Dream X Hob - Tumblr Posts
more domestic vacation 'verse because it's apparently all i can think about now
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It has been... good, being here. Quieter. Easier. The clamor of billions of visitors to the Dreaming is muffled, in Hob's flat. The things that dream here are calm things. Thriving things. Old and cherished things.
Loved things.
Here, Morpheus too has felt like something that could perhaps be loved.
In the mornings, after Hob has left for work, Morpheus draws himself soundlessly up from the bed and pads on bare feet to the record rack that stands overfull with vinyls in the corner of Hob's living room. He touches each record there carefully, the faint visions of musicians and composers flitting ephemeral beneath his fingertips. He selects his musical accompaniment for the day by intuition alone.
This morning, he finds a little yellow note stuck to Hob's copy of The Cure's Disintegration:
"You'll like this one. Promise. —H"
Morpheus listens to it five times through in its entirety with a cathartic sort of anguish. Afterwards he perches on the couch wrapped up in the blanket Hob has slept beneath each night these two weeks. The cedar and vanilla notes in Hob's soap still linger in the fabric, like traces of an embrace Hob Gadling has never given him.
He has especially enjoyed sitting on the floor by the window in the warmest patch of sun, holding court with Hob's houseplants. A marble queen pothos hangs there, suspended near the ceiling, its cascading vines of happy heart-shaped leaves long enough to trail down around Morpheus' shoulders. A row of succulents and a purplish-red bromeliad in a brightly enameled pot live lined up on the sill.
Morpheus gathers them all in his awareness, greets their leaves gently with the backs of his knuckles, speaks to them the way he speaks to all growing things. They whisper their daydreams to him in return, telling him tales of jungle and desert, and of the loving voice that sings songs to them each time they are watered.
Morpheus wonders what Hob Gadling sings, what he hums under his breath.
I would be sung to thus, he thinks. But would you sing to me, my friend?
He sits for long hours in the companionable silence. Lulled by the rhythm of verdant stories, he relishes the sun-warmth banking in the soft black cotton of his shirt, and feels some unnamed tension deep within himself begin to unravel.
Morpheus had not expected this from his stay with Hob. This comfort. This easiness between them.
How it has sunk into him and become something he could, in some version of the universe, come to require.
So, when on the eve of his fourteenth day Hob says, "I don't want you to go," Morpheus is surprised to find that the wistful note Hob cannot quite keep out of his voice finds a sympathetic echo in his own thoughts.
"I—" Morpheus begins.
It is rare that he does not find the ending of a sentence already laid out for him. Yet what is its proper conclusion? I also do not wish to go away from you is futile. An impossibility. He has a kingdom. A realm. A responsibility.
"You feel it too," Hob says. "Don't you?"
Morpheus does not need to breathe in the waking world. He does not need a heartbeat. These are paltry mortal necessities; mortal vulnerabilities. And yet he knows, suddenly, the kick of the heart against the ribs and the catch of a gasp in the lungs of his recalcitrant body. It pinions him to the moment.
"Hob," he manages to say. For a brief second, he is unmade and remade again by the hope in Hob Gadling's face.
"Dream. My dearest friend. I've been wrong before." Hob's eyes are wide and earnest. His voice is honey-soft and strong. He is wiser than Morpheus can aspire to be. "If I'm wrong about this, tell me, please."
"You were not wrong before," Morpheus says. "And you are not wrong now."
Professor Mysterious and Professor Wet Cat
This is my take on that Dreamling post making the rounds about Hob and Dream being uni professors and that Hob is surprisingly NOT the prof who overshares and Dream is the one who inadvertently does.
Buckle up, kids, let's have some fun with this. Also, gentle reminder: NOBODY TELL NEIL. SHHHH!
This time around, Hob's using his proper name, Robert Gadling, because it's been a while since he's trotted that one out and he kinda likes the seeming rightness that the once upon a time near-illiterate medieval peasant that he'd been was now teaching at a rather prestigious university. However, he's not prone to sharing much about his personal life to his students. He's still warm and friendly, but he's cautious about letting Certain Things slip.
