#retired!dream au

[mollymagician]

Longing for a fic where Hob reads The Little Prince to Dream. For whatever reason, I don’t know.

something something Hob thinks of it as a story about the joy of living and experiencing new things. Maybe he’s also thinking a little of the fox. If you tame me, then we shall need each other. You become responsible forever for what you have tamed.

But he realizes halfway through that he fucked up. He forgot the ending. He’ll have to read the ending, there’s no getting around it.

something something Dream listening to the Little Prince planning with the serpent to end his human body’s life so he can leave and go home.

and of course there comes the inevitable day when Dream is standing to take his leave like he’s done so many times before, but it feels different. Hob can tell. And Dream says, “Nothing is wrong…I must go. I have procrastinated long enough.”

But Hob can hear, in the back of his mind— Do not come…you understand…it is too far…I cannot carry this with me…it shall look as if I was suffering…do not come to see that…it is not worth the trouble…

The next morning, though. He wakes to a knock on the door, and finds Dream. Standing there, looking looking down at himself in amazement. Telling him, “This body, it really isn’t as heavy as all that, is it?”

The things he left behind to be free were so much heavier.

[immacaria]

  Rain hits the window, water rolling down it as busy men run on the sidewalk beneath. The room is pleasantly cold, the kind of cold that keeps you from getting off your bed and makes you miss appointments. Not that there are any appointments for Morpheus to attend this morning.

  He watches the water rolling down with lightning brights the dark day outside his room and feels the warmth of covers and a human body around him. Under him, Hob is sleeping soundly, every now and then letting out a small snore that gets both of their bodies trembling. He also has no appointments to attend this morning.

  So, instead, Morpheus - because he is no longer Dream of the Endless, but rather Morpheus Gadling - watches the water and thinks about everything he left behind. A particularly large drop is racing towards others, getting bigger and bigger, and he thinks of the Dreaming. He is no longer Dream, barely an Endless anymore.

  He has renounced his crown, laid down his staff and passed the throne to another. Now, all he is is an immortal being without any power or influence. Yet there's no other way he ought it to happen.

  His son, Orpheus, is alive and well, living in the Dream along with Daniel, who is now Dream of the Endless. His people are being taken care of. His family has kept on living without his presence, as many times before.

  And his husband, well, his husband now sleeps under him, sweat has cooled on his skin and red bite marks slowly fade against his neck.

  Hob Gadling, his dear husband, the one who waited century after century, the one who never stopped hoping and wishing for life, the crazy human that refused his sister's gift. Like him, Morpheus will not age or die, unless explicitly saying so. They will be together forever, as long as they can handle each other.

  It was not easy, Morpheus admits, to get himself to understand. After being imprisoned for over one hundred years, he was not alright. He was slowly crumbling at the seams, disappearing in front of his people and family without caring. Hob had been the one to force him to realise what was happening and, this time, he was not rejected.

  The large drop of water reaches the windowsill and, as if on cue, Hob starts to stir underneath him. He moves his head to the right, watching Hob's nose twirl from side to side as his hands begin to look for him. His eyebrows furrow for a moment before warm hands wrap themselves against his waist and they relax again.

  A low chuckle leaves Morpheus' mouth as he reaches out and plants a kiss to Hob's jaw. Then another. And another. And another. He takes his time - because they got time and lingers on every spot, savouring the richness of his beloved's skin.

  "Beloved." He whispers against the point between ear and face and smiles.

  "Darling." There are little, tiny holes over all times Hob perforated his ears and he kisses every and single one of them.

  "My love." He strays over to his eyes and brow, lips moving against them lightly.

  "Husband." He says at least, kissing the bridge of his nose and the corners of his mouth.

  Under him, Hob groans, hands twisting against his waist and opens one eye ever the slightest. He takes a deep breath as thunder rolls outside the room and a sigh leaves his mouth. There's just enough light in the room for Morpheus to see his shiny eyes and his dark lashes and his lopsided smile.

  "Hullo." Hob says, pulling him closer. He presses his nose against his cheek, inhaling deep.

  Since Dream retired, leaving the Dreaming for Daniel and becoming a mere immortal, their mornings have been like this. Lazy, slow, comfortable. Old people, Matthew said once, they were old people.

  Not that Morpheus minds being old along Hob, not when it means he gets to have this. Every morning they spend some minutes here on the bed, just basking on each other's presences and feeling their hearts - Because now he had a real one, not a creation of his, inside his chest - beat together in synch, marvellously alive. And when they are ready to get up, they go to the kitchen and he gets to see Hob making tea and breakfast for them, hair sticking to all possible and impossible directions and quietly mumbling the songs on the radio.

  "What are you thinking about, dove?" Hob whispers and Morpheus knows he is smiling. Lately, Hob is always smiling. Whenever he turns to him, a smile appears on his face, one of admiration and surprise as if he can't really believe he got to have Morpheus there every second of every day for the rest of their lives, as if this was an impossible thing to achieve.

  "About how much I love you." He whispers back, letting himself be pulled closer, almost to the top of the other man. "About how this was never something I thought possible. About how all of this is because of you."

  "Sweet flaterer." Hob says and kisses the corner of his mouth. 

  “It’s all your fault.” And when Hob laughs, he adds. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

.........................................................................................................................

  This is for the Dreamling Nation Server who has just got out of an angst war that lasted two days and left us all in pieces and my amazing sib @milenaalaire. I’m going to especially tag @quillingwords, who was having a depressive moment in the server’s channel, and Auntie @mathomhouse-e, who was suffering with Hounds.

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

My main HC for Morpheus is he lives and just retires from the stress of being Dream.

He gets convinced to just live for himself and choose his own destiny without the expectation of his existence weighing him down.

Hob helps him, both of them moving into a cottage where they learn to coexist and Morpheus learns how to be human without the added stress of a city life.

He reads books, new ones having to be thoroughly digested rather than just instantly available in his head like a goddamn robot.

