#see: hob

[onehundredandeleventropicalfish]

What would happen if Dream abandons his post, like Destruction did?

I know it's not in his character, but hypothetically, what do you think the consequences would be to the world?

interesting question!

i mean, to get the obvious out of the way, the first thing the universe would do would be appoint a new dream of the endless, the reason there hasn't been another destruction is bc he's been keeping his sigil on his person, refusing to abdicate fully, because he doesn't want anyone else to have to get dragged into this

but since you said like destruction did, assuming this was also the case for dream, let's start with this conversation

(and the line here that does always stick out to me is "things still change", because it really does boil down the endless to their most fundamental property - they are all vehicles of change. because life needs change and change needs life, that is the thesis at the core of sandman, that flows through almost every character in different ways, and if you have seven beings that represent the fundamental aspects of life, that means the things they have power over are the things that change people)

(i also still haven't gotten over the time when delirium asks what the word is for the thing that lets you know time is happening and dream just says "change", but now we're getting off topic)

essentially what destruction's saying here is that destruction will happen with or without him, but instead of being in the hands of one of the endless (a being with their own rules and restrictions, their own place in the cogs of the universe), it's in the hands of humanity (or mortals in general, in the comic world where alien species are a common thing)

fate is a really complicated subject in sandman, with both destiny and the fates as separate agents, and within that both can be surprised and influenced by the right person, but all the endless have some kind of connection to time through their father, and if there is a grand plan that's supposed to be fulfilled via the endless' aspects, they would be the ones to push those pieces into place. whether they're aware of it or not, there is some kind of order to how they care for their aspects, they have an instinct for the way things 'should be' (see: literally any prediction any of them have ever made based on their aspect)

and that would be what destruction is deliberately ignoring here, and instead letting every piece fall into place how it will, through the chaos of mortals making their own decisions

and that's a decision that's backed up by the story! because the other thing that sandman does like to push is that ultimately fate is nothing in the face of mortals. the endless exist because of living beings, not the other way around, as dream says to desire. and we see with lyta in kindly ones, she pushed the fates into acting against dream. they didn't go after dream because of the blood debt, the blood debt was the loophole that let them interfere, because lyta was going after dream, and she invoked their power to help her

why should the endless remain caretakers, asks destruction, if it only hurts them, and ultimately they're only needed to complete some arbitrary plan?

(dream who views everything as a story, which must by definition have an author and an ending, fundamentally does not understand this)

so if we extrapolate from there, if dream were to abdicate, there would still be a dreaming, but dreams wouldn't be crafted to serve the stories of the dreamers, people would learn nothing from their dreams, it would be chaos subject to the mind of the individual dreamer. some people still may have helpful dreams, but some people would be hurt by them, and there would be no predicting what would happen. you'd also lose a lot of the knowledge that dream keeps in the library, and there'd be no telling what would happen to all the creatures he's brought into the dreaming to be immortal

(as far as "but we saw the dreaming without dream for a hundred years" goes, i don't think that's a perfect example, because the dreaming is an extension of dream, you can't rip a being in two and expect both halves to just get on with their independent lives. they were hurting being apart, but they were still the channel through which mortals dream, which meant everyone's dreams got thrown into pain and chaos. whereas the dreaming that would be formed through mortals alone would, for better or worse, have nothing to do with the endless)

but there is another clue that throws a spanner in this whole thing so far - death. because destruction isn't the only time one of the endless have abandoned their duties. there's a really short death side comic called a winter's tale, most of which got turned into everything death says to dream in episode six, but there's one page that didn't make it into the tv show

death stopped taking souls. death did not move on without her. mortals were not able to kill each other. and if nothing dies, nothing changes, and the world is thrown into a very different chaos than if death just happened randomly.

i don't have a concrete answer for what this means in regards to all of the above? but here's some possibilities

1) everything i said about destruction holds true for all endless, but this wasn't death leaving her post, this was death deliberately rebelling against the system. she was still pushing pieces into place, but where they shouldn't be, actively holding people back from dying

2) everything i said holds true for all endless but death. because death is different to the others, she's death. the endless cannot experience their own aspect. the ritual that surrounds the lives of the endless don't apply to her, it's specifically stated in regards to the funeral shrouds that there's only six. she must be there for the ending of all things, including her siblings, she has no way out, so she can't just abdicate her post like the others could, even if she wanted to

