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Fandom: The Sandman
Pairing: Dreamling
Rated: G
Word Count: 1989
Tags: Human AU, Selkie AU, human Dream, Selkie Hob, MerMay, selkies totally count for MerMay, first meeting, or close enough, prelude to a meet-cute, let's go with that
Notes: @teejaystumbles posted a stunning selkie Hob for MerMay and I got inspired. Wrote the bones of this in one day while sick af and in a haze of fever and various cold meds; I've remained well under the weather while fleshing it out and am still sub-optimal as I post but all things considered I think it's turned out alright.
Summary: Dream's trip to the beach to recharge in solitude does not go exactly as planned.
On AO3
The day is lovely for brooding alone after offending one's family, Dream can't help thinking wryly as he steps onto the sand. It is warm, sunny with high scattered clouds keeping the sun from being too hot; the air has a golden cast above the soft blue of the sea and the stretch of beach that Dream has come to is idyllic, inviting, and blessedly—most importantly—isolated.
Dream loves his sisters, but there are times that he needs his space, and his solitude, and today had unfortunately turned into such a time. This is one of his favorite places to come to recharge, has been a treasured retreat ever since he was a child with dreams of mermaids and dragons and other such whimsical fantasies.
He climbs a rocky outcropping along the shore, his favorite vantage for looking out over the sea, and sits, trying to dispel the dark mood that had settled over him. His sisters had wheedled and begged him to come out with them—'let's just get coffee, hang out for a little while, it'll be fun!' Didi had said; 'you're always so busy, I miss my big brother!' Del had said, and Dream had capitulated. He hadn't even minded, truly; he does enjoy his sisters' company and he doesn't spend enough time with either of them. But the cafe had been crowded, and the noise of other people had become an unbearable distraction faster than expected, and with his social stamina deserting him he'd unfortunately run out of patience when Del's busy chatter about her thesis on folklore and how much truth could be found in the old stories struck a nerve.
He'd cut her off, condescended about fairies and the like being irrefutably fictional despite her willingness to consider otherwise, to devote her studies to the concept of 'maybe'. And then he'd seen the way her face had fallen, the frown Didi had given him, and the shame had risen in him right on schedule. He'd excused himself before he could do further harm.
Dream sighs out, breathes in again, letting the ocean air clear his head, smooth down the jagged edges of his nerves. He owes Del an apology, certainly. He will call her later, arrange to meet again somewhere quieter if she is willing. He would like to hear more of her research; it is not her fault that his patience was overtaxed nor that their mother spent the bulk of his youth methodically culling the whimsy from him, grooming him in her image. Del does not deserve his jaded bitterness; he should try, instead, to rekindle his own joy in the idea of the unknown.
It is an effort worth making, he admits, watching the waves dance their tango with the shore, remembering the delight he used to find in spinning stories as a child. He is an adult, now, and mother has been gone for years; he isn't entirely certain he knows how to reshape the person she crafted him into but more and more, he realizes, he is willing to try.
His thoughts are settling and he is finding his equilibrium again, is grounding himself in the gentle breeze and the mild sunshine and the roll of the waves lazing over the sand, when the sound of whistling reaches his ears.
Someone is approaching.
With an irritated sigh, Dream rearranges himself on his rocky perch, scooting down to lie on his stomach peering over the edge, watching as the person approaches. He won't be seen unless the stranger looks up; with any luck, the stranger—a man, it appears as he draws closer—will continue on down the beach and leave Dream to continue his recharging undisturbed.
But Dream's luck is, predictably, utter shit. The stranger stops directly below where Dream has hidden himself; the man looks around, as if to ensure he's alone, then drops the duffel slung over his shoulder and begins to strip.
Unfortunate.
Dream curses to himself, holds very still as not to betray his presence, and tries not to watch. He did not mean to end up in this situation, he is no peeping tom, how was he to know some stranger would come along and disrobe—
His eyes return to the man despite himself, and the heat that crawls up his neck and into his face is not enough to shame him into looking away again.
Because the man is beautiful.