Hilariously, the things that do slip end up making him everyone's favorite university cryptid. Sometimes Hob slips into Middle English when he's stressed or emotional. Sometimes he might use odd old-fashioned sounding oaths like "God's wounds," "Holy Jesu," and "Mother Mary's teats" (this last one sends everyone into spasms of laughter).
The literature department ADORES him because they can always drag Professor Gadling off to read Chaucer in its original form or even medieval French, his pronunciation perfect and dead on. Shakespeare is the only thing he'll flat out refuse to read because in any universe this Fuzzy Blue Alien's gonna write, his hatred of the Bard is the stuff of legend.
The students universally agree that Professor G is basically British Indiana Jones, because he's also known to have lethal expertise in medieval weapons. There's been more than a few fantasies inspired during the booked-solid outdoor demonstrations where he works in tandem with the other medieval history professors to show everyone how medieval weapons worked. Apparently, his favorite weapons are the longbow, the bastard sword and daggers.
Obviously, this all leads to Professor Gadling being the campus crush and his relationship status is a matter of hot speculation even if he's made it perfectly clear he was not about to violate his ethical standards or position as a teacher. It still doesn't stop the fevered fantasies of more than a few grad students, though. But that's all they're gonna get.
And then, there's the new literature teacher, Professor T. Murphy.
To everyone's disappointment, Professor Murphy is only going to be at the university for a limited series of lectures. Word of mouth spread fast, and his classes were now booked solid and he was going to be asked to return, once his apparently very busy schedule is cleared.
7. Of course, he's an instant campus crush, with the "Goth angel" looks, the Edward Cullen jokes are definitely flying and there's more than a few students melting after they heard him speak. "That Voice" is always referred to in capital letters and it's well deserved.
8. "Campus crush" turns to "Official Precious Blorbo" once the students all discover that behind the whole regal and imperious Goth Prince vibe that he gave off, was an adorkable darling wet cat who was just completely gone on "my beloved." If he's discussing a love sonnet or poem, there's definitely going to be a reference to "my beloved" or "my dearest" or "my love." It's never sickeningly cloying and the sweet tiny little smile that takes over his normally serious face is like sunshine. The kilig feels are real.
9. He's also forever worrying that he's not enough for "my dearest" as he's rather painfully aware "of my lack in human graces" - which everyone translates to "OMG HELP I HAVE THE SOCIAL SKILLS OF A SCRUNKLY WET CAT." He frets that he's somehow failing his beloved, who is infinitely sweet and thoughtful and caring and that Professor Murphy is the selfish one, really, who doesn't deserve the man.
10. The students, of course, immediately ADOPT him. Tesco ice cream runs are done, YouTube videos on cooking and invites to kitchens are extended so Professor Murphy could practice making something that is "not a catastrophic culinary disaster unfit for human consumption." There was a session on the language of flowers, which everyone had enjoyed. For a while, flowers with significant meanings were presented to sweethearts and lovers all over the uni. There's an unforgettable after-class meeting in which the craft-inclined students teach Professor Murphy how to knit and crochet and he was really rather proud of the scarf he had created.
11. Professor Murphy's raven had been rather entertained playing with the yarn scraps. The students learn that the raven's name is Matthew.
12. And then, dashing, mysterious Professor Gadling finally peeks into Professor Murphy's class.
"The things I do for you, myne owne hertis rote. Bloody Shaxberd."
"But you do read him so very well, my love." And there it was, that tiny, soft, sweet smile, now aimed in Professor Gadling's direction.
Professor Gadling sighs and puts a hand over his chest. There's a very familiar scarf draped over his neck. "God's wounds, dove, warn your poor, long-suffering husband before you do these things."
"What 'things,' dearest?"
Professor Gadling waves his arms helplessly. The scarf slips a little, offering a tantalizing view of a purplish mark on his throat. "That thing!" He looks appealingly at the students, who are now all stifling their delighted giggles. "Look at him! My heart can only take so much!"
And that was how everyone found out that Professors Gadling and Murphy were actually happily married.
Incidentally, the Shakespeare reading, in which both professors took part, was a true kilig apocalypse. Instant campus legend.
