#might expand might not

[enigmatist17]

Eh, just an idea that came to mind </3

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

He's on the Resolute when he opens his eyes.

Well, that shouldn't be even remotely possible, Rex knows for a fact he died on Yavin IV.

He knows he died.

"Rex? Is everything alright?" Shaking his head, Rex is grateful he's wearing his bucket when he turns to see Ahsoka, a young Ahsoka with so much life to her, looking up at him expectantly.

"I, yes, sorry." Rex somehow wills his voice to remain steady, and Ahsoka raises her eyebrow.

"Right...so, are we still going to train with Jesse or what? I'm hoping to get at least an hour in before Master Anakin forces me to try and sleep." The padawan rolls her eyes, missing the way Rex allows himself a shaky breath as he wordlessly follows Ahsoka down hallways that he traveled in his nightmares.

"Hey, what took you guys so long?" Jesse waved when the two entered, and Ahsoka hurried her pace into the training room with a grin. "Hardcase and I are betting who can take you down first, and I plan on winning."

"In your dreams!" Hardcase laughed, shoving him goodnaturedly as some of the other men watched their banter in amusement.

"For the record, he has gotten further than you." Dogma pointed out, and smirked when Hardcase looked betrayed.

"You have to step your game up, otherwise all those delicious ration packs might be eaten." Fives laughed from where he and Echo were arm wrestling, lamenting when Echo managed to take his momentary distraction to his advantage. "Kriff."

"What was that about never losing?" Echo grinned, the expression faltering when he looked behind Fives. "Captain, are you alright?"

Every set of eyes in the room darted over to the door just as Rex's knees hit the floor, and the playful energy in the room vanishes as Ahsoka is the first to reach his side. He can hear her talking to him, but the ringing in his ears drowns over every word as small fingers probe him for injuries that aren't there, skin devoid of the scars he would come to earn later in his life. Kix is kneeling in front of him now, and Rex jerks back when the medic tries to lift his helmet off, scrambling to his feet and away from the mass of soldiers who were extremely concerned at seeing their captain acting out of the ordinary.

"Captain, talk to us." Fives approaches him with his hands raised, and Rex wants to joke about not being some scared animal, but every word he could have said just seem to get stuck in his throat as he just stares. "Please, let us help."

"I..." He sounds like he's been screaming for hours, and motions for Fives to step back as he regards the people in front of him.

"Hey, is everything alright in here?"

The universe stops as Rex turns ever so slightly to look at the other entrance to the training room, and has his blasters out and pointed before he can even blink.

"What the hell is going on?!" Jesse hissed, everyone remaining still as if the slightest movement could trigger Rex to fire. "Are you out of your mind Rex?!"

"Rex, buddy, what are you doing?" Anakin holds both of his hands up, staring back at the man who has both blasters focused directly at his head. While the Jedi might not be the best shooter, he knows when someone is aiming to kill, and more so when they're terrified of their target. The raw fear and anger spilling into the Force from Rex could probably be felt all the way to Coruscant, and Anakin can only wonder what's changed in the last hour since they had successfully completed their latest campaign.

"Stay right there." Rex nearly spits out the words to Anakin, and the Jedi doesn't move a muscle as Rex takes one step forward.

"Rex, talk to us." Ahsoka darted forward before anyone could protest, putting herself directly between Rex and Anakin. "We won't hurt you!"

"He would." The anger is gone from his voice, but his stance hasn't faltered for a moment as he readjusts his aim around her. "Move Ahsoka."

"No, I won't let you hurt Master Skywalker." She stood firm, and Rex finally looks away from Anakin down to her, and the sorrow that suddenly traveled through the Force nearly had her step back.

"Rex...what's happened to you?" Anakin doesn't flinch when Rex looks back up, just keeping his stance as calm as possible. "You can always talk to me about anything."

