Robert Gadling - Tumblr Posts

am i (500m) the asshole for telling my friend (???m) that he was lonely during our once in a century reunion

Professor Bobby Gadlen checking the latest cats meme in his class group chat.

So,, does Hob just show up for one episode? Like am I not gonna see him again????

Me, liking every new post in Hob Gadling tag, reading every new fic in Dream/Hob tag:

something something Hob and Aziraphale were good friends in the 1600’s or something and they felt out of touch when Hob had to “die” to create a new identity. In modern times Hob is looking for a specific book and goes into a bookstore and sees Aziraphale and they both just

Hope Hob! But in present day!

WE HAVE SECOND SEASON YEAAAAH

about 8 hours - tom cardy | sandman animatic

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Felt like drawing prof gadling today

Also bonus: I think it would be hilarious if hob was horribly myopic and obviously didn't have glasses in the 14th century so it would be like:

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

and in the waking world we wait and want by @qqueenofhades is over now and i’m not okay

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.

Body and Soul

(Apparently my specific genre of writing is “shapeshifter having a panic attack”.)

TW for body horror (I think. It’s nothing gory, just losing-control-of-shapeshifting shenanigans so tagging to be safe.)

Dream doesn’t believe in miracles the way humans do. But, he thinks, there must be some sort of magic responsible for the way he is currently being kissed passionately by Hob Gadling.

When he had arrived in the New Inn some weeks ago, he could barely bring himself to hope for forgiveness. Yet what he had been given was that and more. Hob had smiled, happy to pick up where they left off, no anger, no resentment, just joy and companionship and Dream thinks his legs might have given out in relief if he had not sat as quickly as he had.

Of course, Dream was under no illusion that he did not owe Hob a great debt. The immortal was one of many he had wronged, and he desperately wanted to make it right. He spent much of that first meeting making offerings. His name, his being, his regret, answers and explanations and anything Hob could ask for.

Whatever Hob wants, he thinks to himself, he may have.

Keep reading

After a while Hob realises that Dream often pretends being clueless about modern culture, just so that he can watch Hob making a fool out of himself trying to explain things to Dream, who actually inspired most inventions through centuries.

Sometimes Dream still manages to fool him though.

“What’s the meaning of this song?” he asks Hob when they’re in his car and on BBC 2 the newest godawful version of Candy Shop came on.

“You gotta be kidding me, mate,” Hob snorts. “You had your last chance and you blew it on a Garfield meme.”

“But I truly fail to understand, Hob Gadling,” Dream insists with the most innocent and clueless face that is not going to work on Hob this time. “Why is it such matter of importance that this man accompanies another individual to a venue specialised at the retail of confectionary goods? Why is he in possession of a wand of supernatural powers that he offers to this individual?”

“I’m not falling for it this time, Dream,” Hob sing-songs. He doesn’t expect Dream go straight for the kill and say,

“I thought you were my friend, Hob. I was only trying to understand your people and your customs, but if you’d rather I didn’t, I also respect that,” he says and although Hob cringes inwardly at the notion of a 50 Cent song being a fundamental pillar of human culture, eventually he sighs and says,

“Okay, look. Generally there are three types of songs: songs about someone having sex, someone wanting to have sex and someone no longer having sex.”

“How straightforward,” Dream muses with a distant, borderline scientific interest.

“Now this chap,” Hob continues. “He’s singing one of those songs about wanting to have sex.”

“But the lyrics do not contain notion of a sexual intercourse,” Dream argues and Hob turns a little flushed at the neck.

“Well—” Hob trails off, trying his best to simultaneously drive and explain the man, who might be the love of his immortal life a song about a bloody blowjob without causing the greatest traffic accident in history on A46. “Think of it as a metaphor, right? The candy, lollipops and all that’s just a euphemism for the chap’s schlong, which he wants—” Hob clears his throat, his face hopelessly scarlet now. “Well, he wants it licked, alright?”

“Ah,” Dream says then falls silent for a while. Hob’s just about to wonder if he offended his sensibilities when Dream adds, “Technically it’s not a metaphor, but an allegory, but otherwise I suppose your analysis is rather accurate.”

“I can’t believe I fell for this again,” Hob groans.

They stay silent for a while, synthetic beats thrumming through the car. Then Dream says,

“Would you mind terribly taking a short detour for me?”