3) it works differently for all of them. this is the one i personally think is least likely? but since i don't actually know for sure, i think we can consider it might work for dream like it does for death, rather than for destruction (the elder three do have more fundamental abilities, after all). in which case, dream doing what destruction did would have disastrous consequences. it would start with dreams you have while asleep, mortals would only be subject to already created dreams, which may also fade over time into nothingness. but the dreaming isn't the only thing dream has dominion over. stories, creativity, connection, hope, faith, these are all things that fall under his purview. if you could tear those away from humanity, what you'd have left wouldn't be humanity

[shadowgale96]

Hualian // Amonimy's Official Heaven Official's Blessing Book 2 Trailer

[fmd-art]

When I first saw the images of the series and didn't know anything about the plot, I thought Xie Lian was a fairy prince ʚїɞ ‧˚₊ ⊹

[happypeachsludgeflower]

Mu Qing, who was on a mission in the mortal realm with Pei Ming, is cursed and his soul is now stuck inside Pei Ming’s body. Convinced that no one will notice his absence from heaven, Mu Qing persuades a dubious Pei Ming (who absolutely knows this is going to end badly) to not tell anyone about the curse while they solve the issue themselves. And for the first time in his entire existence, Mu Qing now has a front row seat for watching Feng Xin and Xie Lian loose their shit over Mu Qing’s disappearance.

[landwriter]

Hi! I hope you feel better soon!

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

“I cannot believe you broke the mirror.”

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

Before you decide to adopt him too.

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

He wondered what they saw when they looked at him.

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charles waggled his eyebrows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

Their cheeks both looked wet.

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

[evenmyhivemindisempty]

My controversial opinion about Hob Gadling is that I believe he’s absolutely the sort of guy that “puts things behind him”, and tries to wash his hands clean of the things he feels icky about. This is implied pretty well in the show, with him blithely moving from soldiering and robbery to printing, from slaving to… whatever it was he was doing in the 19th century instead. That being said, this is not at all the same as actively trying to atone, or even making a concerted effort to be a better person, and I really wish fandom could tell the difference!

[five-and-dimes]

On the one hand, I do think Hob, as a greedy human, would of course want to know everything he could about his stranger. That said, I think Hob, as a greedy human, would be so understanding of Dream's reticence.

Hob is immortal, and he's had to deal with the ways human's view the "unnatural". He was drowned as a witch for not being careful enough to hide what he is. He knows he can't be open about his immortality because of the very real and dangerous ways humans react to that. He has to be careful. And he's not even powerful, he's just immortal, and that's enough to put him in danger of other humans.

And Dream is so obviously something powerful, something far beyond what Hob is, who knows what humans would do if they got their hands on a way to hurt him (Hob will, unfortunately, eventually get an answer to that question). So yeah. I think Hob would get it. Of course Dream has to be careful about revealing who and what he is. Normal humans tortured Hob without fully understanding what they were dealing with. If Hob had more information and the benefit of his immortality, realistically he could find a way to hurt his stranger in some way.

Especially after they reunite and Dream finally does give Hob that information he's been itching for for centuries. Especially when Dream tell him about his capture. Burgess got a hold of something he shouldn't have, but Dream could have eventually escaped if Burgess hadn't been given more information about his name and what he was.

I don't know, this is just me rambling, but I honestly think Hob would get it. I think even before learning about Dream's imprisonment, he would have been understanding of Dream holding back information. Hob knows humans suck- humans hurt Hob, Hob's hurt humans- as much as he wants to think he's earned Dream's friendship, he knows Dream has every right and reason to be extremely careful about who he gives information to.

[totallynotsloughjykk]

tgcf fandom can we please start holding feng xin accountable for being an ass to mu qing for 800 years. like. he started most fights and was constantly on servant mu qing's ass who was just trying to survive but people always skip over it

[thebitchesterbrothers]

100% convinced that Hob would wear this every single night just to annoy Dream. And maybe to provoke him to rip it off his body

[valeriianz]

Hiii @embroiderling here. For the way you said I love you, can I ask for 31? Or 27. Or 25 😂 all the options are so good 💖

Thank youuuu

Helloooo! So nice to see you after so long! haha 31: In awe, the first time you realised it also, reincarnation au :D

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

“I love you.”

The stranger looks twice at Hob, a beautiful expression of bafflement making his eyes pop.

Hob blinks, the words coming back to him.