Maybe he helps Hob plant seeds and realises that it's somewhat close to breathing life into new creations and helping them grow into their desired functions, immediately addicted to the feeling of mud under his nails and stains on his clothes because he's creating a life without needing a purpose for it.

They go down to the beach, and yeah it's not like the Shores of The Dreaming but he still has his spade and bucket and by fucking Christ is he going to make the best sand castle ever, Hob, stop laughing!!

He builds and builds until he's tired and worn out and sweating pints, but there's a version of the castle - his home, even if it's not his anymore, even if it didn't feel like home, not really - standing proudly in the sand. And he stares at it, realising that the dreaded feeling in the pit of his stomach is still there, but it's not as suffocating as it used to be. He's not weighed down by the unconscious minds of everyone, he gets to create for the simple pleasure of creating.

He gets to go back to the cottage, curls his feet under him and drinks hot chocolate as Hob cooks in the kitchen. Music's playing in the background as the fire roars in the hearth.

He feels safe.

He feels content.

He feels loved.

He's happy.

(And maybe a certain Angel and Demon buy a cottage close by, causing an all-out garden war between the Resident Goths on whose plants are better?? Which then creates the Annual Garden Competition. Both Hob and Azi are chilling and having cake whilst the Resident Goths are fighting over the last seedlings).

I just want the dweebs to all be happy.

Is it so much to ask for??

[loomingcastle]

I keep seeing peepaw Nightmare and sometimes Dream too so like..

Let’s just make the retirement home multiverse guys (does that already exist??)

Meemaw Dream is a reference to Muriel from courage the cowardly dog. That shit was my favorite show to watch as a kid, I especially loved the King Ramses’ Curse episode, yet I see some of ya’ll get scared from that as a kid 😭 (not judging <3333)

[issylra]

Square: A1 - Retired Dream Rating: Explicit (for future chapters) Chapter(s): 1/6 Word Count: ~1,300 Ship(s): Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Additional Tags: 5+1 Things, Slice of Life, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Cuddling and Snuggling

"You are staring," Dream says, after Hob has spent a few too many seconds mentally tracing all the lines swirling across his palms. Hob has to remind himself that there's no reason to be embarrassed, not now that Dream knows. Not now that they're something.  "Yeah. Just." He falters for a moment, old habits dying hard and all that, until Dream raises an eyebrow at him. "You've got pretty hands, is all."

Or five times Hob is distracted by Dream's hands, and one time Dream is distracted by Hob's.

fill for @dreamlingbingo.

[AO3]

[ennas-aesthetic]

Retired!Dream as a Librarian AU

Both @ineffablyendless and I spent a night brainstorming on what we think Retired!Dream would be doing (you know, if he walked away like Destruction did and decided to live life not tied down to impossible responsibilities), and we immediately agreed that he would LOVE being a librarian. So here's a collection of our Retired!Dream as a librarian headcanons:

Surprisingly, joining the library wasn't Hob's idea.

The first few months after he left his duties and responsibilities as ‘Dream of the Endless,’ Morpheus had gone into a bit of an existential crisis. He has basically lost his entire function, which was the anchorage of his whole being and identity. If he is NOT the manifestation of the collective unconscious and the Prince of Stories, then who the hell is he?

(He has no idea where Destruction has gone, too, so it’s not like he can tap him and ask casually how to start living his life as a human. Dream is drawing on a blank, and is completely lost on who he should be and what it is that he wants to do.)

Hob is there for him during those months. He is gentle and kind and patient; he tells Dream that he can do whatever the fuck he wants, and encourages him to try various things. Crafting, painting, writing. Dream has a natural affinity to the arts (of course) but none of them seem to stick (and the Bohemian starved-artist persona was more Destruction’s thing, anyway. Dream may be a ‘human’ now, but the pettiness went nowhere, it seems.)

Hob tells him that he will NEVER mind Dream going out of the flat when Hob’s off to teach at the University. Encourages it, even. He tells Dream that he does not need to be cooped up in the house, that he can go wherever he wants. Dream often stays in, anyway, (because he has got nowhere to be), until he could not take the constant ennui and boredom any longer and books out of the flat.

He goes around the locale for a bit, explores the town he and Hob live in. Inexplicably, he is drawn to the local library.

Stepping into the library reawakens a small part of him that has been dormant ever since he left the Dreaming. Stories had always been his domain, and it is there that a tiny part of his soul (if he has any) is moved – as if the place has put him under its spell. He browses the shelves, reads through books and novels that he has read a thousand times. Often, though, he is content sitting at the little visitor’s nook, looking at readers of all ages exchanging and accepting stories and tales, and feeling a forgotten part of his heart twinge with bittersweet calmness and serenity.

Haunting the library became a daily ritual. And as it is with humans and rituals, the staff become more and more used to him the more he frequents the place. Slowly they integrate him into their tight-knit band of librarians. Dream finds himself in deep discussion with various people over folktales and legends and stories, and they are entranced by how much he knows, endeared by his seriousness and aloofness. It is in conversation with the head librarian that he finds out they are always accepting volunteers. Would Dream like to be one?

When Hob finds out he is overjoyed. It was a no-brainer, really.

And that’s how Dream became part of the staff of the local library.

Sometimes Dream wonders how he had gotten here. Oh, if only his subjects could see him now. If only Lucienne could see him now. He was the owner of the Dreaming’s vast, endless library, sure, but as Monarch he had left the more menial tasks to Lucienne. Which, he realizes, was quite the “dick move” (as Hob puts it), on his part. He gets taught how to shelve books using the Dewey Decimal system, how to administer fines for books that are way past their return date, find the exact shelf for Fortunately, The Milk that a child had wanted for forever, how to wrangle silence with a vehement ‘sssssh!’ and a death glare. The last part he could do with ease, but the others not so much. He resolves to be more appreciative of Lucienne’s work over the millennia, if he ever sees her again.

