#sad hob

[sourcerry]

My body issues are acting up again, so naturally I project them on to a fictional character - because I can't, for the love of god, find a therapist. This is mainly a sad Hob/caring Dream self indulgence.

I'm thinking about Hob falling into a rabbit hole on the internet and not being his happy confident self. Maybe it's because things move on so fast this century. Maybe it's because you're connected with everything all the time.

The thing is Hob used to think very little about his body. First because he just had to keep it running, later he focused on achieving different things from money to education.

Bodies and their shapes however, seem to be the main focus of people these days. So it's for the first time that he actually looks at himself and worries. He is quite on the hairy side of men and since he quit the soldering he got quite soft around the middle. After his experience with starvation, he enjoyed food more than ever and perhaps, indulged more than it was appropriate.

Since Dream visited more often and things were evolving from friendship to relationship, Hob feels more and more insecure. Dream used to persue great leaders and goddesses. Hob is neither and it bothers him. He fears that he won't be able to keep Dreams attention for long. So maybe being nice to look at would help him. Just to keep him a little longer.

The plan of action is quite simple. Lose the fat and gain more muscle mass. The internet offers a lot of solutions. From healthy to harmful - he can't die, so what does it matter? He cuts back on food, fits regular exercise in his already busy schedule and soon sees results. His body changes but his insecurities don't. He still finds things to dislike or right on hate about himself. It affects his whole life, his mood and his dreams.

Right after Dream told him about his true nature, Hob asked him to not interfere with his dreams. He liked them - dreams and nightmares alike. Just like he loved life with its ups and downs.

Now he suffers through nightmares of not fitting into his clothes, people calling him nasty things, Dream leaving him for someone better looking.

Dream of course notices the changes but doesn't know how to bring them up. While he honours his promise, he can't help to steal a glance at Hobs visits in the Dreaming. He just needs to understand what's happening. When he does it breaks is heart. It really does. He still doesn't know how to confront his friend, who became way more than a friend, during his past visits.

Falling in love with Hob had been so easy and felt so natural, it had never occurred to Dream, that it needed clarification.

His next visit is, like all visits, unannounced but carefully planed. He enters into Hobs living room and finds him standing in front of a huge mirror. Just staring at his reflection without really seeing anything. Dreams stands behind Hob and startles him. When Hob tries to turn around Dream just shakes his head and holds on to Hobs hips. They are way sharper than they should be. Pointy bones easily felt trough the fabric of his trousers. Slowly Dream moves closer and presses himself into Hobs back, finding his gaze in the mirror.

They've rarely been this close and Dream cherishes the warmth that's oozing from Hob.

"Dream..wh- what are you doing?" Hob stutters. Heat filling up his cheeks and the tips of his ears. He feels caught and ashamed and so happy to have Dream touch him.

"I worry." Dream answers, his voice a deep hum. "You seem to be unaware of how much you mean to me. Meant to me through all the centuries. It seems that I have neglected to show you." He sounds remorseful.

"Dream.." Hob starts but Dreams look shuts him up.

"Please, Hob, let me finish. I want you to know. I need you to know, that you are acknowledged and seen. That you are loved and cherished. I need you to know that my feelings for you run deep and will not fade. I need you to know that you are in my thoughts permanently and that I wouldn't change that, even if I could. It hurts me to see you hurt so deeply, Hob Gadling, as your wounds feel like my own." During his speech a wet sheen covers his eyes and tears cling on long lashes. Hob tries to take a deep breath but it gets caught in his throat and turns into a wet sob. Big tears run down his face and his emotions are all over the place and drowning him.

Carefully Dream steps around himself and blocks his view into the mirror. Hob feels Dreams arms hold him close in a loving embrace and between one blink and the next, they are in his bedroom, no mirrors in sight. He is guided onto his bed and held through all his sobs, tears and sniffles. Fingers carding through is hair and rubbing circles on his back. "I'm sorry" he whispers again and again. "You have nothing to apologize for, my love".