Lord of Dreams freshly plucked out of the Dreaming. Of course you couldn’t resist, Hob :).
the funny thing is that I originally sketched out and shaded a different version of this (Dream clothed only in his skinny jeans - I’ll put it under the cut, hint spicier though - only a little :)). It was nice I guess, but then I looked at it and thought: you know what would look great draped over the edge of the sofa? Dream’s shadowy dress from this (x) post. yes, I have to redo this from scratch now :). and I’m happy that I did. I prefer this one more - I think it has more soul to it and is more soft and playful. sigh
but don’t wanna waste the first version and I think some of you might like… so feel free to keep reading if you’re curious
Keep reading
Hob finding a box of kittens in the rain on his way home day? And of course he can't just leave them there so he takes the whole bunch of them back to the New Inn, plans in mind to get them to a vet when the weather clears up and so on.
It's one of those days when Dream stops by unexpectedly so for a moment it's Hob standing in his doorway soaked head to toe - hard to carry the box of kittens and an umbrella at the same time - with equally bedraggled kittens meowing their little heads off while Dream stares at him non-plussed.
And then Hob shoves the box, kittens and all at Dream because Hob hasn't had time to do the grocery shopping for ages? But there should be milk or something else kitten-safe downstairs for them to eat until he can.
"Hello love, mind looking after them for a bit? I'll be right back," with an absent little smooch to Dream's cheek as he rushes out.
It takes longer than Hob's expecting because the whole walking around with a box of kittens thing earlier and therefore kitten-related questions and so on. (The cooking of some chicken they have on hand Because Reasons.)
Hob's concerned Dream might have left by the time he gets back upstairs, and at first he thinks he did because Dream's nowhere in sight?
But then he hears the kittens and follows the noise to his living room to find a bunch of fluffballs - all dry and fluffy and warm - clambering all over a Dream in his Meowpheus form.
Because Reasons.
Just like.
Dream/Meopwpheus being all Majestic and Elegant with these little menaces surrounding him.
One's gnawing on his ear, and other is stalking his tail. There's one already half-asleep tucked up against his chest and one off to the side just.
Screaming little kitten screams for no reason other than they can, apparently?
Hob is just like, "Uh," before he sets what he's carrying down and gets his phone out because come on, how can he let this moment pass undocumented?
Which is how he ends up with so many pictures of Dream covered in kittens he shows absolutely everyone he can while Dream is like *sigh* about it.
Also kitten cuddles and Dream sidling closer and closer to Hob all stealthy like for sneak-cuddles because they haven't quite gotten to the ~confessions of love thing yet?
Something Hob remembers later when he remembers calling Dream 'love' and the absent perck on the cheek and oh God, what has he done??? But then kitten-rearing antics that result in love confessions and everyone lives happily ever after???
(They totally kept at least one of the kittens because it took one look at Dream and decided he was its person, no takes backsies.)
Imagine this: Dream very much enjoys physical touch. His whole being is such an out of the waking world's concept that he finds being touched quite grounding.
He likes when Lucienne hands him a book and doesn't mind their hands touching. He always enjoyed when one of his ravens would sit on his shoulder and bury a beak in his hair. And it's most welcome when death hangs on his arm, leaning into him with her whole being.
But Dream also knows about all the people out there who merely dislike or maybe even hate being touched. So he's never the first to do it. He assumes that nobody wants to be touched by him until they do it first.
Now, this is how his trouble with Hob Gadling starts. Hob is an affectionate person. He's quick with a smile, he invites people in and certainly doesn't mind a pat on the back or even a hug. Just not with Dream.
Hob might not know who and what his stranger is, but he's definitely not human, and he's not exactly the cuddly type. Hell, he doesn't even tell his name, he certainly doesn't want to be touched. So Hob being extra careful, doesn't touch Dream. No bump on the shoulder, no handshake, nothing.
So at each meeting, they sit there, both practically vibrating out of their skin, because they long for the physical affection that they deliberately withhold from each other. Until one of them fucks up.
Hob always knew that he'd mess it up one day. It's just too damn hard not to touch, especially when you like somebody.
After they found each other again in "The New Inn," Hob was over the moon. He saw his stranger again who admitted to them being friends. And that's not all. He's also the one who said that a hundred years is quite a long time and many things could happen, so it might be wise to meet more often.
Hob was ecstatic, imagining another meeting in about fifty years time. He almost fell out of his chair when his stranger showed up two weeks after their last meeting. Two weeks!