Rex shakes his head, and drops his arms with a strangled noise no one in the room had heard before, his guns clattering to the floor as he sinks back onto his knees. Ahsoka once again kneels in front of him, and Rex doesn't fight her as she reaches up and removes his bucket, revealing a tear-stained face heavy with loss and exhaustion.

If someone had looked at Rex earlier in the day, he would not be the same man now openly showing his sorrow in front of them, as if he'd been carrying a burden for a long time.

"Rex, talk to us." Echo kneels beside his commander, feeling dread at the way Rex looks at him with a pained expression.

"We lost everything."

The Resolute stands motionless in her post as every single clone aboard is ordered to the hangar, to be addressed by Captain Rex.

He talks to them for hours and tells them of the future, a future he had died as the last clone from the army that had once stood as millions strong. How they were all created to be one thing, a weapon to wield against the Jetti, and bring about an end to the Republic they fought for so dearly. His voice breaks when he speaks of the day they all turned against their Jetti, of how he and Ahsoka became one of the last of the surviving 501st because he had headed Fives' warning and fought against the weapons inside their heads. Rex tells them of the Empire that rose from the ashes of the day they had their free will torn from them, how clones either served and died under the Empire, or were tortured and killed by the same. He speaks of their numbers dwindling in such a short time, until finally, he was the only one left, the only one who had helped bring the Empire to its death.

Rex is staring at Anakin when he speaks of the way he was manipulated by Palpatine, the Jedi looking horrified when he learns he became a Sith that killed too many innocents to mention. Rex is staring at Ahsoka when he speaks of the Rebellion that she helped build, and is haunted when he speaks of the day she died in his arms.

Rex isn't standing by the end, his voice hoarse as he's slumped against Fives, just speaking about everything vital until he finally goes silent. He watches as Kix and the medics all but vault for the exit, and Rex can breathe in relief when he knows that the chips will be found within minutes.

Rex is left with the Jetti alone in the hangar when the men filter back to their posts, all awaiting their turn to be seen by the medics. Ahsoka is hugging him as tight as she can, feeling so horrified and lost at what they had learned, and wanted Rex to feel that he wasn't alone again. Anakin is sitting by his side, one hand on Rex's shoulder, and the other holding up his lightsaber as he stares at it, suddenly finding his weapon fit more for an executioner rather than a Knight.

"Keep it." Rex's voice is barely above a whisper, and Anakin looks at him. "You're a symbol."

"No...not with what you told me." Anakin was a monster, so blind to trust Palpatine, who was using him rather than actually caring for him.

"You have time, use it." Slowly, Rex places his hand on the hilt, and with a hum, the familiar blue blade slides out. "You are a good Jedi."

"I promise to stay that way, I promise." Anakin puts his other hand over Rex's, and for the first time since he had to watch his own brothers die so long ago, Rex feels something.

Hope.

[anunfortunatekinlist]

jegulus is shitty drarry, send tweet

[imagine-shenanigans]

thinking about you going up to three broad shouldered men in a bar because your crazy ex/some random creep/etc is following you and you beg them to pretend they know you. You slide into the empty space at the table theyve commandeered and right as the other guy comes up a scary looking big motherfucker with a balaclava and eyeblack slots himself right in next to you. You press yourself into his side when the creep comes up and you call Ghost your boyfriend, and Ghost (as you later learn to call him) grabs your hip possessively, tucking you in closer.

He doesn't let you go, later, when the creep fucks off. Instead, he slips your phone out of your pocket and puts his contact inside. Texts himself and slips it back into your pocket while making eye contact. Blows smoke in your face and snorts when you wave it away, huffing at him and sticking your cute little tongue out at him.

You have fun with the military men that night, Ghost even walks you home to feel safe. You wake up the next day, happy to be safe and sound, and go about your day. Forget all about Ghost for awhile, because he never texts you first.

Weeks later, youre in the middle of your kitchen when he walks in, a copy of your key in his hand. Slots himself in behind you and rests his chin on your head even when you panic and claw at him.

