23 || he/they/it || Husband to @Virgo-dream π€ likes/follows/replies from @chiron-crow tagging is rare but feel free to reach out if you want specific things tagged! AO3 | KOFI
Disclaimer: All of my original posts are either headcanons, slightly canon-compliant meta posts, or commentaries on historical accuracy! I am not an expert on Sandman canon (either the show or comics) and some of my posts directly contradict each other and canon. Please note that none of my posts are the result of willfully misreading canon; rather they are often the result of willfully ignoring canon (please refer to this for more info on my stance on canon material). Please be respectful, have fun, and allow others to have their own fun!
My main blog:
@chiron-crow (memes and shitposts, the standard tumblr fare)
My other sideblogs:
@blackbeards-bonnet (OFMD)
@sgt-tombstone (CoD)
@nickyandjoe (TOG)
My Finished Fic List:
Power Dynamics Part 1 and Part 2 (Not a fic, but an incredibly in-depth meta analysis that doesnβt really fit into any other category here so Iβm sticking it under my fic list lmao)
A Funeral for a Living Ghost - Hob Gadling had a bad habit of attending his own funerals.
The Wrong Name - An angst fic about Hobβs emotional fallout after having a one-night stand with a Dream lookalike post-1989.
In Sickness and In Health - a fluffy sickfic featuring sick Hob Gadling and a worried Dream of the Endless
Check back later or drop a crumb of encouragement in my ask box! Authors live off of inspiration and validation!
Meta Posts and Fic Ideas:
My list of fic prompts and meta posts was getting a bit too long, so I decided to reorganize. This is mainly for me to keep track of my original posts because (as I said in the misc post list) I have a habit of losing track of them. If you find a wayward original post that isnβt on any of these lists, Iβm sorry, take comfort in the fact that it is also stressing me out to know that one of my lost children is out wandering. Feel free to use any of these as fic prompts, art inspiration, or just food for thought. Enjoy!
Sandman AUs
Hob Gadling Meta Posts, AUs, and Ramblings
Historically Accurate Sandman and Historical Contexts
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(Professor/Student relationship, age gap, birth control mentioned, dirty talk) 350 words
βYou said you'd pull out,β Dream pouts, staring down between his own legs. He's spread out on his back across the mahogany sprawl of Hobβs desk, which is now thoroughly marked with bodily fluids. βUgh, I knew I should have made you wear a condom. Dirty old man. It's like you want me to get in trouble.β
Hob grins, shrugs, and puts his hand in between Dreamβs thighs. With two fingers he scoops up the overflow of his own cum, and stuffs it back into Dreamβs body. Despite what he's quite literally just complained about, Dream doesn't resist. He just whines and bucks up against Hobβs fingers.
βI say a lot of things, princess. You know better than to believe all of them,β Hob takes his fingers away and sucks them clean. βI've been thinking a lot about keeping you all to myself, lately. Knocking you up, marrying you, buying you a nice little house in the suburbs. Might be nice to have a pretty little thing to come home to after a long day,β he leans down to kiss Dreamβs exposed thighs, scraping his beard against the sensitive flesh. βTelling all my students about my pretty little husband, who's no older than they are.β
Dream makes a mournful, desperate little noise. He wraps his legs around Hobβs shoulders tightly, trying ferociously to keep him there. He's so horny, he's sure he could cum again β and it's barely been two minutes since his last orgasm.
Hob laughs good-naturedly and rests his cheek against Dreamβs thigh. He's in no hurry at all to give him what he wants, which Dream knows from bittersweet experience. βTell you what, if you finish up your next essay in time for the deadline, maybe I'll take you off your birth control and put a baby in you for real.β
A high pitched whine is all he gets from Dream in reply. But it ought to be a pretty good incentive. The way Dream goes on to clench around Hobβs fingers shows that there's nothing he'd like more than to be Professor Gadling's pretty, pregnant partner.
Inspired by a post on the Sandman discord by @aquabluejay that caught my brain and did not want to let go!
Hob walks into his Magical Sociology class on Friday still sniffling from the flu from hell, thermos of tea clutched in his hands like it is the Holy Grail every damn Templar in the world has been frothing over for the past millennium.
The door bangs closed behind and heβs half way through a, βGood mornββ before the scene in front of him stops him so fast he hears his tea slosh in his hands.
He likes this class, most days. A little bit of magic, a little bit of theory, nothing too wild, and the most danger usually comes from a too excited and excitable freshman citing an outdated grimoire or trying to argue that demons have excellent union benefits.
Today is shaping up to be a different kind of problem.
