#hobsbandverse

[softest-punk]

Something “Borrowed”

Hob x Endless (yes all of them) | Teen and up | Complete | Hobsbandverse, clothes sharing (theft), domestic fluff, mostly tea and smooches tbh | Ao3 link

For the @polyshipweek day 1 prompt, "Is that my hoodie?"

Hob discovers that his wardrobe seems to be considered communal property.

—

When he shuffles into the kitchen to find Desire in the process of making what he knows will be the perfect cup of tea, Hob stops and stares at them wearing the shirt he’d had on yesterday and absolutely nothing else.

“Looks good on you,” he says, as Desire hands him the tea.

“Glad you think so,” Desire says, pressing a kiss to Hob's cheek. “I’m keeping it.”

Hob does not think to object.

This turns out to be a dangerous precedent to set.

—

It takes him a minute to realise that the tie-dyed cropped t-shirt Delirium's wearing today is actually one of Hob’s old band t-shirts. It’s obviously too late to object, and in any case, he was only wearing it to sleep in, and it looks good on her. It also makes him feel good—to provide, to see her happy, to see someone he loves and cares for in his clothes, a sign that she’s his, and he’s hers. It’s nice.

“Love what you've done with that,” he says, pressing a kiss to her head on the way past the sofa, where Despair is painting her toenails with minute concentration. “Cuppa for both of you?”

—

Death’s wearing one of his jumpers the next time he sees her. It’s a cold night, so he doesn’t begrudge her the warmth, and the emerald green looks good on her, and she’s pulling off the boyfriend jumper look like a fashion model.

He quite likes the thought of being her jumper-owning boyfriend. 

He greets her with a kiss, and slips a hand under the the jumper to stroke the impossibly soft skin of her lower back, and fully succeeds in convincing her to let him take it—and quite a bit more—off.

It’s still gone in the morning, though.

—

Despair nicks a pair of grey joggers off him. The ones with a hole in the knee from an embarrassing incident with an ill-behaved terrier. He should’ve known he’d lose them, really. She loves grey.

“Do you know I love you?” he asks, bending down to kiss her hello while she once again focuses minutely on toenail-painting duties, this time for Dream.

—

Dream pilfers his pyjamas. With such speed and enthusiasm that Hob suspects the sex was only to facilitate the petty theft.

“They smell of you,” Dream says, holding the collar up to his nose and nuzzling into it. He’s sitting cross-legged on the bed like it’s his throne, drowning in plaid flannel, with a tiny smile playing about his lips. What’s Hob meant to say to that?

Nothing, is what. Which is what he does.

Dream vanishes with the pyjamas before sunrise.

—

Destruction’s choice of garment is another of Hob’s sleep shirts—plain and threadbare, unlike the one Delirium made off with. It’s much too small for him, stretched tight across his broad shoulders when Hob wanders into the kitchen to the glorious smell of a proper fry-up. For both of these reasons, Hob’s too attracted to him in the moment to say anything.

Several more shirts go missing, but Hob probably gets more enjoyment out of them on Destruction anyway.

—

It takes Hob longer than he’d care to admit to figure out exactly what strikes him as weird about the tableau in the living room. 

Well, weirder than usual, anyway. Four Endless in the one room would probably seem apocalyptic in any other context, but Death’s chatting amicably with her older brother on the sofa, the two of them sipping tea from their own mugs. That doesn’t happen every day, but it’s warm and domestic and makes Hob feel all fuzzy inside. He’s so glad he's managed to make a space where all of them can just be.

Destruction and Delirium are engaged in some sort of craft project on the floor. Destruction has thankfully put down newspapers for the purpose, but then Hob doesn’t mind a little cleaning and honestly, Delirium can usually be persuaded to clean up after herself.

He inspects the project for several long seconds, decides he has no idea what it is, and makes encouraging noises anyway before kissing each of them on the head and turning back to the sofa.

It’s then that he realises what he was seeing before. Death’s still wearing the emerald green jumper—Hob gave it up as lost months ago—but Destiny...

“Is that my hoodie?” Hob asks.

He's going to need to go shopping.

[tiabritana]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

New hobsbandverse one-shot focusing on Hob/Delirium.

Thank @softest-punk for being my beta.

[softest-punk]

The graphic design post... you KNOW Hob has to use ALL the colors. Color wheel what? Prepare to burn your retinas.

Hobsbandverse Hob and Delirium running riot in the paint aisle at the DIY store, Destruction following them with incredible enthusiasm, Dream trying desperately to explain colour theory to them and Hob just showing him an incomprehensible image of a children's hospital hallway.

The flat ends up 15 colours, none of which go together. Death loves it. Despair loves watching Dream hate it. Desire, much as they want their twin to be happy, teams up with Dream to pull a Lysistrata until Hob paints it a maximum of three colours & they get to pick.