What? He's home now, came home to you, his partner. Just like you wanted, right? You wanted him, now you've got him.

[livwritesstuff]

i went on a deep dive of the Steve & Hopper ao3 tag yesterday and and it got me thinking about what would happen if Chief of Police Hopper ran into Steve and Eddie while he was on patrol after pseudo-adopting Steve, and it’s been long enough that Hopper is sort of a safe-person for Steve so Steve goes into full-fledged bitch mode when Hopper tries to pull cop stuff on them, and Eddie (who knew about none of this because Steve is a chronic under-sharer) is so totally baffled.

He’d spent years watching Steve sweet-talk his way out of trouble. Even before they started hooking up it used to drive Eddie goddamn insane, because if (when) Eddie pulled any of this shit Steve gets away with, he’d be totally screwed, but all Steve has to do is flash a sheepish grin and run a hand through his hair once or twice and say, all baleful, “I really didn’t mean any trouble,” and he’s home free.

It has its perks though, or so he's learned during his last few months of hanging around with Steve, so when Steve and Eddie’s make-out session is interrupted by the tell-tale red and blue lights of a cop car pulling up behind where Steve parked the Beemer a few hundred yards down a maintenance road, Eddie’s not all that worried. In fact, he’s got a pretty good amount of faith in Steve’s ability to spin up some story to keep them out of any real trouble, and as Chief Hopper ambles over to them, Eddie prepares himself for a whole show of, “Yes Chief, sorry Chief, it won’t happen again Chief.”

So imagine Eddie's complete and utter surprise when Hopper barks, “Hey, morons! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” and Steve only rolls his eyes and says, “What’s it to you?”

Eddie feels his jaw drop.

“Steve,” he mutters through gritted teeth. He tries to elbow Steve into shutting the hell up, but he misses because Steve has already taken several steps forward to meet Hopper, his face turned up in a kind of defiance Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever seen on him before.

“What’s it to me?” Hopper repeats, glowering at Steve, “It’s midnight. I’m on patrol. You’ve got one of the most recognizable cars in this entire damn town parked in a restricted-access zone with this idiot–” Hopper gestures at Eddie (Eddie didn’t think the pointing or the idiot were necessary, but clearly, clearly, he’s missing something here), “–who’s been dragged into my station more times than I could count.”

“The town line, Hop, is over there,” Steve says, pointing at an indiscriminate spot over Hop’s shoulder that may or may not be part of the Hawkins town line, “We’re not even in Hawkins anymore. You’re totally out of your jurisdiction.”

“You wanna know something about jurisdiction, smart-ass?” Hopper asks, “If my report says shit happened in my jurisdiction, it happened in my jurisdiction.”

“Wow,” Steve deadpans, “Way to not sound totally corrupt. Nice work, Chief.”

Hopper’s jaw twitches for a second, and he’s clearly debating if he wants to keep arguing with Steve who, to Steve’s credit, looks like he’s got debate in him for days. Ultimately though, Hopper decides against it and stalks back over to his squad car.

“If you’re not home by one there’s gonna be hell to pay. You hear me, Harrington?” Hopper yells, “One AM. Hell to pay.”

“Oh, sure,” Steve rolls his eyes, “Totally hear you. One AM. Loud and clear or whatever.”

Steve flips the cruiser both birds as it peels away, which Hopper only flashes his high beams at a couple times before he’s gone, kicking up a bunch of dirt and mulch and leaves in his wake, and Steve is wearing an exasperated expression as he turns to face Eddie again.

“God, he’s so annoying. Let’s just go to my house.”

Eddie gapes at him.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Huh?”

“What the fuck was that?” Eddie repeated, gesturing wildly towards where Hopper’s car had just been.

“Wha– you mean with Hop?”

“Uh, yeah?!?”

Steve just brushed him off, “Whatever, just ignore him. He’s basically my dad.”

“What?”