His students are sitting in their chairs like someone used magic glue on their asses, backs stiff and faces even more so, wide eyed stares pointed to the front of the class. Hob doesnβt get that kind of attention even when he goes on a Shaxberd rant, and he finds it kinda insulting.
The person - presence - that has everyoneβs undivided attention stands at the front of the class. A tall, pale figure, more angles than anything else, sits on Hobβs desk. Not a man, more like the idea of night coalesced into something palpable, hair long and dark and spilling onto every direction like he is floating in water, and two eyes as dark as a starless sky.
Those exact eyes pin Hob in place as the idea of a man turns his head slowly in Hob direction. Lips part, the shine of too many teeth as he speaks.
βYou dare bound me here, humans. With your petty words and your small magic.β
The shadows in the corners melt and drip down the walls like tar, and Hob suddenly smells iron and ozone and, surprisingly, roses. A few students whimper, and the lights flicker like theyβre threatening to pop.
Hob blinks, and takes a measured sip of his tea before turning towards his students.
βThree days. It took you three bloody unsupervised days to summon an eldritch horror. Which one of you daft bastards came up with that idea?β
Of course, no one answers. Theyβre all too bloody terrified of the creature leaning on Hobβs desk that looks to have grown claws somewhere in the past five seconds. Hob is absolutely convinced Alex is having a fear induced stroke, poor stupid boy.
The figure tilts its head, quick like the fall of a guillotine's blade. Everyone in the front row flinches, and Hob takes another sip of tea.
βThey do not comprehend the crime they have committed,β he (it?) says, voice a rumble that settles down Hobβs spine. βThey tore open a path to me through theirββ and the voice grates and distorts, a thousand nails on a chalkboard, ββ shortcut.β
A trembling hand lifts. Lucy, stupidly brave that girl, will make a killing in defensive magic next year.
βThe TA saidβ he said we could use, umm,β her voice trembles and her shoulders curl inwards when Hob lifts an expectant eyebrow. βHe said we could use ChatGPT.β
Hob closes his eyes. Under his feet, the floor shakes and for a moment he feels like his heels are digging into mud before the world rights itself. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs the sigh of someone whoβs had centuries to get used to humanityβs stupidity and yet still gets surprised by it on a regular basis.
βBrilliant,β he says and gives the lot of them a glare. They all cower even lower in their seats. βBloody brilliant. I leave for three days with the flu and you all try to bootleg a chatbot into a bloody grimoire.β
The pressure in the room changes and Hobβs ears pop, just as the lights above flicker dangerously. The figure on the desk leans forward, edges of it melting like sea foam, and dark eyes narrow as it hisses, βDo you mock me?β
A few students whimper, and two of them dive under the desks like theyβre waiting for the ceiling to collapse. Hob holds the creatureβs gaze and takes an annoyingly slow sip of his tea, working his jaw until his hearing rights itself.
βDonβt take it personally, I mock everyone. A personality defect of mine.β He places his thermos on the edge of the desk, and watches as a few strands of darkness curl around it like tentacles, and shrugs his jacket off and drops it on the back of his chair which seems to be slowly sinking into the melting hardwood floor. βOkay, I feel like weβve started on the wrong foot here. Iβm Robert Gadling, Professor of Magical Sociology and sometimes dabber of Magical History. And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?β
Those eyes fix on him, a slow blink, a curl of lips that look like rose petals in moonlight. Another tilt of that face, and it is a face now, a sculpture come to life like the sparkle of starlight in darkness.
It is, Hob has to admit, a very beautiful one.
βI am Dream of the Endless,β the creature, Dream, says, and the air splinters with his words. βThe King of Dreams, and the Shaper of Nightmares. I am the warden of sleep and the darkness, and older than your stars. When they gutter out, when you and your kin are ash, I will still be.β
A few of the students whimper, some gag, and poor Alex drops his head to the desk like he hopes that if he canβt see Dream, the opposite is true.
βLovely,β Hob says cheerfully, words almost like a cut through the rising storm. βIt is an honor to have an Endless in my classroom. And please accept my apology on behalf of my students, hope the ride was not too bumpy.β He gestures to the students, like heβs in the middle of a class. βNow, normally I run a very βno eldritch horror in the classroomβ policy. It is both bad for attendance and my nerves. But seeing as you are Endless,β Hob goes on, steady and not moving his gaze from the endless nightmare, βIβm willing to make an exception. Temporarily.β
Dream leans forward, hands gripping the deskβs edge, fingers dark like coal and ending in pinpricks of talons. When Dream opens his mouth, his teeth look sharper than they have any reason to be.
