pellaaearien
nerd is the word
current fandoms: sandman, ffxiv, lucifer, doctor who | writes much fic | 32 | linguist, tolkienite, all around nerd | not currently open for prompts | streamer | she/her | sidebar image by zanarkand-s
45925 posts
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
Last Seen Blogs
juicy-matthews
no. your feelings are injured, bro
ask-2p-rome-blog
**minecraft Viva La Vida Plays**
luna-lunatica-lunar
The Moon ☾
marshalllange52
The Journaling of Perkins 601
abevileatl
Get Auto Title Loans Abbeville LA
Text
You Make My Dreams Come True
Rated T, 7 K
LinZod
Dreamling Week, Tuesday prompt, Road-trip
Reblog of my story featuring a road-trip, a borrowed Bentley, a haunted tape deck, and some uncovered feelings!
I’ve been a bit too busy to come over and explore the discord, but plan to, loving all the cool content this week!!!
Link right to AO3 for those who prefer
White noise fills the speakers, and instead of the now familiar voice, the music coming from the speakers is a low guitar riff, slowly increasing in volume.
Hob looks delighted. “Oh no way, this must be a mix tape! How delightfully old school!”
“Mix tape?”
“Uh, yeah. Back in the 1980s, people would record songs from the radio, from other cassettes, and curate them together into an album of all of their favorite music. They were also commonly given as gifts to lovers and to show off one’s musical prowess. I kind of miss that.”
Dream is content to let the deep, heavy metal beats wash over him. This song is very different from the one from Queen, but pleasing. Much more enjoyable than he expected music to be during a time when the dreaming and the collective unconscious had been deranged by his absence.
The words start out in a low growl and Dream is keen to hear the meaning. It sounds rich, and dark, and haunting in an exciting way.
“Hob, what is the title of this song?”
Hob smiles with his entire being, as though his body can not contain an ounce of the joy he is experiencing. “Enter Sandman.”
Dream stifles a groan at the absolutely insufferable nature of his friend and sinks into the music again.
The guitars wail, the tempo picks up and the lyrics begin in a low, malicious, yet still melodic growl.
“Say your prayers, little one, don’t forget my son,
To include everyone.
I tuck you in, warm within, keep you free from sin,
‘Til the Sandman, he comes.
Sleep with one eye open,
Gripping your pillow tight.
Exit light
Enter night
Take my hand.
We’re off to never-never land.”
As Dream attends to the lyrics, he can’t hold back questions for his friend. “Hob, are there many songs about nightmares in the last century?”
“Oh my friend, you missed an entire genre. There absolutely are. Why do you ask?”
“I have told you that I am not just responsible for dreams but nightmares as well. And that they serve a purpose. Dark stories and music can paradoxically heal the psyche.”
“I see that. And I am sure that is the reason for their enduring popularity. We do need to face those parts of ourselves, don’t we? And no better place to do so than in songs, movies, and books. Where it’s safe, isn’t it?” Hob shrugs. “This song was very popular. Do you like it?
“I do. And not simply for obvious reasons.”
They remain silent, listening to the music, Dream marveling about the lyrics referencing grains of sand, dreams of war and dragon’s fire. As the music softens and there is a pause in the recording,
Hob looks over at him and laughs again which makes Dream feel a measure of happiness in his own being; happiness he had worried it would take centuries to find again. His friend is nothing if not lightness and life, and it is infectious, even to an Endless being such as himself.
“I wonder what will be next.” Hob literally rubs his hands together. “This has been eclectic so far.” The next song begins and Hob’s face shifts from joy to puzzlement.
“Okay, this is weird.”
For a while, Dream does not observe what is strange about the song. It is not as recognizable, but as with all such things, the melody hums in the back of his mind paired with dreamers’ images of teenage love, sandy beaches, and psychedelic colors.
“…. But it rings, and I rise
Wipe the sleep out of my eyes
My shavin’ razor’s cold and it stings.
Cheer up, sleepy Jean
Oh, what can it mean,
To a daydream believer
And a homecoming queen?”
Yes, strange indeed. “Hob, does this friend of yours know something of my nature?” Dream asks.