They didn't really have that much to talk about, but Hob would be content to simply look at his stranger for an hour. After all, he seems to get prettier by the century. Another four weeks pass before his stranger comes back, and this time, he has another surprise. He tells Hob his name.
Morpheus.
It's not Mark or Murphy, obviously, but considering what his stranger could be and how long he might have been wandering the earth, Morpheus seems like an easy enough name. It also suits him. It's a little mysterious, a hint of strange, but flows so nicely when Hob says it. He loves to greet his stranger with it, watching his lips curl up just slightly.
It makes them more familiar than they've ever been before, and that warms Hob's heart. Maybe that's also what made him careless.
"You seem quite fond of these today," Morpheus says, nodding at Hob's drink before fishing a tiny umbrella out of the glass.
Hob watches him rolling the little wooden pick along his slender fingers, wondering what they might feel like. Pale as Morpheus looks, Hob always imagines his skin to be cold, but maybe he's just comfortably warm at all times. What he wouldn't give to find out.
"Hob?" Morpheus asks, lighting a fire in Hob's chest.
There's just something so intriguing about how he says the name, aside from the fact that nobody else uses it anymore. Hob pretty much goes by Robert these days, but Morpheus is sticking to his guns. He only calls him Robert when he uses his full name. Robert Gadling. It's a dare or a reprimand, depending on the situation, but it usually happens with the tiniest of smiles, elisiting shivers to run down Hob's spine.
"I can afford it today," Hob finally says before his friend can think he's ignoring him.
Morpheus raises a brow at him. "I never took you as a man without means."
"No, I mean, I can indulge a little today," Hob explains. "It's going to be the weekend and I don't have any papers to grade or lessons to prepare for next week."
"I see. You're free of responsibilities for now."
Morpheus sounds a little envious and the hairs on Hob's neck stand up. It's one of those rare moments when he might gain some insight on his friend without forcing it right out of him.
"I guess you don't have that?"
"Rarely," Morpheus says.
"That's not a no," Hob says with a smile and shoves his untouched drink over to Morpheus. "Come on, allow yourself a break."
Morpheus watches the drink but only puts down the little umbrella next to it, making no motion to actually drink. Hob has to admit that he wondered about this for a while now. Their meetings are never so long that Morpheus would have to sustain himself, but it still seems off to never eat or drink anything.
"You can drink something, right?" Hob asks, unable to hold it in.
This time Morpheus raises both brows in amusement. "Why wouldn't I be able to drink?"
"How would I know? Vampires don't eat human food for example."
"Vampires aren't real," Morpheus says matter-of-factly, answering a question that many humans might be quite interested in.
"But you are," Hob says.
The reaction he gets is exquisite. Morpheus smiles. A full on smile that lights up his whole face. It's rare but powerful, making Hob feel tingly all over even when he knows that Morpheus is enjoying a private joke that Hob doesn't get.
"Glad I can still amuse you after all these years," Hob huffs, acting affronted.
"I'm sorry," Morpheus says although he still sounds very much amused. "To answer your question…"
He picks up the glass and Hob can't help but stare. His eyes are fixed on the spot where Morpheus' pink lips meet the glass. Morpheus tilts his head back a fraction and Hob watches his throat when he swallows, almost feeling naughty when he does so.
Morpheus sits the glass back down on the table and runs his tongue over his upper lip. "I know all these ingredients, but I don't think I've ever tasted them together."
Hob smiles. "Well, that's mine. I made it up myself."
"You made up a drink?"
"Yeah, well, I worked as a bartender for a bit before they closed down the old inn. I was never particularly good at it but I enjoyed mixing things people didn't want me to mix. You like it?"
"Yes," Morpheus says, taking another sip as if to make sure. "Yes, I do."
With pride swelling in his chest, Hob's smile grows even wider. "Great. I call it Summer Dream."
Morpheus furrows his brows, shifting his full focus to Hob, a glimmer in his eyes. He has done so a few times in their time together, usually when he asks Hob if he still wants to live.
"Summer Dream?" he asks, emphasizing the word dream. "Why?"