βYou presume much.β
βPart of the job description,β Hob shoots back, unflinching as he holds that beautiful, terrifying glare. βWelcome to Intro to Summoning Disasters, I suppose.β
A few gasps behind him, a creak of a chair as one of the students looks like heβll throw himself out the window. Around them, the smell of irons and roses deepens, sharp and cloying and dripping down the back of Hobβs throat.
βYou are not afraid.β His voice is flat, even if thereβs a hiss under it, a slight edge of curiosity, like Hobβs lack of fear is the true weird thing in the room.
βCorrect,β Hob says, leaning his hip on the deskβs corner. βIβve been doing this for a long time, teaching that is. Iβm honestly more afraid of the bureaucratic nightmare that is higher education and a freshman who thinks he can summon a demon with just two books and the self preservation instinct of a gnat.β
He shoots a glare towards the students who look, for a moment, like Hob is the scarier of the two creatures in the room.
Hob turns his gaze towards Dream and holds his hands up in a placating gesture.
βNow, before this gets out of hand and we have a mass fainting, how about we call it a day? Please?β
For one long heartbeat, nothing moves, the world stuck in place like a fly in amber, no breath, no sound. Dream tilts his head in a way that is unnatural, like bones and vertebra are things for other people, and his hair spills over a bony shoulder like ink on wet parchment.
βThey are mine,β he says, whispering the words like a threat. βUntil I am answered.β
That pushes Hob into action. He claps his hands once, sharp and loud, and the students all flinch, a few gasps broken from parted lips.
βYeah, sorry, mate. Not today,β he says, still holding that fathomless gaze. βYou heard me, come on. Out you all go. No homework, no detention, just the mercy of your survival. Go before I change my mind.β
Itβs like someone has finally unpaused the world. The room is suddenly filled with the sounds of chairs scraping back, of rushed feet and small whimpers, as the students more or less run towards the door. Lucy has to drag Alex by the elbow, and Martin trips over his own backpack, but in a few seconds the room is blessedly empty.
Except for Hob and Dream.
Hob takes a deep breath and stares Dream down. For a moment, nothing happens, but then Dream screeches, a sound sharp like glass. The pressure in the room reaches a boiling point, and Dreamβs claws drag over the wood of the desk, leaving dark smoke behind them.
βYou dismiss them. But you cannot dismiss me,β he says, voice scraping, a threat.
βDidnβt say I would,β Hob shoots back, softly. βBut theyβre kids. Dumb kids, but still kids. Thereβs no need for their death, no matter what you say. Scaring the shit out of them, yeah. But nothing more.β
Eyes like the cosmos stare at him, shadows coiling in the air, around Hobβs feet, and Hob sighs.
βLook,β Hob says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. βIβve been doing this for a while, longer than you think. And Iβve learned thereβs only two ways these things go: either you tear me limb from limb and feel better for five minutes or,β his mouth quirks, βyou donβt.β
The shadows slink around him, until the classroom lights look like pinpricks of light a mile away. Dreamβs teeth flash, a snarl of too much sharpness in the dark.
βYou think yourself beyond consequences.β
βNo,β Hob says quietly, unflinching. βI just think youβve already made your choice, or Iβd be dreaming in pieces right now.β
The screeching hushes, cut off suddenly and Dream stills. The pressure in the air is still there, of course it is, but it is no longer a promise of violence, but more like sharp curiosity.
βYouβ¦ do not beg.β
Hob shrugs, despite the pinprick of pain and shadows climbing up his legs, crawling on the back of his neck.
βNot my style,β he says, shrugs again as he holds Dreamβs eyes. βBesides, I donβt think you were hoping for cowards when you were summoned.β
Dream moves then, sharp and violent like the sea. His shadows ripple across the floor, over walls, form leaning forward and the graze of sharp talons over the inside of Hobβs wrists. For a moment, he is incomprehensible, the way the dark depths of the cosmos are, quiet yet terrifying, dark and beautiful.
Hob can feel the air spark with his presence. Heβs so close Hob can see the shimmer in the depths of his eyes, so close his hair caresses over Hobβs cheek, the touch cool and soft and not meant for mortals. The air cracks with the scent of him, roses blooming in the air, the crack of a hammer on burning iron
For a moment, it is almost unbearable, the pressure and presence of him, the heat where Hob expected cool night. He knows he should flinch, blink, do something, but he doesnβt.
Dreamβs lips hover over his, and he inhales, a slow and long draw of breath. Hobβs pulse jumps in his throat, and he bites back a very inelegant noise.