The endearment rips another sob from Hob. He feels utterly pathetic. But Dream is patient and holds him. When the sobs stop, he tells him stories and when he falls asleep, he is welcomed in the Dreaming with warm hands and gentle kisses.

Nothing changes over night. Hob is still painfully insecure and worries whenever Dreams been kept away for a longer period of time. Dream is patient and kind and doesn't tire of showing his love for Hob in all the ways he knows.

[strandhai]

☆☆☆

Time is the reason why we fight to stay alive

Until the morning comes

It's a strife

But the shimmer in your eyes just makes me know

That you and I belong

And you can light the dark all by your own

So, let us show the world our love is strong

Like a sign, like a dream, you're my amaranthine

You are all I needed, believe me

Like we drift in a stream, your beauty serene

There's nothing else in life I ever need

My dream, amaranthine

☆☆☆

1689 Hob: me

Dream of the Endless: creativemayhem_

Pic by: otterton_on_tour

[ralkana]

LOOK AT THE BOYS. LOOK AT THEM!

I love it so much!

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

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

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

[appleleef]

this is what happened right

[lazycranberrydoodles]

I think if Hua Cheng's ashes ever ended up in Jiejie's cleavage, she would either pass away or ascend on the spot

@malinanan also had a GORGEOUS hualesbians coffin comic where this happened but it got taken down recently :(((

[valeriianz]

for the blossoming romance prompts, either 14 (looking at their lips while they talk), 19 (talking late into the night), and/or 27 (sharing an umbrella/coat/blanket, etc) for dreamling!!

i chose "looking at their lips while they talk" tags: human au, hard of hearing Dream, hurt/comfort

--------

Dream is always staring at Hob’s lips whenever he speaks.

It’s something Hob has gotten used to… or so he tries to convince himself. Dream is hard of hearing– not quite deaf, though his hearing is deteriorating. He’d met Dream like this, after his hearing loss began so, without really having to explain why, Hob was able to roll with it– with how Dream has always relied on reading lips.

It did become harder– watching Dream’s gaze drop to his mouth– once Hob realized he had developed a crush on his friend.

Nothing ever prepared him for those deeply crystalline eyes to focus on his lips, even during the most banal of conversations. Hob’s pulse would skip and jump, faltering over his words and laughing at himself sometimes. He wondered what Dream was thinking, during those moments when he would stammer and stutter over a sentence for seemingly no reason. It certainly made conversation drag on a little longer, Dream often having to ask Hob to repeat himself with a patient, almost coy smile.

Or– lord help him– if they were in a dark place like a backyard bonfire or a bar, Dream would lean in close, his face scrunching adorably as he tried to understand the conversation happening around him, and Hob would have to speak directly into Dream’s good ear, a hand cupped over it, like he was telling him a secret.

“I can’t hear a thing in this place,” Dream groused in Hob’s ear, both of them leaning against the bar and surrounded by minimal lights and thumping bass lines.

Hob leaned into Dream’s space, the man automatically turning his head to catch his voice.

“Let’s get out of here, then.” Hob’s lips brushed the shell of Dream’s ear and Hob was just drunk enough to not apologize over it, but the brief contact set his skin on fire regardless.

They soon found themselves walking along the waterfront, the temperature dropping in the cool night air and a breeze kicking up to match the waves on the water. Dream tugged on his jacket before stuffing his hands in its pockets, knocking his head back as he took a deep breath, tasting the city air. Hob watched fondly, the street lights they passed under giving Dream’s skin an orange glow, warm and inviting, and he had an easy expression on, the quiet hour giving him some reprieve.

Neither of them spoke, which Hob sometimes preferred… After knowing Dream for nearly a year now, he’d gotten used to these quiet moments, happy to just enjoy each other’s company. Hob liked that the most about Dream, how he was able to find solace and comfort in the silence, rather than feeling the need to fill it with small talk.

It’s late so there aren’t many people out among the scattered benches and picnic tables, as they are properly walking now into a rest area which usually would be bustling in the daytime. Vendors around them closed for the evening or just breaking down.

