#retirement!Dream

[scifrey]

Keepsakes

Status: Ongoing Ficlet collection; unbeta'd

Series: the Hob Adherent series

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Includes some comics canon, and some cameos from the wider Gaiman-verse (including the Good Omens and Lucifer television shows), but it’s not necessary to know to enjoy the story.

Rating: Mature-ish.

Warnings: Discussions of grief and in-canon character death. Some sexytimes. Some whomp and hurt/comfort.

Relationships:  Morpheus | Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Eleanor | Hob Gadling’s Wife/Hob Gadling (past)

Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Patrick the Bartender, Harriet Butler, Matthew the Raven

Summary: Short ficlets set in the Hob Adherent world, based on prompts received from readers. Feel free to DM me or leave prompts in the comments, and if it resonates with me, I may write up a ficlet! Thank you for the inspiration in advance.

Set amid the events of Cling Fast and Carpe Diem

READ ON AO3 OR READ BELOW:

Postcards

"So, a sword in Buckingham's army, a bandit, a printer, a shipwright and then a merchant middleman for the dockyards, a knight, a beggar, investment broker--"

"Slaver," Hob interrupts Harriet as she counts off his professions on her fingers one slow, sunny afternoon at The New Inn. "Call the thing what it was."

Hari offers him a sympathetic smile. They're the only ones in the pub proper today, as Patrick is off to tend his ailing mother, Dee doesn't come in Mondays, and Morph is having lunch with his editor.

"After which you were an MP and staunch abolitionist, a soldier again in America for the North, an industrialist and labor rights advocate, a yuppie and silicone valley early adopter--"

"Apple paid for most of this," Hob agrees, selecting a glass and checking it for water spots or lipstick stains.

"--and now a professor and publican. Am I missing any?"

“Oh!” Hob remembers as he pulls a pint for her. "And I was ruler of Hell."

She leans across the bar from her stool, and thwacks his arm. “Fuck off, you were not, you old liar,” Hari laughs.

"Was so!" Hob protests, setting her beer down in front of her. "Ask my husband. He was there. I was ruler of Hell for thirteen minutes and seventeen seconds on my six-hundred and sixty-sixth birthday."

Hari raises a challenging eyebrow at Hob over her pint glass as she takes a sip. "I won't believe a thing the Prince of Stories tells me," she says decisively, when she sets the beer back down. "And I don't believe you."

Hob pulls a postcard from L.A. off the bar back, where it's been pinned to a corkboard among a handful of others, all from the same city. This card depicts a cartoon devil drawn over a photo of the Hills, lounging on the iconic Hollywood sign. It says "Greetings from Sin City!" in bright yellow font.

Hob hands it to Hari to inspect. Her face gets drawn as her eyes flick over the handwritten note on the back.

"To my fellow former ruler of Hell; I did it! I opened a nightclub, just like you suggested. Visit me at LUX any time you'd like, Hobsie. xxx Lucifer Morningstar," Hari reads in a voice that grows increasingly strangled.

She hands the card back to Hob with trembling fingers. Then she shotguns the rest of her pint.

"So hell is real, then," Hari warbles.

Hob shrugs. "Everything is real. Humans create gods, not the other way around. If someone believes in it, it exists."

Hari nods thoughtfully. "I suppose you would know, being married to a god."

Hob chuckles. "Well, former god-ish. And don't worry, only people who believe they deserve to go to Hell actually do. Self-punishment or fulfilling prophecy, or something. I try not to think to much about that Celestial stuff."

Hari nods again, and without asking, Hob refills her pint glass. He has a feeling she's going to need it.

"But it is something I'm going to have to worry about," Hari says softly, accepting the drink with a nod.

"Not any time soon, I hope," Hob says, folding his arms on the bar top and leaning close to offer her a comforting look. "And when it does happen, I can promise you that my sister-in-law is gentle and kind. You have nothing to worry about."

Harriet runs her arthritis gnarled finger up and down the side of the glass, collecting up the condensation. "You know, that is actually a comfort." She looks up at Hob with a wicked little grin. "Especially knowing your husband."

Hob throws his head back and laughs.

#losyark #cling fast adjacent #cling fast #carpe diem #the hob adherent series #hob adherent #hob gadling #hob x dream #dream x hob #dreamling fic #dream #dreamling #lucifer morningstar #lucifer #gaimanverse #sandman hob #retirement!Dream #keepsakes

[bisexualhobgadling]

Dream of the Endless would be a great professor, but you know what else he'd be amazing at?

Children's Librarian

Kids are full of stories. He would absolutely love to hear them and help nurture that creativity. The really young ones could be read to and have nap time. Parents would love him. Kids would love him. Hob would love him.

also it would just be really cute 😌

#the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #hob gadling #dreamling #maybe he's retired #maybe he's being forced to take a break by literally everyone and shares his Dreaming duties with Lucienne #bonus: Hob becomes a preschool/kindergarten teacher for his next identity and they work together #either in the same school or Hob takes his class to the library once a week #also they're married <3 #children’s librarian dream

[hypertechnica]

straight up refusing to acknowledge star trek: generation’s existence. it didn’t happen

you mean to tell me, after an entire series and SIX movies dedicated to the triumvirate found family, kirk immediately goes missing, and then dies alone 80 years later because of time travel nexus bullshit?

bones and spock never see him again??? ever???

no. kirk, spock, and bones retire and grow old together. they’re married. they have 2 cats and love to play 5d chess with multiverse time travel. that’s the ONLY canon i accept

#deforest kelley was right #they should have just LET THEM RETIRE!!! LET THEM BE HAPPY #IDEC BRO. IM NOT WATCHING THAT MOVIE #star trek #star trek tos #spock #james t kirk #jim kirk #s'chn t'gai spock #bones mccoy #leonard mccoy #mcspirk #spirk #mckirk #spones #i’ll admit the premise has tragic spones potential. but does bones even appear in that movie #i checked he is not in that movie. we don’t even get to see him react to kirk going missing #a travesty. a dishonor #not even getting into kirk’s dream nexus illusion. i can’t deal with this #rainspeak

[retirement-home-rumble]

Retirement Home Rumble: Finals

MCYT fight I guess

DISCLAIMERS (PLEASE READ):

*TFC was a beloved youtuber who sadly passed away last year. He was submitted and then included in this tournament as a way to honor his memory. **This poll is referring specifically to the characters played by these streamers. However, Technoblade, the youtuber, tragically passed away last year. I do not want to see anyone being toxic or disrespectful to their memories. Feel free to spread propaganda and vote for who you want, but anyone crossing a line will be blocked

Why they would crush the other geezers under the cut:

WARNING: There may be spoilers

Iroh and TFC Propaganda:

Phil and Techno Propaganda:

#retirement home rumble #tournament poll #finals #atla #avatar the last airbender #mcyt #hermitcraft #atla iroh #uncle iroh #iroh #hermitcraft tinfoilchef #hermitcraft tfc #tinfoilchef #dream smp #dsmp #c!philza #philza mcyt #dsmp philza #philza minecraft #philza #mcyt technoblade #dsmp technoblade #techno mcyt #dsmp techno #technoblade #c!techno #c!technoblade #emerald duo

[illumi-nati-png]

I forgot to post this

#dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #retired!dream #the sandman #the sandman netflix #my art

[nelkcats]

And they were roommates

After years of living on his own in the Infinite Realms, something strange began to happen to the retired hero. Every time Danny closed his eyes to sleep, a life that was not his own played in his head. And he began to see memories of someone who had passed away, from his birth to his death. That would be fine if he didn't remember the dreams in such detail.

Unfortunately when the first dream kept repeating itself continuously, and Danny investigated, he discovered that it was not a normal nightmare and was the life of someone real. Someone who wanted a closure.

Every time he woke up, he found himself feeling the same as in the dream. Which led him to do a couple of things: yell at Nocturne (who strangely had nothing to do with it), annoy Clockwork (who was definitely involved), and solve crimes that had been deemed "impossible", and bring them to an appropriate end.