βYou have been touched,β Dream says, voice almost a whisper. βBy one of mine.β
Hob lets out a breath he was not aware was clawing at his throat.
βYeah,β he says, softly. βDeath. A long time ago.β
The name hangs heavily between them, a hook in the air. Dream shifts, a slow blink of those predatory eyes, a breath Hob did not know he possessed like a caress over his cheek.
So he slips, like the idiotic mortal that he is.
(Just like with her.)
βYouβreββ he says, throat working and words catching in the softness of his tongue. βYouβre beautiful.β
(It ended up better than expected, with her. Immortality has never been sweeter. Hob crosses his fingers and hopes he is still good at charming the Endless that seem to stumble into his life.)
The silence that follows is heavy like lead, and for a moment Hob thinks that maybe this is it, heβs finally put his foot in his mouth and so far down his esophagus that it will come out the other end, and heβll be turned to ash where he stands.
And then Dreamβs lips curl, not a snarl, not a smile.
ββ¦Reckless.β
The word cuts through the air like a verdict, yet Dream does not pull away. The shadows of his self hover around Hob like the terrifying curl of fog against the cliffβs edge, and the room smells like the aftertaste of lightning. Darkness coils around them both, not expanding anymore, but threatening to swallow them both.
Hob just grins though, and says, βMight not surprise you to hear Iβve been called that once or twice before. Mostly by people less terrifying than you.β
Dreamβs eyes narrow. βYou think flattery will spare you.β
βItβs not flattery if itβs true,β Hob says calmly, even as his pulse beats a sharp rhythm under his skin when Dreamβs fingers caress over the inside of his left wrist. βAnd Iβve always thought truthβs the better gamble.β
How do you think I got your sisterβs gift, he does not say.
βFascinating,β Dream says, this time less sharpness, almost a rumbling purr between teeth, in the skin of his pale throat.
And Hob, mad bastard that he is, grins wider and says, βIβll take fascinating over ashes any day.β
The smallest sound leaves Dreamβs lips. If Hob were a betting man, he would almost put all his money on it being a laugh, the breath of it caught between lips that are slowly melting from inhumanely white to the pink of blossoming roses.
The sound lingers in the air, and Dreamβs grip on his wrist goes softer, just the tender suggestion of danger in a slow caress. Hob swallows against his dry throat, and he is close enough to count the sharp edges of Dreamβs teeth, close enough to see the faintest hint of color blooming on his skin.
When Dream speaks again, his voice is still a terrifying thing, yet this time it holds a note of curiosity.
βYou court danger as though it were a lover, Hob Gadling.β
Hob huffs a laugh. βNot the worst habit Iβve picked up in a few hundred years.β
βYou are no ordinary mortal.β
βNever said I was one,β Hob says, his smile crooked and, just as Dream said, reckless. The pressure in the room thrums, but this time it feels like it is waiting, the snap of a chord, the pop of a bubble.
Dreamβs lips are so close, just a breath against his. In the corner of his vision, Hob watches the slow drip of shadows, the coiled tension in their smoky edges.
βReckless,β Dream says again, and his free hand moves to Hobβs cheek. One finger drags over the stubble, the scratch of a claw loud in the suffocating, pushing silence. Hob swallows, throat too dry and heart hammering loudly in his ears, and he lets out a shaky laugh.
βYou keep saying that like itβs an insult,β he says, and he sees the widening of Dreamβs eyes, the spark in them. Hobβs breath catches, and the world narrows to just the space between them.
And then he moves, mad and unstoppable, and pressed his lips to the beautiful and unknowable creature in front of him. And gods, he is beautiful, and Hob wants to make every unknowable part of him known.
So he parts his lips, and it feels like tasting the night, endless and dark and beautiful, sweet like how he imagines stars sing. Dream makes a noise in the back of his throat, a soft rumble that sets Hobβs nerves on fire.
When Dream pulls away, his eyes are cornflower blue and almost human, if it werenβt for the depth of the stars that shine inside them. Hobβs pulse beats a frantic rhythm in his ears, in the dip between his collarbones, in the place where Dreamβs claw ripped fingers still grip his wrists.
He laughs, an exhilarating breath in his throat.
βBloody hell,β he says, lips curling in a smile. βThis is what I call practical magic.β
Dreamβs eyes narrow, and the blue of his eyes shines like an infinite sky reflecting in a lake as his gaze moves to Hobβs smile and back up again. His grip on Hobβs wrist softens, the memory of danger still present, but gentler now.
Then a sound leaves his lips, just like before; a laugh, maybe, something warmer than the dangerous rumble of before.