They come up to one that still looks open, a chalkboard sign boasting snacks like hot dogs and tater tots. Hob slows and points out the open and lit up stall.

“Food?”

Dream’s gaze sweeps over to the sign, his brows lifting in interest and he nods, turning with Hob as they approach the counter.

Unfortunately they no longer have food, the person behind the stall informs sadly, but they are still serving alcohol. With a sideways glance at Dream, Hob gives in and orders a night cap, and Dream follows suit.

So, here’s a funny thing. Hob watches Dream discuss their cider list with the cashier, and his eyes flick down maybe once or twice during the conversation. And, maybe it’s difficult to tell while he’s not facing Dream, but Hob could swear Dream doesn’t have his gaze affixed to other people’s lips while in conversation with them.

Hob of course has no idea how much Dream really relies on reading lips– how the whole interpretation works for him, matching lip movements to the words… but Hob could swear that he never needs to hyper focus on people’s mouths; he always seems to get along just fine without prolonged eye-to-mouth contact.

In fact, now that he is tipsy enough to overthink, Hob is certain Dream hadn’t always stared at his lips. Hob had naively always attributed that to his hearing declining… but that didn’t make sense, as again, Dream never needed to stare for very long when in conversation with literally anyone else. 

Drinks paid for, Hob and Dream walk a little out of the way of the path, finding a bench in a patch of grass and collapsing onto it with matching sighs.

Hob slowly sipped his beer and Dream, from his cider, staring out at the lit up skyline beyond the water. The windows in the skyscrapers were high and far away enough that they resembled stars, reflecting off the water too. It was pretty, Hob always preferred the city when the sun went down. 

Dream did, too. Much of their experience together was shared after hours.

Hob stares at Dream’s profile, how he can somehow still see his long lashes even in the limited light, the point of Dream’s nose, his devastating jawline that Hob has fantasized pressing his lips to, cupping it with his hand, nudging his nose along until he was in Dream’s sooty hair. He wanted to know what it felt like, to tangle his fingers in that hair, comb through it lovingly and also pull it just to hear what sounds Dream would make if he did so, exposing the line of his throat so Hob could latch his mouth onto it. 

Taking a deep breath, Hob set his drink down on the space next to him, and tapped Dream on the shoulder.

Dream turns, his expression curious and only a little faded, muddled from alcohol, though Hob swore Dream had less to drink than him.

Hob’s pulse kicks up once he realizes what he’s about to ask. He licks his lips and doesn’t miss how Dream’s eyes flit down to catch the movement.

“Why are you always staring at my mouth?”

Dream’s brows pinch, looking back up at Hob’s eyes with a patient stare.

“Because I need to?”

“No, why are you always… staring at my mouth.”

Dream doesn’t need to. Hob is certain of it. And Dream tenses up, his own lips parting silently, his gaze sweeping sideways.

After a beat, Hob panics. He hadn’t meant to put Dream on the spot, or make him feel awkward. He shifts to be just a smidge closer.

“I mean, is the way I speak difficult? Do I have some sort of lisp I’m not aware of?” Hob tries to joke, to lighten the mood, to brush off the question like it wasn’t aimed at Dream. 

Dream doesn’t even look at Hob while he speaks, continuing to stare into the middle distance, turning the tin can in his hold around and around.

Finally, Dream sighs, his shoulders going with it as he turns to bodily face Hob, planting one foot on the bench and almost curling around his bent knee pressed against his chest.

“I’m going deaf…”

A sudden lump appears in Hob’s throat at the quiet, defeated way Dream speaks, his eyes downcast, staring at his drink.

“Figured I was, obviously,” Dream takes a breath, tapping a finger on the rim of the can now. “It's genetic, doctors think. No cure yet. My hearing is just…” he waves a hand around his head. “... deteriorating. Fast. I’ll lose it completely in my left ear within the next five years, and then my right will surely go soon after.”

Hob swallows hard, his throat clicking at the tightness in his throat.

