#otp: there was happiness because of you | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

supermarine-silvally · 5 months ago

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Hey Hadley! I know I could ask you this in our DMs, but I’m asking it here in case anyone was wondering the same thing.

Since you did a Ice Hockey x Ice Skater Portada AU, what do you think a Mafia Portada AU would entail?

A mafia Portada AU?? Your mind is BRILLIANT asdhjkdfsd I LOVE a good mafia AU omg

Below the cut because this got loooooooong (sorry the formatting is weird, tumblr wouldn't let me directly copy/paste it from the doc)

Send me a Portada AU and I'll write some headcanons/plot points for it!

Ace is the son of the former King of the Criminal Underworld, Gol D. Roger, who was caught and executed before Ace’s birth. Like canon, he resents his birth father, especially for all the pressure it put on him and his mother all his life (yes, Rouge is alive in this AU. You’re welcome). Rouge would’ve preferred to keep Ace out of the mafia life, but wasn’t surprised when he formed his own gang and decided to rise up in the world to rid himself of his hated father’s legacy.

A young but undeniably talented upstart, Ace decides to move in on the territory of Edward ‘Whitebeard’ Newgate of the Whitebeard Family, a mafia don who was an old rival of his father’s. Though he has no biological children of his own, Whitebeard has a massive family linked to him through loyalty. Many men have sworn their allegiance to him and treat him like a father figure. He affectionately refers to all his underlings as his ‘sons’, and they call him ‘Pops’ in turn.

I said Whitebeard doesn’t have any biological children, but he does have an adopted daughter, Yara, who was abandoned shortly after birth. He found her when she was a child, on the run from cruel foster parents, and took her in, legally adopting her and raising her as his own. She is his sweet precious little princess and he treats her like his most prized possession. Though as a woman, Yara can’t participate formally in the mafia life herself, she often advises her father and works behind the scenes to keep the Whitebeard Family running.

Like in canon, Ace and the Spade gang get a little too bold and end up essentially challenging Whitebeard to a fight. Whitebeard’s men apprehend them easily, even after Ace stays behind to let the others escape. Whitebeard is so amused by this snot-nosed brat and finds it admirable that he chose to save his friends’ lives over his own (a very atypical trait for a mafia leader wannabe) that he decides to bring Ace and the Spades back to his hideout. His medical team treats their injuries, and when Ace wakes up, he meets one of Whitebeard’s ‘commanders’, Thatch, who explains to him what happened.

Ace realizes that he lost the fight and now he’s essentially Whitebeard’s hostage, though he still demands to fight Whitebeard. That is when the door to the makeshift medical clinic opens, and in walks the most beautiful girl Ace has ever seen. He is just. Absolutely dumbstruck. Barely able to get a word out when she speaks to him. Thatch takes the opportunity to tease him about his attraction (“You know that’s the boss’ daughter, right?”), enjoying how Ace blushes and trips over his tongue whenever Yara is in the room.

Finally, once he has recovered enough, Ace is brought in front of Whitebeard, who is still amused by all the fight left in this young upstart. Impressed with the small but effective operation Ace had going as well as how loyal his men were towards him, Whitebeard (who is known for taking promising young gangs under his wing) then proceeds to make Ace an offer he can’t refuse: “Swear your loyalty to me and fold your operation under mine. In return you will become my son, and I will support you. And to formalize that process-- to seal the deal-- I will give you one last thing: My daughter’s hand in marriage.”

Both Ace and Yara are shocked by this. Yara wasn’t consulted beforehand, but she trusts her father and agrees to the match, even if a bit reluctantly. Ace is very surprised Yara agreed, and decides to accept the offer as well.

Ace spends lots more time with the Whitebeard Family in the weeks that follow, growing attached to them and rising through the ranks quickly to reach the promotion to a ‘commander’ role. His men are all assimilated into the Whitebeard Family’s ranks and find themselves quite at home. Even Rouge is given her own living quarters and protection.

Ace is actually quite shy around Yara at first. She’s very emotionally closed off and though she performs the support role that any fiancée of a mafioso is supposed to, her heart isn’t in it and he can tell. He feels terrible about the situation, reaching the conclusion that she never would’ve chosen to be with him willingly.

He goes to his mother to ask for help, and Rouge is just like “You dummy. Have you ever tried to get to know her outside of mafia-related things? Take her on a picnic. Spend some time with her. You just need to get to know each other.” (She can’t imagine anyone NOT falling in love with her son once they get to know him).

So he just… takes Yara out for coffee. Through gentle coaxing, he finally gets her to begin to open up to him. She tells him about how she was abandoned, and how she doesn’t know her parents (though it is suspected that her mother was a now-deceased daughter of a yakuza family), and how Whitebeard took her in when she had nowhere else to go. In turn, Ace finds himself opening up about his own struggles, especially around his father. To his surprise, Yara (who didn’t even know who his father was until this point), reassures him that it doesn’t matter to her who his father was, and that he shouldn’t be judged for whatever crimes his father committed.

They start to do more things together. Ace even helps Yara track down her biological father using his mafia contacts. Yara begins to smile more, and Ace finds himself getting super excited to see her at the end of his long, intense days of organized crime business. He’ll come back to their apartment with blood on his suit and a bouquet of roses like “Honey, I’m home!” (Yara deep-cleans his suits when they get dirty, and gives him a good scolding about being more careful each time).

