#the fact that morpheus is MUCH more powerful than hob

[squarecloud73]

*I worship you Tumblr don’t remove it

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Ych by HunterB

[samsalami66]

Hullo!! Here's one from the I Will prompts for Dreamling please!!

"I will fall in love (with you)"

Easy as Breathing

Hey love! Thank you so much for the prompt (and I apologise that this took so long). Have a short but sweet addition to the soccer au, I hope you like it <33

Read here or on AO3!

Weekends have always been Morpheus’ favourite part of the week, although the reasons for it have changed drastically since he joined the Fiddlers. Whereas a bit more than a year ago he loved weekends for the fact that he would not have to deal with Roderick or Alex or any of his other teammates for two whole days, he now loves weekends for the time he can spend with his friends outside of training. Truth be told, almost all of his time is spent at Hob’s apartment on those days. While he loves all of his other team members, they are not Hob. 

Hob, his best friend, who is currently stirring a pot of Morpheus’ favourite soup while singing along to the musical they discovered together last month. The unsteadiness in his lyrics is made up with the enthusiasm in his voice. He sings like he does most things in his life: with emotion, heart, and dedication. His hips are swinging, wooden spoons are being misused as microphones, and Morpheus is pulled into spins and sways every moment Hob does not spend with a knife in his hands. 

Whenever he puts his head on Hob’s shoulder and lets him lead, he prays for it to never stop. He wishes to feel Hob’s powerful voice and laugh vibrating in his chest forever, to wake up to that bright smile and those caring eyes. Morpheus can't remember a single time he has felt so safe before finding the Fiddlers and Hob. Completely and utterly safe. If he were to fall, Hob would catch him, again and again, literally and metaphorically.

Every one of Morpheus’ bad days Hob meets with sympathy, a helping hand, a shoulder to rest on. He does not mind the tears and snot and cries of rage and frustration because Morpheus couldn't stand his racing heart and sleepless nights anymore. But no nightmare or panic attack or act of anger can scare Robert Gadling away. He's there, whenever Morpheus needs him. 

And Morpheus is learning to do the same. He pulls Hob's head into his lap when he notices his friend growing restless and frustrated, cards through the long strands of his hair and massages his scalp until all the tension bleeds out of him at once. When the tears come, so often for others, for the destinies of people who were not his to save, he lets Hob hide his face in his neck and cry until he is shaking with missed breaths. 

But Morpheus notices that over the past few months, it has become less. The crying, the nightmares. Roderick’s voice is a more distant presence now, undoubtedly there, but less overpowering than it had once been. Quieter. Never less angry. 

Hob, too, seems to get overpowered by his emotions less and less. These days he notices the tension in his shoulders and chest as much as Morpheus does, and does his best to breathe through it, to decompress by going for a run or talking the emotions out with Morpheus. 

“Bad with boundaries,” Hob had once told him, and Morpheus had frowned. In his eyes, Hob seems to be rather good at setting boundaries with assholes, but that hasn't felt like the right thing to say. “When I see people hurting, I want to help. But not everyone can be helped. Doesn't mean I stop trying.” 

Morpheus wondered for a while after that, if he could be one of those people who simply couldn't be helped. Every time he woke up screaming from a nightmare, he would apologise to Hob. Over and over, until Hob would take his face in hand and remind him of his progress. The fact that he is going to therapy, changing habits, getting better. 

Morpheus hadn't seen his progress, until that moment. The fact that Roderick’s voice and the nightmares and the panic attacks were still there was proof of the opposite in his eyes. But Hob pointed out they were getting less. Only twice that month did he wake up screaming. He was more focused, and didn't get lost so easily in the dead man's voice. Only one panic attack in six months. 

He smiled more, Hob said. 

Morpheus thought that wasn't entirely his own doing.

After all, Hob taught him how to smile again, with his awful puns and endless patience and ridiculously thoughtful gifts. Gerhard the Great sits between their pillows on Hob's double bed, which is slowly becoming their bed with how much time Morpheus spends sleeping in it. There's also his spot on the couch now, his mug in the cupboard, his part of the bookshelf and closet. At this point, Morpheus wonders if moving in with Hob wouldn't be easier. 

“Hob?” He asks, face pressed into his best friend's neck, his eyes closed. Hob hums in response, easy as breathing, and Morpheus feels no fear speaking his next words. “I think I'd like to live here. With you. If that's something you'd like too.” 

The arm around him tightens, and then the other hand Hob has been using to stir the soup comes to rest at the nape of his neck. 

“I'd love to have you here, Dream,” Hob murmurs, close to his ear, and Morpheus smiles. 

Easy as breathing. 

“I think,” he whispers, quietly enough that it only rings between their chests, between their hearts that are pressed together in their embrace. “I will fall in love with you, kollitós. One day.”

One day. When he will have healed enough to think of words as big as love.

“Can't wait for that day, lovey.” 

The words are quiet, soft, and they warm Morpheus down to his very core. 

He thinks he looks forward to that day as well. 

[mid0khan]

Dreamling Week 2024, day 1

First time I participate in something like that, I can't wait to show you what I did for each day! Thanks to @mr-sadman for the prompts ^^

Prompt: Indulgence

Title: Just a Weekend

Summary: Dream and Hob had a fight. They will have to talk it through (and Dream can learn that the world won't end if he isn't workign 24/7, as a treat). (1,781 words, no TW)

Read on AO3:

It had all started with a stupid fight.

Look, Hob knew that Morpheus had responsibilities, and pretty important ones. He knew, when they started dating, that they wouldn’t see each other as often as they could if they were both humans. He knew Dream was doing his best, but his duties kept him away from the Waking World more often than not, and Hob couldn’t spend too much time in the Dreaming either (Morpheus had explained something about body modifications and compatibility with the Waking World, Hob didn’t understand everything but he had understood the result of him staying too long in his boyfriend’s kingdom would be Very Bad).

Still, their anniversary was just around the corner and Hob had wanted to make it really special; which is why he had asked Morpheus if maybe he could spend a whole week-end in the Waking World, or at least be there when Hob would be awake. Which Morpheus had interpreted as Hob trying to keep him from his function. Hob had tried to fix the misunderstanding but had quickly grown frustrated with Dream and it had soon escalated to a full-blown screaming match. Morpheus had stormed off in a dramatic cloud of sand, and Hob had spent the rest of the afternoon angrily sweeping his living room so it wouldn’t look like an indoor desert anymore.

It had happened three days ago. Hob’s anger had run its course, and now he only felt disappointed. And a bit worried, since Morpheus hadn’t come back since their fight.

Okay, maybe a lot worried. It all felt a bit too much like 1889 for his comfort.

Which is why he almost cried in relief when Matthew knocked on his window this evening.

Hob rushed to open the window and let the soaking wet raven inside. He barely had time to greet his friend than Matthew was flapping an accusatory wing at him, spraying him in the process.

 “I know it’s none of my business, except I’m the one who had to work in a fucking hurricane because the Boss has spent the last days in a terrible mood so it is in fact my business. What happened?”

Hob sighed. “We had a fight.”

“No shit,” Matthew deadpanned. Hob glared at him. “Sorry sorry. What did you fight about?”

“I asked him to stay a few days in the Waking World for our anniversary. It’s next week. But he took that as me trying to keep him from his work, and he got all defensive, and I grew frustrated, and we ended up screaming at each other…”

“Wait wait wait. Let me get this straight. Everyone in the Dreaming has been miserable for the last three days and finding a dry place in the realm has become Mission: Impossible because you guys couldn’t talk to each other?” Hob winced apologetically, and the raven let out an indignant caw. “You better fix this Gadling.”

“I can’t fix it alone you know; it takes two to make a couple.”

“I know but I’m not risking to anger a being with cosmical power who’s already in a bad mood.”

“Fair,” Hob sighed. “Listen, I’d like to fix it, I don’t like it when we’re angry at each other, but I can’t do anything if he refuses to see me.”

“That’s it. When you’re asleep tonight I’m dragging you to the castle and you two will talk it through like adults.”

 “What happened to not angering a being of cosmical power?”

“You’ll be the one facing him, not me,” Matthew shrugged.

“You’re such a good friend,” Hob teased.

“Don’t worry, you can’t die,” the raven retorted. Hob rolled his eyes and Matthew stuck his tongue out at him good-naturedly.

When Hob fell asleep this night, he barely had time to register what his dream was about before the raven pulled him into the Dreaming’s throne room. Hob cursed as he was immediately drenched, rain falling from the ceiling in literal waterfalls. Outside, he could hear the wind screaming, rattling the painted windows in their frames.

“I thought you were exaggerating when you said a hurricane!” Hob yelled to be heard against the storm as Matthew dragged him out of the room.

According to the raven, Morpheus had spent the last three days sulking in his quarters. Thankfully, it wasn’t raining in the hallways of the castle, so they manage to travel through the corridors without too much discomfort; it wasn’t dry though, as water was seeping from the walls, pooling on the tiles in puddles that Hob had to avoid carefully lest he ended up with wet feet.

“I’m surprised Mervyn’s crew isn’t fixing the castle,” he commented as they passed waterlogged paintings.

“The whole maintenance force has been mobilised in the library,” Matthew answered. “Water everywhere! I had never seen Lucienne so angry; the Boss is in for an earful when everything’s back to normal.”

When they finally arrived in front of Morpheus’ quarters, Hob’s feet were wet anyway. Matthew left him in front of the black door with a last “good luck” before flying away. Hob took a fortifying breath before entering his boyfriend’s bedroom.