Dream looks up and Hob feels his eyes burn at how watery and red Dream’s usual clear, blue eyes are. 

“It sucks,” Dream proclaims with a choked off laugh, averting his gaze again. “No more music, no more podcasts… soon I won’t be able to hear the sound of my own voice…” his gaze tentatively slips back to Hob’s. “... or yours.”

Hob’s lips part, butterflies now twisting his stomach into knots.

“So I’ve been…” Dream’s eyes rove over Hob’s face, as if searching for the words. “... trying to memorize the sound of your voice.” He gives another broken laugh, his chin dipping to his chest.

“The way your lips move is unique, it helps carry your accent.” He pulls his head back up, resting it on his bent knee. “The way your tongue curls around vowels, the way you putter and stammer sometimes, it creates a profile, and I can attribute the sound of every letter to the way your mouth forms the words.”

Hob is speechless, a complicated mix of euphoria and sadness swirling around within him. 

He must take a moment too long to sit on what Dream has just admitted, because Dream’s face falls, apprehension marring his beautiful features.

“Say something,” Dream whispers, his brows going up.

Hob can’t say anything. His pulse is racing and his throat is clogged with emotion. So instead he leans forward, gets his hands– which shake slightly– on either side of Dream’s face, and kisses him.

Dream gasps loudly against Hob’s lips before kissing back, shooting electricity down Hob’s spine, all the way to his feet and back up, clinging now to Dream and pulling him closer.

Hob parts for air and kisses Dream again and again, lips-only, but he can somehow still taste the honey sweetness of him, can smell it on his breath and feel it under his touch. One of Dream’s hands knots in the front of Hob’s sweater, yanking him closer still, holding on as Hob’s lips trail up Dream’s jaw– softer than it looks– peppering kisses along the way.

Dream breathes harshly into his ear, wet and raw, tucking his head into the crook of Hob’s neck, and goes still. Hob holds him there, one hand going around the back of his head while the other finds his hand on his sweater and disentangles it to hold instead.

Hob listens as Dream breathes deeply, collecting himself, his other hand coming up around Hob’s shoulder and just… holding on.

Nothing needs to be said, though Hob’s mind is swimming with words, but he keeps them in, opting to shut his eyes and feel the warmth of Dream around him, caressing his pointy knuckles and combing his fingers through Dream’s hair. This is enough for now, holding on, knowing they have time after this.

And Hob has always enjoyed the silence they shared.

part 2!

[nolsdoods]

do u ever think about how ruoye was the only thing xie lian had for 800 years

[magnusbae]

So you know the Chinese saying that once you’ve saved a person’s life, you’re responsible for it forever? Dreamling Rescue fic where after hob saves Dream, Dream keeps showing up expecting Hob to take care of him and be responsible for him in a variety of situations and times. Bonus points: Dream explains exactly nothing to Hob. Those are the old laws, Hob should have been aware of what he was doing when he decided to arrive and save him and that’s that.

[cosmic--static]

"you looked cold" (i love you)

[colbyheartland]

Okay so this is just crack but I couldn’t stop thinking about that post that points out Dream likes to make himself AT LEAST one to two inches taller than people he’s with except Lucien. (Also what a petty petty power move it’s so funny I can never unknow this. Why is he Like That)

What if he starts doing that with Hob after they get together. Just subtly and slowly shrinking himself until he’s like an inch shorter. But he does it slowly because he doesn’t want Hob to question him about it. Hob either assumes it’s Dreams eldritch nonsense or notices immediately because of all the changes Dream has ever made to his outfit, hair, ect his height has never changed. Hob decides not to say anything as Dreams forehead is now always within reach for kisses.

[lopsidedspecs]

Dreamy Dream though the ages

[goldflinches]

the same difference (snippet)

Summary: A friend is a friend, even a few realities removed.

(or: Hob meets a different Dream. He deals with it with as much grace as he can. Which is to say, not much at all.)