“No, not at all. I have never mentioned anything specific about you to anyone. I would never. Plus, I didn’t even know you would be joining me today. I mean, these songs are all great so probably a weird coincidence. The Monkees are criminally underrated. After all, they did eventually all pick up instruments, and they did some strange experimental stuff that was pretty cool…”
Hob’s musical tirade slows down and he continues, “Dream, strangeness of this collection of songs aside, I know humans have always written about dreams and sleep. They are such universal parts of our experience. As you never fail to tell me, we spend half of our lives in your realm.”
Dream nods, and a bit of pride swells in his chest at the praise. This lasts at least until the next song begins, and then Dream’s pride turns to annoyance.
“Are you mocking me, Hob Gadling?” He snaps.
“Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream
Make him the cutest that I’ve ever seen.
Give him two lips like roses and clover.
Then tell him that his lonesome nights are over.
Sandman, I’m so alone,
Don’t have nobody to call my own.
Please turn on your magic beam,
Mr. Sandman bring me a dream.”
Horror dawns on Hob’s face. “Hey! First of all, this is a classic.” Hob’s voice gains a slightly panicked edge, “But, Dream I am not mocking you, this is absolutely not my doing. Fucking weird is what it is though.”
Hob takes a deep breath, seeming to steel his nerves before continuing,”This is making me think. Even though we have always written and sung about dreams, there is a ton of popular music with these themes. And looking back, much of it came out when you were, as you say, indisposed.”
Hob is silent for a rather long time before taking his eyes off the road briefly and looking squarely at Dream, “Was this our way of missing you? Making sense of your loss?”
The annoyance bleeds from Dream’s countenance, and his expression becomes thoughtful. He assumes that he is currently more thoughtful than any being has ever been while contemplating the pop confection that is playing through the speakers. The threads of loneliness in all of the songs so far rattle around in his mind.
The last time that Hob had spoken to him about loneliness, before his long imprisonment, he had stormed away. Hob had seen him too closely, assumed too much, regardless of the truth in the statement. But lonely he had been. How much of that had influenced the dreamers?
He contemplates the best way to verbalize the thoughts running through his mind to his friend. “I do not know. When I came back, I felt how broken it had all become. But even in devastation, there can be beauty. Maybe they did miss my presence. Even though they did not know what it was that they lacked. And I don’t know if I ever properly told you, but I had been lonely. I was lonely before I was captured, and through my imprisonment. But I am not lonely now. And that is thanks to you.”
As Hob opens his mouth to respond, he whips his head around, back to the road as traffic rapidly grinds to a halt. “Fucking M25,” Hob grouses as he slams on the brakes.
“Thank you though Dream. I was too presumptuous, and I do not blame you for anything. Even the closest of friends have fights and disagreements.”
They sit for a few minutes in silent contemplation, surrounded by honking, and swearing thrown out of rolled down windows.
The cassette makes a clicking sound. “OK, let’s see what’s up next from the cursed tape deck,” Hob quips.
Synth music starts up. Hob’s eyes widen in abject horror. He reaches out to eject the tape. It pops out of the player, yet the music continues on. Hob mashes the button that turns off the sound to no avail. He pounds on the dash. “Infernal, demonic car,” he curses before letting his head fall back against the headrest, again, and again.
Judging from Hob’s reaction, Dream is dreading what will emerge from the speakers, but this is surprisingly, not so bad.
“So much for your promises,
They died the day you let me go.
Caught up in a web of lies,
But it was just too late to know.
I thought it was you,
Who would stand by my side.
And now you’ve given me, given me,
Nothing but shattered dreams, shattered dreams,”
Oh. Oh. Yes, this is bad.
Keep reading on AO3
11 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hob and Dream were childhood sweethearts. Dream was a prince and hob was just a lower noble but he lived by Dream’s summer palace, so the two of them spent their summers playing games and making up stories.
Dream loved that hob would read to Dream and of course hob thought Dream was the most beautiful, wonderful thing he’d ever seen.
As they grow up they fall in love. And they promise each other that they’ll be together. They make this promise on the eve of dream being sent off on a diplomatic tour of the neighboring kingdoms.
Only while dream is gone, (the burgess family stalled him) the Morningstar attacks his kingdom, burning the cities down and taking the palace.