The police were extremely confused when a note from "Sleepy King" was next to the evidence of a cold case. The truth is that Danny wanted to sleep, and the souls were extremely insistent about their 'unfinished business' that came to haunt him in his sleep.

Every time he cracked a case he earned a few hours of uninterrupted sleep or downright disturbing memories, but that wasn't enough. Unfortunately, it seemed that solving the cases was only attracting more souls, and he was starting to regret wanting to help. He had ended his life as a hero for a reason.

Usually his notes to the police would say something along the lines of "I'm doing this for me, not for you, good night" or some similar nonsense. The halfa was tired, very very tired, dreaming with memories wasn't fun or pretty, it was exhausting, the deaths made his skin crawl and his insomnia worse. He didn't want to relive the deaths of anyone else, but he had no way to scare away the souls.

When Martha Wayne showed up in his dreams showing him about a "court of owls" Danny made up his mind. This had to stop. He had been a hero but he retired. And it wasn't that he hated the souls, he just wanted to sleep, the mental exhaustion was too much.

So he did the stupidest thing possible: he hired Constantine (pretending to be a fairly normal human client, getting his attention after offering a lot of alcohol and some useless books from the Realms as payment) to make him a dream catcher or some wizard thing. All he wanted was something to help him sleep.

Constantine couldn't do that of course. The hellbazer was disturbed by the man with more than three hundred avenging spirits swarming. That was fucked up. So he offered him the only solution he could think of: inviting him to sleep at his house. A place where spirits could not pass without permission. It wasn't a permanent fix, but it would work for a while.

John had no idea why he was doing so much for a client (inviting him to his house? bold move), but the man looked so desperate, and he was fucking cute. If he could get an adventure or two out of it he wouldn't complain.

Constantine's guest bed felt like heaven to the halfa, despite being almost destroyed. Danny repeatedly thanked, and before they both knew it: they were roomies, lived in the same place, took turns cooking or cleaning, etc. They grew comfortable with each other to the point that Danny answered Justice League Dark's calls on a few occasions.

And well, if Constantine stopped rushing to find a long-term solution that was his business, and his alone, okay? Zatanna's comment asking when he got married was fucking out of place.

#dpxdc #Danny is an adult here #he lived in the Realms #until the souls started to stalk him in dreams #Nocturne offered to help but Danny refused #Clockwork is playing matchmaker and is obvious #Retired hero Danny #The souls wanted revenge #and Danny solved many cases but #he didn't want to live to please others any longer #maybe is selfish but he never asked to be a hero in the first place #dp x dc #dc x dp #Justice League Dark is pretty sure they are married #Constantine is not flirting and that's suspicious #Danny ended investigating the court of owls and Batman had him on sight #Constantine thinks he's just a handsome man #But even if Danny tell him about his ghost part Constantine would think he's sexy #and they were roommates #Asking for Constantine's help is like a sin in the realms but Danny is desperate and the hellbazer deal with curses daily #he was sure John could help somehow #Danny stopped Constantine from being a soulhoe and protected him without John noticing

[pa-nd-em-on-iu-mp-an-da]

My main HC for Morpheus is he lives and just retires from the stress of being Dream.

He gets convinced to just live for himself and choose his own destiny without the expectation of his existence weighing him down.

Hob helps him, both of them moving into a cottage where they learn to coexist and Morpheus learns how to be human without the added stress of a city life.

He reads books, new ones having to be thoroughly digested rather than just instantly available in his head like a goddamn robot.

Maybe he helps Hob plant seeds and realises that it's somewhat close to breathing life into new creations and helping them grow into their desired functions, immediately addicted to the feeling of mud under his nails and stains on his clothes because he's creating a life without needing a purpose for it.

They go down to the beach, and yeah it's not like the Shores of The Dreaming but he still has his spade and bucket and by fucking Christ is he going to make the best sand castle ever, Hob, stop laughing!!

He builds and builds until he's tired and worn out and sweating pints, but there's a version of the castle - his home, even if it's not his anymore, even if it didn't feel like home, not really - standing proudly in the sand. And he stares at it, realising that the dreaded feeling in the pit of his stomach is still there, but it's not as suffocating as it used to be. He's not weighed down by the unconscious minds of everyone, he gets to create for the simple pleasure of creating.

He gets to go back to the cottage, curls his feet under him and drinks hot chocolate as Hob cooks in the kitchen. Music's playing in the background as the fire roars in the hearth.

He feels safe.

He feels content.

He feels loved.

He's happy.

(And maybe a certain Angel and Demon buy a cottage close by, causing an all-out garden war between the Resident Goths on whose plants are better?? Which then creates the Annual Garden Competition. Both Hob and Azi are chilling and having cake whilst the Resident Goths are fighting over the last seedlings).

I just want the dweebs to all be happy.

Is it so much to ask for??

#dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #retired dream #morpheus #the sandman #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #I'm probably going to add more to this #ineffable husbands #fanfic aus #the sandman fanfiction #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic rec #sandman fanfiction #The sandman fanfic rec #the sandman fanfic #good omens au #dreamling au #Ineffable husbands au #go fanfic #go fanfiction #Cottagecore Dreaming Au

[mollymagician]

When I think about retired!Dream (…as I…uh…do…a bit) I always think about that clip I’ve seen around of the astronaut being interviewed after a turn on the space station, and how he keeps dropping things and then looking for them in, like, the fucking air because he keeps forgetting that gravity is a thing

How much of that sort of thing does poor Dream have to deal with once he’s grounded permanently in humanity? What kind of bizarre small and maybe not-so-small ‘muscle memory’ snafus does Hob have to help him navigate around on a daily basis? I imagine there’s this expression Hob gets used to seeing on Dream’s face, kind of a blank look that means he just tried to warp reality in some casual way he was used to and it didn’t work, and they have to wait for him to snap out of it so he can figure out what the hell it was he’d been trying to do

#dreamling #retired Dream au #the sandman netflix #I’m sure Matthew thinks it’s hysterical

[hardly-an-escape]

tonight I am thinking thoughts about retired!Dream. about human Dream, weak and exhausted, dropped off on Hob Gadling's doorstep like an abandoned housecat.

I am thinking about Hob and Dream not immediately falling into bed, into a relationship, into orbit around each other. I am thinking about Hob turning his office into a spare room, teaching Dream how to be human, how to be independent, introducing him to new experiences and new people, and then basically sending him out free in the world once Dream knows enough to survive on his own. about Dream wanting this, wanting that freedom, that self-determination.

about Dream renting his own flat. cooking his own meals. choosing his own experiences, trying out everything under the sun completely on his own terms because he’s an adult with agency despite technically being less than a year old in human terms.

I’m thinking about Dream traveling. sending postcards and letters back to Hob in London from Cambodia, from Chile, from Butte, Montana. about Dream dating; about his first sexual adventures in a human body being with people he met in pubs or at the library or on Tinder. about Dream falling in reckless human love and getting his heart broken when the other person didn’t feel the same. about Dream making mistakes, making bad choices, getting hurt – never so badly that it scars him, never so deeply that it really damages him, but enough that it hurts – about Dream learning how to come to terms with that pain in his own right.

I’m thinking about Hob stepping into his role as Dream’s steadfast touchstone instead of the other way around. about Dream continually returning to the safe harbor of Hob’s care before he strikes out again on his own. I’m thinking about the patience and devotion and the longing Hob feels as he watches Dream explore; the highs and lows he experiences alongside him; how he wants Dream so fucking badly and will never, ever, push to have him until Dream comes to him of his own free will. because he will not have Dream if he feels beholden. I’m thinking about the iron lid Hob has to clamp down on his own desire, because that’s not what Dream needs from him.

until… it is. because there’s only one way this can end. I’m thinking about Dream realizing that none of his explorations, none of his liaisons, have brought him as much joy and satisfaction as Hob has simply by being his friend, by being there for him. I’m thinking about Dream, returning to Hob, choosing Hob, because he independently comes to the conclusion that they are, in fact, meant to be. about how much deeper, how much more meaningful that choice will be, coming after months or even years of journey and growth and self-discovery.

about what it will mean to Hob, to know that Dream has come back to him, has chosen him, over everything else; that after all his myriad human experiences he has determined that Hob is who will complete his human life and bring him the most joy. and then they make out disgustingly and live happily ever after.