As the wedding date approaches, Ace decides that he doesn’t want to force Yara into marrying him, and tells her that he’ll tell Whitebeard to break off the engagement. Much to his surprise, however, Yara begins to cry, thinking that Ace is rejecting her because he doesn’t want her anymore. Panicked, Ace admits the truth: that he loves her more than anything, but he doesn’t want to force her to be with him if she doesn’t truly want to be. She, however, reassures him that she does, and he comes to the realization that she actually loves him too. Elated, Ace proposes to her on the spot, which Yara tearfully accepts.

The wedding-- like all weddings of high-ranking mafia members-- is grandiose. Whitebeard insisted on only the best for his sweet daughter and his new ‘son’. It’s a show of power on his part, too. Ace and Yara don’t care much for the extravagant nature of it, however. As long as they’re together, they’re happy.

In the months that follow, Ace takes on more and more responsibilities, his reputation in the underworld growing. He can be ruthless to his enemies, but all he wants at the end of the day is to curl up in his (well-fortified) apartment with his beloved wife, who always greets him with a gentle smile and a kiss. Yara isn’t allowed to participate in any mafia meetings, but Ace always fills her in anyways, valuing her intelligence and thoughtfulness.

When the couple learn that they are expecting their first child, Ace is over the moon. He does get a little more paranoid, though, worried that his enemies may try to target his wife and baby, and has extra security posted around the apartment complex. Almost a year after their wedding, Yara gives birth to their son, Shiro. With a little family of his own, Ace has never been happier.

One day, Whitebeard confesses to Ace that his illness has taken a turn for the worse, and he won’t be around for much longer. Through his marriage to Yara, Ace is now the heir apparent of the Whitebeard Family. Whitebeard admits to Ace that he’d been ill for quite some time and was looking for a successor. He found him a promising candidate, and decided to test his resolve by offering him that which was most precious to him-- his daughter. Had Ace treated her cruelly and abused his power, Whitebeard would’ve had him killed, but he suspected that that wouldn’t be the case, and he was right. Whitebeard had also been under pressure from other mafia families with eligible sons to marry his daughter off to them, but Whitebeard didn’t trust them and wanted to find someone he knew Yara would be safe with, and who would cherish her as more than just a bargaining chip.

Ace succeeds Whitebeard and ushers in an era of unprecedented prosperity for the Whitebeard Family. As per their canon, Ace and Yara have five children together and live happily for the rest of their days on top of a vast and sprawling criminal empire.

#oc: bravada yara #ship: portada #otp: i'd burn the world for you #asked and answered #my ocs #they get a happy ending while being notorious criminals this time around #i'm sure there's lots i didn't think of so feel free to add more/suggest anything else!#i don't have ace trying to kill whitebeard here because i don't think that would be tolerated in the mafia world lol

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nobody-is-evil · 2 years ago

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Hob Gadling and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week

but cheer up, Hob. You get a Dream out of it!

Alternative Title: In Which Destiny Gets Tired Of Two Idiots Dancing Around Each Other And Does Something

This is for the Jan prompt Fake Dating for @yearoftheotpevent. Also fulfills another prompt, but I’ll leave that a mystery :D.

Thanks to @wolfe-marvin (hope I got the right person) for being my beta!

I’ll crosspost this on Ao3…soon. Before the end of January. Would love it if I got constructive criticism in the meantime!

Hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it.

Mary’s party was okay.

Hob probably should’ve had nicer things to say about his friend’s party, especially a friend he’d known for years now, but the truth was that he wasn’t feeling it. He wasn’t feeling the board game room, or the table tennis tournament, or even the room where everyone was watching the news, waiting for the countdown to start. He wasn’t really feeling...

People. Hob laughed at himself as he headed for an unoccupied balcony. He was socially exhausted. Probably should’ve realized earlier, what with over six hundred years of experience. What he wanted was to be alone.

Well. Not alone, per se. He’d be fine with the company of one other, as long as that one other was his oldest Friend. They’d increased the frequency of their meetings, but even so, Hob hadn’t been able to get a meeting to land on New Year’s Eve. Instead, they were meeting tomorrow, so it was all he could think about (not that he wouldn’t be paying full attention to his Friend if he was here).

The new year likely didn’t have any significance to his Friend. Hob had been around for many, many years, his Friend likely even longer, and today’s party was just minuscule compared to the gigantic parties he’d been to for each turn of the century, especially 2000.

That didn’t mean this year couldn’t be significant. He’d seen his Friend several times in the past year, and they planned to meet many more times this year—that was pretty significant already to Hob. He should make a New Year’s resolution about his Friend.

I will confess to my Friend.

But was that too fast? It took him centuries to get his Friend to admit they were friends, and Hob still didn’t know his name.

At the same time, with only one day of meeting over the centuries, it technically only took him seven days to achieve it.

The fact that Hob was in love with his Friend was kind of pathetic either way, but he could probably pretend it only happened after their more frequent meetings started, and then, once he knew his Friend wasn’t going to run away, he could tell him.

Besides, it was a resolution for the whole year. He didn’t have to do it the next time he saw his Friend. He could wait a month. Or two. Or several. It wasn’t like he didn’t have time.

“Robby! What’re you doing out here all by yourself?” Mary sounded genuinely confused, and Hob didn’t blame her. Without any context, he’d think his behavior was strange, too. “It’s almost time!”

“Oh, is it? Can’t miss that!” With a bright grin, Hob slung an arm around her shoulder and led her inside as if he’d been the one retrieving her.

As she said, the countdown was in the final stretch. Everyone had packed into the biggest room, leaving barely enough room to breathe, let alone add two more people, but Hob powered through to reunite Mary with her best girl friend. Once he’d done that, he backed out to the nearest wall, taking whatever bit of space he could.

The countdown hit zero. While everyone was cheering and kissing their partners, Hob imagined kissing his Friend.