Dream is filled with rage. But he knows he can’t go back.
Not yet. It isn’t safe.
He’s so worried for hob, but when he sent out of his spies to check on him, the spy only reported that Hob’s family home has been burned. They say the young lord of family gadling refused to bow to their new rulers, even raised a sword to Lucifer themself. No one has seen him since. How spies urge him not to look for hob. If he isn’t dead, he will wish he was, as a prisoner of the morningstar, renowned for their cruelty and mind games. And there is no way for dream to get to him.
So Dream mourns and turns his grief into revenge.
He works on building a network of spies and that’s how he becomes aware of a small rebellion being led in his name. It cropped up suddenly in a matter of weeks, they say lead by a former prisoner of Lucifer’s. They say Lucifer gave him their special and personal attention for years. They say most wouldn’t survive that kind of cruelty. They say Lucifer is furious about the escape.
Not daring to hope, Dream reaches out and after months of subterfuge, finally sets up a meeting between them in the edge of the kingdom, out of Lucifer’s sight.
“It’s been a long time,” the man, hooded and masked, says softly. “Many thought you abandoned us.”
And Dream knows that voice. He’d know it anywhere.
“Hob,” he breathes. “Is that you?”
Ohh, masked vigilante rebel Hob!!!
Dream begs Hob to tell him what happened to him while he was imprisoned by Lucifer, but Hob keeps changing the subject and trying to talk about plans to get Dream back on the throne. He won't talk to Dream properly, not like they used to talk. He seems so hurt and bitter, which Dream can understand! He just wants to be able to help Hob heal. If he doesn't have Hob, there'll be no point in getting the kingdom back at all.
Hob finally comes clean and admits that Lucifer used to use Dream’s image to torture him. With some kind of drug they would make sure that Hob would hallucinate Dream’s presence, and then torture Hob physically. So despite himself he began to believe that Dream truly condoned his imprisonment and torture. Only Hob’s determination to get out and find out the truth led him to survive.
Dream is, of course, horrified. He promises to respect Hob’s space going forward. He'll give Hob room to heal and maybe when he feels ready, they can be friends again? Hob bursts into floods of tears at this point (so much for his reputation as an uncrushable rebel). He doesn't want Dream to leave him! He was so scared and he just wants everything to be okay like it used to be.
Dream promises there and then that he'll win back his realm and marry Hob. They'll defeat Lucifer together and build a kingdom that is so strong, no one will be able to hurt Hob ever again. Dream is going to protect him. He'll fight to the death to give his beloved the peaceful life he deserves.
95 notes
·
View notes
Text
in the last 24 hours staff has told a trans woman (maia crimew) a rape threat in her inbox doesn’t count as violating TOS, and deleted a trans woman’s completely normal average blog (charlottan) happy fucking pride lmao
7K notes
·
View notes
Text
One thing that isn’t being discussed about the White Pharaoh is where on Earth the image came from.
“Oh, it’s just from an online slots game”
BUT THATS THE THING!!! IM NOT SURE ABOUT THAT!!! CAUSE WHEN YOU LOOK CLOSER:
THE BACKGROUND AND COLORS ARE DIFFERENT. Noticeably so, too, the first one has more muted colors and a realistic background while the second is incredibly saturated with an obviously drawn background. This would make genuinely no sense to have two pieces of advertising for the game be so different if this was made for the slots game.
My proposed theory: white pharaoh is a piece of stock artwork / imagery, explaining the artistic differences between the two pictures.
But this can only be solved by either
A. Finding the origin of picture 1
B. Finding the source of the stock artwork
Those willing, please help my search.
6K notes
·
View notes
Text
[image ID: Bernie Sanders meme with a small aromantic flag captioned “I am once again asking for you to include aromantics in your pride art/posts/merch” End ID]
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
the unbreakable connection between me and a song I heard in a fanvid over ten years ago
10K notes
·
View notes
Link
Chapters: 13/15
Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022), The Sandman (Comics)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling
Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Death of the Endless, Matthew the Raven, Desire of the Endless, Delirium of the Endless, Roderick Burgess, The Corinthian (Sandman), Lucien | Lucienne (The Sandman), Jessamy the Raven, Alexander Burgess, John Dee | Doctor Destiny (The Sandman)
****
@ml-nolan has anyone shared your wonderful story for the Dreamling week prompt ‘synesthesia’ yet? If not, they should, so I shall. It’s excellent and deserves sharing!
