all, well, i suppose i must go to the waking then. who do i know in the waking?

which of course results in dream showing up on hob's doorstep entirely unannounced, probably in the middle of the night too in true dream fashion, like, "i will be here a fortnight." and hob is all, okay, on the one hand, it is 3 in the morning and what the fuck, but on the other hand—delighted! this is lovely! this is amazing! because dream, who, miracle of miracles, just came back to him, is now back again and it hasn't been a hundred years, it's been a month. hob hadn't thought "come back anytime" would be taken with any sort of seriousness at all, and of course he's happy to open his home to dream (and also his heart, but he's very resolutely not thinking about that. at all)

so hob is all, "of course, love. my home is your home," totally also not dwelling on the fact that he's never actually called dream "love" before except in his head, and he ushers dream inside, and shows him around, and laments the fact that it's getting to be the middle of term so his flat is a bit of a mess. he gallantly offers dream his bed, no matter that his back is going to be protesting something fierce after two weeks of sleeping on the couch, it's dream, he should have the bed

and then hob remembers it's the middle of term and he actually has to work... he explains this to dream and assures him he'll try to be there as much as he can, and dream momentarily looks like hob's job had not occurred to him at all, but then adopts a look of utmost unaffectedness

hob told him my home is your home so dream just... hangs about in hob's flat while hob is at work. going through his refrigerator and trying all the random bits of things hob has in there, not because he actually needs to eat but because no one has offered him this type of hospitality before, their space, their home, and all the things in it. reading books from hob's bookshelves. talking to hob's plants. flicking through hob's vinyl collection; putting on random records. (incidentally, this is how he discovers glass animals...). drinking all the sparkling water hob has. feeling the dream-history of hob's presence in the space and in his possessions, and it feels almost like... being held by hob, even though that's never been something they've done

on the first night when hob wanders into his bedroom to use the bathroom at 1 am he learns that dream doesn't even sleep; he just sits up against the headboard and reads with the bedside lamp on or he literally... sits in the dark... and stares off into space, eyes glimmering faintly, like he can see things in the shadows that hob can't see

dream sticking his head out from beneath the blankets of hob's bed in the mornings, watching as hob meanders into the ensuite to shower before work and swears when he realizes that he's running very late for his first lecture. hob rushing out of the bathroom with just a towel around his waist and a hair-tie in his teeth. hob forgetting entirely in his haste that dream of the fucking endless is in his bed and is not actually averting his eyes. dream watching hob pick out his work clothes and making dry commentary; hob most assuredly not blushing about the fact that dream is unashamedly watching him get dressed from their bed like they're some kind of lovers when they're most definitely not that

hob comes home from work each day and his flat is slightly rearranged, but also marginally tidier than it was before, and he's a little taken off guard but also... he'd meant it that his home was dream's home and it warms a part of hob that's ached for far too long to mention to just... have dream here, to have evidence that dream has been here, even if it's temporary

hob also has to contend with the fact that apparently dream of the endless likes to go around barefoot in just skinny jeans and a t-shirt when he's neither centennial nor a stranger anymore, which is... a whole thing, a whole situation, dream's apparently got arms and a clavicle and ankles and lord... hob still remembers when dream had been buttoned up all the way to the throat centuries ago and looking at hob like hob was a fascinating specimen of insect pinned to a board, but now dream is here asking him about his workday and he has to focus on making dinner for them to regain some of his sanity about all of this

they watch a film together one evening a few days into dream's stay and at first dream is stiff on the couch but over the course of the movie he gradually relaxes into the cushions and the next time hob looks over dream's got his legs crossed and a throw pillow tucked against his chin resting on it and hob has a litany of i'm fucked i'm fucked i'm fucked just playing in his head because seeing dream for a few hours every century is one thing, but having dream in his home? having him just there? the first time dream laughs??? to have dream's coat hung up in his hall closet and his boots at the foot of the bed??? fucked