βPractical,β he says, lips curling into a smile of too sharp teeth, but still a smile, almost soft at the corners. βYou call this practical?β
βWell,β Hob says, and Dreamβs other hand finds his throat, a slide of cool skin and shadows over the edge of his jawline, up the back of his neck. βItβs definitely hands-on.β
That sound again, and this time Hob is convinced it is a laugh, even if it sounds like the grumble of rocks, and Dreamβs head tilts with it, following the pleased curve of his mouth.
βBeautiful,β Hob says again, because he means it. A slow blink of Dreamβs eyes, more human by the second, even as the blue shines like gems. The word hangs between them and Dream looks, for a moment confused, even as a talon drags down Hobβs cheek almost gently.
Hobβs pulse is a frantic, loud thing, tension dripping down his spine, so he does what he always does when staring down kings, gods and the occult.
He keeps being reckless.
βSo,β he says, grin still bright even as Dreamβs claw digs in the smile lines around his mouth. βAs much as Iβm enjoying this, the faculty will probably be here soon with pitchforks, holy water and salt. How about we move this somewhere else, and see where this date will take us.β
A quick blink and the shadows around Dream ripple like he is taken aback by the sheer mortal cheek.
βDate.β The word is spoken like it is something new and confusing, a new taste that he rolls around his tongue.
Hob nods, and turns his head until Dreamβs talon drags over his lower lip. βYeah. Date. You know, two peopleβ umm, one person and an entity, a pub, a few drinks, a conversation. You know, the usual.β
Dreamβs grip on Hob does not loosen, but the threat sparks and disappears between one of Hobβs breaths and the other, and the darkness around him pulls close, in wonder.
βYou would. Court me.β
βCourt, flirt, buy you a drink, whatever you like.β His smile softens, and he places his hand over Dreamβs over his cheek. βPoint is, we take it out of the classroom before admin storms the place waving fucking magic tomes at us.β
He can feel Dreamβs cool breath against his lips, the smell of roses and night almost overpowering, Dreamβs gaze piercing and heavy on him.
And then Dream smiles, faint and sharp and real, the kind of smile that feels like it hasnβt been worn in centuries.
βYou are a curious creature, Hob Gadling.β
Hob laughs, and presses his lips to those of the Endless being in front of him, feels the small gasp of surprise, the softening of Dreamβs mouth against his, the nip of fangs over his lower lip.
When he pulls back, he says, βIβll take that as a yes.β
When he shrugs his coat on and heads for the door, velvet night falls into step with him, and pale fingers intertwine with his in a gesture that feels more earth shattering than all the claws and teeth in the world.
The hallways light flicker above them, and behind them the classroom still smells of roses and ozone.
Hob holds the Dream Kingβs hand and grins as the evening stretches wide open in front of him.
Ever since I saw the Hob and the homework meme, I was like I know for a fact Hob would hate his past-selves a lot
Also I know I pretty much draw crack ideas but a joke I make is that for all of Hob's days of bedding men and women. It was too much pressure to do it with Dream.
(Don't worry to my Chimney post they will go at it for a very long time)
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Lucienne: I left instructions for everyone while I'm gone.
Dream: Mine just says "Dream, no."
Lucienne: And I want you to apply it to every possible situation.
canβt stop thinking about the way mother night talks about dream always wanting a relationship. as if itβs a failing. a trivial thing.
the acknowledgment from both of his parents that all he has ever wanted is to be loved, and that not only do they not love him, but they consider that want (that need) with such contempt.
and ohhhh fuuuccckk but thinking about that and thinking about hob who noticed the same thing - that dream wants companionship, and oh my god, no wonder that sets him off so badly in 1889. the thing his parents and his whole family look down on him for. his greatest source of shame and cause of his worst failings. it is so impossible for him to hide, despite his best efforts, that even this human who has only been in his presence for really only a handful of hours, has managed to notice it and pin point it and surely he is only going to use it to taunt and torture him. of course he runs away
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i understand also what they were going for from a narrative standpoint. Midsommer night's dream, the play within a play, it's now time for the curtain call, all the actors come back on stage. And they did the specific camera shots at relevant points in Lucienne's speech. "He was a part of all of us. Sometimes the best part" (camera on Nuala and Hob) "Sometimes the nightmare part" (camera on Puck and Madoc).
like. whatever. I GET it.
But still. Calliope should not have to deal with that shit.
This is why I'm saying that some of the specific choices they made reflect a fundamental misunderstanding of the story.
In the comics, there is a scene of Madoc during Morpheus' funeral, implying that as the "spirit" or whatever of Morpheus departs, it breaks whatever hold he had over him. But that's something that already happened, way back in season 1, because Calliope asked him to.