Longish hair hangs around his face in artful disarray, warm brown and wavy, inviting; Dream is struck by the thought of running his fingers through it, tucking it behind his ear. The man's face that Dream can see from this angle is striking, pretty and open and friendly, lips shaped around the tune he's whistling while he undresses, the line of his jaw strong and clean-shaven. Dream wishes he could tell the color of the man's eyes, see his full face properly, but he is not about to make his presence known. Especially not as the man is stripping off his swim trunks, standing naked to the breeze while Dream can't stop watching like some sort of pervert.
The man crouches by his duffel, affording Dream a very nice view of his bare back and the curve of his buttocks, all of it healthily padded and beautifully defined. He pulls something that looks like a fur blanket from the duffel and sets it aside, stuffs his discarded clothes into the bag and zips it closed, wedges it into a crevice of the rock directly below where Dream is hiding. He stands, picks up the blanket and shakes it open, and Dream frowns as the shape of it becomes apparent.
It looks like a seal pelt.
The man takes off, running barefoot and naked across the sand toward the waves, slinging the pelt across his shoulders like a cape; there is an odd shimmer like a heat mirage that makes Dream squint and suddenly instead of a man flying an animal skin behind him there is a big brown seal gallumphing down the beach, splashing into the lacy surf with a joyful little bark.
Dream's sense of reality tips sideways; he is grateful to already be prone as his worldview cascades into an entirely new shape, one word ringing clearly in his head above the static.
Selkie.
He has just witnessed—
That man. Is a selkie.
It does not matter that selkies are fictional creatures, in Dream's lifelong understanding. He cannot refute what he has seen with his own eyes.
He stays on his stomach atop the rock, stunned, the cloud-filtered sun beating warmly down upon him, and tries to come to terms with that man is a selkie.
Selkies are merely folklore.
That man quite literally just donned a sealskin and transformed.
What else could he be but a selkie?
Selkies aren't real. That is his mother's voice, disdainful and aloof and dismissively practical from the depths of his memory.
But Dream knows what he saw.
The seal frolics out in the waves, surfacing frequently, a little brownish blob that Dream finds unerringly again and again.
Selkie.
By the time it occurs to Dream that he ought perhaps to leave, could reasonably use this opportunity to slip away unseen and avoid any sort of discovery or further awkward voyeurism it is already too late; the seal is splashing back through the shallows, through the froth of waves reaching up the sand, waddling up the beach toward the rock where Dream is shrinking back to keep himself hidden again.
The seal stops, turns a shuffling circle with his whiskers twitching in every direction, then settles and rears up and that peculiar little shimmer happens again. Dream blinks, and the seal is once again a man, streaming wet and shrugging out of his sealskin coat. Rivulets of sea water run from his hair, down his back, into the dimples of his spine and hips. He shakes out his hair and it settles in wet tendrils across his forehead, against his neck. There are freckles, Dream notes, on his shoulders—in much the same scattered patterns as the spots on his golden-brown fur.
He is so remarkably beautiful.
The man—the selkie—is facing out toward the sea as he slides the coat off, alert against anyone happening upon him from the beach, but he glances back over his shoulder once or twice despite the rock shielding him from behind.
As if he can feel that there are eyes upon him.
Dream remains perfectly still, barely breathing, but for all his vigilance the man does not look up and Dream remains undiscovered.
The man lifts the coat after removing it, passes a hand down its length and Dream can see the weight of the water in it dissipating, sees the way the sleek wet fur fluffs instantly dry.
Astounding.
"There we are," the man says, folding the now-dry seal skin over on itself in practiced motions. His voice is light, warm, pleasant, and Dream is not at all surprised by the mild thrill that curls in his stomach to hear it. He recognizes that he is dangerously close to being smitten with this stranger on the basis of how he looks and sounds alone.
Well. Not entirely that alone; the selkie aspect, the irrefutable proof that something beyond Dream's ordinary life exists, is also a very appealing variable.
Oh, how he wants to learn more.
Dream wants to talk to him. Wants to introduce himself, find out more about this fantastic creature, this delightful impossibility of a man.
He wants to know what color his eyes are.
He wants to know what his smile looks like.