the two of them talking late into the night after the movie is over, until hob falls asleep and tips over onto dream, and he wakes himself up on the jarring boniness of dream's shoulder and the soft brush of dream's t-shirt against his cheek. hob opens his eyes to see dream's hand hovering over his head as though he'd been about to touch hob's hair, and he smiles before he can think better of it, and dream smiles, and it's so disarming... because now he knows what dream's smile looks like not just in the warm light of the new inn but also in the bluish light cast by the DVD pause screen in this small gentle moment - a tiny angular smile, so fleeting that looks like it exists just for this moment alone, but hob will remember it long after it's gone

hob also realizing dream said he would be here two weeks only so his time with dream is Finite, and reminding himself he should absolutely not get used to making breakfast for two people or to being able to just come home and tell dream things instead of jotting them in his commonplace book

dream realizing he likes being made breakfast, and he likes hob's little flat full of plants and books and music and old things lovingly preserved and curated. he likes hob's big bed covered in blankets and quilts and pillows. he likes the way the sunshine streams in through the windows of the flat. he likes the way hob makes his tea for him and the way the heat of the mug feels. he likes feeling not-alone even when he's by himself at hob's place because traces of hob are everywhere

dream realizing he likes hearing all the little things that happened in hob's day, even the things hob hesitates to tell him because he worries they're boring compared to the broad strokes highlights he used to give dream during their meetings every hundred years. he... likes... the way hob looks in the mornings, sleep tousled and yawning; and the way he looks focused and thoughtful when he's rehearsing a powerpoint presentation for a staff meeting; and he likes the way his voice sounds when he teaches zoom class; and he likes... a surprising number of things about hob gadling, really

to his immense surprise dream likes feeling like part of the human life hob gadling has built for himself

dream and hob both feeling like Something is Happening Here and not wanting to name what it is but also not wanting it to end. feeling like... something has happened but nothing even has happened, they've just been sort of... listing towards each other... and it's been no time at all but also feels like it's been all the time in the world

hob feeling upset with himself because once, he would have given anything to have two entire weeks with his stranger and now he feels like it wasn't enough. dream feeling reluctant to return to his responsibilities and unsure how such a short time around hob has unspooled him like this. it was supposed to be something that would ground and center him so that he could return to the dreaming and be his usual collected kingly self, and it has grounded him but perhaps... it has grounded him a little too much

I JUST NEED THEM TO BE DOMESTIC AND FALL IN LOVE .....glfkjlh AUGHHGHGHG

[deviantly-inspired]

Ok so I've seen the idea of food 'made with love' being what Dream enjoys most but I really think we, as a collective fandom, need to lean in more to the idea of it, actually.

We KNOW from the comics that Dream eats food; that he was starving after his freedom. But even though he's hungry, even in the waking world, he won't eat because there's been nothing but bad intentions and malice directed to him for over a hundred years. He's wary. Like a spooked horsed.

But Hob Gadling has always been so unashamedly fond of Dream, that it's... tempting. to indulge.

(it's more than tempting. He's already starving: for dreams for nightmares for softness for sharpness. Hob is the only person Dream knows that he would take any of it from. If Hob were to offer him poison then Dream would take it gladly, if only to have something to fill the void within him. How miraculous it is, then, that Hob would only every offer succor)

So maybe Dream stares at some home-made food that's being eaten on some picnic while they're about. And Hob needles him just a bit, trying to get some information. What all goes into being Dream of the Endless? And Dream enjoys their wordplay and games so he dances around answering but his gaze keeps going back to that soft little picnic, not too far. Hob steers the conversation towards intent, and Dream admits that, yes, he can sense the intent things are made with, before directing the conversation to something a little safer then the art of consuming.

(Dream would take and take and take and take anything that Hob would give him. Even poison. And would thank him for the malaise of it. It is safer, then, to not let even the hint of hunger touch his waking form.)