31 notes
·
View notes
Text
for @magnusbae, as usual 😂
--
“If you relent now, you may be offered a small degree of mercy,” Dream told his captors from where he was sitting cross-legged in the summoning circle. Irritating, to have found himself summoned again. He was going to have to devise better protections against this sort of thing. At least he had his clothes this time, that was a small comfort.
A greater comfort was the certain knowledge that someone was coming for him. Rare, that feeling, and brilliantly warm in its newness.
One of the men sneered down at him. “You aren’t in a position to be talking about mercy, Dream of the Endless.”
His name spoken in such a way sent a prickle up Dream’s spine. The disrespect.
“I speak not of myself,” he said, then fell silent, watching a look of unease flash across his captor’s face, the worried expression he sent to his compatriot. The realization, there, that he meant someone was coming after him, and the fear of what kind of being might be loyal to one such as him.
If only they knew.
“Although,” he continued, “there are a great many fates worse than death in this world. Perhaps death itself will be your mercy.”
They would not enjoy what Dream would do with them when he got out.
They ought to know what they were messing with. They had summoned him as Nightmare, used a spell that called to the darker elements of his nature. But then, human folly knew no bounds.
The men had not contained Dream very well, either. Tonight, when they slept, he should be able to slip into their dreams and compel one of them to break the circle. That was if someone else did not get there first.
Dream hoped someone else got there first.
He felt it was only fair to get a little show in return for his trouble.
The men looked truly unnerved now, but Dream offered no more explanation. Let them stew in what they had wrought. It was satisfying, incredibly satisfying, to watch them shake in it.
--
Dream did not have to wait long for his reckoning.
The door flew open, banging into the wall. Hob stood in the doorway, haloed by the hallway light, one hand grasping a crowbar that Dream knew he usually kept in his car. Dream’s summoners were armed with guns, but Dream was not concerned, and not only because Hob could not die.
“Hello, Hob,” he intoned. The other men looked between the two of them, shocked into inaction.
“Hi, love,” said Hob. His tone was light but the look in his eyes was not. “You alright?”
“I feel deprived of my day off,” Dream complained. “We had plans.”
“Hmm. That we did.”
One of his captors, the one who had scorned his offer of mercy, finally regained his senses enough to raise his weapon. Dream propped his head in his hands to watch.
Some days, Dream wished he could have seen Hob on a proper battlefield, sword in hand, ruthless, brutal efficiency on full display. There was no elegance to the way Hob fought, only experience, instinct, and an utter lack of pretension characteristic of one who had used those skills for illicit gain and survival rather than showmanship. Dream loved every second of it, especially when it was brought to bear for him.
Hob cracked the man across the hand, knocking his gun aside, then smashed him overhand with the crowbar. Dream heard the man’s skull audibly split.
Hob spun for the other, who was scrambling for his gun. Dream watched with disgust. Such amateurs dared to summon him? They knew not what they meddled with.
Hob backhanded the man across the cheek before he could even properly grip his gun, and the man shrieked, falling backwards. Hob turned to Dream. “You wanna…?” He waved a hand as if to indicate plunge him into endless torment.
Dream shook his head. Such sorry excuses for men did not deserve his effort.
Hob shrugged and smashed the man over the head with the crowbar again, not quite killing him but pushing him very close to his sister’s embrace.
Footsteps down the hall, and then two more men burst into the room. One held a cattle prod instead of a gun; Dream could only assume it had been meant for him, and they simply had not found cause to use it yet. Hob’s gaze zeroed in on it, and something dark sharpened in his eyes.
“You’ll regret that, but you won’t have long to do it,” he said, dropping his crowbar as he ducked the man’s lunging blow with the cattle prod to grab him around the back of the neck and knee him in the gut. The man doubled over, gasping, hand spasming as he dropped his weapon. Hob twisted him into a headlock, his arm an iron bar across the man’s throat.