[the-palelady]

what if you’re the wife of a criminal, a man who deals with the cartels. and somehow you get thrown into the mess of it all. he keeps you tucked away, hidden from the prying eyes of the outside world.

until a group of men move in across the street. they seem to come around quite often, but your husband is so strict, so desperate to keep you hidden up in your tower, that you never see them, or anyone for that matter.

and then one day you’re out in your garden, the only place you find solace. the years of trauma you have had to endure built you to be cautious, the snap of a twig and very quiet rustle of the bush beside you making you move fast.

but ghost was faster.

he grabs you in an instant. his grip is tight and yet somehow reassuring you think.

“shh…husband doesn’t need ta know i’m here. be quiet fa me, yeah?”

after that he secretly comes around, learns your husbands schedule just so he knows when he can come see you and for how long.

he tells the team about these visits of course, vowing to get you out of the war your husband has drug you into.

[ovegakart]

thought of a funny crossover. my friends told me that it was cute. what if link got adopted by the tennysons

[baazsreverie]

late nights w/ sebastian when you cant sleep, so he wraps his arms around you, snuggly settling his tail against your back to push your closer to his chest.

"what're you so bugged about? it’s been almost an hour. you can relax around me, you know?”

he’s chuckling like it’s some sort of joke to him, but his heart's practically pounding in his chest, resonating with your own. your cheek smushes above his heart, shutting your eyes once your body lulls down, thanks to the rhythm of his heart; and enjoying the feeling of sebastian against you, no matter how cold he may be. your heat passes onto him anyway.

“... like that.” his voice is so soft, you wouldn’t even be able to hear it if you weren’t up against him right now. “just stay close.”

“please.”

[milesofstars]

this is dedicated to all the people upset about jason in my last art post (heart emoji)

[osteochondraldefect]

fun fact the file name for this is "type of bitch to say ill give you something to have a panic attack about"

[tizeline]

So I've already established that AU Leo has a tendency to abuse his portaling abilities to just go and explore a bunch of places, including New York, which leads to him stumbling across Run Of The Mill several years before he does in canon. And of course he loves the place, the food's great, the Maze of Death is good for training and he gets to hang out with Hueso! Hueso does not enjoy Leo constantly showing up to bother him when he's trying to work, but it's not like he can just kick him out. This is one of THE Baron Draxum's sons, Hueso is already in trouble with yokai law-enforcement and the last thing he needs is more enemies. (And no, he does not have a soft spot for Leo, what are you talking about)

Anway that's all fine and dandy, until two particular individuals happen to stumble across the restaurant....

Similar to in the show, some time after Donnie's first encounter with the Draxum family, him and April find Hueso's restaurant as well and starts to frequent the place. And considering Leo's a regular, well, it's not long until they happen to visit at the same time and uh-

This happens pretty soon after Donnie first reunites with his brothers, but they've encounteredeach other a couple of times in between then and now, which means that the Drax Trio have had time to come to terms with the fact that Donnie is not planning on joining their team any time soon. And while they want to change that, they realize that for the time being he is currently an enemy. Mikey and Raph are still pretty hesitant to fight him, but Leo and Donnie pretty early on established a "fight each other on sight" dynamic, because of course they did.

All of this is to say, as soon as they lay eyes on each other in the restaurant, they immidietly start duking it out! Hueso understandibly does not appreciate such a ruckus in his fine establishment, so out of respect for Hueso the twins agree to avoid any fighting in the restaurant specifically.

Now, you would think that at least one of them would have the common sense to just avoid the place, but they're both stubborn and petty AF and so Leo and Donnie keep running into each other there! And they do respect the no-fight-rule.... to a certain extent. The rule was specifically for physical fights and says nothing about verbal ones! So every time Leo and Donnie run into each other they keep insulting each other to provoke the other into attacking them, which would lead to that twin getting kicked out and hopefully banned for life!

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru

TW: forced relationship, murder of spouse

gn reader

Just thinking about how it would be the most yandere Gojo-thing to do to fight for your hand – knowing no one can beat him – even though you don’t even want him in return.