#dreamling #the sandman #sandman meta #dream of the endless #hob gadling #my writing #retired dream

[five-and-dimes]

Next to Nothing

Dream knew that retiring from Endlessness to live a human life with Hob Gading wouldn't be easy. He wasn't expecting Hob to laugh at him so much though. (In which there are misunderstandings, Dream hides things he shouldn't, and being human is hard.)

AO3

Lately, Dream has been experiencing nightmares.

He says ‘experiencing’ instead of ‘having’ due to the nature of his sleep. Despite making the difficult decision to become human, to share an immortal, human life with Hob Gadling, certain aspects of himself have remained. One of those aspects is that he simply cannot be overtaken by dreams. He is always aware of when he steps into his former realm- like returning to a house he no longer lives in but still remembers which floorboards creak and how to open tricky doors. He is incapable of not recognizing himself, even from the other side of the mirror.

Some nights are dreamless- The new incarnation of Dream of the Endless, Daniel (and Death, once she learned of his lucid dreaming), worried that being in a constant state of awareness would prevent him from properly resting, which was the whole point of his retirement in the first place. As such, half the time he floats between realms, peaceful and relaxed. But sometimes dreams or nightmares are drawn to him. And while it had been awkward at first, his former subjects standing before him like any other mortal, he encouraged them to fulfill whatever scenario they had been driven to. Even if he could not be lost in it, he knew they were drawn to him when he was feeling something he needed to face. That was their purpose, and he would always be proud of them for fulfilling it. 

And so it was that for the past week and a half, Dream had entered his former realm and been faced with nightmares about Hob’s laughter.

Despite himself, he jerks awake, dragging himself back into the Waking, a sheen of sweat on his forehead as he gasps in the dark, the echoes of laughter still ringing in his ears. He brings a hand up to his mouth, stifling his heaving breaths, berating himself for being so affected despite knowing it was a dream. As his breathing evens out, he turns his head on his pillow and finds himself nearly nose to nose with Hob Gadling. His best friend, his partner, his lover.

The subject of his nightmares.

Luckily, Hob has always fallen deeply into the Dreaming, and so his snores remain steady and undisturbed by Dream’s restless awakening. Letting his hand drop from his mouth, Dream turned fully onto his side, gazing at the sleeping immortal. He brushes a lock of hair away from his face, letting his fingers caress Hob’s cheek softly, taking comfort in the way he nuzzles against his skin even in his sleep. Dream has been human for just shy of two months, and Hob has been a kind and patient guide in his new life.

Hob also laughs at him a lot. 

He had no disillusion that adjusting to human life would be easy. He had fought with the decision for ages before Hob had finally taken his hands, kissed his face, and begged for him to stay. He could not be Endless anymore, could not stand it, was rapidly approaching an edge that he had no qualms throwing himself over. But Hob. Hob had pulled him back. And so he had let himself be separated from his Endlessness and fell into Hob’s arms to start his new life, and he had expected difficulties, he had . But he had not expected the laughter that followed.

Laying in bed with Hob now, Dream reflects on his time as a human. 

There had been the night he attempted to help Hob with dinner and burned his fingers on a hot pan. He had shrieked, staring horrified at the way the skin had bubbled and turned a vibrant red. Hob had held his hand under a stream of cold water and laughed as Dream stutteringly questioned if his skin would fall off.

“Might peel a bit, but nothing you won’t recover from. Afraid it’s a common happenstance in a kitchen this small. No need to be so theatrical about it!” He teased and laughed and Dream had flushed with embarrassment, scrambling to pull himself together.

He came close to hyperventilating when he got a splinter from the stair railing leading up to Hob’s flat, and Hob had laughed as searched for the tweezers.

“That’s nothing, Love, nothing at all. Just a bit of wood, not the end of the world, yeah?”

And Dream had bitten his tongue to silence himself but all he could think about was that there was something inside him. Something foreign shoved beneath his skin, he could see it, and it felt wrong wrong wrong like a parasite, like a poison. For the next two days he struggles to eat, to drink, he gently rebuffs Hob’s attempts at love making. He does not want anything inside him, does not want anything outside to invade the meager shelter his body provides.

A day out at a fair gives Dream some sort of sickness, whether flu or food poisoning they couldn’t be sure, but Dream spent hours in the restroom, curled over the toilet. His stomach clenched painfully, violently rejecting any attempts at drinking water or ginger ale. He kept heaving, even when he was sure he must be empty, hollow, so sure that the next thing he would vomit would be his organs. There was nothing left.

Hob laughed.

“You won’t be coughing up your stomach tonight Love, I promise,” he kept a hand on Dream’s back, rubbing soothing circles only ever broken up by his chucking, “It all feels far more dramatic than it actually is. You’d probably feel better if you focused more on breathing than catastrophizing,” he grinned.

He hits his elbow on the edge of a bookshelf and nearly screams, a kaleidoscope or sensation and pain shooting up his entire arm, and he doesn’t understand, he doesn’t understand, he’s bumped into things before, he’s experienced bruises (experienced the horror of blood pooling under his skin, spilling out of his veins and spreading in vibrant colors across his flesh) but this is different, like needles have filled his arm all the way down to his hand. Hob rushes in, sees him curled over, clutching his elbow, trying to make the sensations stop, and bursts into laughter.

“Oh, oh Love, you’re alright,” he pulls at Dream until he is standing up straight, running a hand soothingly (patronizingly) over his arm as he giggles, “Discovered the funny bone, have you? Probably one of the worst designs of the human body.”

Dream wants to cry. It’s not funny to him. 

Strangers keep putting their hands on his shoulders or back as they move around him, and he jumps and flinches and glares and Hob laughs and laughs and laughs, “No harm, Love! Folks can be a bit casual about physical contact these days, no danger in the market, darling.”

Every time, even all these weeks later, the laughter hurts. It cuts him in a way he knows he would be judged for, would be chastised for, would be despised for. His undesirable, loathsome, insufferable pride clearly just as much a problem now as it was before. It is a stinging, aching pain to be laughed at, jeered at, mocked. 

And yet… 

His biggest fear- the thing that makes him tremble and cry deep in the Dreaming where no one can see him, the thing that makes him hide his face in his pillow and hide from Hob even as he sleeps- is the thought of what will happen when the laughter stops .

When he stops being a joke and becomes just a burden.

At least now he is able to provide amusement to Hob, no matter how much it makes his chest clench with shame. But surely the novelty will wear off. Eventually, Hob will come to resent Dream’s weakness, his fumbling, his stupid, worthless helplessness. He cannot be happy having to constantly take care of his lover, always having to guide him through situations that should be simple and easy. Hob shouldn’t have to constantly hold his hand.

Dream lifts his head from his pillow, ignoring the damp spot where his tears escaped despite his best efforts. His nightmares have meaning.

He has to do better.

~~~

When Hob wakes, he grins and leans in to give Dream a kiss.

“G’morning, Love. Sleep well?”

Dream nods, leaning his forehead against Hob’s, “Yes. I slept just fine.”

~~~

Dream and Hob are on the couch, curled together and watching something that Dream stopped paying attention to a while ago. There is a pressure in his head, throbbing and painful and the light of the television only makes it worse. He wants to press his fingers against his skull, wants to dig into the sides of his temples until the pressure is released, wants to hold his head in his hands until it feels less like his skull might split down the middle. He knows what a headache is, but the knowledge does not comfort him. He still feels his breath catch at the idea that there is something wrong with his brain .

Hob shifts next to him, “Alright, love?”