———

Hob woke to the disorientating feeling of split-second freefall before landing heavily on a hard surface with a thump. He groaned. Where did the meadow go—oh, wait.

Now, he was awake and remembered what happened. Parts of it, at least. He distinctly remembered the feeling of annoyance that came with having to flee from a woman (a friend of a friend of a friend?) who wouldn’t leave him alone. That had been at a party, Mary’s party for the new year. Everything else was just flashes.

He was hungover, he knew that much, though he didn’t feel as bad as he would expect after blacking out for most of the night, falling asleep on the couch, and then falling off the couch.

Hob narrowed his eyes at a familiar presence. “Friend?” he asked as he pushed himself up off the ground.

Those gorgeous eyes—

His Friend was, indeed, there, looking down at him. At his silence, Hob got the impression that his Friend had said something that Hob somehow missed. When asked to repeat himself, his Friend said, “I have a request.”

“And I’d love to hear it, if you give me some time to freshen up.” He started to head to his bedroom before pausing. “How long have you been here?”

His Friend replied in monotone, “I was here when you arrived.”

“Since I came home?” Hob repeated with no small amount of surprise. At his Friend’s nod, he asked, “Why?”

“It is...an important request. Important enough to wait for you to be sober.”

“Okay...” His Friend had never asked anything of him beyond their deal for him to tell his experiences. Hob was unsure as to what else he could do. “I’ll be quick, then.”

True to his word, Hob showered, changed, and did everything else to freshen up within the next fifteen minutes. “Okay!” he called as he went in search of his Friend, “What did you need?”

He found his Friend sitting on the couch Hob had been sleeping on, inspecting the tv remote. His Friend quickly set it down and stared at Hob as he sat down in a chair across from him.

I’ve been the subject of my Friend’s gaze before, but that wasn’t after he showed up unexpectedly, after he apparently took care of me while I was blackout drunk, after he watched over me in my sleep for I don’t even know how long, or after he was in my home while I was naked—

“...’re supposed to have...guests...and Destiny has told me that I shall bring one...”

Having spaced back in, somehow, Hob got the feeling that that wasn’t just a name like it was for most people, but that wasn’t as important as the fact that his Friend needed him. “So you want me to come to a party with you?”

His Friend narrowed his eyes at Hob, and, as if repeating himself, said, “A family dinner, yes.”

Hob didn’t say anything for a moment. He got the feeling...but no, surely his Friend wouldn’t hide something from him if he truly needed to know it. “Of course. So, who should I expect to see?”

“Five of my siblings shall be present. Destiny is the oldest...I believe he is bringing a man named Tobias Indiana. Death is als—”

“Death?” Hob interrupted with no small amount of disbelief. “I thought, well, I thought you’d have some sort of power over death. Given,” he gestured to his Friend’s entire vibe. Not that he isn’t attractive—

“...my older sister is...much better with humans than I. She is also bringing a human. Jonathan Geiger impressed her when...he won a contest against Lucifer.”

Was that a joke? Was his Friend taking the piss? Either he was (unbelievable) or Lucifer was real (equally unbelievable).

“Of my younger siblings...Desire is bringing a deity named Ekeko. Their twin sister...Despair...is bringing...I think it was...a ghost.”

A ghost? As in, an intangible dead person who could make things float and possess people? They were real?

As though he could read Hob’s mind, his Friend continued, “Perhaps...they shall not be as you expect. Ghost is simply...the closest term for them...in English.” His Friend didn’t elaborate beyond that.

“My youngest sibling...Delirium is bringing...” His Friend let out a sigh, suddenly looking much older as he stared at the floor. “A Knocker.”

If there was one thing that could be counted on, it was good big brothers being protective over their younger sisters. “You don’t approve?”

“Delirium has one requirement for her guests...that they amuse her. Death informed me that she attended the last family dinner with a demon whose goal was to take vengeance against us Endless.”

That sounded like Hob had stumbled upon another can of worms they did not need to open at the moment. He quickly redirected onto the most harmless-sounding and most curious part of that, the last word, endless. “Is that another word for immortal?”

“That is the word for my siblings and I.”

This was probably the best opportunity he was gonna get. His Friend couldn’t misunderstand this. “So it is some sort of requirement that your name start with De-?”

His Friend took a deep breath.

Hob leaned in. What was it? Delicious? Deception? No. Destraction? Uh, Deal? No. Dear? Hmm. Deer? Definitely not. None of them fit his Friend.

“My name is Dream.”

Nothing could have fit his Friend, Dream, better. It’s perfect. Dream’s perfect. I wanna just say his name over and over— “So you know things about people because you know their dreams?”

“Yes.”

“Wait, but is it like asleep dreams, or aspiration dreams?

“Yes.”

Okay, so this was just one of those things Hob was going to give up on and stay confused about.

Like how throughout this conversation he seemed to be missing snatches of time here and there, as if he was a computer with files getting corrupted.

Hob cracked another joke to get his mind off of that, “I don’t have to worry about Death being mad at us for helping me avoid her, right?”

Dream (!) gave him an incredulous look. “Of course not. You would not be able to escape Death if she did not allow you to live. No...you should be more concerned about the rest...of my siblings.”

His Friend suddenly turned the full force of his stare on Hob. It’s still overwhelming, even more so because Dream’s so fucking concerned for Hob—

“...able?” Dream was saying, his gaze now expectant.

Hob blinked at him. “What?”

“I merely asked that you inform me if any of my siblings...threaten you. Is that agreeable?”