“Next time you mess with beings beyond your understanding,” he growled, “consider that they might have someone waiting at home for them.”
Dream’s breath caught. He watched as the air seeped out of his captor under Hob’s grip until he slumped to the floor. This was all far more satisfying – and attractive – than he’d even anticipated.
He was so caught up in the vicious heroics of it all that he didn’t realize the final co-conspirator had pointed his gun at him until Hob said, very low and very dark, “I wouldn’t.”
Dream looked up at the last man standing, either the smartest or dumbest of the group based on his current antics, depending on which way one looked at it. His hand was shaking where it was pointing the gun at Dream’s chest.
“I’ll kill him!” his captor insisted, voice squeaking up an octave in fear. Was Hob frightening? Dream supposed he was, from that angle. The thought thrilled something in him.
“I wouldn’t,” Hob repeated, the man’s fate should he do so very clear in his voice. A bullet would not kill Dream, of course, but bound as he still was by the summoning circle, it would probably hurt. Besides, it would upset Hob, and that was not acceptable.
The man looked wildly between Dream and Hob as if trying to decide who would be less likely to kill him. At this point, he would probably be better off jumping into the summoning circle with Dream and being consumed by his nightmares. The look on Hob’s face was not charitable.
True to Dream’s supposition, the man swung back around to point his gun at Hob, but hesitated half a second before firing. Hob moved in the space of that hesitation, moved like shadow in a way Dream’s nightmares themselves could learn from, grabbed the man’s arm and forced it up and back so the moment his finger pressed down on the trigger the bullet went right between his eyes.
Blood splattered. The body dropped. Dream didn’t bother to watch; instead, he was watching Hob. The sweat just prickling his brow, the way his chest rose and fell with exertion. The utter steadiness of his hands.
Hob strode over to the circle, brushing through it with his foot, then stepped in to crouch beside Dream. He took Dream’s face between his hands, looking him over with concern. “Are you alright, my love?”
“Quite.” Dream’s lips tipped up in a smile; he leaned into Hob’s hands. “I enjoyed your heroics.”
“Oh?” Hob’s concern fell away, replaced by humor. “Did you?”
“Mm. You were gallant and ruthless.”
“Didn’t think those could go together,” Hob said.
“And full of contradictions,” Dream added, and Hob laughed. Dream rested his hands on Hob’s sides, feeling the rise and fall of his chest. “I believe you may be featuring in some nightmares now. For the ones who are remaining, that is.”
Hob hummed, evidently not upset about it. “Should see yourself.” He traced under Dream’s eye.
Dream had thus far neglected to let his eyes slip back to their more human appearance after the summoning. When he smiled, his teeth felt a bit sharper than usual. “They summoned Nightmare, and Nightmare is what they received.”
Hob kissed his forehead. “Summoned,” he repeated, a banked flame in the word. “Oh, I hope you weren’t scared.”
“They trapped me poorly, I would have escaped as soon as night fell. But failing that…” Dream pressed Hob’s hand to his cheek. “I knew that you would come for me.”
Hob pulled away again to look at him, and the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. There was something in that look, too, beyond fondness. Like he was proud of Dream, almost. “Always.”
He helped Dream to his feet. Dream didn’t need the help, but Hob’s touch was pleasant. He leaned into Hob’s side as Hob rested a hand low on his back.
“You know…” he mused, “it can be quite tiring for one to be summoned.”
Hob looked at him sidelong. “Are you trying to get me to carry you?”
“…If it is on offer.”
Hob sighed heavily. “Suppose it wouldn’t be a proper storybook rescue mission otherwise.”
“Precisely,” Dream agreed.
“You’re a menace,” Hob declared, but obligingly bent and scooped Dream up in his arms. His body was pleasantly warm after the exertion of the fight, and solid as always.
Dream tipped his head against his shoulder, hiding a smile. “Gallant,” he murmured.
They were nearly to the door when there was a fluttering of wings, and Death was standing in the center of the room. She looked from Dream in Hob’s arms, to the bodies scattered on the floor, and back again, an aggrieved expression on her face. “Please tell me this wasn’t elaborate roleplay.”
“It is my understanding that role play should not come with a body count,” Dream told her solemnly, and she shook her head.