Closing his eyes, Dream nods, “Yes. I’m just. Tired.”

~~~

Hob has taken Dream out to a bar tonight, always excited to show Dream places outside of the New Inn. And Dream doesn’t mind, truly. Even before becoming human, he had been trying his best to view the world more as Hob did- as experiences and opportunities and curiosities. It is easier with Hob beside him, always open and eager to share his love for life. 

They are moving through the crowd hand in hand, making their way towards an open table in the back, when Dream feels a hand grab his arse.

Sucking in a breath, he whips his head around to try to find the offender. It is a warm night, and Dream had left his long coat at home, comfortable enough at the time with just a long sleeved shirt, but now he wishes desperately for the shield of more fabric, shivering in his own skin. Only… only Hob was supposed to touch him there. Hob, who was always gentle and considerate, never possessive or threatening like this touch had been. He cannot identify the culprit in the mass of bodies around them, dozens of people whose dreams and intentions are lost to him, and suddenly everyone feels like a threat.

He wants to go home.

“Dream?” Hob tugs at his hand, drawing his attention back from where he had frozen in the middle of their journey, “Everything okay?”

Hob’s eyebrow is raised, and his lips twitch at the corner, like the laughter is already building in his throat, just waiting for Dream’s latest foolishness, ignorance, stupid, stupid, stupid Dream.

“Yes,” Dream forces a smile, “it’s nothing.”

They continue to the table.

~~~

It is still dark out when Dream wakes, not from a nightmare, but from an intense, sharp pain in his leg. 

He gasps, curling up and frantically grabbing at his calf, feeling the way the muscle has tensed. Tears spring to his eyes as he grips his flesh, desperate to get the muscle to release. He doesn’t understand, it doesn’t make sense, he wasn’t doing anything, he was sleeping, why is his body doing this, what did he do wrong ?

Slowly, too slowly, he feels his leg begin to relax, though the echoes of pain remain. Beside him, Hob sleeps on, and part of Dream wants so badly to wake him, wants to know what happened and why. He wants, very badly, to be hugged. 

He turns away from Hob, keeping one hand on his leg, bracing for the pain to return at any moment.

Sleep does not return that night.

~~~

Hob is covering a shift at the New Inn, and he encouraged Dream to join him downstairs, excitedly going on about karaoke night and what fun Dream would surely have.

So far, Dream is not having fun.

There are bright, colorful lights illuminating a small makeshift stage, and everyone sings so loudly. Dream thinks the microphone must be unnecessary yet each person who takes a turn bellows directly into it, the speakers around the space thrumming with noise. When Hob manages to step away from his work to check in on Dream, they are forced to lean close to each other and yell, actually yell, Dream feels his throat becoming raw as the night goes on, his own voice carving him up.

He smiles at Hob and insists that he is having a good time.

When the night finally, finally ends, and Hob and Dream make their way back upstairs to the comfort of their flat, Dream almost stumbles when he realizes that the noise hasn’t stopped. There is a ringing, and he doesn’t just hear it, he feels it, and it’s inside his head. They step inside and it is silent but it’s not, the ringing follows him, like something from the evening has wormed its way inside his ears. He wants to press his hands against his ears, wants to scratch at them, to get whatever has invaded him out . 

Hob yawns and smiles at him, “What a night, huh?”

Dream smiles and nods and bites his tongue.

~~~

At one point, he actually bites his tongue. 

The pain is sharp and abrupt, quickly accompanied by the coppery taste of blood filling his mouth, and he doesn’t know what to do, that’s his blood , spilling into his own mouth, warm and sickly. He wants to spit it out, wants to press a hand to his tongue, wants to cry out just to know that he can, that he hasn’t damaged himself and invited another hundred years of silence with his own teeth.

Hob is in the next room.

Dream swallows.

~~~

When Dream wakes up, he feels… wrong.

He feels warm, but not a comfortable warm. Not the warmth of his perpetually cold body being bundled in blankets and Hob’s arms. No, it is an internal warmth, he feels like he’s radiating it, like the temperature of his blood has risen and now his skin is too tight. He has the strange compulsion to remove his shirt, to expose his arms and stomach to release some of the warmth. Sitting up, he blinks at the strange feeling of heat behind his eyes, and he realizes that his mouth is dry. He feels like a desert. 

The solution feels easy enough, though, and he stands to make his way to the kitchen. His limbs feel a little… floaty. But surely that too will be fixed by the glass of cool water he pours for himself. He gulps it down, and it hits his stomach heavily. He does feel better, but the heat has yet to dissipate. 

It probably just takes time.

He is filling his second glass when Hob wanders out of their room, rubbing his eyes and looking gorgeously sleep-ruffled. 

“Morning beautiful,” he greets, moving next to Dream to kiss the top of his head, “Ah, I had the same idea,” he grinned, grabbing a glass for himself to fill with water.

Dream sighs internally. Yes, this is nothing. Just another nothing.

The morning continues as normal, but Dream still feels… off. He cannot quite bring himself to finish the breakfast Hob has so kindly laid before him, and still the heat in his body persists. He finds himself drinking more water, his mouth drying rapidly each time he puts the glass down. Hob seems to still be waking, yawning between bites and grumbling about doing more zoom classes next term and sighing in relief that tomorrow is the weekend.

“You alright, dove?” 

Dream nearly flinches, hating that Hob had noticed anything. “Yes. I simply find I do not have much of an appetite this morning.”

“Want me to make you something else?” Hob offered.

“No, I’m fine,” Dream shook his head, “I will eat more once I’m more awake,” he insisted.

“Hah, I know that feeling,” Hob grinned, “Any plans for yourself today?” he inquired.

Currently, all Dream wants to do is go back to bed, but he tries to think of what he would do on a normal day while Hob is out, “I think I might go to the library. I have some books on hold that have come in.”

“Oh, lovely!” Hob grinned, “In that case, would you mind stopping by the market on your way home? There’s a couple things I keep forgetting to grab.”

Dream inexplicably feels like crying. Now he has to leave the house, he cannot claim later to have changed his mind, Hob has asked something of him and he cannot refuse him. Not after everything.

Smiling, he nods, “Of course. Just make a list for me, please.”

It feels like the blink of an eye and then Hob is kissing Dream chastely on the lips and hurrying out the door, leaving Dream alone in the quiet of the flat. For too long, he simply sits at the kitchen table, staring at nothing, wanting to crawl back into bed and sleep the day away but knowing that he can’t. That he shouldn’t.

It’s nothing.

Finally, he steels himself and stands, getting dressed on autopilot and tucking Hob’s grocery list into his pocket. As he steps outside, he pulls his jacket tighter around himself. His face feels warm, but his body is shivering, no matter how he tries to make it stop. The walk to the library feels longer than usual, and when he arrives he finds he has no desire to wander the shelves or to sit and read as he usually does. He simply collects the books he has reserved and turns to leave.

By the time he reaches the market, he feels nearly out of breath, and his body aches in a way that it does not usually after a mere walk. Deep in his chest, Dream is frightened. He feels like his body is simply failing him, like a machine with rusted gears and sparking wires. 

He shakes his head vigorously. This is nothing. It’s nothing . It is a human thing and he is overreacting, worrying for no need and acting like a scared child.

Hob would laugh at him. And Dream would deserve it.

Straightening his back, he tries to force normalcy upon himself, grabbing a basket and swiftly collecting the items Hob has requested. He pushes through the discomfort in his body, telling himself that the faster he finishes, the faster he can return home. 

When he exits the market, the sun is shining, and he thinks the weather must be warm, they are approaching summertime, and yet still he shivers. Gripping his bags tightly, he grits his teeth and makes his way home. He has always had strange temperature regulation, he often feels cold, this is nothing unusual. The persistent heat behind his eyes is nothing. The way he occasionally sways as he walks is nothing.

It takes him too long to climb the stairs to the flat, but eventually he makes it. He uses the last of his willpower to put the groceries away, hands trembling slightly. He realizes he is breathing heavily, and there is a rattling sensation in his chest. 

Stumbling into the bedroom, everything feels wrong. He wants to take his clothes off, can feel the fabric sticking to his skin from sweat, but he can’t stop shivering. When he breathes in his lungs feel like they’re crackling, like the soft tissue of his insides have hardened and begun to crumble. His body hurts, like he has fallen down the stairs but he hasn’t done anything, he doesn’t understand .

He never understands.

Crawling beneath the covers, Dream curls up and berates himself. This is nothing, just his new human body doing strange human things and Dream being a fool, like always. He will fall asleep, and when he wakes it will have passed, and he will continue on as he has every day. Even if he doesn’t understand , he knows , he knows he has to be better. The point of his becoming human was for him to change, to be less overdramatic, less petty, less prideful, less, less, less .

Dream has been a human for nearly three months and he is still too much. No amount of humanity can change that, it seems.

So the least he can do is conceal it. Folding in on himself beneath the covers, too hot and too cold and aching and afraid, he takes a breath and pretends that nothing is wrong. He falls asleep hoping he can pretend hard enough.