But the work itself is pleasant, an anchor. He never had a sense that being a librarian is a chore. In fact, the task seems to keep him fixed, hinged on an axis of purpose and drive. After months of senseless brooding he is happy he has this at least, to define the fuzzy boundaries of his identity. He is still crafting who he wants ‘Morpheus’ to be, but it gets easier, a day at a time.

And the people, to his bemusement, love him. He is surprised at the ease of which he gets accepted into the brood, and realizes that people are so much kinder than he could ever have thought. There is Lissa, who is going through her bachelor's degree in Sociology, but who heads the Weekly Library Scavenger Hunt and frequently asks Dream’s help to cut up various visual aids and decorations for their bulletin boards. There is Annalee, who sometimes brings him coffee when they exchange shifts. They help him with the shelving and sorting at the end of the day, and they enthusiastically drag him in to help organize the monthly Slam Poetry competitions. Rupert, an elderly man who comes to stay at the library all day, and who does not forget to ask Morpheus how he is doing. Charlotte, the matronly Head Librarian who notices Dream not eating or taking breaks at the right time (his relationship with food has been complicated and rocky since his imprisonment at Burgess’), and clucks at him like a mother hen for skipping meals.

It’s… it’s a community. Dream has found himself a community: people who CARE about him, who allow him to be part of their little found family, who do not cower away from him or act as if they’re walking on eggshells around him. For once he has found himself an actual, healthy support system. Hob says something about Dream resonates with them: how aloof and awkward he is, how utterly serious and straight-faced he is about the job. They give their kindness so freely that sometimes Dream thinks that there is a catch (because there always was.) But sometimes kindness is brash and natural and emergent - it shows up wherever, whenever, just because.

(He is loved by the community, too. They are obsessed with him, this awkward, no-nonsense, goth librarian in doc martens and earrings and black nail polish. Whose partner, a genuine University professor, comes over occasionally to give historical talks and seminars. This skinny, goth, queer librarian who can and frequently glares people to death for the slightest perceived misdemeanor but blooms like a fresh flower for every nervous child who has questions about books. He’s done so well that they upgrade him from volunteer to full-time librarian, of which Morpheus accepts graciously.)

Another thing the community is obsessed with: Morpheus’ Children Reading Programs.

He was not in charge of Story Time Tuesdays. Peter was, except Peter wanted to move back to Brighton to be closer with his family. Morpheus takes the mantle when he volunteered to adlib a story on the behest of one of his fave kids. Of course, unbeknownst to literally everyone else, Morpheus is in his element. He does not just read: he performs. He takes the voices very seriously, and he is an excellent storyteller, weaving a tale of dragons and knights and pegasi so enrapturing the entire floor goes dead quiet hanging on to his every word. When he is finished they erupt into incredulous, awestruck applause.

Story Time Tuesdays become a hit. The kids are apt listeners and a great audience, and adults come over once in a while to sit in, too. Sometimes he does not even need a book. He's like a fucking bard. An old-timey rhapsode who could string one story into another with ease. EASE. He could recite them as though he himself was there for each and every one. (And he was. HE WAS.) The children love him completely.

He is so good at storytelling that the library club affectionately nicknamed him the Library's "Prince of Stories." This sends Hob to hysterical tears.

One time the kids suggested he tell the story of Mr. Sandman. This is the one time he is taken aback, the one time he sputters as he insists Mr. Sandman doesn’t have his OWN story, because he was the storyteller. He does not have a story of his own.

The kids call BULLSHIT on this, because somehow Dream trained them all into believing EVERYONE has their own story. Hob, bastard that he is, who has made a habit of getting off the university early to listen in on Dream’s Story Time Tuesdays, yells "YOU'RE RIGHT!" So Morpheus is delegated into the sidelines as he watches the kids make up a story of their own for once, about a dream magician named Mr. Sandman with a dragon best friend who goes on a quest to leave his island.

Mr. Sandman becomes a recurring character in all of Dream's adlib stories now, at the kids' insistence. He’s the magical godmother and the helpful NPC that helps the heroes on their quests. The other librarians who are secretly compiling all of Dream's adlib stories are naming it "Sandman Stories". The kids dress up as "Sandman" on Halloween and Dream is beginning to realize the children perceive Sandman to look a lot like himself.

He also DID NOT have a complete breakdown in the bedroom he and Hob share, about how the children are adamant that Morpheus has a story of his own, despite believing for entire eons that he has none. It's still hard to reconcile his issues on self-worth, remember that he deserves kindness and compassion. But Hob is there to help him get through it, and the kids continue insisting that the Sandman is a real character with a story of his own that MATTERS. That he has a life worth living, a tale worth telling.

And slowly but surely, he starts believing that, too.

We have SO MANY MORE librarian!Dream headcanons that we haven’t touched on yet! If you have questions + want some more these hit us up! 

[inennui]

~Sick~ Dreamling Week 2023 hosted by @mr-sadman

[avelera]

Struck between the eyes today by the Random Sandman Twitter account that posted this image from the comics and what it means for Retired Dream AU:

So if we go with the headcanon (/ fact??) that all the Major Arcana represent some deeply buried fear or desire of Dream, specifically (because the Dreaming is him but at least in theory his greatest creations should be even more reflective of him than the average?) then we could in theory take Gilbert's words as reflecting Dream's desires as well.

We could read all of Dream's interactions with the Major Arcana as, on some level, being interactions with himself, Dream talking to himself in the mirror, or at least the strongest external parts of himself, the largest fragments so to speak. So Gilbert/Fiddler's Green is called the heart of the Dreaming here.

And Dream's heart then is tired. His heart is curious. Specifically, his heart is curious to experience the little victories and tiny defeats of human life. And, his heart longs to spare Rose, which we know Dream wants to do as well, another point in favor of the possibility that Gilbert's words are literally Dream's heart speaking right now.

And, because I am Dreamling shipper trash and it all circles back to that, I can't help but think of who we have seen in the Waking who is most familiar, perhaps of anyone in the world, with the little victories and defeats of human life and who would love to share those with Dream (spoilers, it's Hob).