“Well, you’d know your siblings better than I would,” Hob decided, then teased, “You’re the reason I’m coming, so naturally it falls to you to protect me, my lord.”

Dream’s eyes widened, and he raised his voice, “You must not call me that—my siblings expect us to be close!”

Hob had jerked away from him, staring frozen with shock. I’ve never seen Dream like that before—

When he had zoned back in, his Friend had averted his eyes. There was a pause, and then, “Perhaps...I should be...truthful.”

“During my meeting with Destiny yesterday, he told me that I would visit you. I would...begin a romance with you...that was why I would bring you to our dinner.”

That was a possibility? That could’ve happened?? Or maybe that can still happen??? What do I have to do to make that happen?!?!? Even just one kiss—

Dream had moved closer, expression and tone full of concern. “Hob?”

When he’d recovered, hesitant and more than a bit bewildered, Hob tried, “I’m sorry, mate, but I don’t—”

“I did not expect you to.” Dream sighed. “His methods are incomprehensible to all but himself. You are under no obligation to be...romantically involved...with me.”

“Nevertheless, I ask that you appear to be. That is the nature of your status as my plus one...that is what my siblings shall expect.”

Okay, so his Friend would hide something that he truly needed to know from him.

Well, at least Dream told him. Hob wasn’t exactly volunteering the fact that he kept missing bits here and there. Beyond that, he also got the feeling he himself was hiding something else, and had been for a while, that he was forgetting about...but that had to be the guilt.

“That’s fine with me.”

(This was still, after all, the first thing Dream had asked of him. Hob really, really, really didn’t want to lose this friendship. And hey, it wasn’t like this was a fanfiction—there was no way Hob would fall in love with his Friend.)

———

They hashed out the details. He found out when (at night in a few days) and where (Destiny’s castle), how he would get there (when he went to sleep, Dream would find him and bring him out of his dream into the Collective Unconscious). He learned exactly how wary he should be of each person and why.

Hob went about his days as normal between then and the dinner. He had the rest of the day and the next off, but on the 3rd of January, it was back to business as usual for his job. Good thing this was dinner, and not breakfast or luncheon.

There was also the New Inn to consider—though he’d hired someone else to run it and never, ever ask who he was or let anyone know they weren’t actually the owner, there were still decisions for Hob to make. Decisions that, as someone living above the New Inn, he had a stake in.

Then, the day of the dinner was upon them.

Dream’s realm, the Dreaming, was amazing. He’d had to go to sleep shortly before 6 pm, not a challenge after living for so long and being in so many wars. The problem with using his techniques for falling asleep quickly was that usually, it gave him bad dreams.

“Where are they?” Hob was naked, opening every drawer in his apartment, but he’d forgotten where he put his shirts. Not a single drawer had shirts or anything to wear on his upper half. “Come on, come on, they’ve gotta be around here somewhere!”

Then he was at his high school. He’d forgotten where everything was, and he was late for his class. “Excuse me, can you give me direction?” Nobody could help him. A clock ticked ominously.

When he finally made it to his room and started class, he realized he’d forgotten what he was teaching. Nothing on his notes made any sense—he’d forgotten how to read his own handwriting. One of his students raised their hand. He couldn’t remember their name.

“There you are.” Dream raised his arm gracefully, and their surroundings changed in a whirlwind of power that buffeted Hob even though it didn’t touch him. When it settled, they were in a throne room.

His jaw hit the floor. He had to turn in a circle, and then do it again, to be sure he saw every inch of the gorgeous place he found himself in. The statues, the arches, the stairs, the stained glass windows, the throne, the King himself—

Ugh. This was happening again. He’d gone hours without missing time, and it had to start happening again right before the important dinner?

Dream was smirking at him. “Is it to your liking?”

“Yeah,” Hob breathed out. “This might be the most beautiful place I’ve ever been in.”

His Friend’s smile widened into a more genuine one. “Is that what you intend to wear?”

“Ah...” Hob looked down at himself. He was clad only in nice pants and shoes. Why—oh, right, his dream. How had he not noticed? Dream had been looking, was looking, at him shirtless—

He cleared his throat and looked up (not at Dream; he couldn’t just let his Friend see his embarrassed smile), “Do you have any—”

“You are in the Dreaming. Anything is possible.”

Oh. Neat. Hob lowered his head again in thought. The first outfit he could think of was one of Harry Osborn’s outfits in Spider-Man 3, where he had on a white vertically striped button-up, then a blue shirt, then a dark brown overcoat. In an instant, he was in them.

He looked up and found Dream giving him a contemplative look. “What?”

“It is no matter. If you are ready, come; we shall go to my brother’s castle.”

———

Destiny towered over everyone else in a long, light-colored hooded cloak. He had a book chained to his right wrist, and his left hand was another person’s hand. “Brother, this is Tobias Indiana. Tobias, this is my brother, Dream, and his partner, Robert Gadling.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Indiana said, extending his hand. He appeared...normal. There was nothing that differentiated him from any other middle-aged man.

Hob shook it with a similar greeting. Dream simply glared at it.

Indiana, for his part, didn’t let it get to him. “Oh, you are a prickly one.”

“Tobias is very eager to show you his art. Won’t you come with us and see?”

Dream glanced at Hob.

“Oh, and your beloved can’t come. Tobias is very shy.” Indiana looked, in no way, shy. In fact, he seemed like a confident, unbothered person. “He wouldn’t be able to bear it if anybody else saw his work.”

It said something about how blatantly Destiny lied that he still managed to get Dream to do what he wanted.