~~~

Dream feels worse when he awakes.

The heat is overwhelming, and he is not sweating, his skin dry and tight and hurting. His chest feels like it’s cracking with every inhale, and he aches down to his marrow. Distantly, he hears a door open and close. Blearily, he glances at the clock next to the bed and sees that it is mid afternoon, around the time Hob returns home and-

Hob.

Hob is home.

Even through the haze that feels like it’s smothering his thoughts, Dream still manages a panicked lurch to sit up. He can’t let Hob see him like this, he has to pull himself together, he has to be better -

“Honey, I’m home!” Hob calls out cheerily, the same teasing greeting he gives Dream every time he returns from anywhere, regardless of how long he had been gone. Swallowing, Dream struggles to force a response out.

“Welcome back,” He winces at the scratchiness of his voice, and the pain that came with trying to make himself heard. He hears footsteps approaching the bedroom and forces his legs over the side, trying to pull some semblance of normalcy around himself.

When Hob opens the door, he is smiling, “Afternoon nap kind of day?”

Dream nods, smiling, “It was. How were your classes?” His voice is still scratchy, but it can easily be explained away by having just woken.

“Pretty mellow all things considered-" He flips the lights on idly, Dream flinches minutely, the lights seemingly stabbing his overheated eyes, and as the room becomes illuminated Hob’s eyebrows raise.

“You look a little flushed, Love,” he smirks mischievously, “Sure you were just napping?”

Oh, Dream can’t even think about sex right now. He’s trying so hard not to shiver violently in front of Hob and he feels like his insides are boiling and everything hurts and he doesn’t know how to fix it.

Almost without thinking, he lurches to his feet, “I’m just. A little warm. From the blankets.” The room is spinning, it must be, because he is certain he is walking straight and yet he suddenly finds himself bracing himself against the wall.

If his thoughts weren’t so scattered, he might have noticed the smile fall from Hob’s face.

“Woah, hey, are you-“

“It’s nothing,” Dream gasps, pushing himself forward until he is stumbling past Hob out of the room, “I just. Need water.” Water made him feel a little better earlier, right? He clumsily bats Hob’s hands away when they reach for him.

“Hey, Love, are you feeling alright? You don’t seem-“

“Everything is fine,” the whole flat is swaying like a ship on the sea. He keeps one hand against the wall as he makes his way to where he thinks the kitchen is. He’s so hot. He’s so cold. When he blinks he sees the sink in front of him and veers towards it.

Hob is not laughing. He does not know if that is a good thing.

“Dream…” Hob follows closely, and Dream can’t see it but panic is starting to shine in his eyes, “Love, tell me what’s wrong-“

“Nothing!”

“Dream, hey, just let me-”

“It’s nothing!” Dream snaps. He is dimly aware that he can no longer hide his shaking, that he is clutching the kitchen counter desperately. 

Hob moves closer, hands held out as though approaching a wounded animal, “Dream, you’re not-”

“ Do not laugh at me .”

Dream had meant for it to be a command, but what comes out is a plea . Voice thready and weak, and there is water on his face and he does not know if it is sweat, or tears, or both. His knees buckle, and suddenly he is on the floor, Hob’s arm around his waist to keep him somewhat upright. 

Sobbing, he is too tired to even try to disguise his desperation, “ Please ,” he begs, he begs, “please do not laugh at me.”

Everything feels blurry and fuzzy. He thinks he feels Hob pulling him into his arms, pushing his sweaty hair away from his face, wiping at tears and speaking in a soft voice. And as he feels his vision darken at the edges, feels everything start to fall away, his last conscious thought is that he still cannot hear Hob’s laughter.