But Hob didn't get to over 600 by being a slouch on his academics. He's smart. perceptive. He knows people, and Dream is certainly a 'people' even if he's not quite a person. So he makes something simple, that night. A stew maybe, and thinks of his mother's care and simple wishes whispered to the cast iron. love and kitchen magic. Spells for healthy children and a meal that will fill for longer than it should. Hob wonders, to this day, if maybe she was some sort of real witch and not just the magic that all good mothers are. But he can't ask her so he whispers wishes into his potatoes and encourages the bone to seep fully- he's going to be all bones like you if you don't fill him up- and thanks the meat for it's part and imagines it sticking to the inside of whatever Dream calls ribs to keep him going for a bit longer than he might have otherwise.

(there's all sorts of magic in the world. most of it regular folks will never get to touch. but there is a type of magic, the oldest kind, that's alive and well even in the most scientifically inclined people.)

Hob presents this stew casually. There's no fooling Dream though. It's simple appearance does nothing to hide all that was poured into it. The way the vegetables sing of harbors and the meat dreams of comfort. How the broth simmers with comfort and fullness and broken bread over centuries. love thickens the whole of it into something that will last. Something that will stick and keep him full long past when he should be hungry. To fill the most ravenous parts of him. He wants to consume. He cannot.

I shouldn't, Dream says.

It's yours, Hob replies. I made too much anyway. Wouldn't want this to go to waste.

The idea of it wasting, left to rot, a gift returned, is abhorrent. Dream never claimed to abide by the mortal concept of good. He eats the stew, and then the second bowl and then the third. And hob is only too happy to give him more and more and more, until the pot is empty and, still, Dream starves.

I shouldn't, Dream says with his eyes locked on Hob's lips.

I'm yours, Hob replies. I've always been yours. There's enough of me to pour into you, however much you want for however long you want.

I will want you endlessly, Dream warns with what little strength he has. There is nothing in me that does not hunger. I was born of Night most of all and this means that I know what it is to be a black hole, i know what it is to consume everything, even light, and still never be full.

Hob smiles and leans forward and pours himself into Dream's mouth, all of himself, all that he can spare and then more and more and more. He tastes like lightening and warm broth and bread broken under starry skies. It tastes like every daydream Hob has had for 600 years. It tastes like the knowledge that this will last, sticking to the inside of his ribs warming from within bolstering against that which would sap the meat from your bones. It tastes like something that will last.

(the oldest magic across every universe is love, of course. but you knew that already.

All stories return to their original form, after all.)

[pandorem]

Obviously going feral over the Orpheus and Eurydice quote but also can’t get over the fact that Orpheus and Eurydice are real people in this universe. Like Orpheus is literally Dream of the Endless’s son. I don’t have anything insightful to say about it, even via stories repeating and reiterating and that being such an important theme in the Sandman universe and how some truths become stories and some stories are more than true etc etc.

Also now just thinking of Hob mentioning that people have given King Lear a happy ending and Dream saying that it won’t last because all the great stories will return to their original forms (Shakespeare was actually the one to change it to a tragedy, and yes Neil knew this when he wrote that line). Still nothing coherent to say, just about how Charles and Edwin beat the odds and just how much of Dead Boy Detectives is like… a rejection of the queer tragedy we’ve grown so used to. Saw some people groan and comparing it to the mess of Supernatural and superhell etc which is wild to me because it feels like a conscious commentary and rejection of it.

Like. Simon and his internalized homophobia landed both him and Edwin in hell and its both made clear that the in universe reason that they were there is not because they were queer but because of the ritual sacrifice/prank, but that the symbolic and writing reason is because of the internal and external homophobia that the world subjects them to, and it is Simon and Edwin recognizing each other and Edwin saying that the way they are does not mean they deserve to be there, that it doesn’t have to be torture, that gives Simon the way out of hell. It isn’t Edwin confessing that sends him back, a demon interrupts him from confessing. Edwin has to confess at the door back to freedom so he can leave all of that internalized poison behind him back in hell where it belongs.

This post got super away from me and maybe I’ll actually write something coherent about all of these themes one day but yeah. Charles and Edwin at the gates of hell defied the trends of two tragedies, one very very old, and one that (while building off of tragic stories that have been around for ages) is far more recent