The change DID happen. And them trying to shoehorn in scenes just because they were in the comics actually makes things worse than if they simply hadn't included them at all, because instead of feeling the emotions and being sad at Morpheus' funeral and feeling that catharsis that they were building, all of us were going "hey wait a second wtf?" It completely undercuts whatever tone they were trying to set.
Likewise with Dream's final scene on the stone pillars. I was so ready to have my heart torn out by that scene, but instead they decided to add in the Furies there taunting him, destroying any emotional gravitas they'd built to that point.
I'm baffled by how they consistently seem to decide to keep things from the comics that don't serve the story, and/or actively contradict earlier plot beats, while at the same time omitting things that would HELP with a coherent story.
They'll argue over it for millenium to come, but Hob always loudly maintains that there was quite literally no possible way for him to jump to the conclusion that a bit of an itch was a cosmically relevant first symptom.
It starts after a bar fight in Cornwall, to protect some kid from being jumped by a dozen burly men with sticks up their arses. Hob doesn't quite make it out of the fight without broken bones and a bit of a skull injury from the fire iron, but smiles through the blood at the youngster as he picks him- her?- up off the floor.
"Alright?" He asks, and the kid nods back hurriedly before scampering off. He winces at the crick in his broken neck as he wipes his face on his sleeve and stumbles out the door.
("HOB GADLING," his furious husband thunders at him at apocalyptic-level, atomic bomb volume that night, as soon as he lies down to bed.
He groans. "Yes, yes, I know. How do you even find out-"
"The sixteen year old is having wet dreams about you," Dream says savagely in punishment, grabbing Hob by the face to tilt him this way and that, ignoring his loud complaining disgust. "How many times do I have to tell you-"
"-Stop getting into bar fights," Hob intones dryly along with him, rolling his eyes. The argument lasts well into the night.)
But the next morning when he wakes up, the back of his neck is itching. He figures it's a rash of some kind and goes to work without bothering to check it out, grimacing now and then when he feels the discomfort as the scratchy sweater catches on it.
It continues the rest of the week, spreading to his arms and shins, but Hob Gadling is a man who has been personally skewered in the gut with a rusty lance, chained to a heavy metal ball and drowned in a muddy river and been the guinea pig of his husband's favourite Nightmare. It doesn't even register on his pain scale.
"I know you can do it, dear," He tells his student, clasping her by the hands. Her wrists have unhealed scars, still. "Just keep fighting. It doesn't matter what your grades are, as long as you love what you're learning, you hear me?"
She's famous for being stoic and disdainful whenever anyone tries to help her, but Grace Matty's eyes well up with tears as she nods, breathing hard. The she frowns, tilting her head. "Sorry, uh- did you get a new tattoo, Prof?"
It's such a weird subject change that Hob frowns also. "What?" He looks down to see intricate swirling patterns on his forearms. Great. Another possible curse slash adventure slash assassination attempt. "Oh, yeah, hah, got it last week."
She tilts her head, sniffing and wiping her nose with a sleeve. "Suits you."
"Thanks," Hob says, because they actually kind of do. The bright kind of golden, making his skin look rather nice when he tilts it in the sunlight. "But you can't deflect with me. So, let's talk about a study plan..."
Later, he pulls off his shirt to find the same swirling patterns across his shoulders and shins, beautiful swirls of flora and spirals that stretch down his body and actively grow more as he looks at them, the color of new wheat.
He sighs and goes to bed, yawning. There's time till it reaches his full body. He'll deal with it next week.
("Next week," Dream says scathingly, a couple thousand years later.
He rolls his eyes. "Acting like I don't know you deliberately ignored that fae assassin entering the castle because you wanted me to keep giving you head."
"It was a calculated risk-" )
He gets up the next day, groaning at the fever heat he can feel radiating from him, pushing his hands into his aching eyes. Still, there's the shop to run, so he pushes himself to his feet and keeps going.
Every person who comes in smiles at him, losing the tension in their shoulders as soon as he makes eye contact.
"I think I'm going to do it," one of them leans over the counter to whisper. "I think it's time I started following the damn dreams I've had since childhood."
Hob grins at the stranger, reaching out to squeeze their hand. Oh, but Dream would love to hear that. "Do it," He enthuses, more than used to being on the other side, talking random shite to people he didn't know in his immortal mania. "You'll succeed eventually!"
They grin, eyes crinkling, before departing.