(Dream, the votes from 2 out of 3 of your MAJOR ARCANA are in, they want to be human enough for your own heart (Gilbert) to FLEE you and for arguably the personification of your darker desires (Corinthian) to IMPRISON you and risk being unmade to live as a human, and the third one wants so badly to stop being a nightmare so she can make dreamers happy that she also risked being unmade. Dream, my man, I think your subconscious is trying to tell you something. Why are you only the Dreaming when it means you're supposed to be miserable but not when the entire Dreaming is telling you that you want to be human so badly you'd risk death to do it??)

[valeriianz]

Retired!Dream with facial hair, inspired by @watercubebee's art here!

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

Dream stared at the reflection of himself in the foggy mirror, his fingers pressing into the warm skin that was now his very human face. The pads of his fingers were soft along the strange texture of his jaw, prickly dark hairs that had begun to grow.

Dream knew what this was– facial hair, Hob had it. Dream had enjoyed the burn it left along his skin when they kissed, had curiously observed Hob when he would trim or shave it, usually with a device that buzzed so it was never too short. The human experience of maintaining and grooming had been fascinating, back then. Dream loved to observe and learn and judge, of course, why humans did the things that they did. 

Hob was always so patient with Dream, explaining why he chose to maintain his scruff, and how “... I don’t see you complaining about it,” said with a smirk and a wink. Of course Dream was a naturally curious entity, he gathered pleasure from Hob’s experiences and stories. Dream of the Endless knew everything, was well aware of the knowledge of men through their dreams alone, their fantasies and nightmares. He had been very content to observe from afar– human beings and what brought them happiness or hardship always seemed so trivial and banal. Something about Hob Gadling, his persistence, his eternal optimism, was different. It made Dream stick around when otherwise he’d grown impatient.

Hob was a fighter, an enigma, something to study under a microscope. And after hundreds and hundreds of years, Dream began to admire and wonder at the mystery that was Hob Gadling. Began to relate to his experiences, growing something substantial in the meantime, something grounding.

Hence why Dream had made the decision to become like Hob Gadling; human. 

There had been trials and tribulations (forced to make small talk with strangers, using the bathroom, brushing one’s teeth, the dreaded ordeal of going to the grocery store and searching for food). But Dream hadn’t anticipated the hair.

He did not care what he looked like, in the waking world. The discovery that his body produced testosterone and therefore, hair, was startling. Dream was a being of absolute control. He couldn’t control this.

But it was… interesting.

The stubble, as Hob liked to call it, on Dream’s face had gotten quite long in the past few days. Dream dug his fingernails (another nuisance, trimming fingernails. A waste of time) into the black bristles and scratched, tilting his chin to look down his throat, grumbling softly at the realization that the hair descended downwards as well.

A knock on the door gave Dream pause, gaze stuck on the mirror as Hob spoke, his voice muffled behind the door.

“Dream? You alright in there?”

With his eyes still roving over his face, Dream spoke up.

“Come in.”

Hob opened the door and Dream watched, out of his peripheral, as he approached.

“Looking at something nice?” Hob teased, pressing his front against Dream’s naked back and winding his arms over his waist, the towel there shifting but otherwise remaining tight around Dream’s hips.

“This is unsightly.”

Hob notched his chin over Dream’s shoulder to see what Dream saw in the reflection. He chuckled as his eyes followed the movement of Dream’s fingers on his jaw, down to his chin.

“You’re just not used to it, is all.” Hob pressed a kiss to the end of Dream’s bony shoulder. “And I happen to think it looks very fetching on you.”

Dream huffed, unconsciously leaning back in Hob’s hold, discreetly delighting in the feeling of Hob’s broad chest, covered in a thin cotton shirt, warm against his damp skin. 

“You think everything looks ‘fetching’ on me,” Dream stated matter-of-factly, causing Hob to chuckle softly, his lips traveling across Dream’s shoulder and up the side of his neck, playfully nibbling along the way.

“And I am always right.” His fingers pinched Dream’s hip bones before descending lower, forcing Dream to bite back a jolt of surprise at the tickling sensation. Especially as Hob’s hands, stark in color against Dream’s milk-white flesh, began to caress the line of hairs that had begun to grow under his belly button as well.

Dream’s breath, another anomaly that he was fascinated by, hitched audibly as Hob’s fingers dipped just a fraction below the towel wrapped around him.

“I also quite enjoy this.” Hob murmured against his skin, watching Dream in the mirror’s reflection. “I love seeing your human qualities come out. How your body responds to it.” 

Dream drops his hand to wrap around Hob’s wrist, meeting his chocolate brown eyes in the mirror as Hob takes a step to crowd Dream further against the counter, his hips slotting along Dream’s ass as he gets his clever fingers deeper, wrapping them around Dream and causing his jaw to drop in a silent cry.

Hob’s eyes flutter shut as he nuzzles his way up to Dream’s ear, bumping his nose against the coarse hairs at his jaw, biting it gently.

“Let me show you how much I love it.”

In response, Dream turns his head and captures Hob’s mouth in a burning kiss.

—----------------------------------

A few days go by and in that time, the scruff on Dream’s face only becomes longer, individual hairs popping up as far up as his cheek bones, and Dream scowls as they even begin to curl.

“I want it off.”

Hob looks sideways at Dream in the doorway to the bathroom. “What?”

Dream stands, that attractive frown only making Hob– who’d been trimming his own beard before the interruption– slowly begin to smile.

Dream points to his face. 

Hob raises his brows as he gives Dream a once over. 

“Your scruff?” Hob clicks his tongue as Dream huffs impatiently, affirmatively. “But it really does become you.”

“I do not care for it. Remove it.”

Hob chuckles lightly, turning back to the mirror to finish up his grooming.

“Always polite,” he quips lowly, tilting his chin as he works. “Give me a mo’ and in the meantime, take a shower.”

After Dream is clean and his skin is warm to the touch, Hob has him seated in a stool he pulled from the kitchen, keeping a warm towel around his face while Hob gathers his equipment.