Hob knew the place; him and Dream had spent some (very memorable) nights there together, so he didn’t take time to admire the finely sculpted furniture, the high ceilings, or the sheets so dark they would have made Anish Kapoor cry. He quickly scanned the room, and when he didn’t find Morpheus, he crossed the bedroom toward its balcony.

Just as he had expected, Dream was there, standing in the rain, wearing a robe so thin it was almost see-through, the wet material sticking to his skin.

“Morpheus?” Hob called, and the Endless flinched. “You’ll catch a cold if you stay in the rain like that.”

“I can’t get sick,” Dream answered. Yet he walked back inside the room, which Hob took like a small victory. Every time the immortal saw his beloved in his own realm, he was baffled anew by how otherworldly the Endless looked there. He did too in the Waking World, to some degree, but it was nothing compared to how Dream looked in his home. His body was slimmer, taller, more emaciated and more muscular at the same time, his skin so white it was almost luminous. His eyes, usually an impossible shade of blue, were completely black with swirling nebulas in place of a pupil. He was beautiful. He was always beautiful. Hob loved every aspect of him.

“I missed you,” he said softy. Dream answered with a pout, but a smile creeped on his lips all the same.

“…I missed you too.”

“Can we talk about our fight?”

“I don’t want to.”

“I know, but we will have to do it at some point.”

“I know,” Morpheus sighed. He sat on his bed, hugging his legs against his chest nervously. “Let us talk then.”

“Can I sit next to you?” When Dream nodded, Hob climbed on the bed with him. He tentatively took Morpheus’ hand in his own, and when the Endless didn’t push him away, he squeezed it lightly. He knew how hard those discussions always were for Dream.

“Are you angry at me?”

“I was a bit at first. I’m not anymore.” Morpheus let out a relieved sigh. “I’m sorry for screaming at you, love. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I apologize for leaving abruptly. And for the sand. It was spiteful of me.”

“You’re all forgiven. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do it again, though. I was worried.”

“I will try my best.” They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, Hob softly rubbing circles on Dream’s hand with his thumb. “… There is something else I should apologize for,” the Endless eventually whispered, avoiding Hob’s confused look. “I am entirely responsible for our argument.”

“That’s not true, I could have explained myself better…”

“I understood what you were trying to say perfectly well the first time, I just pretended not to.”

“If you didn’t want to spend the weekend with me you could have simply said so,” Hob said, hoping he didn’t sound too hurt by the idea.

“But I want to!”

“Then why did you-” The immortal realized he had raised his voice, and stopped, forcing himself to take a few calming breaths. “Love, I need you to explain why you did that.”

Morpheus’ form shrunk as he turned away from Hob without letting go of his hand.

“It was… easier to blame you rather than myself.”

Hob softened. Dream had made a lot of progress since they had started dating when it came to talking about his feelings, but he still struggled often. It didn’t help that he had literal eons of issues to unpack.

“What do you blame yourself for?”

“I shouldn’t want to be away for so long. I already left my realm for a whole century-”

“Against your will,” Hob chimed in.

“-and now I want to leave again? Spend two whole days in the Waking World?” Morpheus continued like he hadn’t hear him. “I was made to serve my function. I shouldn’t want to do anything else.”

“Dream, we talked about this. You’re allowed to want things outside of your job.”

“It’s not my job, it’s-”

“I know; that’s not the important part of what I was saying. Let’s try something else: your siblings, do they like things outside of their function?”

“Destiny doesn’t.”

“And he looks absolutely miserable if you ask me. What about Death?”

“… She likes apples?”

“Does it make her bad at what she does?”

“Of course not! She accomplishes her duties admirably,” Dream exclaimed, turning back toward Hob. The immortal took his face in his hands, trying to be the most convincing he could be.

“See? It’s okay to have likes and wants outside of your function.”

“But leaving for two days? What if something happens and I’m not there?”

“I’m sure Lucienne can manage. And Matthew can come fetch you if you’re absolutely needed here.” Morpheus still seemed doubtful. Hob sighed. “It’s okay if you don’t think leaving for to days is a good idea. But I want you to understand that you can let yourself have things sometimes. Constantly depriving yourself is not good for you, and it won’t make you better at your work.”

“It is a habit that will be hard to break.”

“I know. But I’ll be here to help you.”

“… I think I would like to spend the weekend with you. But I will come back to the Dreaming when you will sleep, just to make sure everything is alright.”

Hob smiled. “Sounds perfect love.”

Outside, the sun shone for the first time in three days.

[nualaofthefaerie]

Hello!! I come with questions for Madame Nuala President 🎤✨??

So I can see how Sandflower could be established since it has a solid foundation on canon BUT what about Immortalflower? Or Immortal Sandflower? ( hope I’m not mixing ships names! I mean Hob x Nuala x Dream)

Do you have any Headcanons as to how those ships come to be? I would be interested in knowing more about them!

Thank you 🖤

You are so not mixing them, dear. It is ImmortalSandFlower, ISF for short.

We have come to it! The idiots at the end of the road. My creme de la creme of polycules.

Okay, so before Miss Madam President gets too excited, this post will be structured in the following way *puts my big girl glasses on*:

Why do I think ISF works so much more for me than any other trio?

My personal headcanons for them

Note to the people: I too have some Dreamling inclinations, I just love WOMEN damn it. Also, she is not my self-insert (that too has been in my inbox). I too want to be a man who is not an idiot and WILL LOVE miss Nuala like she has never been loved before. She is my wife, my girlfriend, my muse. I have no interest in those men. I am in love with her. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

ALRIGHT! It's all under the flower line so I don't do the thing where I clog the tag.

Why ISF works so much more for me than any other trio?

In the short of it - they have such compatible personalities. It's insane. I have a picture I send to my friends every time I try to explain Morpheus - Hob - Nuala.

This is how they exist in my head. When they are in couples, their dynamics LARGELY differ, but together, they share the emotional burden of each other - Moon/Star/Sun dynamic. Morpheus is the tired moon, Hob is the bright star, and Nuala is the warm sun, and together they make the whole sky.

It's a very warm triangle, and to me, they are a real love triangle because each loves the other and they stand alone as couples. When they are a polycule, their power dynamics also equal out if that makes sense. Morpheus does not necessarily hold more power over them anymore, so I like that about it as well.

To illustrate their couple dynamics better, I will give examples. I love to give these examples so people see how versatile they are. (happy screaming).

Dreamling

I will not go into details, but my quintessential Dreamling is 1789 Dreamling.

I think this is the era that really summarizes their dynamic quite well - Morpheus doesn't really force himself on Robert but still holds a considerable amount of power that could equate to him having influence over Robert's life decisions. Robert on the other hand is also very independent, he respects Morpheus, but is not afraid of him anymore. So I enjoy 1789 Dreamling a lot.

2. Sandflower

I won't use the comics to explain what is THE Sandflower dynamic because the real summarized Sandflower dynamic is them:

I can swear this on my soul, when Nuala and Morpheus begin to act like Elizabeth and Darcy in the show, remember, you heard it here first. Their opposite views on the world, their stubborness, the way he treats her in canon as if she is no more but a mere inconvinience but in reality he constantly does things to protect her, is very Darcy and Elizabeth of them. And as I have always said, Nuala has always stood her ground and protected who she is and where she came from.

3. Immortalflower

There is one perfect media that encapsulates Hob x Nuala's relationship SO good that there is no reason to explain further to people because they usually get it from the get go.

THEM. Hob and Nuala have THEE Eugene and Rapunzel dynamic. Consider the fact Nuala has never been to the Waking world, she knows nothing about it and Hob is this Immortal man that has been to every corner of the planet already. Her enthusiasm about everything she doesn't know about sparks back his love of everything he does know. So they are very gentle, loving, fluffy, a bit silly, goofy.

Separated, each couple can stand on its own and be entertaining and complex, while being something completely new and interesting when together, which is VERY rare to me. So they compel me TERRIBLY.

ONTO HEADCANNONS

I have DOMESTIC headcannons the most. If anyone wants spicy HC, you'll have to ask separately. But just so we know, we do offer the Spicy version of the menu.

SO! This is based on the concept of Retired!Morpheus:

The three of them live together in the inn

Morpheus is either a children's book author or a librarian

Hob owns the Inn and does his little Professor gig to the side

Nuala transforms a part of the Inn into a beautiful patissiere, full of pink mugs and live plants and fresh bread, pasteries and wonderful unique blends of teas she learned from her fairy home

They play a board game together once a week

Read together on the couch every night

Saturdays are for movies (Nuala adores animation and Morpheus doesn't understand the appeal of cinema entirely)

When they do go on dates, they usually let Nuala pick where she wants to go because it's her enthusiasm about seeing something new that is more precious to the good old Dreamling who has seen all there is to see from Earth than being on a date per se

Hob cooks, always

Morpheus is a wine mom

Nuala runs around the kitchen to entertain more than to help at any capacity, but she has a talent for vegeterian dishes, but Hob is not a big fan, but they compromise, they compromise

Each of them kind of has their own room, but also they always end up sleeping together in someone else's room.

My hc are all primarily domestic, or maybe my mood is like that right now.

I will now do something very shameless and admit I have already written an ISF one-shot. It's called "Set Me Free" and it's a Sea AU - Dreamling Pirates and Mermaid Nuala. It's one of my favourite things I have written and it's quite fun short story!

I hope my answer was interesting! If there is any other questions, inquires or suggestions or thoughts, my Asks and DMs are always open!

Love,

Li 🪷

[rriavian]

I loooooove how u write Dream. He is powerful and prideful cat energy. ❤️❤️

What is your fav Dreamling/Coritaneus trope? Which fic would u like to recommended?