“Whatever it is, I’ll leave you to it.” She tipped her head at the bodies. “I have work to do.”
“Sorry,” said Hob, not sounding very sorry.
Death sighed and waved them away, crouching beside one of the collapsed men. She whistled. “You did a number on him.”
“Nobody gets to try to capture Dream anymore,” Hob said, indignant, arm tightening around Dream’s shoulders.
“Quite right,” said Death. She looked up at them again with a small smile. “Take care of him, Hob.”
Dream should have felt more offended by this. But it was hard to care about much when Hob was carrying him so delicately.
“Always will,” said Hob, his tone soft but certain, and Dream pressed his face into his chest.
“You know,” Hob murmured as they left the building and stepped out into the cool evening air, “it could be elaborate roleplay.”
Dream’s lips tipped up in a smile. He leaned back against Hob’s arm to look up at him. “In the Dreaming all things are possible. No permanent bloodshed required.”
Hob smiled down at him, sharp and fond at once. “My thoughts exactly, darling.”
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
You are enough.
You are enough on the good days.
You are enough on the bad days.
You are enough, now, as you are regardless of where you are in healing, recovery or your general goals.
You are enough.
501 notes
·
View notes
Text
Today, we honor and remember #BreonnaTaylor, whose life was tragically cut short. On what would have been her birthday, we celebrate her memory and continue to seek justice in her name. Breonna's spirit remains a beacon of strength and resilience.
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
My dad posted this on fb and almost got into a boomer internet fight trying to explain that Greece has an island called Lesbos
51K notes
·
View notes
Note
#6 or #19 for the gentle prompts? 🥺🥺❤️❤️
#6 - "I've got you." || [AO3 Link Here]
I love the HELL out of this prompt 💖 Apologies this ended up being a lot more hurt/comfort than anything else, but there's still plenty of gentleness in it! Thanks for sending in the prompt, I hope you enjoy my little slice of birthday cake from me to you 🍰😄
-----------------------------------------------
After he releases Calliope from her prison and exacts his revenge on her behalf, Dream is left feeling unmoored and inadequate.
He should have tried to escape sooner. He should not have stayed so long stuck in his foolish pride. He should not have been caught at all, even though he knew that his summoning was not his fault, but a plot orchestrated by his younger sibling. Still, Dream was the elder and he should’ve known. He should’ve—He could’ve—
Dream finds himself standing at the front door of the New Inn, and the noises of cheer and joy erupting from within break the Endless out of his maudlin thoughts. He looks up at the sign to the pub, sighing as he considers how he ended up here.
Hob Gadling had greeted him not even two weeks ago as a friend when Dream came to him after his imprisonment. They had talked late into the night, and Dream had found himself able to talk candidly about his capture for the first time. Hob had taken him gently by the hand at the end of the night and told Dream to return to him any time he felt he needed a friend. He did not need to wait 100 years. He was welcome anytime.
And so, here Dream is, in need of the company of his oldest friend. Perhaps his only friend.
He doesn’t even know if Hob will be inside, but if not, he can always return another time. When the door bangs open, and a pack of drunken patrons merrily make their way outside the bar, Dream slips inside past them, and into the warmth and familiarity of the New Inn. He immediately spots Hob standing with a microphone near the bar.
He is—singing?
Dream furrows his brow in confusion before he scans the daydreams of the bar patrons, determined to give himself context to what is occurring. Apparently the New Inn is celebrating something called Karaoke Night. All patrons are encouraged to participate, it seems, and as the owner of the pub, Hob is usually the one to start the festivities, as well as keep them going throughout the night.
Dream realizes that Hob has a rather lovely singing voice. Already, he can feel the tension slowly leaking from his shoulders, disappearing into the crowd the longer he watches his friend joke and laugh with the other patrons of the bar in between verses.
Dream wonders if he should not come back another time after all. Hob is clearly preoccupied, and it would not do for Dream to beg for his friend’s companionship when there are others who are much livelier and more deserving of it than he. Perhaps he should—
“Dream?” Hob calls out to him, breaking him out of yet another bout of self-deprecating thoughts. Hob is looking at him, and he appears to be delighted to see Dream. He hands the microphone off to the man managing the music, and then rushes over to greet him.