Dream watches silently, his eyes tracking Hob’s movement before finally meeting his gaze as Hob drapes another small towel over Dream’s shoulder.

He removes the towel from Dream’s face and stares at him, causing Dream to raise a brow.

“What?”

Hob sighs, bringing both of his hands, cool from a fresh wash, around Dream’s face, thumbs stroking his cheeks.

“Just saying goodbye.”

Dream is unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes, another human trait that he’d been having a hard time tamping down.

“Perhaps once I am ‘used to it,’ as you say, I may consider growing it out again.”

Hob’s eyes seem to sparkle with excitement.

“Yeah?” At Dream’s nod, Hob gives his cheeks a brief squish, making the skin bunch up around Dream’s mouth and his frown deepen.

Hob laughs softly, the crinkles around his eyes deepening, striking Dream down and reminding him why he loved Hob so much. The laugh lines on his face, centuries of smiles and laughter etched onto his skin forever. A trait that made Dream himself smile more, enamored by the history there, in not just Hob’s laugh lines, but the wrinkles of his brow too. Years of hurt and frustration carved deep enough to leave memories that Dream could trace with his fingers, his lips. The stories Hob’s skin alone could tell made Dream want to trace constellations upon it.

Hob leaned forward and kissed the tip of Dream’s nose, breaking him out of his stupor. “I look forward to it.”

Dream had to admit, as Hob prepared him for his shave, that he quite enjoyed being pampered. 

Hob had lathered a thick cream upon Dream’s cheeks, mouth, and neck with a horse hair brush, his eyes gone serious, gaze studious as he worked and Dream once again, could do nothing but watch, sitting still as Hob took up a blade and began carefully stroking it down the side of Dream’s face.

“A straight razor,” Hob spoke eventually, his voice quiet, hot breath puffing against Dream’s ear. “Is my favorite for a close shave.” He swipes the blade on the towel resting on Dream’s shoulder, cleaning it before going back in with short, sharp strokes.

“Never goes out of style…” Hob murmurs, his free hand pulling slightly on Dream’s skin to keep it taut. “Also doubles as a weapon, eh?”

He gives Dream a cheeky grin.

“Have you slit many throats using a straight razor, Hob Gading?” Dream makes sure to speak once the blade is safely away from his skin.

Hob hums, going back to Dream’s jaw, going with the grain of Dream’s hair.

“Sweeney Todd style?” Hob pulls back to give Dream a look. “Can’t say I have. Though, in other instances…” he trails off, not finishing his sentence, leaving Dream to guess the answer.

They are silent for a long while after that, the only sounds filling the air being the grazing of the blade against coarse hairs and Dream’s own breathing. It tickles Dream’s ears, the gentle vibrations of the blade, and he continues to study Hob to distract himself from the sensation.

There is an intimacy here that isn’t lost on Dream. The trust he places in Hob’s very capable hands. Hands that have seen violence, committed crimes most egregious. Hands that were calloused over from physical labor and then softened by wielding a pen. Dream was fascinated, watching how Hob’s fingers held the blade, sure and confident, bringing it down swiftly, a tame version of a sword. 

All while performing something so… domestic. These hands had also healed and loved, touched Dream with such reverence, held him with gentle astonishment, as Hob admitted freely how lucky he was to have Dream in his life. Making love to him slow and deep, but also hard and brutal, fingers interlocked with Dream’s and holding him in place, keeping that connection. 

And in this moment, with Hob’s hands touching him fastidiously, attention focused solely on him, Dream felt relaxed and safe, enjoying the experience more than he’d ever admit.

It was over far too soon, Hob taking up the towel to wipe off any remaining shave cream and instructing Dream to rinse his face with cold water.

Once dry, Hob massaged an after shave balm into Dream’s skin, catching his eyes and smiling almost shyly.

“You were very distracting, you know.” Hob says, pulling Dream to standing. “Watching me the whole blessed time.”

Dream’s head tilted a fraction as he brought a hand up to feel his smooth skin.

“I like watching you work.”

Hob huffed, his smile widening as he playfully tugged Dream’s hair.

“Go on, take a look,” he gestured behind Dream to the mirror.

Dream obliged, sweeping his gaze over the smooth skin he had been used to wearing his entire existence and hummed in approval.

“Next time,” Hob said, tossing the towel in the hamper. “I’ll properly show you how to shave, so you can do it yourself whenever you’d like.”

Dream hummed, contemplating.

“Or you could always do it.”

“Oh?” Hob chuckled, turning Dream around and getting his arms around his hips. “Figures a king would overindulge in my humble services.”

“And you indulge me so well,” Dream crooned in a low voice, feeling his lips curl in an unconscious smirk that always caught Hob off guard. It was his favorite thing to do, if Dream was being honest, causing Hob to hesitate and laugh.

“I think I’m just whipped.”

Dream nodded with a considerate hum, leaning forward to brush his lips against Hob’s.

“Good.”

[notallsandmen]

Retired Dream as Hot Mess Malewife

I think retired Dream / Morpheus would be the most useless malewife in history.

When Death drops him on Hob’s doorstep, the division of labour is pretty non-existent — he’s a former king in friendly exile, and he is very magnanimously allowing himself to be pampered by Hob. But after a while, he would try to help out with the chores when Hob is at work.

However, without being tapped into the Collective Unconscious, Dream’s ability to choose and critically evaluate his sources is… somewhat shaky.

Hob starts him out on a good note, leaving him with a few Marie Kondo books. Things go fairly well, even though Dream ends up colour-coding the wardrobe according to some colour system that human retinas can’t perceive.

But then Hob goes to a conference, and Dream insists that he is perfectly capable of caring for one cat and 20 overnurtured houseplants for five days. What could possibly go wrong?

Dream reads several books on housework, but he can’t seem to finish any tasks before getting derailed by the narrative, turning every chore into one of those endless blog essays you have to scroll through before getting to the damn recipe. Even the simple act of hoovering has to involve a long-winded story about getting out of an MLM scam, forgiving backstabbing siblings, and finding your inner goddess.