Powerful Dream with prideful cat energy is a wonderful description of how I write him! Thank you so much! I’ve been overjoyed reading all of your comments over the past few days <3 really brightened up my week and I’m just incredibly happy you’ve been enjoying my work :)

I think my favourite trope has got to be anything that leans into (and respects) Dream’s nature as an Endless and explores how that is navigated in a relationship.

As a trope it can be serious, can be humorous, but I just love Dream being the most confounding thing in any room. Even to his own creations. Just at any given moment there’s Dream 100% ready to radiate sheer incomprehensible energy to everyone around him, perhaps also to test if a lover has the mettle to navigate that part of him. In Corintheus I love how that’s this irresistible (if sometimes irritating) challenge, a nature that the Corinthian wants to triumph over in some way, coveting it in a way I don’t think many others ever have.

The infinity within Dream is so easily misunderstood.

This is probably not even a trope per se, but it's very much what I most enjoy in a narrative. I suppose I love Dream getting to feel desired for the parts of himself others might find unsavoury/indecipherable/difficult. And that sort of leads into the other side it—I love the Corinthian’s nature as a nightmare being leaned into as well, and how perhaps the ‘dream’ part of Morpheus is something he both does and doesn’t always understand. Absolutely love when people play with the mix of the Corinthian knowing Dream so intimately—perceptively predicting him, understanding who and what he is in a way few others do—while also being like ‘my lord what the actual fuck?’

Ok so I lost interest in Dreamling pretty early on for a myriad of reasons.

And I actually wrote a fair bit more about it here than I meant to before condensing it down (though I will elaborate if you want!) but I think this trope translates as slow burn for them. Hob doesn’t have a) any real context and b) any real information about who/what Dream is. I think a lot of people forget that, or assume Dream will be open with him so quickly/easily, or assume that Dream should be open with him so quickly/easily.

It’s not something you see very much but I really feel like the fact that Hob knows absolutely nothing about Dream has so much unused comedic potential.

A fic rec! Ooh! There are so many talented people in this fandom, but I would definitely recommended Thymoeides by @aisalynn. It’s a WIP set in an alternate universe (human AU) where Dream is hired by Burgess to cleanse his haunted manor, and it’s so so good I absolutely love it!

[windsweptinred]

Wait wait wait, if you're still thinking about that Dream and Desire reconciliation au, I've a few ideas.

What if when Dream was first captured and asking for help Desire came to aid him instead of just sending Allianora. As I understand, Allianora was their attempt at an apology(and we all saw how that went down). I think Desire personally helping Dream reclaim his kingdom would patch up their little spat neatly.

After that they're back to being besties. They also help each other out a lot. For example:

Desire steals a very dangerous and rare artifact and the owner of the artifact is breathing down their neck because they suspect Desire was the one who did it

Desire: Dream! It has been so long, hasn't it since we last talked! I've missed you terribly. how have you been keeping? Are you alright? Have I told you just how-

Dream: what did you do?

Desire: what, I can't just call my darling big brother simply because I love and miss him?

Dream:

Desire:

Desire: I... may have stolen the Morningstar's crown(I'm pretty sure they don't have a crown but just go with me) and I need you to tell them that I've been spending these past few weeks in your realm creating wet dreams with you

Dream: let me get this straight, you want me to lie to the most powerful being in this universe, besides the Creator himself, straight to their face, endangering my own kingdom and future diplomatic relationships because you stole the Morningstar's crown?

Desire: ....yes

Dream: *sighs* just give me a moment

Oh! And imagine if it was Desire instead of Death who dragged him to the white horse(honestly, big brother, it wouldn't kill you to have fun every once in a while🙄🙄) Desire being, well, desire knows that their big brother is really getting tired of this Being an Endless bulshit and really wants to, y'know, kill himself. So they try to help him and what a better way to help than hooking him up with someone!

And would you look at that! Someone who seems just as stubborn as Dream, with a burning desire for life, greedy for everything humanity has to offer. And it looks like Dream and this mystery guy are eyeing each other already. (The mystery guy is Hob, obviously)

(No, I am not sorry for turning this post into a dreamling post)

So Desire makes a deal with Death to keep Hob alive as long as he wishes to live. Death agrees because she doesn't want to loose her baby brother either.

The next century Desire gets Morpheus to agree on another visit to the white horse(come onnn, it was fun the first time wasn't it? Besides, I miss my big brother, you barely spend any time with us anymore!).

When Morpheus sees that the obnoxious mortal he met the last century is still very much alive and well he whips around to demand explanation but Desire just hugs him, says: "have a happy date!" And dissappears. ugh, typical.

Desire is very, very disappointed to discover that his brother and the human have not, in fact, fucked their brains out by the end of the date. They are even more annoyed to discover that out of all the tropes in the world they have chosen mutual pining and idiots to lovers(really, Dream. Aren't you supposed to know better, being the prince of stories and such?)

Burgess still imprisons Morpheus but because Desire and Dream are on good terms this time he gets out of the fishbowl a lot more faster. Either he asks for help or Desire tells Hob and he rescues him instead.

And all the blackmail that comes from knowing someone for ten billion years! Desire is more than happy to tell all the times Dream has fucked up in a magnificent fashion. most embarrassing stories to his new partner. Dream resorts to dirty tricks too and in turn offers Unity all of Desire's embarrassing stories.

That's it for now but there will probably be more. Sorry not sorry for the long ask

Oooooo! I absolutely love it! I love the idea of Dream being indulgently tollerant older brother and Desire being a bratty yet loving little sibling. 🥹❤️ Thank you!!! (Also... 'What did you do? 🤣😂) And never apologise for a long ask. Right me a book, I'll merrily sit down with a cuppa and read every word!

I love the idea of Death and Desire tag teaming to find Hob for Dream. My new personal headcannon is Desire has looked at every partner Dream has brought home over the eons and thought, 'Oh honey, no. Absolutely not! They're terrible for you.' Then in a way only a younger sibling can, nefariously got rid of each and every one. Ofcourse Dream doesn't see it that way. But it's totally for his own good. He's truly appalling at picking partners. Finally Desire and Death find Hob and think, that's the man our brothers going to marry. Whether he knows it or not. 😅

[so-i-grudgingly-joined-this-site]

Part 6: “I reject your reality, and substitute my own”: Maybe There is Hope After All

Note: this is a part of my essay "The Awkward Meta-Tragedy of Neil Gaiman's The Sandman", see [here] for the masterpost of all links, reading order, and content warnings.

Well, despite everything the author might have possibly intended, I still do care about Morpheus and his fate.  To paraphrase Ludo’s 2008 album title, “He’s awful, I love him.”

                And that’s part of why the most common interpretation of his ending—as both a fully planned suicide and a tragedy—disturbed me so much.  At best I could metaphorically “scoot” it around to interpret it as a traditional tragedy where his fatal flaw was his inability to seek help/treatment or cope with his issues, and thus the warning to the audience is a positive one to seek help if you’re struggling.  Once again, though, given the way depression sometimes works, that still feels vaguely close to victim-blaming.

                Another way to get around the unfortunate implications would be if his death was not, in fact, a carefully planned suicide.  Maybe he just fucked up enough that eventually the various things he fucked up all stacked properly to be his downfall without any intent involved?  But, that does raise the huge question of who got Loki to kidnap Daniel, provoking Lyta and thus causing the rest of the dominoes to topple.  In the suicide interpretation it’s implied to be Morpheus himself who intentionally set the situation in place; without that explanation that’s an odd open thread left.  But still, an accidental buildup of issues rather than intentional suicide would make things a lot less uncomfortable.  Somehow, “you can do everything you can to change and still have negative and destructive consequences come your way” or “you can try your best and still fail” feels more reassuring than the alternative of “he did change, but he still decided to die—in the end, it didn’t even matter.”

Totally replacing a dead loved one still feels weird, regardless of their manner of death; I don’t think there’s any way around that.   But, at least if it was not a suicide, then it doesn’t validate the “my family would be better off without me” sentiments that might be present in suicidal ideation.

And then, there’s the theories about how Morpheus might not be dead—at least not completely—and that he might have found peace and happiness outside of oblivion after all.

One major factor is the fact that Hob dreams about seeing Morpheus and Destruction together after the events of The Wake.  While Hob himself dismisses it as “just a dream,” there’s the fact that both Morpheus in-universe and Neil Gaiman out-of-universe both insist that dreams in this series are never “just a dream.”  Combine that with what I pointed out about “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” and how the story is meant to let the fae live on despite leaving Earth, and it paints an interesting possible picture.

Maybe Morpheus did find a way to leave his job after all.  To live on as something else, as Morpheus rather than Dream of the Endless, as a dream or a story or a memory or a friendship, but no matter what, separate from the responsibilities that so stressed him—and with a responsible and eager successor to take up the reins in his place.  Maybe Hob’s example of living through everything even showed him that changing with the times is possible.  Just walking away like Destruction did wasn’t an option for him, and not just because Morpheus felt he couldn’t abandon his realm without leaving someone to be responsible.  He also couldn’t just walk away because, probably, it wouldn’t be dramatic enough!

Come on, Morpheus is a (possibly literal) Drama King; of course he’s not going to quit quietly.  Plus, he knows from Destruction’s example that just leaving also leaves open an eternity of the other universal powers trying to nag you into going back.  What’s more dramatic, and conveniently going to prevent anyone from coming after you, than making sure everyone thinks you’re dead?