“Sure thing, mate,” Hob says, grateful for finally being on familiar ground again. “What place did you have in mind?”

He’s watching the road, so he can’t see Dream’s smile, brilliant and positively wicked before he says,

“The candy shop.”

To Hob’s credit he doesn’t hit anyone when he jerks the wheel — he only tears through a guardrail and ends up crashing into a chicken coop on a nearby farm.

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.  

death looking at dream: 👀

dream blushing like a madman: well i can’t not fuck him

Comic panel redraw because this Hob makes me laugh every time

thinking about... Dream telling Desire to stay away from Hob. Telling them that he'll forget they're family if they hurt Hob or mess with him somehow. Not because Desire has done anything to Hob in almost 700 years he's been alive, but just in case. Because Dream loves Hob, actually, he loves him so much he won't say a word about it because obviously Hob would never be interested and besides Dream's love is ruin yadda yadda so he'll be damned if Desire is the one to bring about Hob's doom just because Dream was clear enough that Hob is off-limits.

Desire just... shudders in disgust and is like. No. Don't worry, not going anywhere near that one. Never been, never gonna. Not happening, thank you very much.

And Dream is just completely befuddled because Desire sounds... actually 100% honest? So Dream replies with the most confused and high-key offended "Why???", because why wouldn't Desire mess with Hob? Can't they see that Dream loves him desperately? can't they see that Hob is fucking perfect, actually, and he's Dream's best friend and Dream's whole world can't revolve around him but it's a close thing? how dare they not consider Hob worthy of being messed with?

(yes, Dream is so caught up on being offended that Desire doesn't seem to see how important and perfect Hob is that he doesn't realize that Desire being uninterested is ideal and literally Dream's desired outcome)

So Desire explains that they literally couldn't stand being in the same room as Hob. Ugh. Just perceiving him, his desires, his heart is vomit-inducing. Hob tastes of unconditional devotion to Dream. He reeks of pure unbridled scorching-hot lust for Dream. His heart has a Dream-shaped hole in it and has Dream's name written all over it. He desires the tiniest scrap of Dream's attention with the same intensity he desires Dream's hand in marriage. He'd be great if he were just greedy for life and food and drink and sex but nooo, he takes those just enough for granted these days that he desires nothing but Dream's company, Dream's smiles, Dream's touch, Dream in his home, Dream in his dreams, Dream's lips and the feel of Dream's hair and the smell of Dream's skin and the taste of Dream's- listen, it's just Dream Dream Dream in that guy's head all day every day and Desire. can't. stand it. It's not the too much desiring that's the problem, it's the too much desiring Dream that is. Desire WISHES they could just cut Hob off from their realm so they could stop feeling it, but they can't!

Anyway, this is how Dream finds out Hob loves him, and he has to excuse himself immediately to process the double delight of "he loves me back" and "this very fact makes Desire's existence absolutely wretched"

Of course, Desire's existence is about to become even more miserable as Dream satisfying some of Hob's desires is like a dam breaking open, if he wanted Dream when he thought it would never happen then watch Hob want him now that it's within his grasp. Desire never knows peace again.

commission of a scene from The King’s Nightmare by MDJensen! 

commission info

hob finally able to make jokes about his life knowing that a) the most recent generation will find it fun and b) no one will ever know he is in fact fr™️

so Dream as Shaper of Forms always looks wildly different when going to the waking world except for his centennial meetings with Hob, because then he’d have to explain things and ugh. the problem with this is that sometimes throughout the centuries he runs into Hob, who has no idea it’s him, and it would be so annoying to explain so Dream just pretends he’s a regular human who doesn’t know Hob. the even bigger problem is that the last time they ran into each other Dream pretended a little too hard or stayed a little too long and now Hob is dating his human persona??

On the rare occasions when Hob is actually mad at Dream— he refuses to sleep. Coffee, energy drinks and the God forsaken awakeness pills? All fair game. If he has to inject caffeine directly into his vein, he would. Hob doesn’t often get mad, but when he does, he likes to make a point. Dream and Hob match in more than one ways, really, they do. And so it is that the Dream Lord must come out of his realm personally to sprinkle sand into his lover’s eyes because he’d be damned if Hob refuses his gift for more than two nights in a row. Not speaking for 100 years? Easy. Hob refusing sleep? Unacceptable.