It is a fast day, and a busy one. Everyone wants to chat- leaving Hob thrilled- about anything from their sick relatives to school grades to football matches to confessions. It is a good day, but it leaves him immensely drained, and he's practically falling over by the time it's time to close up.
He takes the longer route to let the brisk air help him, brushing his fingers against the barks of the scattered urban trees, imagining he can see their leaves unfurl wider and prouder as they survive another winter. "You'll make it," he tells the birds huddling together in the nest above, smiling.
What a lovely day. He looks out over the bridge-
"Don't jump," he says suddenly. His eyes feel hot. The man jerks, swirling around to face him. His eyes widen when he sees Hob. Can't be more than 18, barely an adult, and still has misery lining every inch of him.
Hob swallows. "Don't jump," He repeats. "Life is worth so much if you go look for it, kid."
The boy straightens, searching his face, eyes welling with tears. "There is, isn't there?"
"Yup," Hob says. His arms burn. "Come down."
Miraculously, the boy listens, trembling in the winter cold. Hob's heart melts, and he takes off his jacket to drape across the other, ignoring the protests and the feeble whispers that they couldn't afford to repay him.
"Don't need horseshit from you, little one," Hob says fondly. "There's money in the pockets, go grab something warm. And my card is in there, call if you ever need me; you have a place to stay?"
A nod. Fairre wishes for a bigger one, with central heating, but the one he has will be good for the night.
How did I know that? the thought whisps across his mind, then dissolves when he sneezes.
"Ah, hells, I must go home before this damn cold does me in," Hob jokes, patting the boy on the shoulder. "You run off too, and no more bridges for you, understand? Call me tomorrow."
"Thank you!" The boy shouts as Hob walks off. "What's your name?"
"Hob!" He shouts back before he can think it twice.
"Thank you, Hope!" He yells and-
Something in his stomach drops. He stops for a second as he turns the corner, and feels oddly like he's in freefall.
Time slows down, like he's moving through molasses. You are not terrible, I suppose, it sniffs disdainfully, before the world resumes again. The sky flickers, abruptly black as the void. Ah, the first counterpart, it whispers. Always told you our third was too impatient.
The sky turns blue again. No one else has so much as looked upwards.
Something is happening.
The tattoos, he remembers, and breaks into a run, cursing as he sprints the few blocks back to his home.
Food, he thinks, even though they're not his thoughts. Not at all. So many wish for food, hope for prey. From the deepest oceans to the highest peaks, what more can you want from the universe except food?
Shelter, also, although the living usually possess it already. But better shelters are always coveted.
A mate, children. The greatest achievement to strive to- to live on.
"Excuse me," He says, although maybe he says it in the wrong language as he sprints past the bewildered doorman, taking the stairs.
A good wind. A good monsoon. A good life.
"Dream," He says, panting, standing in the middle of his room.
A good winter. A good catch. A good field.
"DREAM!" Hob screams, holding his head in his hands as it starts splitting at the seams. He can't see anything. He can see too much. There is so much more out there- how stupid, to think that it was only Earth, only one universe? And each one comes with its own near-infinite entities, hopes and wishes and wants and-
"DREAM!" Hope roars, sobbing, and his husband crashes into him at full speed in four dimensions, catching the insides of him as they spill over through the cracks of the worlds, sand banking the liquid gold of hope's endless ocean.
(Water is a constant. Anywhere you go, water is a constant. Life always begins in the seas.)
"Hob," Dream gasps, a thousand hands and shadows pushing Hope back into a physical form, like trying to mold a running stream. Dream is scared. His husband is terrified and it is calling the others, and Hope cannot bear for anyone else being here at the moment.
"I want to go home," The last flickering flame of humanity within him sobs. He is scared, and he is everywhere and too big and too scattered, and he can remember every memory he has ever had with picture-perfect clarity, and he wants his ma, his pa, his three elder siblings and one brat of a niece, in their small and filthy cottage in an insignificant village in the middle of the forest. This hurts. "Dream, take me home."
"I cannot," His husband whispers, heartbroken. Hope sobs, even though he already knew this, because they were gone. Long gone. "But I can be your tether, if you open your eyes."
Hope trembles and considers resisting. Does not want to.
Hands cradle his face in fractals. Home fades away, humanity fades away at the touch, so dear and familiar, that his panic abruptly abates. The hurt lessens. "Hob Gadling," Morpheus says. "Open your eyes."
He takes a breath and does.
"Oh," Hope says, tears falling down. He always knew Dream was other, but to finally see him as he was meant to be seen, as all species simultaneously, as a whisper in the shadows and croon in a lullaby, in all dimensions, with all eyes- "You are so beautiful."