Or, well, actually dying.  Sort of.  I have no doubt that some aspect of Morpheus died.  Perhaps the aspect that was Dream of the Endless, died, but, as I mentioned, left Morpheus to live on separately in some other form.  “You cannot kill an idea” can go both ways; it can mean that we’re not supposed to care that Morpheus is dead, or it can mean that Morpheus lives on.  He, as an independent identity, with a specific name he has chosen, is also an idea.  If the question is “change or die,” it obscures the fact that this is also a universe where people can change by death.

Heck, there’s even an example in this series of people deciding to finally live upon finding themselves post-life.  Chapter 4 of Season of Mists introduces the Dead Boy Detectives.  At first, much like “Façade,” this chapter seems to have little to do with the overarching story; besides showing how bad it is to have the formerly hell-bound dead returning to Earth and featuring a cameo by Death, there’s little to connect it to the primary narrative.  The majority of it is just about two random boys dealing with supernatural bullies, and both ending up having been murdered by the bullies at the end.  But, the story ends on the fact that they choose to “make the most of their afterlives.”  They leave behind the crappy situation assigned to them by their circumstances by living on in a new form (in the boys’ case, ghosts).  If two random kids can do it, why can’t Morpheus do the same?

Actually, there’s a whole lot of events in Season of Mists that I’ve seen propped up as evidence that Morpheus was settling his circumstances to prepare for his suicide, but I believe can just as easily be interpreted otherwise.  It could either be him setting up backup plans in case of his accidental imprisonment or death, or even intentional preparations for a successor to take over for him when he dramatically retires rather than straight-up dies.  I could fill an entire other essay with that evidence; I planned to include it here but my page count is already far exceeding what I intended, so I’ll save that for a possible later time.  If anyone reading made it this far, let me know if you’d like to read that!

So, do I believe in these more optimistic interpretations of the ending?  In terms of authorial intent, I’m not sure.  I think there’s certainly a reason everything seemed so shockingly pessimistic at first read, and possibly that was the intent.  The books were written at a different time, when the author was at a different place in his life.  But stories are also about belief.  And when the author straight up says that it’s open to interpretation, well… I’d rather choose to believe that this grand, sweeping, thought-provoking narrative isn’t about an irredeemable depressed asshole being rewarded for suicide, with the reader being scolded for caring. 

Perhaps asking whether or not that’s “true” is missing the point.

[kittynannygaming]

[The Sandman] I'll always hope

Title: I’ll always hope

Fandom: The Sandman

Summary: There are two things that Lucienne knows. First, Dream lies to himself way too much. Second, Dream’s hopes for himself are way too low. It doesn’t matter. She can hope for two.

Pairing: Dream of the Endless|Morpheus & Lucienne, Dream of the Endless|Morpheus/Robert “Hob” Gadling

On AO3, for @mr-sadman's National Librarian Day 2024!

Lucienne was aware of her Lord’s… expectations. Expectations from the others but also, and more importantly, from himself. When she died, the first time, it was so quick that she never felt a thing. The second time, she wasn’t that lucky. And then, she appeared.

“Let’s go.” The entity in front of her was a cold, stuck-up, bitchy entity.

“How would you like it?” Death looked at the child in front of her, with something akin to surprise. That’s when she proposed her a deal.

“What do you say child? Do you want to become my brother first raven?”

“I’ll do it. But I’ll need a new name.” Death chuckled.

“Ah, yes. Indeed. Why not Lucienne? It means Light and every little star shines brightly, isn’t it?”Lucienne thought about it. She had been her dad’s little star. She could be one for Dream.

“I like it. I’ll be Lucienne from now on.”

And so, Lucienne became Dream’s first raven and she learnt a lot about the third Endless. The saddest thing she learnt was that he didn’t believe he deserved to be happy. If she wasn’t so committed to protocols, she would have had a word or two with him. And maybe throwing something (soft, she wasn’t a monster) to him just for his stupidity.

Raven

Then, after a few millennia as a brown-necked raven, she was given the choice to have a humanoid body (again) and to become the Librarian of the Dreaming. Of course she thought of a body which wasn’t the same as before. She liked her new body, particularly her ears, faerie-like. She looked nothing like when she was alive. It was better, anyway.

She saw her Lord sabotage himself countless times and she despaired for him to find true happiness. That was until he met Robert “Hob” Gadling. As his first raven, it was her duty to make sure nothing bad happened to him. She sent Jessamy to monitor things during their centennial meetings.

Hob was everything her Lord was not and she thought that, maybe, it was that he needed. Dream always surrounded himself with powerful beings of all sort. Someone so down to earth was a novelty, something he couldn’t predict (or not very well). When 1889 happened, her respect for Hob Gadling grew a bit more. He, also, saw how lonely Dream was. And of course, Dream needed to add more drama by leaving as he did.

After his disappearance, she took upon herself to keep the Dreaming together. She hoped for the swift return of her Lord and, even as the world around her began to decay, she still has faith he would return. She knew, he would return. No matter how long it would take him. She didn’t hope in vain. Now, after a few months, she saw him going to the waking a lot more; mainly to visit Hob. There was attraction between the two of them and everyone knew it. But Dream, as always, was pussyfooting the whole thing.

“My Lord, may I have a word?”

“Of course Lucienne, what is it?”

“I know you didn’t have a stellar record in relationship but why are you so hesitant to woo Hob Gadling?”

“He deserves better than me. I’ll hurt him in the end, like I always do.”

“No offence, my Lord but you hurt people so you can control the narrative. You seems to think that you’ll be ending alone, unlovable and you work your way to that result when, in fact, you could very well be happy forever.”

“I bring bad luck to people I’m close to. There was a child, once…” Her Lord looked into space but came back quickly. “It does not matter, she’s gone…” Lucienne thought ‘Could it be…?’

“Are you very lonely? I think you’re very lonely.” Dream’s eyes opened wildly to these words.

“I’m Dream of the Endless, I’m perfectly self-sufficient. Loneliness is a mortal condition, and I’m not a mortal.” Lucienne smirked

“You are such a liar.” Dream extended his shaky hand and Lucienne took it and pull him to her so she could hug him. Dream began to cry silently, the wound he didn’t knew he had (the wound he didn’t want to recognise) began to heal.

[llflorence]

Love at Third Sight

Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling, Rock Band AU - 20K

A collaboration by @llflorence and @hpurlnovi for the @endlessbigbang

Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply 

Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Top Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Bottom Hob Gadling, Explicit Sexual Content, Identity Reveal, Mutual Pining, Romance, Light Angst, Emotional Sex

Summary:

Hob is dyslexic, and music notes are just like letters. B’s and d’s and p’s and q’s all look the same, as do all those little bastard tadpoles on the musical staff. So he does it a little differently, with a little humor and a lot of close-ups of his hairy fingers. And for some reason, it’s a hit in more ways than one. As Robyn begins to tune his instrument, Hob cases the room for his stranger. It’s the third time the handsome man has been to one of their gigs. There’s something familiar about him, something Hob can’t quite put his finger on. But the fact that he’s made eye contact for the third time is extremely intriguing. Johanna, of course, notices. “You’re looking for him again, aren’t you.”

Read and see the art on AO3!

Excerpt:

If Hob could, he would stay wrapped around Em forever.

They don’t, of course, but they do end up back in bed. Gloriously naked, Hob finally catches sight of the entirety of Em’s pale skin. He’s covered in beautiful black tribal tattoos over his chest, arms, and back. His shoulder blades stick out a little too much, and his ribs are dangerously close to the surface. But he’s strong and wiry, and Hob exhales a massive sigh of relief as Em pulls the sheet over their heads.

They’re tangled in a sideways embrace, kissing and smiling and laughing, and damn – it’s so good it fucking hurts. This. Hob had been hoping for this since he’d broken it off with his wife. Someone who shared the same love of life as he did. And Em is damn near perfect.

It’s a bit scary.

[littledreamling]

Golden Heart

Hob Gadling was a soldier, through and through. He had been born to a soldier, had lived a soldier’s life, and, God willing, would die a soldier’s death. He had lived his entire life in encampments and on the outskirts of battlefields, first by the will of his widower father, and then by his own will after his father had taken a cannonball to the stomach. Soldiering was in his blood; gunpowder and smoke ran through his veins and his fingers had been shaped by God to wield a weapon. He also, courtesy of his lifetime of experience, knew a fellow soldier when he saw one. He knew the heavy slope of shoulders, as if the heft of an entire ocean was centred upon them; he knew the halfway distant gaze, as if the past was a living nightmare, come to torment. Every soldier carried these weights, even the visage he caught a glance of in every mirror.

The first time he had ever clapped eyes on Morpheus Endelas, son of Lord Chronos Endelas, Hob knew the man was no soldier. He had floated through the camp, his feet barely brushing against the dry leaves, his head held high and haughty. There had been a massive red jewel around his neck and a white-breasted raven perched on his shoulder, equally lordly, if a bird could ever be described as such. Hob had simply rolled his eyes. He didn’t know why Lordling Endelas was parading through their camp, but it was also above his pay grade. He was just a first lieutenant, practically still rolling around in the mud with the common soldiers. So he had shrugged and rolled his eyes some more, right up until someone helpfully informed him that Morpheus Endelas was their new Captain. And then he had started reconciling his relationship with God, because the Lordling was sure to get them all killed.