---

Square/Prompt: B3 - Obsession | @dreamlingbingo

Rating: Teen

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

Additional Notes & Warnings: Show!Hob meets Comic!Dream and Comic!Hob meets Show!Dream (Yes, Based On That Fanart by Alexxuun), First Meetings (Sort Of), Matthew Being A Menace

---

Hob’s day starts with a rude bird.

Matthew, the aforementioned rude bird, announces his surprise visit with a loud “INCOMING!” All before swooping into Hob’s small apartment through the open window, honing in on his toast, landing, and then tearing into it with gusto.

It’s six thirty-nine on another gray, drizzly morning. Hob is still groggy and his lukewarm coffee is mostly on the floor, partially on his shirt. A talking raven is eating his breakfast. Surely, this has to be some sort of ominous thing and not just the actual baseline mundanity of his life. Talking ravens have to be harbingers of…something. Lost breakfasts. Crumbs. Friends who haven’t been in touch for the past three weeks and five days—okay no, it’s too early and he’s too caffeine-deficient for that train of thought right now. Sighing, he tries to pick at the piece of toast Matthew hasn’t devoured yet, only to be met with a quick snap of a beak. “Good morning to you too,” grumbles Hob as he gets up to make his breakfast. Again.

In the kitchen, he hears the telltale susurration of sand from behind him. Hob feels a smile steal across his face immediately, then bites it back almost just as fast. He continues making his second breakfast. As he’s adding another piece of bread to the to-be-toasted pile, he says over his shoulder, “Dream, your bird is eating me out of house and—“ "Oh fuck," croaks Matthew suddenly, “Shit, I forgot—“ Alarmed, Hob whirls around, butter knife and Dream’s favorite brand of strawberry jam at the ready. And he comes face to face with his friend. Or at least, some version of Dream. One with wilder hair and sharper angles, drawn like dancing shadows of tree branches. This Dream smiles with more fang in tooth when he greets Hob with a familiar, resonant tone. “Hello, Hob Gadling.” Hob drops the jam jar.

---

Hob’s day ends with a rude bird.

It had been a long day in a long line of long days and all Hob wanted to do was enjoy a nightcap before sleeping the weekend away. The loud, insistent tapping on the door was not part of the plan. Even as he’s standing in front of the door, Hob contemplates just pretending to not be at home. The hammering on the door gets more intense, almost as if sensing his thoughts. With a defeated sigh, Hob opens a door. And of all things, a raven swoops right in.

It flies down the hall, towards the rest of his condominium with a battle caw, doing a sweep of the space as Hob trails a few paces behind it, utterly bewildered. Ravens are…omens aren’t they? Bad luck or some shoddy housekeeping in this case. He wonders what his old friend would have to say about that, might bring it up next time he deigned to drop by—no, not something worth contemplating right now. At least without a good amount of alcohol in his system.

By now, the bird has perched on his leather sofa, making its mark on the upholstery. Hob slowly approaches it when it opens its beak and, in a clearly American accent, announces, “ALL CLEAR BOSS!” Another layer of confusion is added when Hob hears a deep sigh from the entryway. The raven continues on, “C’mon Boss, you know I had to vet this rando—,” and Hob cannot believe he left the door open. He tunes out the talkative raven as he makes his way down the hallway. On the way, he grabs an…umbrella. It has some heft at least but he’s definitely had to make do with less in the past. Twisting it around in his hands, Hob starts thinking about different scenarios and exit strategies and how he is not in the mood to move on to a new life, whoever is at the door better be ready for his ferocious umbrella backhand— At the doorway stands his friend. Or some other form of his friend. One with a softer lines and sleek planes, like a reflection on the surface of a still, fathomless lake. This version of his friend smiles with only a small curl of his lips, greeting Hob with a voice he misses despite himself.

“Hello, Hob.” Hob grips the umbrella tighter.

[lotusxpop]

I wonder if Hob ever asked why Morpheus didn't show up in the 1980s for their meeting and if so would Morpheus tell him the truth? That he was captured and imprisoned for over a 100 years? Would Hob be horrified at what Morpheus was implying, at the absolute traumatic experience it must have been? Hob is a good friend, he wouldn't out right show his horror because he knows Morpheus would be skittish and certaintly wouldn't believe anything Hob would tell him so Hob marches on, shows his support enough to not make Morpheus frigthened and run away.

