Dreamling Fic - Tumblr Posts

Dreamling Bingo 2023 Masterlist

Thank you so much to the @dreamlingbingo team for doing all the crazy work for this event!

Lil guide: ao3 is full works, usually minimum 1k words. Tumblr links are snippets or drabbles (one double drabble), two art fills that are [tagged], one nsfw fill thats also [tagged] that I greatly apologise for.

A1 - Sports Rivals: https://www.tumblr.com/beauty-of-nyx/724341516584222720

A2 - Panic Attack: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42339057/chapters/111521764

A3 - Loss of Power: https://www.tumblr.com/beauty-of-nyx/724341271133601792

A4 - Fusion: https://www.tumblr.com/beauty-of-nyx/724432409170526208

A5 - Gagged: https://www.tumblr.com/beauty-of-nyx/724384643141533696 [NSFW]

B1 - Compassion: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44137008

B2 - Mother is a creature: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43117123/chapters/111521569

B3 - Space Cruise: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44194588

B4 - Crossover (2+ Sources): https://archiveofourown.org/works/44758519

B5 - Turn over a new leaf: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45004402/chapters/113651104

C1 - Sports Commentator: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48777829

C2 - Secret Society: https://www.tumblr.com/beauty-of-nyx/724362174205771776

C3 - FREE SPACE: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48633028

C4 - Addams Family: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48650857

C5 - Grey Hair: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44195302

D1 - Technology Stops Working: https://www.tumblr.com/beauty-of-nyx/724363698536431616

D2 - Magical Pendant: https://www.tumblr.com/beauty-of-nyx/723274223048589312 [ART]

D3 - Spies: https://www.tumblr.com/beauty-of-nyx/724383812570710016

D4 - Fairy Tale: https://www.tumblr.com/beauty-of-nyx/724385519378759680 [ART]

D5 - Dance Team: https://www.tumblr.com/beauty-of-nyx/724361556046102528

E1 - Only one bed: https://www.tumblr.com/beauty-of-nyx/724340231278641152

E2 - Detective: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42988995/chapters/111521146

E3 - Fake Dating: https://www.tumblr.com/beauty-of-nyx/724429833405431808

E4 - Mind Control: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45004402/chapters/113237749

E5 - Interstellar War: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47421511

"A van Dyck," Dream drawled, dragging a light finger along the gilt frame of the painting propped on the top of one of Hob's shelves. Hob really should do something more formal with that. "Interesting thing to have in your living room, Hob."

"I tell people it's a print," Hob said, coming to stand beside him and handing him his tea.

"Oh, but it is not." There was a smirk dancing on Dream's lips, Hob knew without even looking at him directly.

"Makes sense that you'd be able to tell," he sighed.

"Of course. Just how did you come across such a thing?"

"Well, I was still mingling with the aristocracy in the early 17th century. Met some interesting people." He shrugged. "Really should have sold it when I was, well, destitute, but couldn't bear to. Managed to stash it away. One of the few things I have of that time, actually."

"I can only imagine you had more than one valuable thing in your possession over the centuries," Dream mused, sipping his tea. "Why this one?"

Oh, God. He knew, didn't he?

Hob rubbed at the back of his neck. "Reminded me of you."

Hob had never known much about art, particularly back then. He hardly would consider himself a collector and certainly not a connoisseur. But that particular portrait had caught his attention immediately for its similarity to Dream.

The likeness was, indeed, striking. His hair was longer than it had been when they'd met in 1589, sweeping over his shoulders, and his features were half-draped in shadow, but his eyes. Hob would know that haughty, intense gaze anywhere.

He'd never quite discounted the idea that it was a portrait of his stranger, except that he couldn't imagine him having the patience or cause to sit for it, or the desire to be immortalized in that way.

"It is me," said Dream.

"What? Seriously?" Hob turned to stare at him and found Dream already looking back, ethereal and lovely. There was only one lamp on in the living room, night falling around them, and it cast his face in a similar light to the portrait, soft gleaming skin and plunging darkness as backdrop, limitless shadow in his eyes. "You, allowing a portrait? You're not having me on?"