A year later, his opinion on the matter hadn’t changed. In fact, his opinion had developed into something of a statement of fact , complete with proof. Morpheus, for Hob Gadling staunchly refused to call him Captain, had gotten many a man killed. At first, it had been sheer incompetence that killed their men. The Lordling had obviously never stepped foot on a battlefield; all of his military knowledge had come straight from a page and he had been too proud to ask for help. He had slowly learned, however, and Hob had (somewhat naively, perhaps) assumed that things would get better. Instead, recklessness and ruthlessness had taken over as their battalion’s leading cause of death. Morpheus was cold and calculating, his orders were absolute, and he sent anyone who dared to question his judgement running, often with tears in their eyes. With the exception, of course, of one First Lieutenant Robert Gadling, who rebuffed Morpheus at every turn. It was a wonder, he often thought, that Morpheus hadn’t kicked him out of the army yet; he certainly had the power to, especially with the might of the Endelas family backing his every decision. Not that Hob was complaining. His presence and refusal to blindly follow Morpheus’ pointing finger had saved his platoon from an untimely death on more than one occasion. It wasn’t much, but when his men had nothing else, they at least knew they had Hob Gadling.

Read the rest on AO3!

[serenailith]

i’m saying more right now than i ever said

for @dreamlingbingo

Square: c3, free space Rating: e Word Count: 2978 Ship(s): dream of the endless/hob gadling Warnings: none Additional Tags:  alternate universe - human, alternate universe - no powers, porn with a sprinkle of plot, (actually a fair bit of plot), unrequited love, maybe not so unrequited love, nothing to lovers - freeform, one (1) idiot in love with another idiot Summary:

Really, after two years, it was inevitable that one of them would stupidly fall in love.

Link: on ao3 masterlist

He’s a pretentious, self-righteous, arrogant, pompous arse, or so Hob has heard, but damn, does Hob love the way Dream looks right now. His wild, sable hair plastered to his forehead, blue eyes narrowed, a bead of sweat sliding along his temple as he fucks into Hob with a determination that Hob imagines is reserved for Olympic sports. It would be amusing, how focused Dream is right now on something like sex–something that should be fun and full of more emotion than this–but all thoughts flee Hob’s mind at the next rough thrust.

Well, the thoughts that don’t revolve around Dream’s cock, anyway.

As it is, Hob finds himself infatuated with the beautiful creature that is Morpheus “Dream” Emrys.

Not that Hob would ever dare say as much. He and Dream aren’t exactly what one would call “friends”. Not even enemies, either. They just… are, yet are not. They’re two people who met at a pub two years ago who occasionally sleep together (except ‘occasionally’ has become ‘nearly every weekend’, which Hob is certainly not complaining about). They don’t speak to each other outside of the texts; tonight’s had only said “I’ll be there in 15”, from Hob to Dream as he’d stormed to his car. Dream hadn’t even responded, but Hob found the door to Dream’s flat unlocked and the man himself sprawled naked across his bed when Hob entered the bedroom.

Now it’s nearing four o’clock in the morning and Hob is groaning as his release splatters across his belly, as Dream continues fucking him with ruthless vigour. It’s almost too much, but that’s Dream. He pushes the boundaries but never crosses them. Hob knows if he says something, Dream would stop. He would apologise and ask if Hob wants to continue. Hob would very much like to continue: Sex with Dream is some of the best sex Hob has ever had.

Eventually, it’s over, and Hob is unceremoniously pointed toward the door once they’ve both cleaned up. He exits the building hiding a smile, despite the way the evening ended. It isn’t unexpected, anyway. In fact, it’s almost comical how Dream still walks him to the door after so long of their trysts. Hob could walk around the flat with his eyes closed and never so much as stumble.

Two years of this. If it were anyone else, Hob is certain he would have long grown tired of it all—the journey back to his own empty home, the lack of talking, the lack of caring. Sure, Dream is considerate and respectful, even giving to a fault, but he doesn’t give a damn about Hob outside of the bedroom. He’s made that quite clear with the utter refusal to ever acknowledge Hob’s texts.

Hob knows it’s ridiculous, how hung up he is on Dream, but he wouldn’t change it for the world.

The next week passes in a long, slow crawl. He hardly pays attention to the lectures he gives, and poor Richard, the teaching assistant, receives more essays to mark than he normally does. Hob prefers to take the brunt of the workload–it is his job, after all–but his mind continuously strays from his tasks. He even burns dinner three nights of seven, which is especially frustrating when all he wants is the homemade curry he planned for Friday that only ends up in the garbage, charred and inedible.

But Saturday… Saturday brings with it a firm knock on the door before the sun is even fully up. Hob scrambles for his phone on the nightstand, peering blearily at the screen. His lips tug down into a frown at the time, at the texts that wait to be read:

D 10 D 5 D I am outside

As he reads the last text, another knock sounds from the living room. Hob rolls his eyes and stretches out the kinks in his back. Dream can wait just a moment, can’t he? Except the timestamp on the latest message says he’s been waiting for, at the very least, five minutes. Hob still takes a moment to stop in the bathroom and use the toilet, wash his hands, do the normal ‘first woken up’ thing.

“Good morning,” he all but chirps when he pulls open the door.

Dream glowers in response but doesn’t speak as he brushes past Hob. Hob pulls a face behind his back and closes the door as his whatever-Dream-really-is heads straight for the bedroom. So this is how Dream wants it, then. Hob stifles a sigh but dutifully follows. It may be half-six in the morning, but he isn’t about to turn down an hour or two in bed with Dream.

To his surprise, Dream allows the reverence Hob feels he’s always owed, especially with his pale, smooth skin and sharp angles on display. Dream lies there, one hand tucked under his head and the other at his side. His lips are quirked upward in one corner, the slightest hint of a smirk on his face, as Hob’s hands slide along the flat planes of his abdomen.

Beautiful, he is. His hair is just as wild as ever, and his skin is soft beneath the rough drag of Hob’s palms. His thighs are narrow and strong between Hob’s own, and he lets out a slow breath when Hob slides one hand along the solid line of hip. The steadiness of inhale-exhale breaks as Hob wraps his fingers around Dream’s cock, and Hob grins to himself as he gives a tantalising stroke.

“What brings you by so early in the morning?” he asks before leaning down to nip at Dream’s clavicle.

“Do not ruin this already, Gadling.”

“I would never.”

And it’s true. Hob will do anything he possibly can to keep this arrangement going. So he shuts up and tightens his grip as he bites down on smooth skin. Dream finally cracks–he grits his teeth against the moan that even Hob can hear struggling to escape. His hips jerk up toward the ring of Hob’s fist.

By the time Dream pushes into him in one, slick slide, Hob can scarcely breathe for the lust. He always suffers from this effect, the one only Dream can cause. Hob has had other partners in bed–Hell, he has three others who are willing and completely informed of each other’s presence. Hob is perfectly content with his sex life.

But Dream? Dream is the sole lover who can send Hob’s head spinning, his body yearning even while getting what it wants, his mind constantly fixating on what has happened between them from the start.

‘Lover’. Hob knows that’s a poor word for what they are. There is no love between them, though he can’t deny there’s something there on his end. It’s silly, but he can’t stop himself from… From falling for the enigmatic man currently pleasing him in ways no one else can.

Dream leaves two hours later, both of them sated, if a little disappointed (on Hob’s part). At least, Hob hopes Dream is as satisfied as he is, or else it would be a very awkward encounter next time.

If there even is a next time.

God, does Hob hope.

With a sigh, he rolls over in bed and reaches for his phone. Johanna has texted, a simple “Bar tonight, NO no allowed.” As if Hob will refuse; he needs it after this morning. It was fun, it was more than that, really. But Hob knows that each time, every single time he spends any amount of hours–minutes–seconds in Dream’s presence, he falls even more in love.

And it hurts. It aches in his bones to know he’s given so much of himself to Dream without the man reciprocating. Hob isn’t sure Dream even realises. They’re nothing but two men who sleep together every weekend.

That fact would kill Hob if he let it.

Drinking with Johanna is, as ever, a veritable rollercoaster ride that ends in regret the next morning. He isn’t sure what he says to her after the fifth (or was it the seventh?) shot of whisky, but judging by her texts the following day, it was a lot more than he ever had before. She’s surprisingly supportive in her own acerbic, crude way.

Jo If the idiot doesn’t realise what he has in you, then fuck him. You’re not a bad bloke, not really. A bit of a prick at times, though. Jo Can’t believe I’m saying this but talk to him. Worst that happens is he fucks off.

Yeah, that’s definitely the worst. Hob replies with nothing more than a ‘Thanks’ and an emoji of a kissing face. He knows she’ll make some sort of snide comment about it, but he also knows it’ll make her giggle though she would deny it. One thing about Johanna Constantine is that she is sharper around the edges than most, and she wears that fact like armour. However, she is oddly soft and gooey inside. And he loves her for everything she is.

At one point, he thought maybe it was actual love, the kind that something could have grown from. Then she’d soundly put that notion to a cold, abrupt rest when she started waxing poetic about her girlfriend Rachel while completely intoxicated. It’s the only time he’s ever seen her so drunk.

Hob hesitates then sends another message. There’s no response, though he expected it. He still sits up, pausing when his head spins and the world goes wobbly at the edges, then rises to his feet. After dressing as quickly as possible, he hurries out of the flat and down the stairs. Mrs Callisto from across the hall glances up at him from where she stands by the postboxes.

“Ah, Robert! You are in a rush this morning.”

He only smiles in return then steps out the door. The brisk air clears the fog from his mind, but it doesn’t make him falter. It almost seems to invigorate him, further persuade him to do what needs to be done. And this? This needs to be done.

It’s been a long time coming, really.

So Hob swallows down any doubts he might have and ambles down the street. He could drive–it would certainly be faster–but he really doesn’t think it’s safe enough to do so. Not with his mind so full of thoughts that drive him to distraction. Yeah, walking is definitely the safer option.