But behind close doors? Hob would fall apart, he would remember all the ill thoughts he had carried, how he thought Morpheus was a jerk for standing him up, how he would berate Morpheus for not accepting his easy friendship, all the curse words he had uttered in the middle of the night.

And then his thoughts would turn to all he did wrong, to how he could have saved Morpheus, how he could have snuck in and broken the glass prison. He had heard about how burgess supposedly had the devil in his basement and at the time Hob had thought nothing of it, he should've, he is immortal, a being defying nature for god sake! He should have looked closer but he didn't because he was too caught up in his own self pity.

Eventually all these thoughts turns to nightmares and in the realm of the dreaming Morpheus catches on. His heart breaks for his friend, he never intended for this to happen he had merely offered an explaination for his absence, an explaination his dear friend was entitled to. Yet it seemed to have only upset him more. Morpheus wonders if all he ever does is hurt the people he love.

[ralkana]

Fluffbruary Day 1

February 1: downy | clinic | nuance

Rated G

-----

In the Dreaming, in a chamber vast and austere, there is a bed fit for a monarch. Grand and dark, tall and canopied, the linens sleek and rich, finer than any cloth Hob has ever known. He has seen his love reclined on it like the king he is, wreathed in shadows, his skin pale and glowing like the purest moonlight, eyes shining with the birth of galaxies. Sharp hunger on his face as he reaches for Hob, demands the worship Hob so freely gives.

It's a good look. One of Hob's favorites.

It pales in comparison to the vision that greets him now.

His bed is small. Really too small for two, but any bigger wouldn't fit in his cozy little flat. The sheets are flannel, so faded that the pattern on them is indistinguishable, but they are warm. His pillows are mismatched: one stripey, one a cheery yellow.

In the middle of his bed, there is a lump of blankets, its occupant curled tightly and hidden from view. The only sign of life is a riot of dark hair, ink spilled over the sunshine of Hob's ancient pillowcase.

The lump shifts, and Hob grins from the doorway where he stands, watching.

"Hob," the heap of blankets says. "Come, beloved."

The words are muffled by the thick down of Hob's duvet and the softness of Hob's pillow, but it is unmistakably an order.

"You just want me for my body heat," Hob says, but he starts forward, toeing off his slippers.

There's a sound from the bed that is not exactly a denial, and Hob laughs even as he pulls his jumper over his head and tosses it toward the foot of the bed.

He climbs into bed, scooting under the blankets and grinning at the unhappy hiss Dream makes as a rush of cooler air sneaks in with Hob.

"Royal bedwarmer reporting for duty, my king," Hob says, gathering Dream into his arms, and it ends on a yelp as Dream's cool nose finds Hob's neck.

Dream smiles against Hob's skin and he presses a kiss to Dream's unruly locks and begins to plot his revenge.

"That strategy will not succeed," Dream says after a moment, and Hob sighs.

"That's cheating," he complains, resolving to think about it later. Right now, he has a king to warm up, and a proven strategy for that.

END

-----

This is the first thing I've written since Dec 2021. I did not realize it had been so long!

Thanks to @fluffbruary for giving me the inspiration to try again and to @ladytian and @lunaris1013 for being so enthusiastic about Dreamling that I couldn't help but jump in!

[webonchin]

he feels comfortable so he turn big boi

(surprised face)

Girl help, the bots won't stop coming 😭😭

I don't have new things rn so have a few old doodles I haven't posted here

+ 1789 dreamling my beloveds

[lazycranberrydoodles]

fun fact about me: for about a year (2019-2020) i did all of my digital art in mspaint with a laptop mouse and i got really good at it. i planned to do something nice but school said otherwise so i ended up using mspaint as god intended. i bring assorted mxtx doodles.

(^my scene wwx and goth lwj designs that i've been drawing for months but never posted)