And he still doesn’t know what that means.

~~~

The first thing Dream becomes aware of as he drifts back into consciousness is the gentle sound of water. His brow furrows, and he wonders if he has somehow landed on the Shore of Dreams. A shiver runs through him, and he becomes aware that he is wet, submerged in cool water from his shoulders down. There is a band of warmth though, holding him securely around his waist, keeping him from falling under. His back is pressed against something firm and soft. The more he wakes, the more he recognizes it.

Hob. 

It takes more effort than he thinks it probably should, but Dream forces his eyes to open. His eyelids feel heavy, and his eyes feel warm, but he manages it. Glancing at his surroundings, it feels like his brain is running at half speed. He is in a bathtub- Hob’s bathtub- their bathtub- the lights are dimmed, and he is naked- no, he’s shirtless, his boxers are still on. His breaths are raspy and loud in the quiet, and when his head flops forward on his neck, he sees two strong, hair covered arms holding him around his middle.

Hob.

He blinks slowly, wants to say something, an apology, he thinks, but another shiver wracks his body and a soft whine escapes him. Hob pulls him closer, shushing him and whispering next to his ear.

“You’re alright, Love, everything’s alright. I know it feels cold but it’s not, I promise. We just need to get you cooled down, alright? I’m right here, dove.” He brings a hand up to pet softly down one of Dream’s limp arms.

“Wha-...” Dream’s tongue feels heavy and dry in his mouth, the words catching until he can’t remember what he was going to say in the first place.

Hob hushes him again, jostling him slightly as he reaches outside of the tub to a glass of water placed on the floor next to him. He holds it up to Dream’s mouth, gently tilting his head back when Dream’s arms continue to be uncooperative.

“Just take small sips, alright? Come on, sweetheart, just a little.”

Dream still feels… far away. He can’t decide if his body feels heavy or weightless, full of cotton or full of lead. But with Hob’s encouragement he’s able to drink some of the water, loosening his tongue and soothing his throat that he hadn’t even realized was sore. Hob places a couple pills in his mouth between sips, and Dream swallows them meekly, too consumed with trying to pull his thoughts together to be anything but docile and pliant in Hob’s hands.

Finally, as Hob places the glass back on the ground, Dream manages to ask weakly, “What happened?”

Hob swallows thickly behind him, his arms tightening just slightly around him as he leans down to speak against his skin, “You passed out. You had a very, very high fever, Love.” There’s a long pause, perhaps waiting for Dream to respond, but Dream doesn’t know what to say.

“Sweetheart,” the word is choked out, “why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

And this, this cuts through to something in Dream, and he pours all his meager energy into explaining, “It’s nothing. I know-... I know it’s nothing. Nothing. Won’t make a big deal over nothing. It’s nothi-”

“It’s not nothing ,” Hob interrupts, voice almost sharp, “Dream, I almost took you to the hospital. You were burning up, I was afraid you’d have a seizure or something!”

Dream’s eyes are burning, and it’s not until he feels the tears drip down his face that he realizes it’s not the fever. “Didn’ want to overreact,” his breath hitches, “‘M always overreacting. Always getting it wrong,” and here, he dips his head to his chest, his mind too muddled and miserable to filter, “Didn’t want you to laugh at me again.”

He regrets the words as soon as they pass his lips. He has already burdened Hob with his weakness, and now he will be disgusted by Dream’s pride, so fragile he cannot stand the joke he has become. Against his neck, he feels Hob inhale shakily a few times, gathering himself, and Dream wonders if this is the moment he finds out he is too much for Hob, just like he was too much for everyone. Maybe he finally found the limit of Hob’s love.

“Dream,” Hob’s voice is soft, heartbroken, ashamed. He tightens his arms around Dream’s chest, placing a gentle kiss to his shoulder, “I’m so sorry.”

Sluggishly, Dream shakes his head, because no, that’s not right, “No, Hob, you-”

“Listen to me,” Hob interrupts, voice pleading, “I swear to you, I was never, ever laughing at you.” 

It is a sick kind of irony that Hob’s words make Dream laugh. It is rasping and weak, and dissolves quickly into sobs.

“You should laugh at me,” he confesses, “I failed as an Endless, and now I am failing as a human.”

“That’s not true,” Hob sounds devastated, “That’s not true at all-“

“I should have known that becoming human wouldn’t fix me,” Dream barrels on, barely taking in Hob’s words, “It’s me, I just- I’m always failing, I cannot do anything right -“

“ Dream .”

He chokes on the next sob. His whole body still hurts and his head is still fuzzy but something in him manages to break at the harsh way Hob snapped his name. Hob so rarely got angry. Maybe this is something else Dream has ruined.

Dream can feel the way Hob’s chest expands with a deep breath, Dream’s own body moving with it, the water rippling around them. Hob’s arms loosen and more tears spill down Dream’s face at the sensation of being let go.

Only for a moment though.

“Dream…”

There is no anger this time. Only a deep, deep sadness. Hob adjusts his hold, gently maneuvering Dream in the tub until he is curled loosely in Hob’s lap, one hand guiding his face to press against the crook of his neck. His other hand sweeps up and down his spine soothingly. Dream sniffles weakly, so relieved to be held and still not understanding.

“You’re not failing,” Hob whispers into his hair, “You didn’t fail as an Endless, and you’re not failing now, I promise.” There is desperation in his voice, “Please, love, you have to believe me. You’re doing wonderful. I’m sorry for laughing. I’m sorry for ever making you feel like you weren’t succeeding. You chose to do something very different, and just because you struggle sometimes doesn’t mean you’re doing badly.”

Dream swallows thickly, eyes burning with tears of disbelief. Hob rubs soothing circles across his aching back, tucking Dream’s head beneath his chin as he whispers, “The truth is,” his voice drips with sincerity, “The truth is that being human is scary . I’ve been doing it for 600 years and it still frightens me sometimes. I can’t die, but there’s still the pain, the illness, the uncertainty of it all. Everytime I think I know what I’m doing I feel like the whole world gets flipped around and I end up stumbling to reorient myself.”

A quiet sob breaks through his words, and it takes Dream a moment to realize that it had come from him. He doesn’t know when he started crying, but he knows that what Hob is describing is… familiar.

It is how he has felt every day since becoming human.

Hob kisses his shoulder, his neck, his cheek, pulling Dream impossibly closer, “I thought… maybe laughing would make it less scary,” he confesses, “I only ever laughed because I thought maybe it would comfort you. I thought if I laughed, if I made light of the situation, you’d see there wasn’t anything to be afraid of. That I was there, and we were together. I just didn’t want you to be afraid.”

There is deep regret in his voice, “But that doesn’t change that being human is scary, and it is hard. I never should have minimized that. And I’ve never, ever , thought you anything less than the bravest person I know.”

This time, the sob is not quiet. Dream clenches his eyes shut, dipping his head as more sobs escape him, his chest heaving with them as he shakes in Hob’s arms. If he had the strength he would curl up around himself, pull away from comfort he does not deserve, but he is too weak and so Hob keeps them pressed together.

“I do not feel brave,” Dream chokes out, “I feel… pathetic . And weak, and, and useless . Just a dead weight for you to carry.” He feels his face growing hot, and he does not know if it is the fever or the overwhelming shame. He does not know if it matters.

“One day… you will stop finding it funny. You will lose patience, you will grow tired of caring for me, you will grow tired of me , I can’t-” Hob tries to shush him, but Dream shakes his head, his words becoming breathless as he tries to speak through his sorrow. His fear.

“I can’t keep burdening you,” he gasps desperately, “I can’t lose you-”

“You won’t,” Hob interrupts, his voice gentle and firm, “Not ever. Dream, Love, it’s not a burden to care for you. I want to help you. You chose to stay with me, and I’m choosing to stay with you.”

It doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t feel possible that Hob would choose this. But his tears have sapped what little energy he had, and Dream finds himself sagging in Hob’s arms, and Hob holds him like he means to stay. Like he doesn’t plan on letting go.

“Hob,” he croaks out, a shiver wracking his frame, “I don’t feel good.”

“I know. I know, sweetheart,” Hob presses kisses against his hair. 

He holds him tighter.

~~~

Dream dozes against Hob’s chest for an undetermined amount of time, only waking when Hob moves to drain the tub and dry them both off. Blinking, he finds his head is clearer, and while he is still warmer than usual, he no longer feels like he is burning from the inside. He feels more in control of his limbs as well, but Hob still insists on helping him dress.

“The meds are definitely helping. You can have some more in a few hours, but for now I think sleep will do you a world of good.”

Sleep does in fact sound amazing, so Dream nods amicably. 

When he’s better, Hob will gently pry all the things Dream has held back for weeks out of him. Dream will cry and confess to all the things he doesn’t understand, to all the things that scare him, and Hob will not laugh. Hob will share stories of his own fears, past and present, the things he still doesn’t understand himself even after 600 years of being human. When something new and strange happens to Dream, Hob will start asking him to explain what he’s feeling, to explain his fears, and Hob will talk him through it until, by some miracle, eventually they are able to laugh together about this strange thing called humanity. Time will pass and Dream will grow into his new life with Hob beside him, and they will be scared together and they will be happy together and they will live together.

Tonight, Hob holds Dream through his fever, and Dream sleeps, and his nightmare doesn’t come because he is not afraid.

#the sandman #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dreamling fic #retired!Dream #my writing #One down!! I want to finish one more before the new year #endings continue to be my villian origin story

[fishfingersandscarves]

the swaggiest disabled ex-personification in the multiverse

#my art #fishfingersandscarves #the sandman #the sandman netflix #the sandman comics #retired!dream #dream of the endless #dream (the sandman) #doodle #retired morpheus is just like me forreal (POTS haver and proud owner of the worlds smallest amount of chest hair)

[zzoomacroom]

Retired amnesia Dream + coma Hob for WIP ask game please 🥺🥺🥺

Thank you for the ask! @linzod asked about this one too, and I'm super excited about it! I only have it outlined so far, but I'm hoping to write it once I'm done with the mpreg fic.

So Murphy is just some guy, as far as he knows. He's an artist, and he's kind of a shut-in with no friends and no life to speak of. He starts having really vivid dreams that, unbeknownst to him, are showing him memories of his past life. He also keeps having these recurring dreams where he meets with this guy named Hob who seems really familiar and keeps telling Murphy that he's real, he's been looking for him, he's trapped in the Dreaming and he needs Murphy to find him in the waking world. Murphy doesn't believe any of it, thinks his unconscious mind made the whole thing up, and he's like, "great, I'm so lonely that my sleeping mind made me an imaginary friend." But then he keeps finding clues suggesting that Hob is telling the truth. He goes to the White Horse and, even though it's abandoned and boarded up, he recognizes it from his dreams. He also maybe finds mentions of Hob in historical texts, the drawing of them from the 1789 meeting, etc. So now he understands that it's all true, and he has to find Hob and hopefully regain his memories in the process.

Now I'm going to put what's happening from Hob's perspective under the cut, because it's a plot twist that would be revealed later in the story.