[softest-punk]

Hobsband to the Endless with Destruction and other Endless looking for new creative outlets. Hob shows up to class in this rough-looking scarf. First attempt, of course and so it's not perfect, but Hob clearly adores it because it was made with him in mind from the choice of yarn to the pattern to everything. Someone tries baking. The results aren't right, but a cookie's a cookie. Hob brings them in for his class and they offer tips in return and so on. Just. Soft adorableness like that.

"New mug?" Moira—classical literature, two offices down, makes a killer raspberry-coconut loaf cake when she's stressed which makes Hob feel a little bad about enjoying it—asks, nodding to the chunk of crockery in Hob's hand.

To say the most diplomatic thing about it, the mug is technically functional. It weighs a ton, the walls are sagging a bit sadly towards the base, the handle isn't quite big enough to get a sufficient number of fingers into it, and the glaze is, to be honest, lumpy.

Hob lights up like the sun, clasping it close to his chest with both hands—partly by necessity, owing to the weight. "My husband made it for me," he enthuses.

Moira raises an eyebrow. "The big one?" she asks.

Hob laughs. "That's him."

"He's got," Moira pauses. "An unusual perspective."

"You have no idea," Hob says. "I love it, though. I know it's what you'd call unique, but. He made it. For me."

Moira smiles softly at him. "You're a sap, professor."

Hob beams at her, sips from his technically functional mug, and doesn't argue.

***

"New scarf, professor?" one of Hob's grad students, Addie, asks, nodding to the garment looped around Hob's neck. "Taking up knitting?"

"Oh, no, not me," Hob says. "My wife."

The scarf is green. This is as far as Hob has been willing to mentally describe it.

Addie blinks at him. "Sorry, I thought you had a husband?"

Hob laughs. "Oh, I do. Three of them, even."

Addie stares.

"Don't look at me like that," Hob teases. "You're meant to be young and open-minded. Anyway, you were about to tell me how brilliant and talented my wife is."

Addie looks at the scarf again, and makes a face Hob thinks Despair would have been quite pleased to inspire with her handiwork. "You can see that she was getting it towards the end there."

Hob lights up. "That's what I said! She's making little jumpers for her rats next. Honestly, I'm amazed I came before the rats."

"... you'll have to take pictures of the rats in jumpers."

***

"Now, these taste fine and they're perfectly safe to eat," Hob says to a lecture hall full of undergraduates, unpacking a box of biscuits from his laptop bag. "They're a little flat, but if you want to volunteer to eat one and say nice things about my husband's first baking attempt, I'd be very grateful."

A small queue—half the class, more or less—forms in front of the desk, and Hob hands out most of the absolutely ridiculous number of biscuits with relief in his heart. He can tell Dream, now, that they were appreciated.

"Nothing wrong with these," one of his students—Jordan, he thinks, it's still early in the semester and they're all still a bit shy—pipes up, halfway through his biscuit.

"Professor," another—name utterly unknown to him—student speaks up. "When you say husband, do you mean the bloke who sometimes hovers at the back of your lectures?"

"He does," Dream's voice floats down from the back of the lecture hall.

Hob beams up at him, thrilled he's here to see half the class munching happily on his biscuits.

"Umm," another student speaks up—Lily, Hob wants to say. "If you don't mind me saying. I work part-time in a bakery. And these are fine, but they'd be less flat if you refrigerated the dough before you baked them."

Dream blinks at her, and then nods graciously. "I will take that under advisement. Thank you."

"They're good though," another student speaks up.

"Reminds me of a recipe my gran used to make," a different one adds.

"Yeah, me too."

Hob grins at the chorus of agreement that they are good biscuits, and at the way Dream blushes at the attention. The class extracts a promise from him that they'll get to try a later attempt, and Hob feels like a very good husband indeed.

***

Desire loves nothing more than to gently torture Hob—they're more like Dream than either of them would care to admit, in that way—so when they hand him a pair of neatly-darned socks he's been promising himself he'll repair for the better part of twenty years, he's a little surprised.

"No one ever wants to do repairs like this. I mean, they want to want to? But they don't really... want to. Thought I'd try something painfully dull."

Hob runs his fingers over the neat stitches, which would be nearly invisible if they hadn't been done—intentionally, he thinks—in a completely different colour.

"Did you enjoy it?" he asks.

Desire doesn't often blush unintentionally, but there's a faint hint of pink along their cheekbones as they look away from Hob's face and down at the sock.

"If you ever tell anyone, I'll..."

Hob chuckles as Desire realises there's nothing they can do to him that wouldn't hurt them as well.

"Your secret's safe anyway," he says. "And I'll remember to be grateful for having warm feet."

***

"I uh. Love what you've done with the place?" Addie says, looking around at every flat surface in Hob's flat.

Delirium would take up painting—under Destruction's undoubtedly helpful instructions—on the day Hob had bribed his best grad student to help him with end-of-year marking.

She would naturally take up painting the walls, the ceiling, and the kitchen cupboards. Destruction would naturally do nothing to stop her, because they all know that this is their flat. To do with what they like. Hob isn't even slightly put out about it.

