I like to think that we would lose against Daenerys, though. In fact I like to think that C&A would lose against pretty much anyone in Game of Thrones. They are too nice, too trusting and occasionally too sane.
Tumblr is so weird like tf you mean there’s no follower count??? No algorithm??? And nobody here is follower hungry????? No censorship on swear words??? Yet nobody abuses slurs???? It’s just peaceful fandom and shitposts???
Dream’s a bony little mf, but he’s also Endless, which makes him immensely stronger than any brawny human. Hob realises that the first time he hugs Dream and he stays still like a coat stand, so Hob goes, “Mate, you can actually touch me, we’ve known each other for half a millennia–” And Dream, desperately touch starved after seventy years locked away in Burgess’ basement pulls him into a bone crushing bearhug that sweeps Hob off the ground and quite possibly fractures a rib.
Dream’s embarassed.
Hob’s in love.
Things escalate quickly after that. Hob struggling to open a jar of Bonne Maman? Dream pops it open with his thumb for him like a frat boy a Bud Light. Flat tyre? Dream lifts Hob’s Honda Civic like a single grape. Hob gets some nasty glares at Sainsbury’s when people see his ‘poor fragile boyfriend’ carry six bags of groceries after him, but he stopped caring about what people thought of him in his early 200s.
“It’s ridiculous,” Hob says, well into his cups when they’re both at the New Inn again (he no longer has to wait a century for that, they meet every Thursday). “You don’t even have a bicep, man!”
“I’m not a man,” Dream deadpans. “I’m Endless.”
“Do you even lift?”
Dream raises an aristocratic eyebrow, but aside from that doesn’t deign that with an answer.
“I can’t– Fuck, I can’t believe it,” Hob says before he slams his arm on the table, elbow bent. “Come on, I bet you can’t beat me at arm wrestling.”
Dream only gives Hob a flat stare.
“I was champion back in Basildon! Twice!” Dream continues to watch Hob in silence, unfazed, so Hob decides it’s time to revert to dirty tactics. “If you won’t, I’ll tell Matthew you’re a coward.”
Dream bends his skinny twig of an arm, his hand, cold and smooth as marble gripping Hob’s.
“Name the stakes,” he says and Hob grins.
“If I win, you’ll buy me dinner – not here, at an expensive place,” Hob says, which is a rather simple request as far as such deals with the likes of Dream went – and yet it made something in Dream’s chest flutter.
“Are you sure that’s what you’d waste your wish on should you triumph over someone my power and station?” he asks and Hob’s neck flushes a lovely shade of pink.
“I’m a simple man.” He shrugs. “And I can’t imagine anything better than to spend the evening with you, my friend.” He looks up at Dream then, expectantly. “And you? What are your demands?”
Dream’s still taken aback by his admission for a moment, but then he leans closer, dark eyelashes fluttering as he measures Hob up from his rolled up sleeves to the dip of his neck above his collarbones until finally, his gaze settles on his mouth. Dream could think of a thing or two he would demand indeed.
“Should I win, I’d like you to satisfy my interest with regards of you if you’re amenable,” he says, his voice a low purr of something feline and lethal lurking in the night.
“Your interest in me or my experience?” Hob grins, remembering all too well a similar conversation they had back in 1489.
“You’re a reasonably intelligent man for a human, Hob Gadling, I presume you can make an educated guess.”
“Reasonably intelligent for a human,” Hob echoes dryly and rolls his shoulders. “Very well, let’s see how this ‘reasonably intelligent’ man can do against you, your nibs.”
Dream’s eyes narrow at the moniker in annoyance, but he doesn’t say anything just squares his shoulders, mirroring Hob’s posture.
Although he’s not the most powerful being in Creation, Dream of the Endless is a formidable force. The laws of physics don’t quite bind him the same they do mortals, not even outside of his realm – the power in him is older than gravity itself, his hands wielding a strength enough to tear out the fundament of the Earth and grind it into nothing, but sand. Dream flexes his hand, their palms pushing together for a fraction of a moment, his fingers, cold a bony against Hob’s, calloused and burning hot–
Then Hob darts forward and kisses Dream flat on the mouth.
Dream’s spine stiffens in surprise and he’s distracted just long enough for Hob to slam his hand onto the table.
“Hah!” Hob cries triumphantly, once they part with a wet sound, his lips spit-slick and his smile brilliant. “You can take the boy out of Basildon, but you can’t take Basildon out of the boy!” He flexes his arms and Dream stares at him in disbelief.
Hob stands then and pats his shoulder.
“I expect to have my dinner tomorrow, 8 o’clock sharp,” he says, grinning and he grabs his jacket. “I hope your celestial credit card’s not issued by American Express – they don’t take that in the Ritz.”
Dream watches Hob leave in silence. He knows he should feel humiliated and protest the validity of Hob’s triumph, but of all times he’d been tricked and defeated he finds he minds this time the least.
He raises his hand to his lips, still warm from Hob’s kiss and smiles.