Hob watched their backs as they headed for a hallway before realizing that, without Dream, he was a sitting duck. Sure, he didn’t have to pretend to be infatuated with his Friend anymore, but anybody could walk up to him and trap him in a conversation.

A woman’s voice said, “Robert Gadling.”

Fuck, he was too late.

Hob turned around with resignation to face the woman, only to find that she actually...didn’t seem so bad. She seemed distinctly maternal, despite the fact that most people seemed young to Hob.

The boy that was with her, on the other hand, had no hidden depths. He looked like any other overconfident teenage son of a farmer.

“That would be me, and you are—no, let me guess,” Hob cut himself off when he saw her ankh necklace against her all-black clothing, “Death?”

She beamed and nodded.

“And that would make you Jonathan Geiger.” Wait, Dream said his siblings were romantically involved with their plus-ones. This was a little concerning.

“It’s Johnny,” the kid corrected in a Southern American drawl. “An Ah’m 63.”

Well, that made Hob feel a lot better, but there was an unspoken ‘I’m older than you’ that he couldn't let stand. “I’m over 10 times that.” He shrugged, “When you're as old as I am, there’s no way to know your exact age.”

“Who ya with? Mah gal’s the embodimin’ ‘a Death,” Johnny challenged.

“My boyfriend is all Dreams and Nightmares. He’s basically everything you can imagine.”

“How’d ya get yer immortality? Ah beat the devil in a fiddle-playin’ contest.”

“I just didn’t die.”

“It’s actually because you called me stupid right in front of me.”

Both of them turned to Death, Johnny furious and Hob with the blood drained from his face. “I did?” he asked, in disbelief—not that he’d done it, but that she’d apparently granted him immortality rather than killing him on the spot.

“Oh, don’t be like that. I don’t get mad at words said in grief. It’s human nature to fear my realm. Despite the fact that my siblings’ are much scarier than mine,” she muttered. “I only get mad when my siblings are hurt.”

Death looked at him.

It took a moment for it to click for Hob that he was dating Dream, so this was a shovel talk. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he answered weakly.

“But—hey, listen to me—that goes for you, too.” She poked him in the chest. “My brother has proven himself to be an idiot on multiple occasions, as I’m sure you know.” Somehow, she said it without even a drop of malice. “If he hurts you, you can always call me.”

Hob agreed, “I’ll do that.”

There was a pause.

“Well, we ain’t gonna take up anymore ‘a yer time,” Johnny, the scoundrel, smirked. “I know that gal Delirium’s bin dyin’ to meet ya.”

———

“Hello, Hob! Hobsie! Hobby! Hobert!”

Delirium was a short, thin girl with a high-pitched voice on the cusp of her teenage years. She had untamable hair in a rainbow of bright colors, and her clothes looked like they’d been chosen independently of each other. Those were the only immediate constants Hob could find about her appearance—everything else changed multiple times a minute.

“They should call you David. Or Patrick. Or Nick. Or Charlie. Or Connor. Or Oliver. Or Ian. Or Mickey. Or Yusuf. Or Nicoló.”

What.

“Oh, uh, I’ve stuck close to Robert for way too long to consider changing it,” Hob tried.

Delirium nodded sagely like a little kid.

She was with a Knocker, if he remembered correctly, a little shorter than half her height. He had a copious amount of wrinkles, a somewhat large head compared to the rest of him, a long white beard, and he looked like he hadn’t bothered to change since leaving the mine, complete with a pickaxe in hand.

“What about you?” Hob asked him.

“I’m Pasco,” the Knocker said in a voice just as high as Delirium’s.

Delirium grabbed Pasco’s surprisingly long arm and bounced up and down. “You’re such a Deary,” she told Hob before scrunching up her face and varying her appearance. “No, a dory. A ducky. A bucky!”

“Thank you.” Hob hoped that was a compliment.

She giggled. “You’ve got something on your back.”

“Oh.” Hob looked over each shoulder once. “Not, like, the Trickster Beetle from Doctor Who?”

What? He was British. It was practically instinct.

Her eyes widened and her clothes shifted again. “No! No, don’t worry, that’s already dead for you.”

Well, that was a relief.

“No, smaller. They’re circles.”

He leaned forward, laser-focused on her words. “Uh, moles?”

She shook her head.

“Hives? A rash?” Hob asked desperately.

Tears filled her eyes. “They’re gonna get you.” But then she looked behind her, where a short mustached man in a poncho and an Asian woman covered in blood were dancing. When she looked back at him, her face was blank. “It’s gonna hurt.”

It was only when she and Pasco were walking away that his mind cleared. That...had all been gibberish. Of course, he was sure it made sense to her, but there was no need to get worked up about it. Even if he would get hurt in the future, he was over 650. Hob could handle it.

———

“You’ve been in my realm a lot recently.”

She was a large woman in comfortable clothes with limp, unwashed hair and a large hook on a ring that she was toying with.

Hob had met Dream, Destiny, Death, and Delirium. He didn’t think it was much of an assumption to think he was talking to Despair. “Have I?”

Her quiet voice cut at him, “You shouldn’t be.”

He stared, taken aback.

“If you’re suffering, then so is my brother. He’s suffered enough.” She turned and walked away.

———

Hob watched the door Destiny, Indiana, and Dream had left through. They still weren’t back yet. How long could Destiny’s contrived excuse take?

“Oh, you’re good,” Desire purred from behind him.

Hob whirled around and came face to face with them. His expression hardened. Coming from the one that Dream had warned him the most about, it was basically an insult. “And why’s that?”