Everything escalates when Dream discovers housewife milf porn.

Hob gives up and gets a roomba.

Dream refuses to admit that he hates the roomba with a passion, and instead proceeds to Lady Macbeth-manipulate the cat into throwing up on the roomba until the motor breaks.

Hob throws in the towel altogether and pays for a cleaning service. Dream takes up yoga and comfortable day drinking.

All is well.

[mollymagician]

Dreamling Week Day 6: Sick

A companion to this and also this.

It was day two of watching Dream’s fledgling immune system engaging in gritty trench warfare with what he hoped was the flu, and Hob was maybe…losing it a little. Just a bit.

Though it was obvious which one of them was more miserable, startling awake every few minutes for hours to the sound of Morpheus’ wracking coughs left Hob strung-out and woozy. But that wasn’t anything he hadn’t dealt with before.

It was just that, for all he’d known that this was inevitable, it was still a shock to his system to watch. Every time. With anyone he loved. Fresh blood from the 600 year old scab that had formed over the memory of his family dying of the plague. And the knowledge that Dream couldn’t die didn’t help nearly as much as he’d hoped it would.

Now he lay awake, too keyed up to doze back off. Dream was a long burning line beside him in the dark. Quiet and finally able to rest for nearly a blessed hour, thank God.

Quiet for a certain value of the word, anyway.

He twitched in his sleep, shivering, hands grasping fitfully at the blankets. Murmured incoherently on and off. But the coughing was settled for now and that was half the battle. Hob laid a hand against his sternum as his raspy breathing quickened, pressing gently. “Shhh, dove.” The bare skin was hot under his hand. Hot, hot, hot. After watching him sweat through his second shirt in as many hours, Hob had given up on hassling him to change into fresh ones and let it go.

It was probably the flu, Hob told himself. Again. The COVID test he’d pulled from his stash in the bathroom had come back negative, but what did that even mean anymore? He’d put in calls and informed all pertinent parties that he’d be isolating, anyway, with a sick partner who had all the symptoms. (Who still seemed so NEW, whose body still sometimes seemed to forget the rules it was playing under.)

They’d started him on an immunization schedule as soon as he was able. “Look. Even if it can’t kill us, whatever it is we get,” Hob had told him, “we still might pass it on, yeah? Better for everyone if we make sure that we can’t. And…there are things…” He felt his face twisting into some wry, sad thing. “Even if they can’t kill you, there are some experiences I’d spare you, if I can.”

Hob expected an argument, but Dream just regarded him for a long moment, nodded solemnly, and that was that. Hob found him a physician who was well known for his experience with neurodivergent patients, assuming that would be their best bet, and they cooked up a story about Dream finally removing himself from a “complicated family situation” that had resulted in an adult who had never once been to a doctor and needed to begin a vaccine regimen ASAP.

Apparently as soon as possible hadn’t been quite soon enough.

Beside them on the nightstand, an alarm began to chime softly from his phone and Hob reached over to silence it. He scrubbed a hand over his face

“After everything you’ve been through,” Hob whispered, “what does that brain of yours see when it goes haywire like this, eh?” He pressed a hand to Dream’s burning forehead. “Or is weirdness so normal that your sick dreams are all about toasters and shopping for socks?”

“My sister,” Dream rasped, “can make even socks as weird as anything you can imagine.”

Hob leaned over to peer down at him and caught the glint of pale blue eyes just barely cracked open in the dimness.

“When you’re right, you’re right,” Hob said softly. He brushed lank hair from Dreams face carefully. “I am so sorry to wake you, love, but it’s time for more meds.”

Dream stared at him for a few moments before his eyes drifted closed. “Yes,” he murmured.

Hob had begun to shuffle himself out of bed when a hot, clammy hand suddenly wrapped itself around his wrist. He glanced down to find Dream looking back at him, glassy and intense. “You were gone,” he said, his normally velvet-dark voice sounding as though he’d gone a few rounds with a cheese grater and lost.

Hob lifted the hand that gripped him and kissed the backs of Dreams fingers. “I’ve been here all night, I promise.”

“No. You asked what I saw…I…” Dream swallowed. “I kept seeing that day. The White Horse ruined, and I walk but there’s nothing to find, because you’re gone. And always I end up…back where I started…”

“Fuck, Dream.” Hob climbed back across the bed and gathered Dream against him. “But you see now that didn’t happen, right? Look.” He lifted Dreams hand, held cupped in his own like nesting bowls, and kissed his fingers. “I’m here, and that didn’t happen. I just need to go for a moment. To the kitchen. I’ll be right back, you just…stay right where you are.”

Ridiculous, considering Dream would probably be out again in seconds but Dream nodded, and let Hob go.

——————————

By the dim glow of the oven range light, Hob found the bottle of paracetamol he’d left on the counter and set about filling a mug with water and wetting a tea towel.

From the open window behind him he heard a familiar flutter, and Matthew landed on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. “Hey,” he said, “so how’s our guy?”

Hob ran a hand through his already disastrous hair. “Could be worse?”

“Yeah that’s about what I figured.”

Hob obligingly let him hitch a ride on his shoulder down the hallway, and he disembarked onto the top of the dresser, uncharacteristically quiet.

“Dream, love, wake up.” Hob laid a hand against Dreams cheek, jostling him gently. “I’m sorry, duck, I need you to drink for me. Come on.” Dream woke with a sharp breath, eyes tracking quickly around the room before meeting Hob’s. The tension drained visibly from him.

“Hob…” he said. When nothing else seemed to be forthcoming, Hob leaned in and helped him shuffle up against the pillows. He took two pills and drank half a mug of water before turning away with a scrunched, pained expression. “No more.”

“Okay.” Hob set the mug aside, knowing if he pushed his luck then everything that just went down would come back up. He gently went about wiping away a nights worth of clammy sweat from Dream’s face and neck with the towel.