"Because that's what comes to mind when I taste it," Hob says, but he can tell from Morpheus' face that he's not satisfied with the answer, so he keeps going. "It's like being on the beach when there are birds in the sky with the waves crashing against the rocks somewhere and the sun is already low in the sky. It's loud and full of life, but then you push your bare feet into the warm sand and everything goes quiet. It's calm, you know, and nice."
Morpheus keeps watching Hop to the point where Hob almost feels uncomfortable, something that rarely happens. Then, he turns back to the drink, looking at it as if he sees it for the first time.
"It's fascinating how you humans go about perceiving the waking world."
"The waking world?" Hob says, ignoring the fact that Morpheus just excluded himself when he mentioned humans. "I just told you that it's called 'Summer Dream.' It's so good, it can't be real."
"Who's to say that dreams aren't real?" Morpheus asks and there's something in his voice that makes Hob shiver.
It feels like they're on the verge of something and Hob doesn't want to mess up. "Well, if you say so, I'm happy to accept that dreams are real. We established that you're real and you're a dream of a man if there ever was one, so … that all makes perfect sense."
Morpheus' gaze becomes even more intense, however that is possible. "You think I'm a dream?"
Hob laughs. "Well, have you looked at yourself lately? I can see men fall asleep, desperately conjuring up your image in their minds."
He omits that he might be one of them, especially when Morpheus purses his lips. "Robert Gadling, are you flirting with me?"
It's one of those things Hob never dreamed his friend would say, and it could be an opening to something more, but Hob is careful these days. He doesn't want to ruin what they have over a joke.
"Little old me?" he asks, trying to bring the two of them back into perspective. "Nah, I'm just joshing ya."
Morpheus smiles at the familiar words and Hob is quite pleased that his friend remembers their meetings in as much detail as he does.
"I'll get us more drinks," he says and gets up while Morpheus points at his drink.
"I'm still enjoying this one."
"Doesn't mean that one has to stay the only one."
Since Morpheus seems to be in an agreeable mood, Hob takes full advantage of it. He doesn't let their conversation get to a point where there might be nothing left to talk about, and he makes sure to get two more drinks into his friend. The evening only ends when Hob comes to the limits of his human body, immortal or not.
"You should go to bed," Morpheus says with a tone as if he's the sole authority on sleep. "Or I'll make you."
Hob might be a little bit drunk, so his judgment isn't the best. He leans over the table with a smile. "You would, wouldn't you? With force?"
"Sleep, Hob," Morpheus says. "You need it."
That's the first time he's lecturing him without using Hob's full name first, so maybe Morpheus is a little drunk, too. Hob should count that as a win and not push his luck.
"See you soon?" he asks, the question alone making him tingly all over.
"See you soon," Morpheus says with a slight nod.
With butterflies dancing in his belly, Hob gets to his feet. "Sleep well then, my friend."
He walks past Morpheus, and - only the gods might know why - puts his hand on Morpheus' shoulder. Hob lets it rest there for a second, giving a soft squeeze, before running his fingers down Morpheus' arm.
Hob keeps walking as if nothing happened. Only when he's outside and the cold night air hits him, does he understand his horrid mistake. He stumbles back into the inn without thinking, but Morpheus is already gone.
"Fuck."
Hob falls back on his chair, hoping against hope that soon didn't just become never.
This was supposed to be short but Dream and Hob had too much fun ice skating I guess. One more for "Dream and Hob do mundane things."
words: 2463 | prompt: "skating" from this list
"Why am I here?" Dream asks, looking over the ice rink in front of them.
A wild combination of humans is scattered over the area, some of them quite skilled at making their way over the ice while others, especially the children, seem to fall down a lot.
"I'm here with a few students," Hob says, nodding over to a small group of people. "They want me to skate with them, but I'm not really good at that. I thought they might leave me alone when there's someone else with me."
"Have you tried telling them no?" Dream asks, although he knows the answer. Hob is way too good natured to displease people like that.
Hob rubs his hands together and steps from one foot to the other. "They mean well. This is supposed to be some good natured fun. I think I just oversold my abilities and if they see me skate, I won't hear the end of it."
"I wouldn't want you to be embarrassed."
"Great. Thanks!" Hob smiles and while Dream has no great desire to be among so many people, Hob's happiness is quite worth it.