They elaborated, “The trick you’re playing on my siblings. You’ve really got all of them fooled. Not even I could manage to fool Destiny.” Desire’s seemingly-permanent smile sharpened as they cornered him, “How are you doing it? Right now, my brother is filled with the most sickening yearning for you, yet you don’t want him in the slightest.”

Well, that was unfair. Of course Hob wanted Dream. To, y’know, be his friend. To do things with him, to open up to him, maybe even give him some physical touch in the form of a shoulder bump or something.

“Not even a kiss,” Desire scoffed. “Nothing about his appearance, while he desperately wishes he was with you. He wants to hold you, kiss you, make ‘love’ to you.”

Hob choked. Dream felt that way about him? He wasn’t sure how to feel about this. He’d been determined to listen to Dream about Desire’s manipulations, but...

Dream feels the same way! Yes! Yes! If we were alone—

“...esting.”

Hob felt the dizziest then out of any time he’d forgotten the past few seconds.

His surroundings had changed. He was alone with Desire, who’d completely invaded his personal space. Their arms were wrapped around his shoulders, face inches from his. When they spoke, and their breath hit his face, his stomach turned.

“Seems I wasn’t quite right,” they hissed. “It isn’t that you don’t desire him. You’ve just been made to forget. Someone’s hidden it from you, and done a very good job of it, but it’s been leaking out.”

Their expression and tone softened. “The spell’s had to do a patch job; it’s been snipping away bits of your memory, hasn’t it?”

Hob narrowed his eyes. He got the impression that they were...trying to comfort him.

It was more than a little disturbing.

He ducked out of their loose hold and stepped back. They’d guessed his recent memory problems—so what? That didn’t mean they were telling the truth (even if his instances of forgetting did, in hindsight, have a clear correlation with Dream) and it definitely didn’t mean they weren’t trying to manipulate him. He was done putting up with the Endless. All of this, he decided, counted as a threat. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to find my boyfriend,” he snapped, and turned (apprehensively) to head for the door.

A hand grabbed his shoulder.

Hob had half-expected and prepared for this. He tried to move to take them down only to find that instead...he really wanted to stay still. Why had he ever wanted to move from this spot?

In the background, somebody spat, “I’m trying to help you, foolish human. As if I was just going to let you keep walking around with all that repressed desire.”

They cupped his chin with their hands and made direct eye contact. “Now, hold still,” they teased, “You’ll feel a lot better when I’m done.”

His ears popped. His senses whited out for a long moment from the pain of a gaping wound in his chest being healed, but not without being reopened first. Hob squeezed his eyes shut to prevent tears from falling as his memories returned to him—he could remember everything, all of his love for Dream.

He wrinkled his nose at an awfully strong smell of something—like a lightning strike?—as he came back to his senses. Then he heard Dream calling his name urgently from far away and opened his eyes to see Dream’s legs. Dream was bigger? No, Hob was kneeling—at some point, he’d fallen to his knees.

He looked up at Dream. He could stay like this all day, just looking up at Dream. (And trying not to wince every time he breathed.)

But Dream was saying something to the person next to him, Desire (they looked pleased). Hob let himself hear his surroundings.

“...you do to him!” Dream was demanding.

“Dream, love, I’m fine,” Hob cut in (only belatedly realizing that the endearment had slipped out). “Desire was helping me.”

Dream’s face could’ve been carved from stone as he turned to Hob. He didn’t say anything, but Hob’s heart sank as he realized Dream didn’t believe him.

He had to fix this. Now that he remembered he loved Dream and he knew Dream felt the same way, the plan was to confess, but he couldn’t do that if Dream thought it was all manufactured by Desire.

Hob clarified quickly, “Okay, it bloody hurt, and I definitely told them not to do it, but I’m glad they did it, really.”

The answer was thunderously directed at Desire, “What did you do?!”

Yeah, so that hadn’t helped. He wasn’t sure why he thought it would. What could he say that Dream would believe?

Desire decided to answer, “Your little pet is telling the truth. His heart was crying out to me...I couldn’t leave him chained up like that.” Their voice took on the evident quality of someone quoting, “You’re the one who told me to serve humanity.”

Dream and Desire started arguing in earnest. Desire maintained a grin worthy of the Cheshire Cat the whole time. Hob wanted to believe them, but could this be their plot? To do something that, technically, was altruistic, no catch, while being so out of line with Dream’s impression of them that Dream would never believe it?

Or, was there pain hidden behind that smile, that their brother was in such disbelief?

Or, was Hob futilely trying to assign human motivations to inhuman beings?

Whatever the case, he wouldn’t let this stand. He would find proof.

Now that he had his memories back, he knew around when it had started. It wasn’t before Mary’s New Year’s party. He even, vaguely, remembered making his resolution (to confess to Dream) before the countdown ended. So, it happened before he got home if he had been supposed to follow through on his resolution when he saw Dream. He’d definitely started forgetting after he woke up.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t tell when exactly it started on account of him being blackout drunk.

By now the commotion was attracting everyone’s attention (except for Destiny and Indiana, who probably already knew what was going on, those bastards). Well, fuck them. This wasn’t a spectator sport.

“Dream,” he cut into their argument, “please take me home.”

“But you haven’t even had dinner yet,” Desire pointed out.

“I’ve lost my appetite,” he said, not taking his eyes off of Dream. “Please.”

“If that is your wish,” Dream acquiesced, fury still audible in their voice. The world disappeared in a flurry of sand.

———

When his vision stopped turning, he was in the gallery they left from, still kneeling from chest pain.

Dream stood a foot or two away from Hob, arms hanging at his sides, visibly concerned. “Shall you answer me now?”

Hob thought about telling Dream the truth. No, not yet.