Even if the walls are such a wash of swirling colour that it makes him a bit dizzy to look at. That's as intended, he suspects.

"My wife has taken up painting," he says, unfeigned pride in his voice. "I think she's got some real talent."

"Given up on knitting, then?" Addie asks.

"Oh no," Hob says cheerfully. "Different wife."

***

Putting up a couple of raised beds in the disused space behind the New Inn turns out to have exactly the desired result, and Hob feels so proud of himself when he finds Destiny sitting amongst the planters, on the bench he put there for the purpose.

He didn't see the apparent flurry of planting that must have happened, but the beds are overflowing with greenery when he gets home from work and settles beside his husband.

"Are these strawberries?" Hob asks, brushing his fingers against the leaves of a familiar-looking plant.

"You enjoy strawberries," Destiny says.

Hob sits down beside him, turning his face up to the last of the afternoon sun, and basking in the sensation of feeling very, very loved.

***

Since the whole Craft Projects of the Endless started, Hob's been waiting to see if Death would take up the trend. He's left art supplies around the place to no avail—or rather, to catch Dream getting in on finger-painting the walls with Delirium, the two of them absolutely covered in paint, and to Destruction taking up crochet with middling success. He's also so far caught Despair getting into embroidery—apparently jabbing a needle into something over and over is her sort of thing—and Desire discovering the joy of glittery resin charms.

He even catches a glimpse of Destiny listening with rapt attention to Dream's baking-related learnings, which is so sweet he nearly melts into a puddle on the floor then and there.

It seems a shame that Death's the only one missing out, but Hob knows she's busy. Busier by far than any of the rest of them. Getting to see her from time to time is enough.

(He's not letting his houseplants die on purpose just for the chance of catching her. That would be the act of a madman.)

All the same, he holds onto hope, and leaves craft supplies lying around, and shortly discovers that he's accidentally created an ongoing Endless craft circle but honestly, they all seem so relaxed for once that he's thrilled he thought of it. He catches Dream and Desire conspiring over a project together. Destruction and Delirium making non-Euclidean pottery. Destiny sitting patiently while Despair measures him for a jumper.

So when it finally does happen, when he wakes to find Death in the kitchen, holding something behind her back with a shy smile that makes him feel like the luckiest man in the world to be on the receiving end of it, he can barely contain his excitement.

What she actually hands him probably ought not to be as much of a surprise as it is.

"Taxidermy," Hob says, blinking at the small, waistcoated rat tacked to an old book he's now holding in his hands.

Death grins.

[softest-punk]

that line in the desire/hob edging fic about whoever else is in the flat getting to have the next go has been living rent free in my head since i first read it, so! which of the endless do you think would be really into the, you know. sloppy seconds/thirds/fourths/etc? are any of them really not a fan? (i personally am very 👀👀 at the idea of destruction in particular being VERY fond of a happily fucked-out hob)

V. glad you enjoyed it :D (further thoughts under the cut)

In the fic implication is that Dream has bargained with Desire for this so I must conclude he's the first to line up + do feel he would particularly enjoy an exhausted Hob he can gently spoil and pet and torture a bit more. Slowly take him apart now that he's been sufficiently warmed up. Outsourcing the first fourteen hours of foreplay. Has the advantage of being able to do whatever he wants in his own realm so Hob spends the night making up for all the orgasms he didn't get to have during the day and then some which absolutely contributes to the spoiling.

Destruction absolutely yes. First in line in the morning. Happy to let Hob lie back while he does all the work. Hob having the wild experience where he ought to be unbearably sore and his mind knows this but his body is basically fine. Wakes up on Destruction's fingers and is delighted about it because it's nice to be in demand. Destruction is delighted that Hob for once isn't absolutely determined to service top his way through this and will just lie back and take it. He deserves that from time to time!!

Despair I think would also want in on an absolutely exhausted Hob who's close to overwhelmed tears. He's not sure he can go on but he rolls over anyway and at the end he's sobbing and wrecked but Despair pets his hair and calms him down and is v. charmed by how clingy and cuddly he is. Secretly.

Death, Destiny, and Delirium I think would not care one way or another. Disinterested.

Death I think would actively not participate because their relationship is absolutely eternal fuck buddies who are decidedly in love but this is irrelevant to their sex life which is conducted almost exclusively in loungewear on the sofa.

Hob is never sure he's actually technically having sex with either Destiny or Delirium but would not trade the experience for anything.

[tiabritana]

Hob Can’t Handle The Club Right Now (isn’t that how the song goes?…)

Hob stumbles feeling a wave of dizziness come over him. He can’t remember where or when his colleagues wandered off to or where he left his keys or his coat. At this point he feels like that might be for the best as he’s absolutely boiling under the black lights of the club. The perspiration slides down his forehead into his eyes. He raises his hand, revealing a sweat-soaked circle under his arm, to his face to wipe it away. He can’t remember how long he’s been here for, but he has the niggling feeling he needs to get out soon.