"Professor Gadling," a voice next to them says, and one after the other, more people arrive, greeting Hob.
In total, six students surround them. Kevin, Mary, Tyler, Paul, James, and Nancy. Hob introduces them all, but then he seems to struggle.
"And this is my friend, …" he starts, looking over at Dream.
"Dream," Dream fills the gap. He sees no point in calling himself something else for this group of humans.
"Dream?" Nancy repeats in a misbelieving tone. "That's your real name?"
"It has been my name for longer than you even have the ability to do so," Dream says. "I dare say it's real."
"Of course it is," Mary says, tugging at Nancy's arm as if to pull her away from Dream. "It's a lovely name."
"So, Professor, are you going to skate with us?" Paul asks, filling the awkward silence that follows.
A red tint comes to Hob's cheeks and Dream worries that he's already failing his friend. He didn't want to be embarrassed after all.
"He's going to teach me," Dream says before Hob can answer. "Although I might be a lost cause."
"Great, we'll see you on the ice then," James says and they walk over to the rink, leaving Hob and Dream behind.
"I'm going to teach you?" Hob shout-whispers at Dream. "What are you doing to me?"
"You're a professor, aren't you? It's your purpose to teach."
"Not this," Hob huffs, his voice unusually high.
"Would you rather teach me history?"
Hob is usually a bundle of smiles, but now he glares at Dream. It's a rare sight, but one Dream doesn't mind at all. He knows more than most that light only comes out of darkness.
"Very funny," Hob grunts but then he sighs and rubs his hands together. "Guess we need skates."
Dream is not fond of leaving his boots behind to wear the skates, but it's a requirement to even get on the ice, and since he talked them into this, he won't back down.
They're standing on one end of the rink and Hob pulls something out of the pocket of his thick jacket, holding it out to Dream.
"What is it?" Dream asks while taking it. The fabric is soft to the touch, but also sort of sturdy.
"A scarf," Hob says. "I bought it at that booth over there. People might buy that your coat is warm, but you need more."
Dream unfolds the scarf, not quite sure what to do with it. "I'm not cold."
Hob sighs before taking the scarf back. Then he proceeds to throw it around Dream's neck and somewhat ties it down in the front to keep it in place. "Of course you aren't, but humans usually are. I don't want to answer more questions than I have to."
"What questions?"
"Well, my students are nosy, alright? I didn't quite think this through when I brought you along."
"You want me to go?" Dream asks. Hob seems uncomfortable and he has no desire to add to that if he can help it.
"No, definitely not," Hob says, the words coming out in a rush. "Let's just do this."
He glides a little forward before looking back at Dream who hasn't moved an inch. "You're supposed to teach me, remember?"
"You really can't do this?" Hob asks, the surprise written all over his face.
Dream doesn't answer. He just waits for Hob to come back to him. After all, that was the whole point of him being here.
Hob begins to explain what Dream is supposed to do and they make their way around the rink with Dream keeping a hand on the railing. Hob's students pass them a few times, being more interested in Dream than Hob. That much of the plan is working.
"I don't think I will get any better here," Dream says and Hob waves him over.
"Let go then."
Dream does, taking some unsure steps like a newborn horse, and almost falls. A second later, Hob is next to him, his whole side pressed against Dream while he holds him upright at both arms.
"Take it slow," he says, his voice low as if it's only meant for Dream.
He eases away a little bit to give Dream some room, but when Dream does another clumsy step, he grabs his hands. For a moment, they just stand there on the ice, opposite each other, holding hands.
"Are you cold?" Dream asks since Hob's skin feels as if Dream has plunged his hands right into a heap of snow.
"No," Hob says, staring at their joined hands. "You're just warm like a freaking furnace. Come on."
He lets go of one of Dream's hands and tugs at him to get him going while explaining how Dream is supposed to move his feet.
This time, they manage to move forward without any mishaps. They have to slow down when other people come their way and once in a while, they change hands, but Hob never lets go of Dream completely.
They're still pretty slow compared to others, but Dream does no longer look as if he's about to fall down any second. When they moved around the whole length of the rink for the second time, Hob's students come up to them.
"You're doing pretty good for a lost cause," James says to Dream and the others agree.