“Sorry,” Hob laughs, breathless. He feels a flush growing up his neck. “That just– came out of me. I don’t– here–” Hob scrambles to get his feet flat on the ground and heft himself up halfway, extending a hand to the man he’d crashed into… who looks achingly familiar.

The man, who Hob takes in properly now, hesitantly takes Hob’s hand, allowing himself to be pulled up from the ground, standing now on unsteady legs. They carefully walk out of the bike lane and onto the slightly congested sidewalk. Hob realizes he doesn’t have his scooter until his hand shoots out to catch the thin, gorgeous man, by the elbow as he wobbles a bit.

“Careful.” Hob offers a smile but it feels broken. “You okay?”

The man looks up from the point where they are touching, back to Hob, absolute shock and something like recognition glinting in his eyes.

Hob’s breath catches when he sees that the man is crying. Beautiful blue eyes shine and overflow down pale skin and strikingly sharp cheekbones.

“What’s wrong?” Hob’s grip tightens slightly on the man’s arm while the other hovers between them.

“I don’t know…” The man finally speaks with a voice that sounds like heaven. His fingers shake as he wipes away the tears on his face. “I just feel like…”

His low vibrato cracks as he looks back at Hob.

“Feels like I’ve been waiting an eternity to hear you say that.”

Hob’s jaw drops and his heart soars.

“What’s your name?”

“Dream.”

Hob huffs out a disbelieving laugh.

“It’s– It’s so crazy. I knew that.” Hob laughs properly now at the smile that tugs up the corner of Dream’s lips. “Do you know me? What’s my name?”

Dream’s brows pinch together as he seems to study Hob.

“... Hob.”

The smile that cracks through Dream’s composure is enough to send pin pricks up Hob’s spine, tickling the back of his neck, not to mention how incredibly strange and yet familiar this all seems. Like he’d looked at those crystal blue eyes a hundred times, in a hundred different lifetimes, a hundred different emotions reflected in them.

Then Dream laughs. A bark of laughter that he immediately covers with his hand and finally, for the first time since Hob spoke to him, looking away, the tips of his ears turning pink.

“What’s so funny?” Hob’s smiling so wide he feels his eyes squint.

“I don’t know!” Dream nearly screeches, his visage morphing through something like the five stages of grief before smiling again.

“But…” Dream manages to get himself under control, looking around at the people walking past them, the buildings towering over them, and back to Hob. “It’s a very strange name.”

It feels like an excuse, or some explanation that at least makes sense.

“I love your laugh,” Hob blurts out, feeling more present, all the sudden.

Dream sighs, his body relaxing, like he’s committed to whatever is happening… acquiescing to it. 

“I know you do.”

Hob grins. This is insane.

“Can I take you to dinner?”

Dream’s breath seems to catch, his eyes flicking up and down.

“I feel like you owe me a lot more than dinner.”

Hob laughs again, emotion welling on inside his throat and making his own eyes begin to burn.

“I’m going to make it up to you. God. What is happening right now?”

Dream merely shakes his head, running a hand through his hair and looking around them.

“Are you free tonight? Eight o’clock?”

Hob nods, excitement– like a child, rushes through his veins.

“Let’s meet here,” Dream points to the ground. “... again, if you’re serious.”

Hob nods again. “I’ll be here.”

“Good,” Dream takes a long breath, his eyes seem to burn, instantly watching Hob. “I will see you again.”

An unconscious grin splits across Hob’s face.

“You will.”

[airplanecrashingtowardstheground]

General Nan Yang, please, an evening of your time, and my life is yours

[martybaker]

Dream as Maleficent and Hob as Robin Hood for Halloween

Fun costumes to draw but now I am also kind of thinking about an au with Maleficent Dream and Hob as the king’s huntsman. I’m sure there’s a good story there I just haven’t figured out it’s shape yet

[banancrumbs]

hmmm dreamling 1389 um querido….. 🫶

[lazycranberrydoodles]

oooooh you want to read my huaxuan hookup fic sooooo bad

bonus :P

[just-french-me-up]

Endless Sandman Fanfiction Tropes I Adore (1/?) : ➻ Hob Gadling Saves Dream from Roderick Burgess

[i-only-came-for-the-posts]

I love it when I can make my blorbos experience sexism it's so funny. Like Shen Yuan should be transmigrated into a girl and have to deal with the impending doom of marriage to Luo Binghe. Wei Wuxian should have to deal with Madam Yu projecting her hatred of Cangse Sanren onto him more. Nothing I do could make Xie Lian's life worse.