The immortal sighs and looks around, searching for the bar to hopefully find some water to help his parched throat. Turning his head to the right he stops and blinks the sudden lightheadedness away. He thinks the heat might be effecting more than he thought. His gaze finally lands on a figure no one else seems to be able to see; jumping up and down on top of the bar counter and waving at him.

Hob wades unsteadily through the crowd, slowly making his way over in a daze, careful to keep his eyes locked onto her form in case she disappears. When he finally stops in front of the bar, Delirium jumps down, and stumbles slightly. Hob reaches out to steady her and distantly notes his reflexes aren’t as sharp as they usually are. She beams back at him, but her eyebrows crinkle a little a second later.

He scans her over and notes everything about her, from her wild curls, to the paint smeared all over her body, to the neon fishnets she wears, shining luminously under the black light hypnotizing him for a moment. He startles out of his hazy thoughts when Delirium cocks her head to the side almost bird like, similar to Dream, the wrinkling between her eyes becoming more pronounced the longer she stares at him. The immortal comes to the belated realization that she must’ve been talking to him, and shakes his head trying to clear the fog that has started taking over his mind.

“What?” He shouts over the music. He feels the bass beat in time to his own heart. The moving bodies around him feel suffocating all of a sudden. The way they brush against him is setting off his fight or flight instincts though he’s not sure why. He doesn’t remember having had that much to drink.

His wife’s hand on his arm brings everything to a halt. The haze clouding his mind is instantly cleared and he can make out the worry in the Endless’ mismatched gaze.

“Come on.” She says, leading him through the throng of dance club goers. Hob does his best to keep up with her, eager to escape the sudden claustrophobic feeling that’s been building up inside of him, but seems to have gone away at the first touch of Delirium’s hold on him leaving him feeling out of sorts.

She leads him to a side door and pushes it open with the hand not holding his arm. The immortal sags into the cool night air, leaning against the brick of the building as he regains his equilibrium. The Endless leans against the wall next to him, hand still on his arm, though now she’s drawing soothing shapes; colorful splashes appearing where her fingers trace.

“What the hell just happened Del?” Hob asks as he takes deep breaths. The rubbish bins off to the side sours the air just a bit, but still makes him feel better than he did in the muggy atmosphere of the club. He shivers a little as the night air cools down his clammy skin and feels the adrenaline starting to leave his system.

“Someone wanted you to experience wonderland without any white rabbits to show you the way.” She says as she places his coat around his shoulders.

Used to reality bending to this particular Endless’ whims, Hob shrugs on the coat, hearing his keys jingle inside one of his pockets. As he looks closer he notices the inside of the lining has changed colors and has been given an intricate embroidered design that he can’t quite make out in the dim alleyway light, before the meaning behind his wife’s words finally untangle in his brain enough causing him to freeze.

“What?” He asks again, eyes going wide as he turns to look at her. Her form has shifted into something he’s never seen before. The neons and paint and fishnets are replaced with a solid red color scheme. Close cropped red curls grace her head down to a red glittered army coat to red ripped jeans and red combat boots on her normally bare feet. She looks to be in that moment the living embodiment of the horsemen of war; or what he pictures Destruction might look like if he was punk and hadn’t abdicated his function. A dark curl of arousal unfurls low in his belly that he hurriedly shoves to the side. ‘Now is not the time.’ He mentally scolds himself.

The first thing Hob notices when he collects himself and she turns to look at him is that besides the change in Delirium’s appearance, she also looks older than she normally prefers. Late twenties if he had to guess. The second thing he notices is her eye color is going from green to red to blue and silver to fast for his human brain to process before settling on blue. Matching blue. The madness no longer present under her suddenly unsettling clear gaze.

Hob’s struck with a thought he rarely likes to dwell on. He knows his loves are all powerful personified concepts in unassuming human guises most of the time. And he’s grown rather fond of their inhuman traits when they present themselves, that it doesn’t really faze him anymore. But the one who shape-shifts when something goes wrong is usually Dream, and Hob has gotten used to that eldritch horror as the years passed that he finds it a comfort that his husband trust him enough to allow his otherness to be seen by him. Delirium on the other hand, is always shifting into a kaleidoscope of clothes and colors that the solid look she has on now along with the pair of blue irises in her eyes really hits home that she’s angry. And Hob’s starting to realize that that is far scarier than the nightmare Dream turns into is.

“The co-worker you tell us stories about all the time switched your drink with the nice lady who tries to figure out how many partners you have after the man in the purple shirt slipped something into it.” Her voice when she finally speaks is clear, no longer sounding like it’s on the edge of madness, but is holding back suppressed rage and is solidly bound in the here and now. Hob takes one last deep breath, no longer trying to clear the fog in his mind, but now trying to wrap his head around the fact that one of his colleagues gave him a spiked drink. Nausea claws up the back of his throat as he recalls how he’s been feeling the past while before he chanced upon his wife.