Dream opens the door moments after Hob knocks. His hair is messier than usual; Hob recognises the style, though he’s never seen it before. The man he loves has just woken up. Hob wonders if it was his text or the knocking. Forcing his thoughts back to the task at hand, he draws in a steadying breath.

“I need to say something, and I need you to hear me out, okay?”

Dream gives him an indecipherable look then steps out of the way for Hob to enter the flat. He still says nothing, and if Hob ‘accidentally’ lets his hand slide along Dream’s stomach, he will never admit it. Though he does relish the way Dream shivers subtly at the touch.

As soon as Hob comes to a stop in the living room, he turns to face Dream. “Look. We’ve been doing this for, what, two years now? And I have zero complaints, really. It’s been fun in ways I can’t put into words. Because you are… You are incredible in bed. Has anyone told you that before?”

Dream stays silent, but there’s a smirk playing on his lips. Of course he’s cocky about this, Hob thinks.

“But–” And here, the smirk fades away. Dream’s brows draw together, lips pressing thin, and Hob swallows thickly. This is it. “But I can’t keep doing this. Not without you knowing that–that I love you. I have for a while, I just didn’t realise it. And honestly? It’s really starting to suck. It hurts to feel this way knowing you don’t feel the same. It hurts, Dream. Can you say something?” he asks, pleads, when Dream only stares.

“You love me,” Dream whispers after a long moment, and Hob nearly collapses to his knees at the sound. It’s been so long since he actually heard anything from Dream other than his moans; he never even spoke to tell Hob whether to fuck him harder or take it slow or anything.

“I do.”

“That is… That is quite ridiculous of you.”

“What?”

Dream shrugs, mouth opening and closing, before: “I am the worst person you could choose to love, Hob.”

“Not from where I’m at.”

“So not only are you ridiculous, you are a fool, as well.”

Hob blows out a breath. He should have known that Dream would be stubborn about this; he’s been stubborn about maintaining their status quo for two damned years, after all. Forgoing words, Hob strides closer. Dream stays still as Hob cradles his face and brings their faces closer together.

“You are insufferable,” he murmurs before kissing Dream. Their lips brush with each word: “Frustrating. Demanding, commanding. Amazing.”

“You know nothing about me.”

Hob pulls back just enough to look Dream in the eye. Unwavering. Serious. “I know how you like to be touched, how you sound when you’re kissed thoroughly, how you feel when I slide into you. I know I want to know how you like your coffee and your favourite foods and how it feels to just cuddle with you at night as we fall asleep.”

“I…”

“Please, please, let me find out.”

Dream is the one who closes the distance this time. His arms loops around Hob’s neck, and he tugs until Hob follows where he leads. The back of Hob’s knees hit the couch; he falls to the cushions with a severe lack of grace. His confusion vanishes when Dream straddles his lap, lips never separating from Hob’s even when their breathing grows strained.

After a moment, Dream finally yanks away, eyes alit with something Hob can’t name, and slithers off of Hob’s lap. His slender hands work deftly at the button on Hob’s jeans; Hob finally catches up, lifts his hips so that Dream can tug his jeans and underwear down. Dream grins up at him–God, that smile does something to Hob’s heart–before swallowing him down to the root without hesitation. Hob groans at the wet heat and melts further into the cushions as Dream sets up a brutal pace.

He slides a hand through Dream’s hair, fingers wrapping around the locks, and gasps when Dream hums around the length in his mouth. Hob can’t stop himself: He thrusts shallowly, just a tiny bit, and Dream’s hands rest on his knees. His nails dig into the skin there, and he remains still as Hob continues pushing and pulling into his mouth. Hob’s head falls back as heat sizzles in his veins.

This conversation has taken a turn that he hadn’t expected–couldn’t have seen coming–but he can’t complain. He can only allow Dream to pull off, to mouth teasingly at the tip of his cock, before pulling away completely. Hob all but whines at the lack of contact. Dream smirks, strips off his pyjamas with efficiency, and Hob reaches for him. Shaking his head, Dream disappears down the hall.

He comes back within seconds, a black bottle in his hand. Hob gives him a sloppy smile at the sight of the lube. Dream settles back on Hob’s lap and cracks the lid open. He glares at Hob when he goes to take the bottle; Hob huffs out a laugh and raises his hands in surrender. Seemingly appeased, Dream coats his fingers and reaches behind himself.

It takes less time than Hob expects, but then Dream is lowering himself onto his cock, grimacing before his expression smooths out, jaw drops open. Hob is just as affected by the sensations. Once Dream has stilled, Hob surges forward to kiss him again. His hands find Dream’s narrow waist, clinging to him tightly, as he fucks up into the tight warmth surrounding his dick.

It’s not what Hob wanted when he came over this morning. He wanted a discussion, to tell the truth and hear it back, but instead, he’s getting this. It feels amazing. Dream always does. But Hob knows it won’t be as satisfying as it normally is. Sex being used as a distraction rarely is a pleasant thing.

He feels strangely empty as Dream clambers off his lap a few minutes later.

Once they’ve cleaned themselves up, Dream gracefully lowers himself to sit beside Hob. Neither man has deigned to put on their clothes again, so Hob is nearly distracted to want by the pale skin stretched out next to him.

“It… It is not love,” Dream says, his voice quiet in the silence, and Hob flinches as if the words are a physical blow. “You wanted honesty, I presume? This is me being honest. It is not love that I feel, Hob.” Dream’s head turns, and he pins Hob with a steady gaze, steel-blue eyes gentle like he’s trying to let Hob down easily. Hob resigns himself to leaving behind something that could have been fantastic. “But it very well could be, should I allow it.”

It takes a long handful of seconds for the words to register in Hob’s brain. When they do, his lips part. His heart lurches beneath his ribs, and his throat tightens. Could this mean–?

Dream nods slowly, decisively, pointedly. Hob loses his composure. He launches himself at the man he loves, the one who doesn’t yet love him back but could in the future, but that’s okay. As he kisses Dream within an inch of their lives, he vows to be patient. He can wait.

He’s already waited two years, after all. He'd wait a hundred more.

[kittttycakes]

Yessss, that intensity of attention that slightly!jealous Morpheus would have. Like you said, overwhelming in the best possible way, and wouldn’t that make you feel so powerful to have that kind of effect on, and reaction from a being that is more than a god.

And about that tournament… your thoughts on what Morpheus would be doing are pure perfection and have sent my brain straight to the gutter.

A) undoing the buckles and unlacing the ties etc. on each part of Hob’a armour and clothes, and tracing with fingers and then lips over each piece of skin that is revealed…

and

B) omg, I can just imagine the filth that could come out of Hob’s mouth as he outlines exactly why Grace doesn’t need the attention of any of the Fae. “Who else could do this/make you…/have you feel…?” Meanwhile Morpheus is putting his fingers/mouth/…..etc ;) to good use demonstrating exactly the things Hob is saying, and whispering equally filthy but eloquent/poetic things in her ear.

I am just so here for some loving on Grace!

Also, the potential for jealous Hob, can you please tell us more?

❤️

I think Morpheus would be incredibly tactile, so I am joining you in the dumpster, because the contrast between armor and the clothing underneath, between the clothing and the skin at the bottom of it all…impeccable. All of the precious metal and all of the fine fabric in the world can’t possibly compare to the feeling of skin against skin.

There are so many things I love about this dynamic especially: 1. Hob Gadling will not shut up in bed and that is just straight facts, he should be allowed to say everything that he’s thinking in that moment, because it’s always welcome and it always lands exactly how it’s supposed to. It’s especially impactful when he’s been building up this lovely romantic moment, because who else could love her like this, who else could cherish her so deeply, who else knows her so well…only to then drop the most scorchingly X rated filth after it. Get you a man that can do both. 2. I love the vulnerability of Morpheus allowing Hob to take charge. Morpheus is still very much in control, but he’s the one listening to Hob, and even if they aren’t exactly orders, he can be very good at following instructions when sufficiently motivated. 3. Grace just gets to have the best time possible and I love that for her, she doesn’t even have to lift a finger.

I love jealous Hob. I love him. Because the Hob that Grace knows, the one that she sees, is the product of years of change and of working to be a good man. He’s a good partner, colleague, friend. But the other side of wanting as much and as deeply as he does is that there’s this little seed of jealousy, just waiting for the sun to shine on it.

More below the cut for the sake of everyone’s dashes!

Relevant backstory: As some people in academia do, prior to meeting Hob, Grace had primarily dated other people in her academic cohort. During her PhD program, she had a serious boyfriend, and things only really ended between them because he got a job at a university abroad and she didn’t want to turn down the offer she had received at the university she eventually meets Hob at, and so things ended quite amicably, if bittersweetly, because neither of them was keen on doing long distance. Not wanting to prolong a relationship that had an expiration date, they parted ways some time before Grace began teaching at the university.

However, Grace has professionally crossed paths with him several times since the end of the relationship, because they both work in very similar fields/with similar literary eras, and they have a still-friendly professional relationship. Hob, naturally, knows about him in the abstract and it’s all fine.

Until he meets him, at a conference he and Grace both happen to be attending.

He’s nice! There’s nothing wrong with him! He’s very polite and professional and clearly knowledgeable in his field and Hob thinks he might hate him, actually. He’s just so familiar with Grace, that kind of easy knowing that you sometimes still have with someone you used to love and know very well. (Among his cardinal sins, not that Hob would ever admit to it, is that he’s about an inch taller than Hob.)