The man is whistling again, a different tune than before as he stuffs his magically-dry seal skin back into his duffel and dons his trunks again. Then, to Dream's utter surprise and mounting horror, he wedges the duffel back into the crevice that mostly hides it and takes off running back to the sea, on human legs this time, leaping over the languid breakers and diving into the waves with a laugh that carries back to Dream.
Dream, dumbfounded, can only blink.
Did he truly just—he left it??
He's left his skin, left it unattended, like a complete—a complete moron.
He's an imbecile.
Foolish. Careless. Reckless. Trusting blindly that the universe would not take this opportunity to make him suffer, to cast him as the story-typical selkie victim?
Utterly stupid.
If this were the standard story, Dream realizes, he would be poised to be the villain. This is where he would sneak down, snatch the skin for himself, bind the naive selkie into his service.
Luckily this is not a story, and Dream has no interest in stealing anything or subjugating this careless man.
But he absolutely must learn more about him.
And point out the inadvisable idiocy of leaving his skin unattended, perhaps.
In a surge of boldness that he thinks would make his sister proud, Dream climbs down from his rocky vantage point and comes round the base of the rock to where the crevice is; he considers for a second, staring at the mostly-hidden duffel, then moves several steps away before seating himself primly in the sand to wait.
He doesn't want to give the impression that he is threatening the selkie's skin, after all. He just wants to caution him not to be so foolish, to have more care, to not tempt fate so recklessly.
To hear the sound of his voice again, to learn the color of his eyes.
To see his face full on, to know the shape of his smile.
To affirm for himself, irrefutably, that there is magic in the world after all, as he once believed long ago; and that perhaps, if he can open himself to the possibilities, he might find space for a small measure of such magic to inhabit his own life in turn.
"let the hunter be safe, let them find comfort. and let this dream, their captor... foretell a pleasant awakening. be one day, a fond, distant memory.”
“farewell, good hunter. wake, now.”
sandman x bloodborne rotting my brain-
morpheus feeling deeply for all the tortured souls trapped in this nightmare realm. for the hunters whom he grants waking from their horrific pact to the hunter's dream. for the once-been humans turned beasts whom he gifts a final, peaceful, dreamless sleep.
Burgess stole Hob's skin to keep him under his control and do all the "dirty work" (practically thuggish work) that he didn't want to do, as well as to serve him. When Hob managed to escape, he went to his last safe place, which was Dream, who obviously protected him while he was defenseless.
Yeah, a little bit of angst, haha.
Maybe I'll write a fic about this when I have time.
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Hob giving this to Dream in 1789... Dream throwing it back in his face in 1889... Hob keeping it and eventually getting to give it to Dream again when he decides to retire and become human... <3
And for part three and the 7th of June here are some fics with Dream returning to the New Inn and Hob, happy dremling day and enjoy,
part one and two
Feb 13: First by aquilathefighter (499):
On the day Dream returns to Hob at the New Inn. They talk until the pub closes and go up to Hob's flat, where confessions occur.
Cobwebs by Torte (1.7k):
Hob waits.
It is all he can do. He sits at the table in the tavern, sometimes drinking, sometimes talking to other visitors.
Mostly he just stares at the door and waits.
A Friend In Deed by SerenAur (2.2k):
A take on how that first meeting in The New Inn went. Dream is in dire need of some kindness. Hob provides.
here for a reason by cuubism (2.6k):
Hob's out for a walk when he stumbles on his old stranger, feeding birds and looking very sad.
pie of birds and grief and ocean water by Chrome (4k):
“Yes,” he says. “But—humans, do you have it where you are hungry, and you only remain hungry so long, and then you stop being hungry?” His blue eyes meet Hob’s brown ones, and it feels as though they hold a memory between them of Hob at the old inn, wolfing down food. Do you know how hungry you can get when you can’t die?
“And then it comes back,” Hob says. An unpleasant feeling gnaws at his gut, not unlike the sensation of hunger itself. “But yes, it comes and goes.”
His friend nods. “I have found that after…some time, it is no longer a unique sensation.”
“What does that mean?”
“Do you feel your skin, Hob Gadling? Your bones?”
“No,” he says.
“Hunger, too, can be a part of you,” he says.