You’re happy with your man, but along comes Gojo, inviting the poor guy to fight for the right to have you. 

At first, you tell Gojo to fuck off – obviously – but the more imposing and threatening Gojo becomes, the more you understand that he’s serious – that he’ll kill the guy.

And your man is all ready to die for you – so you’re stuck between begging Gojo to have mercy and begging your boyfriend to let you go – that you’d rather he live than lose him.

And Gojo’s just so petty and jealous and grossed out by the lovey-dovey scene that he ends up killing the guy anyway. 

Claiming his win.

[juuuulez]

carmy and his girlfriend who’s a celebrity chef

maybe you won one of those reality cooking shows and skyrocketed in popularity. a steady social media following, featuring on ads, before eventually getting your own daytime television show. it’s something cute, where you where a nice little outfit and apron, showing the viewers how to make restaurant quality dishes from home.

of course carmy knows who you are. it’s his job to know the local talent, and yeah, maybe you being so fucking pretty certainly helps. it’s a stupid crush, really. just someone attractive on his instagram feed, someone who also happens to be an amazing chef, and just has the sweetest, most welcoming smile.

your face has been printed out and taped next to a list of names to be aware of, different people of importance who’s opinion of the bear would be crucial. all the wait staff has been heavily trained for such an occasion.

but that doesn’t mean they’ll behave.

because when richie spots you? it’s over. he knows about carmy’s little crush, thinks it’s fucking adorable. plus, eva likes watching those cooking shows, you’re pretty good.

you’ve had a lovely meal, some wine, and find the conversation with him to be pleasant. it’s always flattering when the staff knows who you are, makes you feel a little less weird for dining alone. but richie being richie invites you back into the kitchen, and you being you, absolutely fucking loved that idea.

and you do try to stay out of the way, coat wrapped tight around your body as you step through the pass, making sure to look over the staff’s shoulders and not distract them. but carmen? oh, he has lost it. any sense of coherence has gone out the window, because what? you’re in his restaurant, in HIS kitchen?

you be polite and introduce yourself, offering out a nicely manicured hand for a handshake. carmen stares at it for a moment, before kicking into action, frantically wiping his palm on his apron to accept it.

and when you tell him your name? he says:

“i know.”

it takes you aback for a moment, brows raised in surprise at how blunt he’d been. carmy has enough sense to clock that his reply was strange, for he’s backtracking, trying to save the interaction.

“no, no, i mean— i mean, yeah, i know. you’re on, um, those ads, yeah? for the fucking.. the fuckin’, uh, french cookware.” he practically rambles.

it’s cute, so, so utterly cute. you save the conversation by complimenting the meal and how lovely the experience here has been, which has carmy flustered and red in the face. you decide not to torment him anymore, allowing him to get back to work and the kitchen return to its usual pace.

which, for the record, does not happen. carmy’s flow has been ruined for the night, unable to stop thinking about his embarrassing word-vomit.

it’s okay, though.

on the bill you leave a generous tip.. and your phone number, addressed to “that cute chef.”

[shapelytimber]

I was possessed to sketch some of my favorite stardew valley (+expanded) characters today :)

And since I am predictable, here is the wizard and Marlon... But with Morgan ! Because they are very cute and I love them a lot

Next is Shane and Marnie :D

Shane is such a good character, but not as a love interest imo gjkffkkf just let my boy go to therapy- and Marnie is a silly lady and I think she's neat. The quest were she want a cave carrot to teach her goats how to say hello ? Unhinged behavior 10/10

[COMMISSIONS]

[respectfullytrash]

[soupfather]

Cafe au doodles

[landwriter]

Hi! I hope you feel better soon!

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

“I cannot believe you broke the mirror.”

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

Before you decide to adopt him too.

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

He wondered what they saw when they looked at him.

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charles waggled his eyebrows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

Their cheeks both looked wet.

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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