“I will, my Friend,” Hob said as the pain diminished and he pushed himself up with the wall, “but there’s something I have to do, first. Something I have to find out.”

“And what might that be?”

Uh oh. Dream looked even more concerned. It was a good thing Hob was going to ask for something harmless and not, say, something that would be guaranteed to end in a lethal injury on anyone else. “I have to know how far your knowledge of everyone extends. How do you do it? How does it work?”

“I am Dreams,” his Friend started, mildly confused, “and Nightmares. I am all Dreams dreamt...by everything that can Dream; I am the Collective Unconscious.”

Apparently, he thought that was a sufficient answer. Hob disagreed—wait. “I thought the Dreaming was the Collective Unconscious?”

Dream looked more awkward than normal. “Perhaps.”

Fuck kind of answer was that?

Wait. If he was right, then earlier...Hob stood by it, of course, but maybe his Friend thought Hob wouldn’t’ve said it if he knew he was actually talking about Dream.

He could fix that later when he fixed everything else. What was important was that, “If this whole world is you, then—I mean, you’re not messy,” Hob reasoned. “There’s gotta be a place where you keep all the information.”

Dream conceded, “There is.”

———

The library was just as amazing as the throne room. It stretched on further than he could see in all three dimensions, lined with books all the way.

What he could not see were signs or maps or labels of any kind.

“How do you find anything?” Hob asked with a vague gesture to the whole library.

He couldn’t tell whether Dream was answering him or calling for something when he answered, “Lucienne.”

A woman’s voice responded before Hob could even comprehend it. “Yes, sir?”

“This is Hob Gadling. You shall assist him in his use of the library’s facilities while I resume my work.”

Prior to Dream‘s words, Lucienne had seemed like a stern, hardworking woman, what with the suit and her hands behind her back. But when he introduced Hob, her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates—though only for a brief second before she regained her composure. She nodded at Hob as Dream left (probably for the best) and asked, “What are you looking for? We have every book ever written, as well as those yet unwritten.”

What was he looking for? There was no way he was gonna just come out and say ‘The person who cursed me.’ What to ask for, what to ask for—

Hob must’ve been silent for too long, because Lucienne prompted, “For example, I have detailed accounts of sleeper’s dreams.”

“Yeah, that’ll work,” he agreed. “Show me my dreams, please.”

It turned out, over 650 years on Earth meant he’d dreamed quite a lot. It was enough to fill several bookshelves, and that was with most people having one of the shelves of a bookshelf dedicated to them, at most. “Er, I’ll only need the past week,” he clarified.

Lucienne handed him the book open to yesterday’s dream. “Do not look at the dream you’re having right now,” she warned. “The ink is still drying.”

Right. Because...he was dreaming. With his senses, his reading abilities, and the laws of physics working correctly, it was easy to forget that he was asleep at the moment. How would the book even record the dream? He imagined himself flipping the page, and words appearing: “I flipped the page.”

Hob shuddered and went further back until he reached the dream he had on New Year’s, right before Dream gave him the invitation.

Oh. It was a dream about him and Robyn having a picnic. Robyn had been telling him a story, in the way only little kids could do. That was...sweet. And also definitely not the kind of dream he’d normally have after getting blackout drunk. Hob supposed if he could stop one of friends from having a nightmare right in front of him, he would do so, too. If only that was the kind of dream he needed.

He looked at the dream for the day after that, then the one for a nap he’d taken, and then all of the ones after that until he reached yesterday’s dream again.

Nothing. Not a single one was about Mary’s New Year’s Eve party.

Hob paced along the bookshelves. Okay, so this had been a long shot from the start. His Friend couldn’t have known somebody had cursed Hob—that was why he was looking for proof in the first place. He would have to do this the old fashioned-way—

Wait, was that Mary’s book?

Hob stopped and set his hand on the wooden shelf underneath the book. Mary, as the host of the party and not someone on the Dream King’s radar, might’ve had a dream about the party.

But...it was one thing for him to look at his own journal, but someone else’s? A close friend’s dreams? She had a girlfriend. He didn’t want to read something he couldn’t unread.

The lights flickered off.

Some soldier instinct of his activated, shooting adrenaline through his system even though all that happened was half a second of darkness.

Hob was berating himself when he realized—part of the library was gone. Not like an explosion, or like a wall had been put up, but like he was in Minecraft and the game was lagging.

“Uh, Lucienne?” Hob called like Dream had called her.

“Yes, sir?” she asked from behind him.

He whirled around, heart still beating like a rabbit’s. “Did you see that?”

She gave him a sympathetic look. “No, sir, but I can tell you’re on the verge of waking up.”

“But I’m not done. I haven’t even been asleep for that long.”

“You’ve been asleep for almost ten hours. You are waking up, sir.”

Hob grabbed Mary’s book. “Can I at least take this with me?”

She shook her head as the world faded to black.

———

He didn’t wake up feeling like he’d slept for ten hours, not the sleep he’d gotten used to in the 21st century, anyway. It seemed no amount of comfort mattered when he was lucid the whole time like that.

Hob was splayed on his back across the mattress dramatically, so he groaned when he caught sight of the calendar he’d put on the ceiling.

It was a school day.

With it being 4 am, he was in no danger of running late or anything, but it would’ve been nice if it was the weekend. He knew at least a thousand kids that would agree with him.

Of course, not many of his kids would feel like someone had taken a cookie cutter, cut out their centerpieces, and then replaced those pieces as painfully as they’d been removed.

Hob took advantage of his early wake-up time by going through his morning routine leisurely, taking any activity that would cause him pain slowly. Luckily, this was something he could do without regret—by the time he was done, it was still sooner than he usually left for school.