He also…doesn’t look anything like Hob. If anything, he looks quite a bit like Morpheus, actually. Tall, slender, dark hair, light eyes…There’s no real rational reason for him to be jealous at all. He hasn’t done anything! He only knew Grace before Hob did, and had a relationship with her, and in a different world, he would be the one with his arm around her and she would be wearing his ring and Hob just can’t have that.

He’s trying so hard not to be an absolute dick about it, but he’s not quite his usual charming self, and Grace can’t seem to put her finger on why until she finally corners him in their hotel room and gets him to own up to it, after which she spends a lovely evening convincing him that he has absolutely nothing, nothing at all, to worry about.

❤️

[rosaren2498]

EDIT: THIS TURNED OUT SO MUCH LONGER THAN I INTENDED; I'M SO SORRY

I think... it's time. Ever since I saw the show, questions have plagued me. And I guess I just need to get them out. This is going to be an absolute mess but it's really just me trying to get my thoughts out. It mostly covers Hob, Morpheus, and The Corinthian because I have the most questions regarding them. I'd also like to preface this with the fact that I've only seen the show.

So, let's start with Hob and Immortality. How the actual fuck does his immortality work??? Hob says they tried drowning him as a witch and it makes me wonder. Does he just... drown, die, wake up, repeat? Or is he just stuck underwater, water in his lungs but no relief to be found unless he passes out? Can he pass out from lack of oxygen? Does he even need oxygen anymore? He still needs to eat, and feels hunger still, so it's likely he still needs to breathe, but that implies that basically, he spent who knows how long just drowning over and over like Stefan did in The Vampire Diaries, which is horrifying to think about. Fanon claims he can technically die, but that his soul doesn't leave his body seeing as Death won't take him, that it's more like falling unconscious and just waking up when his body is healed enough.

In the same vein, he cannot die, but Dream tells him he can be hurt. So... does he heal, then? If he gets a cut on the palm of his hand, does he have regenerative capabilities? And if yes, what is the extent of them? He can't actually die so could he, theoretically, survive without a head? Is he like Deadpool? Deadpool's regenerative capabilities are so advanced that he was once disintegrated and he healed from it. He's been ripped in half, and had his head removed and all that happens is he passes out for a bit and then wakes up, fully capable of moving and reattaching limbs (like his entire waist and legs in the video game, even reattatches them incorrectly aka backwards) Can Hob do that????? What is the fucking limit to his immortality? Is there a technical limit? Or is he, functionally, Deadpool? I really need to know because we see what the AoP (Amulet of Protection) can do so... Hob can't die so what would happen if the AoP was used on him????? Would he be rendered a smear of blood and muscles and other stuff, only to slowly be pieced back together? Would his entire body just... reform, leaving a mess behind???

In the same vein, but now moving to Morpheus. Fanon claims that he can only be hurt if it's what he wants (ie love bites, hickeys, bruises left on hips or thighs etc), and while I have no idea if that's true in Canon, because the show doesn't fucking talk about it (no show or movie ever goes into details about stuff like that and it never fails to drive me up a wall), we'll take it anyways because I have questions about that. And we'll use the scene Cori stabs him as a basis, though removing Rose from the equation, leaving Morpheus at full power.

If he cannot be hurt unless he wants it, then what would've happened when Cori tried to stab him? I've got 3 different ideas about it.

1. Cori tries to stab him and his skin is hard like a twilight vampire, so the knife either bends, or shatters (which admittedly would be kind of funny)

2. Cori tries to stab him and his skin opens, but there is no blood, nor any pain, and the 'wound' reseals almost immediately

Or the one I think is most likely:

3. Cori tries to stab him but the skin refuses to bruise or break. Like poking someone, the skin pushes in, it indents briefly, but it doesn't break, doesn't split open, doesn't even fucking bruise (because he won't bruise unless it's what he wants). I just imagine Cori trying to stab or cut him and its like using a plastic blade lol

On a slightly different topic, to take a break from things driving me crazy and turning to something I'm merely idly curious about... Morpheus gets big in episode 5. He holds John in his fucking palm and he's about the height of a quarter maybe a half dollar, and Morpheus is huge (not as big as Arishem in Eternals, but still!) Is that as big as he can get? Is there a limit to his ability to change size in The Dreaming? Obviously in the Waking World, there are limits to his capabilities, especially because he has to pass as human, but in The Dreaming? The imagination is the limit so, theoretically, could he get as big as Arishem?

Onto my questions regarding Dreams and Nightmares. Seeing as The Corinthian is the one we get to see the most, I will be using him in my examples.

First and foremost, he screams when the AoP destroys him. Is that actual pain he's feeling, or is it just a mental thing? He thinks it should hurt and so it feels like it does, but really it doesn't, kind of thing? Second... okay so the AoP is used on Cori. We get to, sorta, see his insides as he gets destroyed, and then again as he reforms in The Dreaming. What is he made of and what exactly is his anatomy??? Right before the flesh (???) reforms, there is what appears to be some kind of metallic structure vaguely reminiscent of bone that reforms, most clearly seen as his outstretched hand reforms, and something else underneath it, like he's made of 3 layers. It's really intriguing. Does he have organs beyond his mouths? Also, Fanon likes to claim his ocular mouths have tiny tongues (which is cute af) and I need to know if that's Canon immediately.

Furthermore, does he breathe?? Morpheus gets trapped in a sphere (I feel like fishbowl is too rude, like it's taking how fucking serious and traumatic that was for him and just... 'ooh funny' so I refuse to call it that) made of glass and iron for over a century and according to Google, the average amount of time for air to run out in a sealed area is 12 days. Less than 2 weeks. He spent more than a century just... not breathing because after 12 days THERE WAS NO AIR.

Which implies that he either A, doesn't need to breathe at all and does so out of convenience (you need air to speak, Burgess you fucking dumbass) and maybe habit or B, because he cannot die, he feels the need to breathe but it just... won't kill him. Which means he spent over a century with all the terrible symptoms that a lack of air provides, including a constant burning in his lungs and his head feeling like it was going to explode...

But all that to say, does that mean Cori doesn't need to breathe? Does he even have lungs??? WHAT IS HIS ANATOMY??? HE CLEARLY HAS A DICK SINCE HE USES IT THROUGHOUT THE SHOW! What else has he got??? I just... I want concept art or something similar that shows his insides and what he's made of, as creepy as that probably sounds. I need to know how human he is on the inside. My morbid curiosity will not be satisfied without these answers man. Also, random side note: why tf is his hair platinum blonde when he enters Burgess' manor?? When Morpheus confronted him before, it wasn't platinum, and at no other point is it platinum blonde. Why just THAT scene? It always vaguely irritates me because it's weird.

Also... what, exactly, is The Darkness? Because if it's what I think it is, that is the cruelest thing Morpheus could fucking do. It sounds like it's a fucking void where your consciousness sits, no body, just you and your thoughts, alone, no ability to see, or speak, or breathe, or touch, or fucking feel anything and... God I'm about to go into a fucking panic attack just THINKING about it, wtf Morpheus! Just pitch black NOTHINGNESS, more of an absence of everything than anything else, the goddamn VOID.

Back to Hob though, is he the kind of guy who will eagerly tell you about all the ways people have tried to kill him, completely casually, maybe even laughing at some of them no matter how bad they are, or does some of his almost-deaths haunt him? Does he have an uncontrollable fear of bodies of water because they tried to drown him??? Does he have PTSD and recurring nightmares from all the War he's seen, or does his immortality render his brain incapable of 'breaking' under pressure? Orrrrr has his brain 'broken' multiple times from all of it, but because he's immortal, he always comes back from it?

I ALMOST FORGOT!

Morpheus tells Rose that he 'failed in his duty, an entire universe was lost' uh... wtf does that mean? This is at least the 2nd Universe the Endless have been in and I want to know if they just... went to another one once their previous one died (which, Death says something about shutting the door behind her when she leaves so maybe???) or if they pulled a Futurama and just waited for another universe to form around them. You know, that episode of Futurama where Fry finally gets a date with Leela, but the Professor built a time machine THAT ONLY MOVES FORWARD IN TIME and Fry doesn't have much of a choice and gets dragged along and they fuck up and end up going through 3 different universes before they finally stop moving forward in time and Fry just barely makes his date. Is it like that???

Also, Morpheus says he holds 'the entire collective unconscious'... is that just Earth, or the entire Universe? He doesn't say human unconscious, partly because we know most animals on earth can dream and so he holds their collective unconscious as well, but is it the ENTIRE UNIVERSE? Because the human population on Earth alone is 7.837 billion. That isn't including ANY of the animals that can dream. It's no wonder he has such strict and rigid rules! That's a LOT OF PEOPLE AND THAT'S JUST HUMANS! Even if you say there are only 5 total planets in the INFINITE universe with beings capable of dreaming, one is ours, and the other 4 only have half our population, that is still 23.511 billion beings (including our 7.837 billion) that he holds the collective unconscious and STILL doesn't include our animals or any potential animals on the other planets. That's just 5 planets. The universe is fucking INFINITE

[landwriter]

hob gadling being so goddamn normal compared to his anthropomorphic husband, in-laws, and husband's social circle that he circles right back around to being the more sus/shady one OR hob gadling keeps accidentally derailing dream's attempts to be King of Nightmares by horny vibes/going "joke's on you, i'm into it"/"promise?" to any and all threats

Hob isn't normal, is the thing. He's not. He never was. He was smouldering with strangeness and hunger long before his future sister-in-law took one look at him and decided he'd be good for her little brother.