Hope, and a Bottle of Merlot by MDJensen (4.3k):
In which two friends just want to visit their old tavern, one last time.
Soundless reunion by Ryunya (6k):
After a century in silence, Morpheus escapes his captivity and finds himself unable to speak.
It makes his reunion with Hob Gabling hard to navigate, but they manage.
simple dreams of comfort by softestpunk (6.7k):
In his captivity, Dream thinks of Hob. His smile, his company, his touch, his love, his body, the life they might lead together.
After his escape, he goes to visit the real thing, and gets more than he allowed himself to dream of.
The Weight Of Our Memories by RambleOnWaywardSon (6.9k):
“Why don’t you have more faith in human nature?” Hob asked.
Dream looked at him, eyes a little dark, squinting. “Why do you have so much?” he countered, slowly.
Dream shows Hob where he's been, and Hob shows Dream something about how to heal.
You're Late by vampiringg (7.5k):
The Sound of Her Wings but Dream shows up while Hob is in a lecture.
I Wanna Hold Your Hand by Moorishflower (7.5k):
Hands are such a human thing, Hob thinks. To make, and shape, and create. The elegance of thumbs. Fashioned by thousands of years of slow and careful evolution for the sole purpose of holding.
He wants to hold Dream. To rub their fingers together, that singularly human grasp, to push their palms flat, and their chests close, and he's not sure if he wants to hug his friend or cry on his shoulder, because he should have been there. He should have known.
Hob has a hard time believing that Dream forgives him. He has an even harder time believing that Dream might want him back.
Maybe This Is All Just a Dream by my_written_minds (9.1k):
When a man clad in all black walks through the door and admits Hob is his friend, Hob doesn't know whether to hug him or play it cool.
When it is obvious something happened, something terrible, Hob doesn't know whether to hug him or play it cool. Again.
In other words, Dream starts talking and doesn't stop. And suddenly these once a century dates are no longer once a century. More like once a week.
New Moon by Delta_Pavonis (11.5k):
They continued to stare at each other and Hob felt the familiar coil of heat low in his belly. Well, that answered that question: still desperately attracted to him even after all these years.
Picks up right where "The Sound of Her Wings" left off. How Hob and Dream's reunion (and the days, weeks, months after) go.
the first steps by chubsoneuropa (chubsonthemoon) (12.6k):
Perhaps even dreams can change.
Or: Dream and Hob, through the seasons.
My Emotional Support Raven by Sylcian_SPH_Legacy (13.3k):
Hob Gadling left a long red arrow on the barrier to guide Dream to the New Inn. But what if he didn't?
Cue a very lost (inside his own head) Dream and Matthew doing his best to help him (makes five hundred meters and understands emotions).
You found me by Avelera (15.2k):
Hob Gadling is recently divorced and not in a good mental place when Dream walks into the New Inn over thirty years late for their appointment.
So, instead of warmly welcoming Dream, Hob decides to finally give him a piece of his mind. As far as he's concerned, it's Dream's turn to be the good friend if he wants Hob back in his life.
He was not expecting Dream to take him up on that challenge.
the melting press of the sun by cuubism (15.5k, unfinished):
Returning to Hob felt like a formality, right until Dream stopped outside the crumpled skeleton of the White Horse Inn.
What We Build and What We Burn by queerofthedagger (23.5k):
After Dream finally finds him in the New Inn, Hob struggles to rebuild his trust that this—Dream returning—will always be the case. At the same time, the concern that something has gone horribly wrong grows through meetings, dreams, and details that Hob shouldn't notice but does; not that Dream is much more forthcoming than in centuries prior.
That's okay, though; if Hob has learnt one thing, it is how to be patient. Mostly.
the majesty of fantasy (protects me from tragedy) by im_not_corrupted (26.3k):
This time, Dream’s imprisonment takes more from him. Upon escaping, he finds himself unable to move on. He is tired, even after regaining his tools and power, and cannot understand why he’s unable to shake off the effects of his time imprisoned.
After Death suggests finding Hob Gadling, he finds The New Inn but does not walk inside. The idea of seeing the cruelty he has suffered first hand reflected in Hob is too terrible for him to bear, and so he returns to The Dreaming.