“Thank you,” Dream murmured, followed by a tumble of words in a language Hob didn’t recognize (and he thought he’d heard them all.) Then, “I’m sorry…I…”

There was a soft thump as Matthew landed on the bed beside them. “Dude, what the hell was that?”

Hob sighed. “That was probably the hundred and three degree fever talking.” He pressed the towel to the pulse beating in the hinge of Dream’s jaw. “Though it happens sometimes on a good day. Think his brain’s still working out the kinks.”

Matthew sat silently for a long minute, watching Dream shifting restlessly beneath the blankets. Then he said, in a voice more subdued than Hob thought him capable of, “I feel kinda shitty, you know? I thought him being human, it was gonna be a big larf. Haha, right? I forgot for a sec how much it sucks balls, sometimes.”

Hob chuckled. “That’s certainly one way to put it.”

Matthew hopped over to Dream, close enough to preen gently at a lock of tangled hair. “You’re gonna feel better in no time, Boss 1.0”

He looked up at Hob. “There, uh, anything I can do for you guys? I mean, I was a lousy cook even when I was human so I wouldn’t trust my chicken soup if I was you but, you know, anything else I can do. Just ask.”

Hob opened his mouth to reply, and suddenly felt hot fingers, curling around his wrist again. Gripping tight. He dropped the towel and covered Dream’s hand with his own, then shifted to lace their fingers together.

“Actually, Matthew, can you ask Daniel to do me a favor?” The enormity of the fact that he could say this, so casually, as though he was asking someone to pick up milk at the shops, wasn’t lost on him. “Could you ask him to get a message to Del for me?” He rubbed Dreams fingers where they were locked with his own and felt the grip relax. “Tell him to ask her…to send us some goldfish instead. She’ll know what you mean.”

“Right,” Matthew said. “As Boss 2.0 to ask Del for goldfish. You got it.”

“Thanks Matthew.”

“Hey, anything for you guys.” He took off through the door and vanished in that uncanny way he had. Hob reached for his phone, carefully set the next alarm, and slid back under the blankets, tugging Dream against him in the gray pre-dawn light. “Not going anywhere,” he whispered, and lay his head down to sleep.

[zzoomacroom]

Fic: The Seeds Are Bursting, The Springs Are Seeping

Dreamling, Smut, One Shot, 2832 Words

Tagging @fleabagoftheendless and @mallory-x because y'all expressed interest with the WIP ask game. Also, credit where credit is due--this was partly inspired by several different asks sent to @gabessquishytum (some of which may or may not have been from me 🤫).

Tags and summary below the cut (very NSFW!):

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022), The Sandman (Comics)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling

Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling

Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, One Shot, Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Domestic Fluff, Dream Sex, Wet Dream, Oral Sex, Blow Jobs, Sex Toys, Butt Plugs, Vibrators, Dildos, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Retired Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus Has a Vulva, Hob Gadling is Good at Cunnilingus, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus Loves Hob Gadling, Hob Gadling Loves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Musings on Morphussy, Masturbation, Vaginal Sex, Top Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Bottom Hob Gadling, Top Hob Gadling, Bottom Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Married Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling, Lazy Morning Sex, Not Beta Read

Summary:

They are both breathing heavily, foreheads pressed together, and Hob grasps Morpheus’ backside with his free hand and pulls him closer still. Morpheus reaches between them and wraps his hand around Hob’s thick, throbbing cock, stroking vigorously until Hob cries out and spills over Morpheus’ hand and onto his own stomach. His hole twitches and clenches around Morpheus, who soon reaches his own peak and floods his lover’s insides with his seed just as—

—Morpheus, formerly Dream of the Endless, awakes with a gasp. He blinks, bleary-eyed, as he finds his bearings. He is in bed beside Hob, who is still fast asleep, in their flat above the New Inn. It is early yet—6:23 AM, according to the clock on the bedside table. The morning is quiet and still; the only sounds he can hear are the gentle tapping of the rain on the windows and the steady rhythm of his husband’s breathing. He is cozy beneath the covers, their shared body heat making it perfectly toasty. It is peaceful. He is content.

Except for the fact that he just woke up in the midst of an intense orgasm and he is still unbearably aroused.

(AKA the Retired Morphussy fic, in which Retired!Dream has a wet dream and he and Hob have lazy, weekend morning sex)

Continue reading on ao3:

[immacaria]

Fluffbruary: February 2 - Memory

  Tags: Retired!Dream AU; Established Relationship; Living Together; Fluff; Suicide TW; Orpheus gets a body and a will to live; Daniel Hall is Dream of the Endless; I have shamelessly stole one of CJ's ideas and Dream is now a baker; He throws flour at Matthew's face when he is being insufferable; Hob's memories; Hob's POV  

  Hob is laying down, eyes staring at the ceiling and he thinks. He thinks about time where all he has now would be just a hopeful wish, a dream to make the reality less painful. A home, enough food, a comfortable bed, somewhere warm to curl up at night and the person he loved between his arms.

  Dream - No, Morpheus - sleeps soundly next to him, curled up and wearing one of Hob's sweaters. His hands are closed next to his face, not unlike a cat, and Hob has to fight the urge of squeezing his face and waking him up.

  The last time he did that Morpheus woke up so pissed and offended, Hob only had nightmares for a week. Not that he minded, he got friends with most of the nightmares. Doesn't mean his students weren't worried with the growing dark circles under his eyes.

  Anyway, he thinks, shaking his head, and smiles. They are together now, they have time.

  When Morpheus appeared at his home, a head without a body on his arm, Matthew sneezing on his shoulder and the three of them soaking wet, Hob's first instinct was to close the door at their faces. He didn't, but the instinct was there. Instead, he let them in and brought towels and tea to them.

  Turned out that the head was Dream's son - Or rather the head of his son - Orpheus and they were there in the last try, a last bet to see if Orpheus could find a will to live again. Hob didn't know how to help with that. He knew the myth, of course, he knew what happened and why the boy didn't want to live anymore.

  By Mary's tits, he understood why he didn't want to live anymore.