When he reaches Dream, Hob wraps his arms around him in a hug. It’s meant to be a greeting, a quick embrace, but Dream’s body must sense that he needs more than that, because he practically collapses into his friend's arms. Hob grunts as he takes on the Endless’s unexpected weight but then he squeezes Dream’s shoulder and presses his face into Dream’s unruly hair.
“Hey, you all right?” Hob asks him, his voice soothing and gentle.
Dream wants to reassure his friend that he is fine, that there is nothing wrong with him, to apologize for his one moment of weakness—but he is so tired. He is emptied out after today. He would like to rest. Just for a little while.
“No,” he replies, internally cringing at just how weary he sounds. “I am—not well.”
And then Dream decides to indulge—he indulges because Hob had told him he was allowed—he wraps his arms around Hob, and then buries his face in his oldest friend’s shoulder. Hob only hums in response, before he calls a woman over to where they’re standing.
“Hey Beth, I’m taking off early tonight,” Hob tells the woman who comes to check in on them. Dream peers up at her from Hob’s shoulder. Her name is Elizabeth Lovegood. She has worked for the New Inn for a little less than five years, but she dreams of one day owning her own bakery. She is smiling kindly at him, and Dream feels undeserving of it.
“Is he all right?” Beth asks. “This that the same guy who came in here that one time?”
“Yeah,” Hob answers for him, then gently rubs Dream’s shoulders. “Think he’s just had a rough day and needs a place to crash for the night.”
Beth nods. “I got everything under control here, boss. You feel better all right, hon?”
Dream nods, and then he is being shuffled away to the back of the pub, near the stairs where Hob keeps his flat above the New Inn.
“Hey, shh it's okay, I've got you,” Hob tells him gently as he leads them up the stairs and into the warmth of his home.
Hob prepares tea and wraps Dream up in a blanket that had been previously sitting along the back of the sofa where Dream is now sitting. When they are settled together, he asks,
“What happened?”
Dream recounts the story of Calliope and her imprisonment. Hob asks some clarifying questions about their relationship and Dream does his best to answer without straying too close to the topic of Orpheus. He is not ready to discuss Orpheus yet. Not with Calliope. Not with Hob. He is not sure if he will ever be ready.
When he is finished, he sighs deeply and leans back into the softness of Hob’s couch.
“That is everything,” he finishes. “And now you are aware of one of my greatest failures.”
Hob’s brow furrows. “Failures?” he asks, confused. “But you freed Calliope, and without much trouble, how is that anything but a rousing success?”
“But she should not have had to suffer for so long,” Dream insists. “If I only I had not let my pride get in the way, I could have—”
Dream, Hob interrupts him, a rare sternness in his voice Dream has not heard since 1889. “You cannot live in the what-ifs, my friend,” he continues, his voice back to gentle and calming. “That way leads to madness, and I think you and I both know that better than most.”
“But I am not human,” Dream argues. “I am Endless, and I should not have been captured by Roderick Burgess in the first place.”
“So the Endless never make mistakes then?” Hob asks him pointedly. The accusation stings and white hot anger flashes beneath the skin of Dream’s mortal form.
“You—!” Dream exclaims, suddenly standing, his still hot tea splashing violently within its mug. “You still dare—”
“I do dare,” Hob replies, getting off the couch himself and placing his own mug on the coffee. “Because you’re my friend and I care about you, and I won’t watch you berate yourself for things that were clearly out of your control!”
Out of his control.
It’s those words that finally make Dream deflate. He drops back down onto the couch, splashing tea all over himself and the furniture. Hob yelps in alarm, but Dream merely waves the liquid away. He is tired again. He has been tired a lot lately.
“I am sorry,” Dream says, staring up at Hob’s ceiling. “You are right. These things were outside what I could control. And I do not like things that are out of my control.”
Hob snorts. “I don’t anyone likes the things that are out of their control, my friend,” he says, before plopping himself down next to Dream. “Want a hug?”
Dream does. He leans into the crook of Hob’s arm, and once again he feels his tension and sorrows from the day bleed away into the fabric of the couch.
Perhaps he shall stay. Just for a little while.
98 notes
·
View notes