After some prompting, though, he begins to visit Hob’s dreams. Somehow, he finds a safe space there in the company of his friend.
take it slow by im_not_corrupted (34k):
After his duel with Lucifer and retrieving his stolen tools, Dream is injured and in pain. When he sees Hob, the man insists on helping him care for his wounds.
Another Word for Ache by Pellaaearien (111.8k):
When Dream escapes his cage, he is starving in more ways than one.
Weak and wanting, he goes in search of what will satisfy him.
Happy Dreamling day! Do we think that even when they see each other all the time they make a Date of the 7th June every year?
I would love it so much if they do 🥹 I'm a big fan of Hob choosing June 7th as his birthday OR Retired!Dream choosing it for his birthday. It would be so cute if they celebrate together. Or, just them considering June 7th as their anniversary, and spending the day together.
June 7th being THEIR day, the day where they devote time to their friendship, is just really lovely and I can completely imagine it. Maybe they go feed the birds together. Or have a movie marathon. Just cute, soft things.
Chronoi | Explicit | Dream/Hob | centennial meetings coda fic, little character study re: how these two changed, they fuck in 1389 but don't kiss until 1789 y'know
June 7th, 1389
Dream waits until he is convinced his sister has concluded her business at the White Horse and waits longer still. Waits until the lanterns outside glow and the patrons begin to stumble away, singing their goodbyes to one another, supported by arms and shoulders and horses accustomed enough to the journey from tavern to home that they need no competent rider to make it.
He waits until a particular figure, indelibly marked, makes his own, more sober exit, blowing a kiss to a barmaid who receives many such attentions but enjoys this one more than she will ever let on.
He waits until Hob Gadling is alone, then pins him to crumbling plaster of the tavern’s back wall and searches his eyes for the same promise, the same challenge he had seen earlier.
It gleams in the moonlight, a knowing, cocky smirk twisting features he knows to be handsome, knows Dream had looked with too much interest at.
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Fic rec list part two (here's part one) with a few more and some variety:
Some more Hob saves Dream + AUs:
Unclip My Wings by starsniper (1.4k):
When Roderick Burgess unveils his circus’s latest spectacle, Hob is one of the only spectators who doesn’t gasp or recoil in abject horror at what he reveals.
AKA - Circus rescue mission, and then they fall in love.
ocean lullaby by starsniper (2k):
“I will break you, you sin against God,” Burgess growls at Dream, snapping the whip directly at the end of Dream’s tail. It takes all of his self control for Dream to not flinch. Especially when Roderick hits the same spot again, this time drawing blood. The wound is shallow, at least. Merfolk are not easy to harm, their bodies are far more hardy than humans, but they can still die if bled out. Burgess knows this, knows that the whip will hurt more than harm, and so he utilizes it to make Dream sing for him.
But still, Dream will not sing. He will never sing for any mortal man.
An Inn and The World's End by ginoeh (8.9k):
~ A Winter Tale ~
An Inn stands bright and warm in a world of snow and ice and twilight. The Innkeeper is no hero but when Death comes calling, he takes what any hero does - a guide, a companion and a magical weapon - and takes up the task to find the Nightking at the edge of the world.
In the arms of Morpheus | Dans les bras de Morphée. by aalisse (12.3k):
Death comes for a raven, and finds her brother. He doesn't ask her for help, but prevents her possible entrapment, so she finds Hob Gadling and suggests he do something about the situation at hand.
Cue a one man resque mission in 1926, which leads to dozens of years of platonic, yet vaguely romantic dating both in the waking world and in the Dreaming.
who wants to live forever? by ranchdiip (18.2k):
It's 1989 and Hob Gadling thinks he's been stood up. Death herself is kind enough to inform him otherwise—and, well, now Hob's got to bloody do something about it, doesn't he?
Spite (Is As Good A Reason As Any) by Blue_Sunshine (24.6k):
Hob has a bone to pick with (Dream of the Endless) and damn if he isn't going to find the bastard to have it out.
~*~
The White Horse Inn is officially condemned in 2009 and Hob, twenty years after being stood up, decides that he's not going to let that be the last word.