Did Martha think he knew, and knew not to drink it? Did they intentionally let him drink it? Did they purposely leave him at the table by himself? The questions buzz around his mind. The last half hour or so are still blurry. On one hand he’s glad Addie didn’t drink the laced alcohol, but the fact he did causes a sinking feeling in his gut. The immortal swallows thickly forcing the nausea back down.

He’s been around long enough to know the darker sides of humanity. His own past surges to the front of his mind for a second before he shoves the memories away. He knows the other professor doesn’t like him, and as Del mentioned he often regales his spouses with Martha stories. But he doesn’t want to think they could have purposefully orchestrated this to happen.

He straightens from his slouch and reaches out to touch the Endless’s hand. She’s still staring at him with a much to clear gaze, and he knows it must be excruciating for her. The immortal remembers Delirium telling him once that she could pull herself together enough to be coherent and for lack of a better word ‘sane’, but it came at the cost of great pain. The immortal didn’t want her to hurt herself unnecessarily for his sake. “Del, love, I’m okay now.” He gently squeezes her hand.

“But if I weren’t here you wouldn’t have been. And who knows what could have happened. I don't want you to leave like Dreamy almost did.” Her pained voice whispers the last part causing his heart to pang sharply.

Hob steps further into Delirium’s space and reaches for her other hand, grasping both in his own. He leans forward letting his forehead rest on hers realizing now what she has done for him. His wife’s function rules over madness yes, but on the flip side she also rules over sanity. She must have absorbed the drugs that were in his system. He opens his mouth to say something before he’s interrupted by the door slamming open.

A figure emerges from the shadow of the door wearing a leopard print skirt, brogues, turtleneck and blazer dangling over one shoulder. They straighten when they spot Hob and Del and takes in the intimate scene, a sneer quickly darting over their face before it smooths out.

“Isn’t she a bit too young for you Gadling?” They asks, faux concern dripping with the question. The infamous Martha.

‘We’ll speak of the devil and they will appear.’ Hob mentally tells himself. “Martha.” He greets as he straightens back up, though he doesn’t release his wife’s hands. He’s not sure he wants to get into it with his co-worker in the middle of an alleyway behind a club. Regardless if she knowingly or unknowingly tried drugging him.

Martha steps out into the light of the alleyway and lets the door slam close. The noise and music once again muffled behind thick steel. They open their mouth, probably to say another scathing comment before their jaw clicks shut with an audible sound, their eyes widening. Hob looks back down to see what caused that reaction. Delirium has drawn herself up to her full height and locks eyes onto his co-worker. The overwhelming aura surrounding her like a shroud of madness makes the hair on his arms stand up and the arousal he fought down to come crashing back. “Del-,” he tries before he’s cut off.

“Martha Jane Evans, born March 18, 1987, they/them pronouns, suffers from schizophrenia and was institutionalized for most of their childhood. Released in their late teens after showing signs of successful treatment. Highly knowledgeable in linguistics and can speak thirteen languages, but keeps mostly to themselves and lacks any real passion for life and teaching. Only accepting a university professor job to please their parents. Jealous and envious of Hob Gadling once he started working in the History department. The delusions started becoming more volatile so you decided to quit taking your medications, also blaming this on Hob. Your mental health has taken a swan dive, but instead of seeking help you delved deeper into the madness and decided everything wrong in your life right now is also Hob’s fault. You tell you if only he didn’t come, none of this would have happened. If he wasn’t here, you wouldn’t see how you’ve been wasting your life, letting it listlessly float on by while watching Hob living his to the fullest. So you came up with this idea to have a get together at this club, paid the man in purple to slip something into Hob’s drink and panicked with it was placed into the wrong one” Delirium’s words starts rushing together, gaining in speed. The coherency she has kept together for Hob’s sake cracks. Madness spiraling back into her speech as her form vibrates. Butterflies and fish pop into existence around her, swirling in colors to fast for him to name.

She releases herself from Hob’s hold and takes a step towards Martha, her form changing. Changing into how Martha perceives her in this moment after the revelation about them is spilled into the silent night. Her image shifting into two dimensional, abstract, shades of blacks shrouding her in shadows that blend into the darkness around them. The sight hurts his eyes, his rational human brain not able to perceive this level of insanity. His heart twist, and it becomes harder to look at his wife.

The world around them starts being affected. The sides of the building is melting, the ground starts growing fur. He’s not used to seeing her like this. Not in control and slipping further into her realm than he’s ever seen. Becoming a swirling vortex of angry insanity.

Martha turns, one hand clawing desperately to open the door, but his wife is faster. She instantly appears in front of them, hand outstretched and grasping her forearm. “Love.” Hob’s voice is calm as he too reaches out. His reflexes back to normal now that the drugs are gone. His hand catches hers other one again and she turns and levels him with the weight of her mad stare. Her eyes back to their mismatched hue.

“She. Hurt. You.” Comes the garbled speech. More creatures are popping into existence, mixing together forming shapes of creatures he’s never seen before.