So how did they end up in this situation? Well, after the Wake, Hob became more unhinged than ever and couldn't accept that Dream was dead. So he planned to do a whole "Dream of a Thousand Cats" style thing and have a thousand people dream that Morpheus is alive again. But in order to organize and orchestrate this whole plan, Hob puts himself into a magically induced coma so he can stay in the Dreaming and make sure the plan works. But once it does, he finds himself stuck there. The mysterious and sketchy person he hired to put him into this coma has disappeared, and now he's trapped with no way to wake up. Morpheus keeps finding him when he dreams, so Hob is overjoyed about that but heartbroken that Morpheus doesn't remember him and doesn't believe any of his dreams are real. Eventually, Morpheus finds Hob in the waking world, wakes him up, gets his memories back, and they live happily ever after.

I don't want to give too much away, but I will say that this fic will also feature Death, Delirium, Daniel, Lucienne, Matthew, Johanna Constantine and Mad Hettie.

Hopefully I'll actually be able to get it written before too long 😭

#ask game #wip title game #the sandman #dreamling #dreamling fic #sort of #retired dream

[theaceace]

Hob is woken, not by the shrill cacophony of his alarm or the sunlight hitting his face where they'd forgotten to pull the curtains last night, or even the warmth of Morpheus' hands and mouth, but by the sudden dip in the mattress as another person flops onto the bed with them.

Several lifetimes' worth of instincts see him jolting awake in an instant, heart racing and sweat already beading on his back and brow. Hob may not be able to die, but he's been ambushed in his sleep more than enough times to be getting on with, ta very much, and he's not keen to do it again. Suddenly he's twenty-five, and exhausted after days of marching on Troyes, feet sore and heart sorer, waiting on a battle that never came. He's twenty-eight, and the knife that flashes in the darkness misses his throat only because Herry has ears like a bat and enough blind-foolish loyalty to leap on their attacker's back. He's seventy-three, and lying barely-conscious among the dead that need burying or burning, and he knows that he needs to rouse himself even with the arrow still in his chest, or he'll be burnt or buried with them. He's two-hundred and sixty-four, and they've come to the home he'd made for his family, to drag him from the bed he had shared with his wife some thirty years before, and haul him away as a witch.

He's gripped now by the same fear, and it has him up and moving, one hand fumbling at the bedside table for anything with enough heft to dent a skull before he realises that none of his attackers have ever smelt like peaches.

Beside him, Morpheus shifts just enough to free his face from the clutches of his pillow.

“That key was given to you for use in emergencies, my sibling,” he says, voice thick with sleep and the cotton pillowcase.

Desire stretches luxuriously between them and smiles, fox-sharp, at Morpheus. They roll their head to look at him – beneath the perfume and sweat and wet pavement smell of them, Hob catches a sour waft of alcohol.

“Oh but my dear brother, this is an emergency,” they say, and – look, Hob has been drunk enough to recognise the exquisitely deliberate care at the edges of their words. He huffs a little, pushes himself up so that he can slap a hand on the bedside lamp and blink furiously against the sudden light. It takes a few seconds for his vision to clear, and he rubs his hands over his face in a vain effort to convince himself that this is some new nightmare that Daniel is testing out, before he gives in to the inevitable and turns to examine their guest.

"And what could possibly be so pressing at –" Morpheus snatches Desire's wrist up to stare blearily at their watch "– two thirty-seven in the morning? That could not be expressed in a phone call or wait until a reasonable hour?"

"Do you know, brother mine, how many partners I found to dance with? Whose desire for me, once so integral as to be a given, I had to simply guess at? To read in the curve of a smile or the enticing lull of a question? I didn't know them, not a one, and can you guess, sweet Dream, how many of them took me to their beds?"

And Hob has heard quite enough of that. He stretches and tosses back the sheets, while Morpheus shoots him a filthy glower that softens immediately into a plea for respite with his sole visible eye. Desire either doesn't notice this silent communication, or doesn't care.

“None!” They crow gleefully, clasping their hands, and Morpheus scowls as he's jostled in place.

It's not that Hob wants to leave him to fend for himself against his sibling, only that he doesn’t fancy being in the firing line when Morpheus inevitably snaps and thumps Desire with a pillow.

Doing an admirable job of ignoring Morpheus' wounded expression, Hob groans and lurches himself in the vague direction of the kitchen. Might as well put the kettle on for this.

"Jasmine or apple tea, love?" He calls. No sense having any caffeine now. If they're lucky, Desire will wear themself out quickly and they'll be able to go back to sleep before the alarm goes off.

"Apple, if you would," Morpheus replies.

"Ooh, I'll have jasmine if you're making."

"Didn't ask you!" Hob shouts back, already adding a spoon of sugar to the third mug he'd fetched down for them. 

“Oh, so forceful! You know, if you ever get tired of my stick-in-the-mud brother here…” Desire trails off meaningfully, and Hob snorts, smiling a little to himself. They know full well it's not going to happen, however much or little they remember about his desires, and even if he were – impossibly – to change his mind about Morpheus, they'd get bored of him soon enough. 

He sets all three mugs on a tray, and grabs a pack of chocolate digestives while he's at it. Morpheus would never admit to being fond of them, but he doesn't need to. Hob's watched him absent-mindedly devour most of a packet while he pecks one-handed at the keyboard. Besides, Desire could probably do with something to line their stomach. 

“Is being human always this delightfully contradictory? So baffling and solid and… damp?” Desire asks, lifting their head just enough to peer at Hob as he re-enters the room. It's a moot question, of course. They've been human long enough now to know that the answer is, largely, yes. 

“Often. But do you know, my sibling, the very best part of being human?” Desire turns lazily to look at Morpheus, smiling wide. Their lipstick today is dark purple, and smudged at the corners of their mouth. 

“Mm, do tell. You know how much I crave your… wisdom,” they say, rolling the words indulgently over their tongue. Hob sighs and nudges Morpheus’ book to one side so he can set the tray down on the nightstand on his side of the bed.

“It is that it is no longer against the Old Laws for me to do this,” Morpheus says, planting one foot against their side and shoving hard enough that they topple off the bed with an outraged squawk and undignified thump. There's a blessed moment of stillness, the same kind of breathless anticipation that Hob remembers from the battlefield, before the charge and the mud and the pain. Then they pop back up over the side of the bed with a cry and launch themself at Morpheus. He'd be more worried if he couldn’t hear the laughter in their voice, nor see how their outstretched hands target Morpheus’ ribs and armpits, rather than his eyes.

Hob's sisters have been dead for centuries now, but he remembers this well enough.  Maybe if the Endless had ever been anything like children, they might have gotten all of the murderous posturing out of the way before they grew up enough for it to be a problem, he muses. Still. Better late than never.

He takes a sip of his own tea and grabs a biscuit. Lord knows he won't get a look in once Morpheus has finished trying to jam his elbow into Desire's stomach and realises they're there.

“It was never against the Old Laws for you to be a bastard, which is lucky because you always were one!” Desire gasps, writhing away from Morpheus’ pointy limbs. Hob's been at the receiving end of those elbows before, and even when Morpheus is being gentle, they're decently sharp. He wonders idly if either of them'll tire of this before their tea goes cold, and decides not to intervene either way. Serve them both right if they have to drink cold tea.

“You tried to kill me!”

“Don't tell me you're still hung up on that?”

“I am, because you tried to kill me!”

“Well it's not like it worked!”

Not really the point, Hob reckons, but then again he's had plenty of mates that have tried to kill him. 

“More by good fortune than good judgment,” Morpheus hisses.

“Oh, so you admit to your poor judgment?”

Hob snorts, and the wounded look Morpheus swings towards him would fell a lesser man. Hob takes another biscuit.

“Ha!” Desire takes advantage of his momentary distraction to lock their arms around his shoulders and blow a loud raspberry against his cheek. Hob doesn’t think he's entirely successful in hiding his smile. Morpheus doesn't even try to hide his look of disgust. 

Well, he had to learn the downsides of being an older brother at some point, Hob supposes. 