Hmm. The kids would be concerned about him. As much as he would usually advocate for caring about others, he couldn’t have them telling anyone about any overt signs of his lackluster health that they might notice.

That meant he had to whip out his tried and true method: Bribery via pastries. Hob dropped downstairs and informed the New Inn’s manager that he’d be paying for any purchases made by anyone with an ID from the school he worked at for the next week.

Understandably, his manager’s eyes bugged out, but they couldn’t argue with the increased business it promised the New Inn, not to mention his long-term resident privileges. Afterwards, Hob left for school to prepare.

Class went well. He might’ve had to sit down a couple of times (and then started to nod off), but the pain lessened over the course of the day, and the kids loved the free food. The end of the school day came faster than he expected (helped by his inadvertent nap during lunch).

That meant, as he was gathering his belongings, with no major problems from his work life, he was free to worry about his personal life, aka the events of last night. How exactly was he going to go about finding who’d made him forget when he couldn’t trust his memories and he couldn’t go to Dream?

Someone knocked at his door. Who would do that when it was already an hour after school had ended for the day?

“Come in!” Hob called.

The door opened and revealed...Mary. Guilt hit him full force (figuratively, thankfully for his chest) as he remembered how he’d debated looking through her dreams. And here she was, probably concerned about his behavior since the party. “What...can I do for you?” he asked with a smile that he desperately hoped hid the shame.

“Robby!” she said cheerfully, stopping on the other side of his desk. (The hair on the back of his neck stood up.) “So glad I caught you before you left. I’ve kinda got something important to ask.”

Hob hid his hands underneath his desk so that she wouldn’t see that he was wiping irrational nervous sweat off with a tissue. “Go on.”

“Well, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about New Year’s. About, y’know.” (He didn’t know). “About our midnight kiss.”

...midnight...kiss...?

There was no way. Surely he would’ve remembered that.

But, as a traitorous part of himself pointed out, he could’ve done it if he’d just forgotten about Dream, and Mary wanted it.

No, no. It just didn’t feel right.

Mary pouted, “I was worried you wouldn’t remember. It’s just, you’re such a great guy, Robby. You’re kind and funny. Hot, too.” She gave him a onceover as she walked around the desk. “Won’t you give us a chance?”

“I...” Alarms blared in Hob’s mind as he wracked his drunken memories and found no recollection of kissing anyone at midnight. In fact, he was rather certain he’d been fantasizing about kissing Dream. It wasn’t a stretch that he might’ve told her about it.

“Uh...” It was a stretch that she would do what her behavior was pointing to.

“Well...” He just couldn’t believe it. Years, they’d been friends. She’d helped him decide what he wanted to do with this iteration of himself, and now she almost ruined his chance at a relationship with the only constant in his life? If Desire hadn’t helped him, he wouldn’t even know.

“The thing is...” It occurred to him that Mary definitely thought her spell was still working. He had no clue how it worked. What if she tried to do it again, right now? Hob had to get out of here.

He had to make sure she wouldn’t do it again. He had to go big. That meant using an underhanded tactic: Guilt.

“I don’t know, Mary,” he breathed out eventually. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I’ve just felt off for the past few months or so. Like there’s some essential part of me I’ve forgotten.”

Ooh, it was working. She was pale as a sheet.

“I’ve actually,” he laughed self-deprecatingly, “been having memory problems. Spacing out while talking to people, and forgetting the last few seconds. Haven’t been sleeping well either. I’m worried that there’s something wrong...neurologically.”

Mary had frozen except for a hand she’d moved to cover her mouth. Was that too much...?

No. He remembered how he felt when it first started, and it was awful. If this made her feel guilty, that was her fault.

Hob finished, “And, I just don’t think I can handle a new relationship on top of all of that and school.”

She stared at him wordlessly. When her brain apparently turned back on, she squeaked, “O-of course. I’ll just, um, go.”

———

Thankfully, Hob wasn’t interrupted again between then and when he got home. It was already nearing six pm.

The nap he’d had during lunch had somehow given him enough energy that he wasn’t tired even now. It was a good thing, even if it was an accident, because now he already knew Dream wasn’t necessarily going to talk to him if he just went to sleep.

Instead, Hob was going to try praying first. Maybe it wasn’t possible. Maybe it would go to voicemail. Maybe it would work, but Dream would still ignore him. It was still better than potentially wasting the rest of the night sleeping, and having to wait until tomorrow after school to talk to Dream.

“Dream,” he started, trying to inject intent, “Please hear my words. I’d like to talk to you.”

“Hob Gadling.”

“Fucking—” Hob spun around. Why did everyone always have to appear behind him?

Oh well, he had good things to look forward to in the near future. He gave him a wide grin. “Dream, I’ve found out what I needed to know. What do you have on someone I know, Mary?”

His Friend gave him a scrutinizing look, then closed his eyes. “I shall look.”

He was still for a long moment. Longer than Hob felt like he should’ve been. Then, Dream opened his eyes, and they were full of tears.

His voice was dangerously low: “Mary Cornell...has violated you...irreparably. I cannot begin to describe...” Dream bowed his head.

“Oh, no, no, no!” He couldn’t bear to see his Friend like that. Hob crossed the space separating them in two quick strides and took both of his hands, making Dream look up. “Don’t worry. It wasn’t irreparable. That’s what Desire did; they fixed it.”

He let that sink in as he teared up, himself. “Dream, I love you.”

Hob had the pleasure of watching Dream’s devasted expression turn into one of pure joy before he was pulled in for a bruising kiss.

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