"I fear that is more Robert's accomplishment than mine," Dream says, Hob's fingers squeezing his at the name. "He's an excellent teacher."
"Oh, we can attest to that," Nancy says, smiling at Hob as if he hung the moon.
Something pierces Dream's chest. After all, he doesn't need to be related to Desire to see it right in front of him. He might have said something, but James moves up to him.
"We could switch," he says more to Hob than to Dream, "so the professor can take a few laps."
"No, I think not," Dream says.
He might have agreed to indulge these people to help Hob, but he has no interest in getting chummy with them, no matter what his sister keeps telling him.
"I think he needs a little bit more practice for that," Hob intervenes and James nods.
"Sure, maybe next time."
The group gets going on their own again and Hob sighs. "Never thought I'd say that, but thanks for being so blunt. That was close."
He tugs at Dream again to get him moving, and Dream can't help but look around until he finds Nancy. She looks over to them again and again in a very unsubtle way.
"Why did you call me Robert all of a sudden?" Hob asks, drawing Dream's attention back to him.
"Would you want me to call you Hob in front of them?" Dream asks, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice. "Or Hobsie."
Hob shudders. "No, you're right. It just felt strange I guess."
"Nancy would love to call you Hobsie, no doubt."
"God no," Hob says. "It's bad enough for other professors, but the last thing I need is a girl a few centuries younger than me."
Dream thinks that someone younger than oneself isn't necessarily a bad thing, but he keeps that to himself, especially since he can still feel Nancy's eyes on them.
They go another round without talking, Hob's students overturning them a few times. When James blows past them, Hob huffs. "He sure would have liked to switch places with me."
"Why?"
"I've seen his ex-boyfriend. Tall, dark and handsome is definitely his type."
Dream tries to make the connection between these two statements but fails. "Why would that make him want to teach me?"
Now Hob laughs for real. "Come on, you must know how you look to other people."
"Depending on who they are, they might perceive me quite differently."
Hob seems to turn that over in his head before giving Dream his inquiring look. He always gets it when he's fishing for more information about Dream. "Then you just always appear beautiful to everybody who looks at you? You know, like a dream come true?"
Without thinking, Dream comes to a halt. While he might appear different, it has nothing to do with beauty or attraction. He wants to say that much, but Hob holds his gaze and the expression on his face eerily reminds Dream of the way Nancy looked at Hob before.
"Careful!" a voice shouts, and a small child crushes right into them, taking Hob down with it.
"I'm so sorry, mister," the boy stutters, but Hob only laughs.
"Yeah, no worries, kid. Happens to the best of us."
Dream plugs the boy from Hob with ease and puts him back on his feet when his mother arrives next to them. "I'm so sorry, his hand slipped my grip and he just kept going."
"It's alright," Dream says and the woman almost ducks down while looking up at him, pulling her son closer. She definitely doesn't think of him as beautiful.
Dream holds out his hand and pulls Hob to his feet. The woman touches Hob's shoulder, concern in her voice. "I'm so sorry, are you sure you're alright?"
"All good," Hob says with a smile. "He just took me by surprise. Don't worry."
Now the woman smiles. "Good. Well, have a good evening then."
She shuffles off with her boy and Hob pats down his jacket before looking at Dream. "Where were we?"
Dream is not entirely sure. This evening is giving him a lot to think about and what's even worse, he might have to sort out his feelings. Dream can hear in his head what Death might have to say about his behavior and does his best to shake it off. They should go before Nancy has a chance to check on Hob.
"Another round?" Dream asks, holding out his hand.
"Another round," Hob says, taking it.
They're off again, just as slowly as before, but Dream doesn't mind. He could do just this for quite some time. They only get interrupted again when Hob's students say their goodbyes. Hob and Dream stand by the entrance, waiting for them to disappear.
"They're gone," Dream says and Hob sighs.
"I definitely won't exaggerate any of my abilities in the future."
"One last round?" Dream asks, making Hob stare at him.
"Really?"
"I promise I won't let you fall again."
This time, Hob holds out his hand and Dream takes it gladly. Not that he needs it, but he likes the touch.
They're going a lot faster now, and halfway around the rink, Hob looks over to Dream with another glare. "You absolutely know how to do this, don't you?"
"Yes, I do."