Judging that the worst of the scrapping is over, he perches on the edge of the bed and pats Morpheus’ flank idly. Desire, loose-limbed with alcohol and triumph, flops over him to reach for their tea. Morpheus magnanimously doesn't jab his fingers into their exposed side.

“Thank you, Robert darling,” Desire says, eyes half-lidded as they drink. It comes out far less coquettish than Hob imagines they intended; too genuinely content. Morpheus sighs, and frowns, and doesn't quite do a good enough job of hiding his own ease as he sits up and leans against Hob. 

“I suppose you intend to stay the night?” Morpheus asks. There's nothing of the dignified dreamlord about him now, with his hair flattened on one side and just a little lank, and pillow creases on his cheek. He peers at Desire, half of his weight still supported by Hob, who takes another slurp of tea and polishes off the last of his biscuit. It's still unbelievable, sometimes, that he may see his dour and distant old stranger like this. Something tangible, something grounded, something he can hold. Unbelievable, too, after the way they had almost parted, after the way Morpheus had almost –

Well. Doesn't bear thinking about, really.

“Mm, yes, if you'll have me.” Do they have to work to make everything they say sound like a double entendre,  Hob wonders, or does it come naturally? He's not entirely sure they even notice they're doing it. 

“You're always welcome,” Hob says. “Guest room's all made up, and there's a spare toothbrush under the sink you can have.”

“How very kind. Dream, dear, isn't your man kind?”

“Unreasonably so.”

“Ta, love,” Hob says, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Desire rolls their eyes theatrically, as though that might mask how their expression softens. “Now drink your tea, I'd like to get a few more hours’ sleep before I need to get up.”

Morpheus grumbles but straightens up, plucking his mug from the nightstand and cradling it in one hand while he reaches for a biscuit with the other. 

“Should we expect any of our other siblings to join us tonight?” He asks, managing somehow not to spray crumbs everywhere as he does so, which is a bit unfair. Hob has centuries more experience talking through mouthfuls of crumbly biscuits, and he still can't do as good a job of it. “I take it you did not venture out alone this night.”

“No I didn't, but don't worry,” Desire says, tilting their head back as they drain their mug, a neat ring of purple left behind on the ceramic. “My sweet twin is unlikely to make an appearance. I certainly hope, at least – she went home with that little exorcist friend of yours. If she comes here, then something’s gone dreadfully wrong.”

They grin, cat with the cream pleased at the expression on Morpheus’ face, and flick their hand in something like a wave. “Well, goodnight brother! Robert.”

They flounce away towards the spare room, and Hob presses his smile into the curve of Morpheus’ shoulder.

“I hate them,” Morpheus grumbles. Hob kisses the bony jut of skin where his t-shirt has slipped, once, twice.

“No you don't,” he says. Morpheus sighs, sets his mug down, and returns to hold Hob's face still for a proper kiss. Not that Hob would try to get out of it. 

“No,” he agrees softly, pulling Hob down with him for a cuddle onto pillows that still smell a little of peaches. “No. I do not.”

#dreamling #dream of the endless #desire of the endless #hob gadling #This was originally going to be part of 'Em's retirement home for wayward Endless' #in which Dream retired and all of the other Endless followed (except destruction who didn't want someone else saddled with the job) #A sort of 5+1 thing with each of the ex-endless siblings interacting with dream and hob #and 1 of the current endless #But unfortunately my brain isn't up to that so you guys get this instead #Anyway I think a lot of problems would have been solved if Dream and Desire had gone through developmental stages like regular siblings #Here we see the 'toddler' phase. Hob is lucky they're not biting each other #Not exactly a writing tag

[retirement-home-rumble]

Retirement Home Rumble: Round 3

Side B

*DISCLAIMER (PLEASE READ):

This poll is referring specifically to the characters played by these streamers. However, Technoblade, the youtuber, tragically passed away last year. I do not want to see anyone being toxic or disrespectful to his legacy. Feel free to spread propaganda and vote for who you want, but anyone crossing a line will be blocked

Why they would crush the other geezers under the cut:

WARNING: There may be spoilers

Phil and Techno Propaganda:

Carl and Ellie Propaganda:

#retirement home rumble #tournament poll #round 3 #mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #dsmp philza #dsmp techno #dsmp technoblade #mcyt technoblade #techno mcyt #philza mcyt #philza minecraft #philza #technoblade #c!technoblade #c!techno #c!philza #pixar up #disney up #carl fredricksen #carl and ellie

[moorishflower]

I'm watching Cunk on Earth and the image I got in my brain was one of retired Dream, new and fragile and trying to get his bearings, and Hob tells him "Let's put on something funny? I've been meaning to watch this one." And he puts on Cunk on Earth, and Hob finds it hilarious (especially when she gets to the medieval bits), right up until Dream, who has been -- unbeknownst to Hob -- getting himself well and truly lathered over the past 40-60 minutes, bursts into tears.

"Fuck," Hob says, and scrambles to get into a better position, the awkwardness of sitting beside someone on a sofa not the ideal way to comfort someone who is, by all indications, in the process of having some sort of horrific existential crisis. "Oh, fuck, Dream, sorry, sorry, I don't even know what I'm sorry for, please stop crying, why are we crying?"

(Hob has tried to cultivate a sense of empathy since the 1700s, and sometimes, like now, he thinks he might have overdone it a bit.)

And Dream, sniffling, red-eyed and tear tracks down his cheeks and snot glistening around his nostrils in a way that wouldn't be charming on any other human except for him, says, "All of the things she is saying are wrong."

#dream of the endless #hob gadling #the sandman #laughing and sniffling over the idea of newly-retired Dream being unable to find the humor in absurdism #because he can no longer tell when someone is being wrong on purpose #or lying #or wrong because they just don't know better #Dream trying desperately to find this funny because Hob does #and just getting more and more worked up because he can't #and he wants to be angry but there's no one to be angry AT so it's just tears all the way down

[nelkcats]

Project: Save Humanity

or something like that

It's no surprise that the Ancients get bored. They are immortal and have all the time in the world to complain about it, sadly Danny joined them after he was crowned.

Their monthly meetings are divided into three topics: Taunting the Observants (Clockwork's favorite topic after they were demoted to helpers, assistants, and other menial jobs), talking about the safety of the Realms (quite peaceful if just as chaotic), and argue.

They- really had nothing to do, and their hobbies eventually bored them. So Danny had a brilliant idea (read: he saw it on a TV show) and decided that they should all become mentors and save one of the dimensions.

Clockwork was about to say that was not a good idea, since it was the same as throwing giants into a world of ants but he needed some fun so he kept quiet. He showed them the dimension of DC and how it was continually being destroyed, the King told them to start their project in that place and select someone.

Clockwork selected Flash because he felt vengeful, Nocturne selected Tim Drake for the same reason, and so they went; each one of the Ancients selecting a "champion" they were going to teach. Although their selection reasons were quite absurd (being that they were selecting their opposite poles or just someone interesting).

Danny being a spirit of protection, selected Jason Todd and secretly Billy Batson, because he was the king and could break the rules (Clockwork rolled his eyes at the comment). The question now was, how did they appear to them and avoid the world's myriad routes of destruction?

Well at least they weren't bored anymore

#dpxdc #ghost king danny #The Ancients got bored #they have nothing to do #so they decided to teach someone #and save the DC dimension #or something among those lines #They actually don't care about the dimension #just want some fun #Flash new mentor is the devil in disguise or have a grudge with him #Tim is not sure why a monster is appearing in his dreams and scolding him about healthy sleeping habits #Jason and Billy met each other in really weird circumstances that included a boy with a big smile and a crown #Superman is pretty sure he is hallucinating #dp x dc #dc x dp #At some point the Ancients will compete between each other #They are really competitive #Constantine wants to retire #Of course he felt all the goods jumping into earth but why are they in earth on first place #They probably forgot their objective of saving humanity along the way #Their champions are really confused and suspicious btw