“I know love, I know. But you need to calm down. I don’t want you hurting yourself further.” The immortal doesn’t bother sparing a glance at the shivering mess his colleague has become. Just keeps his focus on his distraught wife. He gathers her in his arms forcing the Endless to let go of the other professor. Her form shifting again, becoming more familiar as it’s wrapped in her usual prism of technicolor and mesh.

The storm around them seems to settle and reality rights itself as Delirium snuggles further into his embrace and tucks her head under Hob’s chin. He can feel wetness on his neck and feels himself struggle to get his own emotions under control. Taking a deep breath and silently counting to ten he releases it and finally lets himself look over to the door where the other professor once stood.

They’re on the ground now, rocking back and forth and their eyes stare into the darkness of the alleyway. Flinching as they see things he can’t. It seems like the crux of the storm latched onto them when Delirium lost control, madness seeking out madness.

He sighs and closes his eyes letting his forehead rest on the top of his wife’s unruly head. The Endless has stopped shaking by now. The immortal doesn’t know how long they stand like that, being soothed by each other’s presence, when the peace is shattered for a second time that night.

Addie sticks her head out, bass bumping music shattering the fragile quiet. “Oh, there you are Prof, I was wondering where you’ve gone off to.” She pauses as she takes in the scene she’s walked into. Glancing down she notices the other professor still rocking back and forth on the ground, tears are now streaming down their face and they have started to mumble incoherently. Addie looks back up raising a judgy eyebrow at the immortal who can do nothing but shrug as best he can while his arms are still wrapped around the figure of his wife.

“Another one of those mysterious spouses of yours or are you babysitting their kid sister?” Her dry tone asks. Looking down Hob notices Addie’s perception has altered Delirium’s age. Her appearance now taking on the indefinite age of maybe late teenager-early 20’s. Yelping he jerks away as the Endless blinks up at him.

“Oops!” His wife shrugs, before deciding to climb onto his back and hanging from him like a baby monkey. Hob sighs for the umpteenth time that night.

“Del, Addie- Addie, one of my wives, Delirium.” Said wife waves from her place on his back.

The immortal was hoping he could avoid this conversation, but looks like his luck has run out. He hesitantly looks back into the darkness to see if Despair is lingering close by. “Come on, this conversation is long overdue. But first, be a peach and call 999 for Martha over there. I’ve a feeling they’ll gonna need to be readmitted.”

[tiabritana]

Another Hobsbandverse inspired story. Please check out @softest-punk works.

————————————————————————

Hob turned the knob to his flat and stepped inside. He threw his keys into the bowl by the door- a pottery attempt by Destruction that Hob thinks was supposed to resemble a seashell- threw his coat onto the chair next to the rack- he’d have to hang it up properly later- took his bag and set it on top of his coat and finally took the bouquet of flowers from between his teeth and set them on top of his bag.

He slipped off his shoes, grabbed the bouquet and set off for the kitchen to grab a vase.

“Those are absolutely stunning darling, whoever did you get them from.” A voice purred from the direction of the sitting room. Hob paused in his search to see a pair of golden eyes watching him from the couch.

“My lovely spouse surprised me with them at work today.” He beamed deciding to play along.

“And who might this spouse of yours be, hmm?” Desire slowly rose from their perch on the couch to slink their way to Hob- who had finally located a vase and was filling it with water.

“They have stunning golden eyes, a tantalizing red smile, and can stalk their prey while wearing 6 inch heels.” He turned his head and glanced down at said heels Desire was wearing as they continued to come closer to him, then turned back around to continue filling the vase.

When they were finally chest to back, Desire wrapped their arms around Hobs neck, turning his head again and pulling him closer so that they could claim his lips in a welcome kiss. Hob moaned as Desire’s tongue swiped the seam of his lips but pulled back before the kiss could be deepened.

“The water’s about to overflow.” They whispered in his ear causing a shiver to run down Hob’s spine; before their words registered and he turned back around with a yelp to quickly shut the faucet off.

“Fucking hell” He muttered under his breath as he took the now full vase and set it on the kitchen table. Desire watched, softly chuckling at their husband as he fiddled with the flower arrangement.

“I’m happy my surprise was so well received.” They said as they headed back toward the couch. Hob finished his arranging and followed Desire stepping over one of the ghost cats who was laying in the middle of the room.

“Thank you lovely,” he pecked Desire on the forehead as they sat back down to watch the reality show they had paused, and headed towards the bathroom.

As he approached the door, Hob noticed the paint was a different color than it had been that morning, but shrugged it off as one of the siblings expressing their artistic abilities. When he opened the door however, he had to pause and blink to make sure he was really seeing what was in front of him.

“Uh- Desire? Was Delirium the last one here?” He asked, turning to look back at the blonde. Desire didn’t turn their gaze from the tv before letting out a noncommittal hum.

“I believe she and Despair were the last ones here, but were gone by the time I arrived.” And went back to their show. Hob returned to the scene that was still awaiting him in the bathroom.