He asked her, once, bit drunk, if that was why she chose him: if she'd heard him forswearing her in the White Horse and looked at him, peered into the contents of his soul, and thought: well, there's one at least as stubborn as my brother - maybe they'll be good for each other. She'd just smiled and waited for Hob to take another sip before saying, "Good? I just thought it would be interesting," and twinkled at him when he sputtered. Hob said older sisters were terrors, and they'd toasted to that.

Whether she'd intended or not, they were good for each other, him and Dream. It took them a little bit to realize, a small handful of centuries holding one another at arm's length for fear of what would be seen any closer. Then they'd crashed together anyways, and it had turned out they were matched not just in that bloody-minded stubbornness to keep a decent thing going, but also in all the intensity they'd tried to smother to do so, the roaring hunger and devotion and need; the both of them strange creatures capable of giving so much and greedy enough to take just as much in kind.

On the outside, though, others see Dream, his distance, his power, the thunder of his voice, and don't see it as the armour it is, the necessary carapace protecting the sort of tender feelings that could scorch the entire earth, because he is a vessel for human emotions that are strong enough to live on in stories and dreams, because he is, in that respect, - and Hob gets choked up about this, if he allows himself to think about it too much - fundamentally more human than him, than all of them, the embodiment of every fantasy and fear and tall tale of men, tending to them each night, taking no rest for himself.

On the outside, others see Hob, his banal humanness, and other humans assume the rest of him is the same, and so do most non-humans, except they're baffled by it, baffled by why he is Dream's husband. So he plays it up, because it's funny, and if they're too incurious or gullible to figure out what lays beneath, then that's alright, because his husband figured it out, and loves him for it, and that's all he needs.

Dream didn't understand at first why Hob acted extra human whenever they mingled with other capital-e Entities and inhuman sorts, but now he finds it so amusing as well that Hob wonders how the gig isn't up from the moment anyone sees his twitching smirk. His husband has a terrible poker face, Hob thinks.

He's much better at pretending. In fact, he's so good at performing the petty normality expected of him that it goes full circle and becomes, somehow, magnetically strange to all the fantastical creatures in his husband's social circle.

He had not realized the heady effect of normal human upon non-humans until the time he had gone to a Samhain 'do in the Underhill, in his formal role as Prince Consort to the Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, first of his name, et cetera, and, rather comfortable with those sort of events by then, which were really not that dissimilar to interdepartmental faculty parties, with all the posturing and alcohol, only far better outfits, had, a bit soused on the fantastic elphin mead, accidentally started talking with a member of the faerie delegation about the football tables. At first he thought he'd committed a faux pas when the faerie just stared at him, slack-jawed, but later that night, he'd found himself surrounded by a cluster of wide-eyed dryads and undine and fae, gratifyingly holding court on why Billy Wright had been such a shite Arsenal manager. Apparently, it was the highlight of the evening.

It also helps grease the wheels of immortal statecraft, which Hob thinks of as something of a secondary benefit to making his husband smile. He would be a fierce bodyguard and soldier for Dream, in a heartbeat, he would curry favour on his behalf with pretty words and eager gladhanding, but what works out best, he's realized, is when important folk approach them to talk shop with Dream, to head it off with warm conversation about things like Tube construction, ABBA, and sausage rolls, until they look thoroughly disconcerted, before gracefully handing them off to his husband.

Whenever the occasion allows it, he'll skip on the finery too (another thing, he thinks, that he only cares about his husband seeing). Once, a baku ambassador, himself arrayed in glorious golden robes that matched his sharp gilt claws, had been so baffled by Hob's appearance on the arm of Dream, in his ratty old jeans and a United jersey he got as a gag gift once (and, on principle, refuses to wear in the Waking) that the chimera had absently agreed with Dream's suggestion for revised quotas on devouring nightmares.

Dream had been so delighted by that victory that he'd pressed Hob up against the front door of their flat in Islington, the moment they got back in, and laid kisses all over the hideous jersey, murmuring that Hob was a fearsome diplomat, and Hob had laughed and said he was only a distraction, then let Dream drag him to the bedroom anyways to thank him for his contribution.

Some see what's underneath, of course, and Hob's just as glad for that too.

The second time they'd had dinner with Crowley and Aziraphale, well past the food and making excellent headway on the rest of the wine, Dream had been called away on urgent business. Hob thought the night would end there, but the moment Dream left, Crowley had leveled an unsober finger of accusation at Hob and said, "Don't think I can't tell what you're doing."

Hob hadn't needed to try and look confused, but then Crowley leaned in and said, conspiratorially and only accidentally hissing a little, "This 'regular bloke' thing, but you're worssse than him, aren't you? Bet you are. Bet anything," and Aziraphale had genuinely emitted a tiny gasp of affront on Hob's behalf, and Hob was too busy laughing to say that he wasn't wrong at all, while Crowley gleefully swiveled around and said "I told you so, angel. S'obvious. Humansss. Not a normal one among 'em."

It was a lovely thing to say, actually, and all too easy for Hob to forget sometimes, being a particularly abnormal human leading a particularly abnormal life. But Crowley knew what he was talking about. He spent far more time with humanity compared to most of the inhuman lot. When Hob had made him promise to keep his secret from the rest of them - humanity's secret, really - and explained why, Crowley had laughed and laughed and laughed. He thinks it's the moment they became proper friends.

Hob isn't normal, is the thing.

But it's fun to don it like ceremonial garb and be an ambassador of humanity twice over: in truth and performance both. It's fun to be exactly what's expected and still disconcert.

And most of all, it's fun to go back home with his husband, to their terribly normal human flat, and curl up together in their terribly normal human bed, and watch Dream's face flush with pride or amusement as he debriefs Hob on what chaos he's wrought this time, intentionally or otherwise, with his terribly normal human presence, and Hob just laughs, then smiles until his face hurts, because Dream is his husband, wholly apart from humanity and still the most human creature Hob has met, and he knows all the ways that Hob feels like both, too.

[cuubism]

Ok listen I haven't delved much into the reverse-verse (i.e. Hob as Hope, human Morpheus) but now I can't get the thought of reversed Roderick Burgess imprisonment plotline out of my head.

First of all the tragic irony of wanting to capture Death and turn back time and getting Hope instead, hope that forces you to look forward, something Burgess will never let himself do.

Second of all, unlike Dream, Hope would give Burgess what he wants, I think, because hope is generous and forgiving. The only problem is he doesn't have anything Burgess wants. He can't give him his son, he can't give him limitless wealth or something because Hope trades in spiritual power, emotional wealth. Like hell is Burgess going to accept that.

Thirdly. Just as Dream gets trapped in a place with no dreams, Hope gets trapped in a place quite literally with no hope. Except--

Four. Hope befriends Alex way easier than Dream, that's just the type of person-- entity-- he is. But Alex still lets him down in the end -- Hope's power is meager, here, and still crumbles under the weight of a father's iron control. and there's no Jessamy in this story. and Roderick Burgess doesn't die.

Five. Just as the world starts to spiral with the Dreaming in shambles, the world goes to absolute shit without Hope.

Six. Hope is not prideful like Dream. He does call to his siblings for help. But he doesn't get the aid he would have so easily given them. Destiny refuses to intervene as a matter of principle. Despair is thriving without Hope there. Desire, too, as without Hope people are turning to baser sources of relief. Delirium vacillates between the differing opinions of the other Endless.

Death is the only one willing come to Hope's aid. But in the last moment he tells her not to, fearing what might happen if Burgess got his hands on Death, as he'd wanted in the beginning. (Hope is not without fear, if anything, they go hand in hand, like dreams and nightmares).

Seven. Hope misses his 1989 meeting with Morpheus. This is not like him at all, in fact, Morpheus has directly told him to get lost more than once in the past and he always comes back anyway. Morpheus is... concerned.

Eight. Morpheus goes searching for him. Morpheus, who's spent most of his life barely clinging onto his will to live with his fingernails, goes on a quest searching for Hope.

Nine. He finds him. But what condition Hope is in at that point is debatable, because...

Ten. You know how the glass bowl can keep Dream contained because glass is made out of sand? Yeah that doesn't really do much for Hope. His is made of pure stone.

So yeah.

[sometimesiwritetoo]

I know that Hob’s whole thing in 1589 is meant to show him being shallow and set him up for a high before a fall. But, at least in the Netflix show, I cannot find anything wrong with Hob’s desire seemingly to be to get married, have kids, and make enough money to live comfortably. In fact I think it speaks to his character in some way in that he finds out he’s immortal and rather than taking these risks or painting himself out as a god or a cult leader in a quick attempt for power and wealth he simply takes advantage of his extra time to build a comfortable life for himself he might not have been able to do otherwise in a normal lifespan.

Now, for Morpheus this might be a bit boring. It’s like a character who seemingly has no conflict in their lives. Nothing juicy to hang onto and enjoy. Especially since his entire wager was based on the fact that he expected Hob to tire of the whole thing within a century. So he gets bored and moves on for the night and seems far more invested come the following centuries when Hob loses it all and still manages to hold on to this spark for life. But it’s also interesting that he didn’t see this happening given that Hob’s whole spiel in the previous century is this fascination over the smallest bit of improvement. Sure playing cards aren’t that interesting when you’re so devoted to your function for the universe but if you’re some peasant that potentially can’t read much less have regular access to books the advent of even the most basic bits of entertainment is amazing. And that continues onward. Hob even carries a giant, old phone to their meeting in 1989. This is a man who sees something new and wants to learn about it and that cycle can entertain him for as long as humanity is discovering something. He’s the kind of immortal that I could see being an expert at computers and video games because he was one of the first people to take an interest in them. If you told me Hob spent a decade learning how to program before flitting onto something else then I would believe you without hesitance.