"Hell, you're a lot better at this than I am."
Dream can't help but smile at Hob's incredulous face. "I apologize for the deception, but you have to admit that it worked."
"That it did," Hob says with a laugh. "Should have known that you're full of surprises."
"You want to do this right?" Dream asks and Hob nods without a second thought.
"Let's do it."
Dream grabs Hob's hand a little tighter, pulling him with him. Hob doesn't have to do much but hold on to him. After the turn, Dream goes backward, taking Hob's other hand as well. They fly over the ice and Hob laughs, all the worry from before finally falling off of him, his eyes sparkling.
"This is incredible," he says, fully leaning into every move that Dream makes.
Dream can't look away from him. Hob has always been joyful and maybe a little bit too fond of danger, but now he's glowing, radiating life like a newborn universe. Dream's not sure that even someone like Shakespeare could put his beauty into words.
They keep going until the rink closes and while Dream is glad to have his boots back, he wouldn't have minded to stay a little longer. He has gotten quite used to holding Hob's hand in his own, and now he misses it.
"So," Hob says, rubbing his hands together. "Guess that's it. Thanks again for your help."
Dream tucks at the scarf that's still around his neck. "You can have this back then."
"Oh no, keep it. You know, for-"
He doesn't finish the sentence and they both know why. There's no reason since Dream won't ever need it. "Fine. After all, you don't need more difficult questions."
"Yeah, right."
Hob smiles, but something is off. Dream's not good with people in general, but he sure has experience in Hob by now. He's nervous, and reluctant to leave. There are unspoken words between them. Something needs to happen before they can part.
"You should get yourself some gloves next time," Dream says and Hob huffs a laugh.
"Nah, I think I'm good."
Dream can't help but watch him, trying to look into his dreams even when he's awake. It's scary, and Dream shares the feeling of not wanting to be embarrassed, but on the ice, Hob trusted him without hesitation. It's time for Dream to do the same.
He reaches out and takes Hob's hand. "Let me get you home."
Hob doesn't say anything. He just takes his place next to Dream, the two of them walking down the street hand in hand and Dream knows that he just changed things. He's going to see a lot more of Hob's students, will be forced to be among people and maybe even try to be nice for a change.
For Hob, that's okay, though. After all, Hob's whole being illuminates the darkness. He's the brightest star in Dream's night sky.
Suddenly imagining someone (who has for whatever reason accosted Hob) ask Hob if he's afraid of death and Hob being like "oh no, she's my sister-in-law, she's lovely"
His unfortunate captor like ???
Hob, smiling unpleasantly: would you like to meet her or are you smart enough to let me go?
part three of myopic hob hehehe
I may have changed this scene just a bit just a tiny bit just a wee bit
Dream, every single time Hob asks if Dream is kissing him for real or if he's dreaming:
I’m so normal about them. have some memes
Dream, doing the Bratty Bow
from the fantastic 1989 fic "Putting Out Fire With Gasoline" by notallmaenads, which will forever live in my head & heart - dedicated to @notallsandmen with love and gratitude!
I think Hob Gadling would get really into the Cure in the 80s and have a huge crush on Robert Smith but totally not admit it's because he reminds him of a certain stranger.
Endless Sandman Fanfiction Tropes I Adore (1/?) : ➻ Hob Gadling Saves Dream from Roderick Burgess
op you are so real for the mitski lyrics
Love me more by Mitski
Dream when Hob said that they were friends:
i love this scene particularly, because it shows how comfortable dream actually feels around hob. the way he sits down and leans back, relaxed? most of the time he holds himself very strictly, he's so composed because of his position and the burden he has to carry. he can be more himself probably only in the dreaming yet he has to keep his feelings inside there because he's lord of dreams, so again - maintaining the position. and here? he looks like he breathed again. i haven't seen him like this through the entire show
Absolutely stunning OP
closeup:
based on this painting
i just couldn't help myself... this is them
i do not know how to do links correct soo... i hope it works
tool: Ps
This post casually on my dash
Me: 👀
"Robert Gadling, you dare..." "We've been over this, love. Can I kiss you now?" ".............. You may."
(used a still is from the movie Remainder, 2015—i'm so sorry Arsher, my baby TT_TT)