  After Eleanor and Robyn, during those horrible, horrible eighty years, Hob had thought of giving up more than once. A simple ask was all that it took for it all to end. A simple plea and he would meet his beloved and their children again.

  But he thought of his Stranger, his beautiful and immortal Stranger, all alone in the world again, without anyone to share a drink and understand what he went through. He thought back to their shared nights, the smiles he slowly began to conquer and the amused looks. He thought back to their last meeting and how he had to stay alive and do better.

  The boy in front of him had nothing to hold on too. His love was dead, his life had ended and he was now nothing but a head sitting in the living room of a stranger with a towel around his head and drinking tea by a straw. There was nothing he could hold on to, not in that situation.

  "You are the son of Dream, right? You can live in the Dreaming, can't you?" Hob said, his heart breaking at the thought of his friend losing a son like he had.

  "I think so, yes." Orpheus said, looking to the side to see his father nodding slowly.

  "Then go live there. That place has so many beautiful things to see, so many exciting things to be done. You could wish for a body there, walk around without having anyone carrying you around. You could sing and entertain little dreamers and you could live again," he had been kneeling in front of him at that point, eyes gone frantic as words tumbled out of his mouth. "There's so much to live for, Orpheus. So many songs to hear, so many tales to be told, so many landscapes to see. On every corner, every second, every breath you take, there's a reason to be alive still."

  "Your loved one is dead and, believe me, I understand the pain. I too have lost someone I deeply cared about more than once in my whole life. I have buried too many lovers and I had to bury my only son once. I know the grief you are feeling deep inside your bones. I know the feeling of wanting to be dead and not being able to," he was crying now, tears rolling down his face as Eleanor's laugh filled his mind and Robyn's smile shone along it. "It would be so easy, wouldn't it? To ask for death? For this all to end? It would be too easy, but would it be fair with your love? Would she agree with it?"

  "No, she wouldn't," Orpheus had said, looking down while Hob stared at him.

  "I won't let you choke on that lasso around your neck and nor will your father. We will find things to fill your time, we will find something for you to hold on to. There's so much out there, young Orpheus, there's so much to live for. You can't give up just now, even if you want to. Can you promise that? Can you promise us you will try? Just this one more time?"

  "What's your name?" Orpheus said, eyes shining with unshed tears and Hob had smiled, sniffing as he said:

  "Hob. You can call me Hob."

  "Then, I promise, Hope, I will try just this one more time. I will try to see the beauty of life again," he whispered and Hob nodded, getting up.

  "That's all I can ask of you."

  And he did try. There were bad days in the beginning where nor him nor Dream seemed to be good, seemed to have enough patience or courage to do what was sometimes necessary, but they tried anyway and now, every time Hob visits the Dreaming, Orpheus is there waiting, with a body to his own  and playing with Matthew and others citizens of the Dreaming.

 Both him and Morpheus are healing, slowly, but surely and that is all Hob could ask of them. Sniffing a little, he turns around, looking at Morpheus sleeping next to him, too much like a cat, and smiles. Years have passed since that day and Morpheus is no longer an Endless, just a simple immortal being, even if some of his powers stayed with him after he stepped away from his position.

  He now works at the New Inn, baking for it and telling stories every Wednesday for anyone that would like to hear - More than one adult started crying during those and so has Hob. There is also a book into the making that he does not let him see and little sculptures now fill every inch of their home. Because that is what it is now, their home.

  Sometimes, Orpheus and Daniel come to visit, just to see how they have been going and drink tea. Sometimes Matthew comes along and he laughs at how much of an old couple they look like. More than once he has received a handful of flour at his face for that.

  But every day Hob sees himself amazed with the fact that this is his life now. That he gets to have this every day of his life and no one will take this away from him. He has two sons now, because no matter what Orpheus and Daniel say they are his children, and he is married to his Stranger, the same one that ran away when Hob as much as dared to call him a friend.

  Now he calls him 'beloved', 'duck', 'dove', 'love', 'honey' or anything else that he wants to because they are married and Morpheus is not going to leave him anytime soon again.

  So he takes a deep breath and turns around, pulling Morpheus against him. He doesn't need to get up in a few hours and his bed is warm and comfortable. The outside world can wait a few more hours while he sleeps next to his husband.

[ibrithir-was-here]

I feel like Danny and Cori 2 would get in sooo much trouble together

[loomingcastle]

Sorry my handwriting is kinda bad-

If you haven’t seen the other post I made of this Dream, he’s kinda different from your usual so uh yeah

Both designs are by me :]

[issylra]

issylra's dreamling fandom content list

writing: the trouble with talking - series - complete - explicit - 19k - canon verse - Dream learning to communicate while Hob is the most patient man in the universe.

warning sign ⇾ mercy ⇾ the list

someone to stay - series - compete - explicit - 55k - alternate universe - tag - tattoo artist Dream and florist/handyman/professor Hob meet and fall in love.

spilled ink & daffodills ⇾ bloom ⇾ feel something ⇾ reciprocation ⇾ steady hand

take it easy - series - wip - explicit - 18k - post-canon - tag - Dream retires and moves in with Hob. Fics focused on Dream experiencing things for the first time.

breathe ⇾ remedy ⇾ slow hands ⇾ practice ⇾ drunk (in love) ⇾ stripped

by the minute - complete - explicit - 11k - alternate universe - tag - Dream takes a job as a phone sex operator so he can win a bet with Desire. Hob can't stop calling him.

nightswimming - complete - mature - 3k - canon verse - Dream and Hob go swimming together in the middle of the night.

blood in the water - series - complete - explicit - 7k - alternate universe - tag - Hob and Dream are criminals with a lot of history and a lot of feelings.

break me shake me ⇾ the hand that feeds

golden days - complete - teen - 21k - canon verse - In which Dream agrees to visit Hob more often and neither of them quite know what they're getting into.

distraction (reaction) - wip - explicit - canon verse - Dream stumbles on some suggestive photos of Hob and becomes hopelessly distracted.

visuals: gifs | au gif sets