~*~
Or, ten years before Paul Maguire either finally loses his nerve (or gains it, perhaps), Hob Gadling and Johanna Constantine become unlikely partners on a seemingly ill-fated search for an immortal man who never actually gave his only friend his name.
The reverse Dream saves Hob:
Baring of Fangs by AceDragonType (15.8k):
Hob plan's for the week definitely hadn't included being kidnapped and tossed into a dungeon to be a vampire snack. Thankfully for everyone (except the kidnappers) Hob had teeth of his own.
Prometheus, Bound. by LeotheLionathefootofOrion (18.2k):
In the year 1916, Roderick Burgess attempts to summon and capture Death. He misses his mark by quite a way, but he’s never been one to waste an opportunity.
Dream of the Endless was friend-zoned back in 1889. He does not get captured in 1916. The Dreaming remains in good order. He has never been more powerful.
And in 1916, Hob Gadling is just a soldier, until he isn’t. Immortality, it seems, has its pitfalls.
Oh, and The Corinthian? He’s having a wonderful time.
The Storms of Life by Torte (20k):
What if someone heard Hob shouting after Dream in 1889? He was pretty damn loud. What if he gets himself caught? Will Dream notice?
My Stranger, My Dream by SigniorBenedickofPadua (67.2k):
Roderick Burgess' spell does not summon Death, but someone who has been touched by Death. Hob Gadling ends up in his cellar instead of Dream.
They get both captured:
And Though I Burn (How Could I Fall) by Purplesauris (52.5k):
In 1916, Dream is summoned by an amateur magician while chasing a rogue nightmare.
In 1916, Hob Gadling is caught in the cross fire of said summoning.
And some more:
Like the Ocean to the River [a Sandman fic] by TUNiU (2.8k):
Back in 1789, Hob Gadling collects some of the sand Morpheus leaves behind. This changes the whole story. In 1922, when Roderick Burgess summons Morpheus, the summoning redirects, saving him.
still every night i burn by winterbuckyy (4.1k):
Daydreams lay within Dream's domain, and they can be quite powerful, if only created with enough intent. And Hob's intent is potent, strong and sweet, reaching even into the cage Dream is kept in, feeding him power needed to free himself. Without knowing it, Hob saves him, and Dream gets to have his revenge, merciless and brutal.
With that done, he's free to visit the man who unknowingly saved him, finally have the happy ending they both deserve.
or in 1989 hob daydreams. dream escapes the cage, goes apeshit and murders some people, and then goes to kiss his human. in that order
May Dream by virgodream (10.5k, unfinished):
It's been 10 days since Dream of The Endless was rescued from Fawney Rig by one Hob Gadling, who takes it upon himself to see to Dream's recovery. While with Hob, Dream is provided with something he'd been missing even before his imprisonment: to be cared for.
Happenstance by cuubism (13k):
When Hob runs into his Stranger for the first time outside of their meetings, he is, of all things, getting mugged.
or, five two times Hob ran into Dream between their centennial meetings, and one time Dream called on him intentionally.
Sycamore, Ash, Moss And Loam by Rauchendes_GNU (53.5k):
Hob Gadling doesn't really expect having to save his Stranger from his prison in Fawney Rig. Dream doesn't expect to have his Endless essence ripped from him by a brutal spell that leaves him weak and painfully human. Lucky for him, Hob has gone through many lifetimes and knows how to be human.
Maybe sprout wings by Moorishfloer (91k):
There's a dead man in The Dreaming.
Hob Gadling navigates life after death, falling in love, friendship with otherworldly entities, and ravens. A retelling of a story about stories. A study of a complicated man.
Yeah. Cats isn’t the only thing it kills.
This Dream Is Over (Another Has Begun) by SigniorBenedickofPadua (115.4k):
The last person Dream expects to see in Burgess' basement is Hob Gadling, who has apparently been asked to consult on the restoration of the historic manor. He is pleased when his old acquaintance helps free him without a second thought, despite their past squabble, but he is horrified to realise that breaking the binding circle does nothing to return his powers to him, and that he cannot return to the Dreaming after having been released from his cage.
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