Submerged in a purplish-pink viscous like substance the filled the whole room, a zebra-patterned octopus waved a tentacle in greeting. Hob returned the gesture and slowly closed the door, deciding that he could wait to take a shower, and instead walked back over to the couch and cuddled close to Desire. They wrapped an arm around him and let him cuddle into their side, their gaze never leaving the television.

“His name is Simon.” A sudden voice said from his other side. Hob craned his neck from where it was currently under Desire’s armpit to see Delirium now sitting upside down on the couch. Her hair was neon orange curls today that flowed to the floor with feathers sticking out from all sides like some sort of puffed up owl. Some of the slime from the bathroom still lingered on the jacket she was wearing. Hob hoped it would come out of the fabric.

“Don’t you think Simon would be happier not swimming in pink slime love?” Delirium pouted, but from the angle she was dangling it looked like a grin.

“I suppose he can, what’s the word when gravity doesn’t like you and you fly fly fly up to the sky-“ here she spread her arm out wide, “and drift with the clouds?”

“Float?” Hob answered, and she nodded her head and flipped off the couch and smiled in his direction before taking off towards the bathroom.

“Dreamy will probably let Simon float in the streams of the sea of dreams and shore of nightmares.” She danced, wiggling her hips and spinning as she reached the bathroom door. Hob smiled turning back around to rest his head on Desire’s chest, and closed his eyes and just breathed in the chaos that was their flat- and loving every second of it.

[tiabritana]

@softest-punk for their Hobsbandverse series and @phoenix_queen on ao3 who put this idea into my head.

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After meeting Time and the ensuing argument that broke out between the Endless siblings, it was decided that Hob was not allowed out of their sights for the foreseeable future. Despite Destiny trying to be the voice of reason and assuring his siblings that there was nothing in his book about any repeat visits, the other six- yes they even dragged Death into the conflict, she felt guilty, like her speaking of their father had summoned him- tuned him out and formed time tables of who would be with Hob and when.

Hob himself gave a fond albeit exasperated sigh and just decided to go along with the whole charade to keep the peace, and calm his panicking spouses. And,he privately thought to himself, if their overprotective-ness helped soothe some lingering anxiety over his father-in-law’s visit, well, that was between him and his own thoughts.

It was currently Dream’s turn to mind him, and since the immortal was already sleeping with Delirium pressed against his body in the waking, they decided to spend the night taking a stroll of the Dreaming. Dream having co-created something or other with Delirium earlier in the day while Hob was out shopping with Desire, wanted his honest opinion on the collaboration.

“You know I’m not really much of an art guy dove, don’t know how much my opinion will matter.” He said, but he grabbed Dream’s hand anyway and let him lead him to a riff that was pulsing and flashing between a rainbow of colors faster than Hob’s human brain could keep up with.

As they stepped through the riff, instead of the riot of colors that Hob was expecting to see on the other side, all he saw was darkness. The sudden descent into the dark and absence of sight had him blinking a few times to see if his eyes would adjust to the unexpected change but nothing happened.

Dream’s hand still in his tightened, and Hob turnt his head trying to make out his husband’s profile through the pitch black nothingness surrounding them. He saw Dream’s star-filled gaze staring straight ahead, and fixed his eyes in the direction he believed the Endless was looking. After squinting for a few more moments and allowing his eyes more time to adjust, the immortal’s sight finally noticed twin faint lights in the distance.

He was pulled out of his musing of where they were and how they’d gotten there when Dream spoke.

“Hello, my mother.” He said.

Hob switched his gaze between the starry eyes of his husband to the lights twinkling in the distance a few times, trying to wrap his thoughts around this unexpected turn of events. He couldn’t believe his luck. Really what were the odds that he’d be meeting both his in-laws in a span of less than a week apart. Destiny definitely knew, he thought.

He was thrown out of his musings by an alluring lilted voice seeming to come from all around them at once, “greetings, Sweet Dream.”

As they walked closer to the source of the lights, Hob was finally able to start making out shapes and colors swirling through the darkness, along with more lights, that turned out to be stars. When they reached where the original source of the lights were coming from, they stopped. In front of them, sat in a pool of pitch darkness that rippled and looked to be made from the finest crushed velvet, was who Hob could only identify as the Endless’ mother.

She was big, was his first thought. He had seen a few of his spouses do the same at times, but never to this degree. He estimated she was probably the size of The London Eye with galaxies swarming around the parts visible to his eyes. She reminded him of Despair but had Dream’s black hair, flowing, and seemingly sucking in the minuscule light like a black hole from the faint constellations that made up her skin. The immortal privately thought Dream must have drawn inspiration for Gault from her, but would never dare voice his opinion knowing the prickly reaction he’d probably receive from his husband.

Hob was caught in his mother-in-law’s mesmerizing stare. Her eyes or rather what would pass for her eyes was pure starlight. She had no pupil and the sclera was locked onto him and didn’t move when she addressed her son. “So this is the mortal.” And though the alluring quality of her voice didn’t change, Hob still felt like she saw him as lacking.