Dream shakes his head, horror and grief reflecting back in his eyes, darting through all the places Hob's soul is bleeding from, where Hope burst through. He looks like he is already mourning him.
Hob takes a breath and- pushes himself up, wincing. Stretches and feels the ends of the universe, and recoils back in horror, not ready to face it yet.
It is easy to ignore, really, with the beauty in front of him, crying and whimpering in fear for Hob.
Hope smiles. "So dour, love mine." He whispers, chuckling. Pushes herself up, against their husband, their stranger, their ever-running darling, their complement. Hopes and Dreams. "Beautiful love. Stop looking so sad and bothering Despair, you ninny, I'm still here."
Dream exhales and gives the impression of sitting back on their heels, as they make space for Hope in his metaphorical lap. Arms as strong as uranium bands wrap around all the unending facets of him, clinging on and shaking in fear. "I don't. I don't understand, what has happened-"
"In a minute," Hope whispers, feeling the answer- knowing the answer, knowing their darling concept of a partner also knows the answer and just needs...
They look beyond for a moment, and see the impression of Time. He doesn't finish the thought.
"Hob?" Dream asks, trembling. Hope moves back so they're looking at each other once more, heart clenching in adoration at the resplendent horror all around him, holding him together as he calms down, slotting into his place in the system.
"Still me," Hob whispers. She presses forward and wills them both into humanoid shapes, so he can kiss his wife. "I don't- I don't know why either. Or how. But- still me. Yeah?"
"Love," Dream rumbles, whispers, moans. She's still trembling.
"Easy," Hope whispers. Kisses him again. "Breathe. It's not a calamity. Just something new."
"It is-"
"If the next words out of your mouth are 'my fault', sweetheart, you're going to get slapped," Hob says in a stronger voice, as he shifts himself back into his usual form to glare. "Just- we'll figure it out. Everything's alright, yeah?"
Hope smiles at Dream. Tentatively, half in awe, its spouse smiles back, before it wavers away and Hob is yanked back into the shaking grip, in all universes at once.
Hob chuckles and closes his eyes. Sighs as they rock back and forth, feeling the mantle of a new era of adventure hover over their shoulders, ready to press down, and uses his function to hope fiercely that they'll make it through, until the fear no longer holds as heavy.
"So," It says finally. She grins, flips into a coy brown bird, a skittering shrimp, a playful whale, a swaying stamen, a displaying spider, a rumbling earthquake- flitting around her wife in well-worn paths of enticement, filled to bursting with the hope that the mate acquiesces, accepts. Steps out from under the influence of the rest of the family for a second, so he can push his startled husband backwards onto the mattress of their bed in the Dreaming.
Dream grunts as he hits the sheets, mouth falling open in shock as Hope climbs on top of him.
"I'm assuming we won't be free for ages and ages after this," He says, rolling its eyes. Then she grins, spreads themselves out into a marvellous display across all the space available to him, in which he exists, lapping against the shores of her lover. Preens seductively, watches the essence of the Dreaming flare up in excitement, snorting, bristling, stiffening, dancing, pressing back, trembling from holding themselves back. "Bet you'd fuck so much better at full power, hm?"
"Is this really the moment for a seduction?" Dream demands, even as his hands close on her hips, all eyes end-to-end black in lust. He understands. Now that the panic has abated, arousal is practically burning her alive.
"Yes, of course, now c'mon, quickly, before they get here," Hope kicks its husband lovingly, pressing their weight down harder. "Became Endless just for you, and you can't even give me an orgasm?"
Hob laughs as Dream's palm closes on his nape immediately, dragging him down. The reflection of himself in his husband's eyes is golden and bright, yet the love within shines twice as strong. And when they kiss, Hob can taste off the other's lips the hope that Dream can keep him forever.
I need Sandman show-onlys to know that in the Comic, Morpheus' last act as Dream (or Daniel's first act as Dream) was to give Hob Gadling a dream, a LONG ASS DREAM that felt like forever, of him and Morpheus walking into the sunset on beach so they could drink wine and say goodbye for as long as they needed and I thought it was important to share.
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Okay, but this amazes me. Look at the second gif and tell you can't see the moment he smiles.
It's impressive to me how Tom has such control of his expression that he can show just enough of the miniscule beginnings of a smile in his eyes and on his lips that you can tell he's starting to smile, without having this big broad smile.
And that's just so true to Dream as a character. Like he's not going to give a broad smile like that, but something that hints at one, maybe.
(Don't get me started on the fact that the two times he's given his biggest smiles are to Hob in 1x06...)
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