Log in
Avatar

Red Apple in a Pile of Green Apples

@patroclusandachilles / patroclusandachilles.tumblr.com

I'm Cordy. I'm 30. I'm a classicist and historian, and I’m currently pursuing a French degree as well. I'm an Angry Asexual Agender pal (she/they pronouns). Formerly ghostofpatroclus and echelonlove. My blorbos are Cordelia Chase, Grantaire, Patroclus, Hob Gadling, and Bucky Barnes. Multifandom because I don’t have the attention span for side-blogs lol. All fandoms will be tagged! If you want to know a tag for a fandom/ship to block it, let me know! If you have any questions or just wanna chat, my inbox is always open!!
PostsLikes
patroclusandachilles
nathanwonderwolf
Avatar
nathanwonderwolf

Morpheus' transformation really happened, only he took Hope by the hand, not Death. Now his duties are distributed between Hob, who guards Dreaming and returns escaped dreams and nightmares, and also guards the minds of people in a coma, in Limbo and Daniel, who has become a Prince of Stories and is responsible for children's dreams. Morpheus is still the Lord of Dreams and Nightmares, he creates them, he sends them, but he no longer needs to control everything .

#oh gosh i love this 🥰🥰🥰#dream#hob gadling#daniel hall#otp: hopes and dreams#the sandman
patroclusandachilles
cuubism
Avatar
mollymagician

Hob Gadling talked to himself, sometimes. When he was alone.

It was a habit, he’d say in the rare times he’d been caught at it. Silly habit. Just ignore me. Hashing things out with my own self. A white lie. Himself wasn’t who he was hashing anything out with. Hob spoke to his Stranger, sometimes. When he was alone.

There was never enough time in their brief meetings, was there, to package a hundred years worth of the world into words. The great story arcs made the cut, but in between the little stories got told anyway. In any quiet part of the day when he found himself alone, Hob would catch some of the details spilling out of him. He practiced sometimes, the particulars of a good tale he was afraid he wouldn’t remember. He couldn’t keep it all, but maybe, he thought, his Stranger could hear him. Sometimes.

A centuries-long habit, one he had despaired of ever breaking, though he’d realized recently that he wasn’t doing it anymore.

Because the thing was, when hob spoke to him aloud-spoke to the idea, the wish of him-over all those centuries, it was always as though he hovered just over his shoulder. A quiet aside to an imagined presence that could in truth be anywhere, but somehow lived in his mind and heart just behind and to the left of him, only just out of sight.

It takes him a little time to realize that this is where Dream stands now, more often than not— when he follows Hob up the stairs from the pub in the evenings after they’ve had too much to drink, laughing, a steadying hand planted between Hob’s shoulders— when he followed him, all newly human, into Situations and Experiences that Hob was determined he try—

when he pads up silently beside him in the dim early morning kitchen, to wrap his arms around Hob’s middle. Like today.

He seems to have found that spot, a patch of reality worn threadbare by hundreds of years of quiet longing, and slipped into it unknowing.

“How did you know that was there, hm?” Hob murmurs drowsily, tea kettle in one hand and eyes barely open. “That spot was just for you.”

Dream rested his chin on one warm shoulder and hummed. They swayed a bit, half-asleep.

Dreams breath puffed against his ear (real. real now) and murmured, “Thank you for saving me a place.”

#oh my gosh#dream#hob gadling#otp: hopes and dreams#the sandman#fic rec