“This is our husband.” The Dream Lord corrected. From the corner of his eye, Hob notice Dream was also bigger now.

Night scoffed, the sound just as enchanting as her lilting voice had been. “Husband.” She spit out the word like it was a disease. He suddenly remembered that the Endless parents were estranged.

“Um- Hello.” He attempted a greeting, but was ignored as Night’s eyes finally left Hob and instead pinned a look to her son.

“Darling, surely you could do better.” She said, voice softer when she addressed him. Dream’s grip on his hand at this point was bruising.

Hob’s inner monologue at this point took the opportunity to characterize the similar behaviors between mother and her children. Desire’s often smug and arrogant cadence to how Dream used to look at certain things with a dismissive stare to how Despair holds herself sometimes all reflected back in the figure in front of him.

The immortal still couldn’t properly see Dream’s face, but if he had to guess it would be carved from stone. The stars in his eyes blazed and Hob was sure he had a few broken bones now as the pressure around his hand squeezed even more. “My mother,” the Endless began, before he too was cut off by Night.

“I worry the pain you’ll be in, my darling, when he eventually withers away. After all, the heartache you’ve endured-especially with Orph-“ and here was Dream’s turn to cut his mother off. The fury radiating from him palpable. His own shadows stretched to mix with the darkness surrounding them, and his form lengthened. Claws now embraced Hob’s hand; more gentle than his human form’s grip had been.

“Hold your tongue, my mother.” Dream’s voice was soft, but the ice behind it let Hob know he would not let this perceived slight go. “Hob,” and here his husband stretched him name-as if to force Night to acknowledge and remember who he was. “Is under the protection of all of us. He is wed to all of us. Death spares her gift from him, he will not die.”

The immortal looked back to his mother-in-law trying to gauge her reaction. Her eyes, much like her son’s, was also hard. The starlight going supernova as she stared Dream down. The human could make out a faint twitch of her lips turning down, before she rose from her pool. The darkness cascading down, and Hob quickly looking away once a brief flash of her exposed breast met his view.

“I see.” Was all she said before Hob felt the floor beneath him give way. He stumbled, but Dream’s hold on him kept him upright. Blinking he found himself accosted with colors from all around. Ones he didn’t even have names for.

At the sudden return to light, and the sudden burning of technicolor assaulting his retinas, the immortal felt his husband finally release his hand. When he felt like he could open his eyes with throwing up his dinner, Hob found Dream, his shoulders still tense. His form still bigger than usual with shadows dancing across the walls from beneath his long coat.

Hob took a step forward, intending on pulling his husband close, when the Endless turnt and gazed into his eyes. “This dream is,” he started to say before Hob slapped his hand over his mouth. Dream’s eyes widened.

“I don’t think so, dove. We are going to hash out all that was just said. Either here,” he gestured around to the space around them, “or back in the Waking with the rest of your siblings, but we are not going to let you seclude yourself away.” The immortal said sternly. He removed his hand from Dream’s mouth and instead cupped his jaw, gazing into his starry eyes-so different from Night’s- and allowed him to see his sincere determination and love reflected within.

The Endless blinked and his eyes returned to the blue he often favored in the Waking. A sheen of tears gathering at the corners before closing them and bringing Hob’s body closer to his and allowing his forehead to rest against the immortals.

A shudder tore through him before he pulled back and allowed his gaze to sweep over his husband, checking him over to make sure Night’s realm left no adverse reaction, when his eyes caught sight of his husband’s swollen hand. He gently cupped it, bringing it closer for inspection before closing his eyes again and whispering, “Forgive me, my husband. I did not mean to harm you.”

The immortal was already shaking his head even before he uttered his apology. “Nothing to forgive. I might not remember much of my mum, but I do remember the wooden spoon whenever my siblings or I misbehaved.” His slight joking tone fell flat as Dream’s mouth turn down.

“That’s not to says she was abusive or anything, it was a different time then. Point is I know what it’s like to be somewhat cautious of your parent, plus,” he quickly added, trying to deflect the landmine he knew he stepped on by pointing to his hand, “it’s already starting to heal.” His hand was tingling slightly and the feeling of his bones correcting themselves was as familiar as anything after his many centuries that it didn’t even hurt any more. Just left an inch he knew better than to try to scratch.

The Endless gently let his husband’s hand go and resumed staring at the colors all around them. After a few moments of silence he spoke, “I apologize for my mother. She had no right to speak of you like that.”

Hob reached out to cup his face and said, “You don’t owe me any sort of apology on your mum’s behalf. I don’t care how she thinks of me. I’m married to you and your siblings and your opinions are the only ones that matter to me.” He leant forward and brushed a kiss across Dreams lips.

Destiny lowered his book, a shadow of a smile gracing his features as he looked out to his garden from the bench he sat at in his realm. All was going how it should, and they were stronger for it. Hob made them stronger.

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