"I do not joke." Dream took a step closer to him, setting his tea aside on a table. "I suppose I must have been in good humor that day."

Hob raised both eyebrows. "Oh, uh-huh, you in good humor?"

Dream's lips ticked up in a half-smile. "It happens occasionally."

Hob leaned against the shelf, careful not to jostle the painting. "For someone who so disdains the waking world, you sure are very aware of the art scene."

Dream leaned beside him, tilting his head. "You might consider me a patron of the arts."

Hob chuckled. "A patron? Or an inspiration?" He reached out and dragged his thumb along Dream's lower lip. "Dream?"

"A lover of artists, perhaps."

"I'm sure." Hob swept a hand along his cheek, breaking up the light like he was dragging a wet brush through paint. "You look like you could have stepped right out of that painting right now. You could have stepped out of any painting."

Dream looked at him from under his lashes. "Are you calling me a work of art, Hob Gadling?"

"Always."

Then Hob kissed him, hands framing his beautiful face. Dream was like an artwork, constant in essence but changing interpretation in every new light. Hob could imagine how many people over the centuries had had a fleeting encounter with him and come away changed, just as he had.

Dream hovered near him when they parted. Hob looked over to the painting again. No mere depiction could capture Dream in all of his colors, but it really was a rather good try. Van Dyck had gotten the depth of his eyes just right.

"The Baroque period suits you," Hob told him.

"Now who knows something about art?"

"I've picked up a few things over the years. I'm in love with the world's greatest artist, after all."

Dream moved in as if to kiss him, but paused to speak against Hob's mouth. "There are other works of me out in the world, if you care to seek them out."

"Don't open that challenge because I will do it," Hob informed him, quite seriously.

"I hope so." There was a sharp gleam in Dream's eyes. Hob could only imagine what kinds of paintings might inspire that look. "I look forward to seeing what you find."

Safe in the Palm of Your Hand

Morpheus, King of Dreams and Nightmares, Dream of the Endless.

Lord Shaper.

For Dream, his body is not always a fixed thing. He would even go so far as to say that most of the time it is not a fixed thing. He is sand, so many countless pieces shifting under the lightest winds and the softest touches. His form changes based on how others see him, on how he sees himself, on how those two expectations interact, on whether one is stronger than the other or if a reasonable middle can be found.

Sometimes, though, he is sand in an hourglass (impenetrable glass, no wind, no air, no gentle touch to guide his form, motionless, frozen in his helplessness) and he doesn’t feel solid, he feels fragile. Breakable. Like the same soft touch and gentle wind will shatter him. In those moments, his expectations of himself will always outweigh anybody else’s.

And it is such today. His status as an Endless does not protect him from his own nightmares, not when they are his own memories, and on this day his body feels wrong. He does not feel like an Endless. He does not feel like a king, or a lord, or a person. Even months after escaping the Burgess Mansion, after regaining his power and repairing his realm, even now, he finds himself feeling… small. His form shudders and shivers and he feels weak, he feels like a vermin to be caught, a prey to be hunted and devoured, he feels dirty, unwanted, unloved, unsafe, small, small, small-

There is a mouse in Hob’s apartment.

He almost didn’t see it, was only alerted to something being amiss by the soft, frightened squeak when he opened his front door. Turning his head, he caught just a glimpse of a small shadow darting behind the old armchair in the corner. Closing the door behind him, Hob hums in surprise. Living above a pub, he’s never dealt with mice or other creatures in his home, most being more attracted to the kitchen and trash cans on the first floor before stumbling into the catch-and-release traps set around the property.

Sighing, he lets his bag fall from his shoulder onto the floor, resigned to his new task for the night. He can finish grading in the morning, once he’s dealt with his unexpected guest. Over the centuries he’s managed to overcome the instinctual disgust and fear at the sight of rodents, but that doesn’t mean he wants one running around his apartment. For a moment, he considers going back downstairs to get one of the traps from the kitchen, but he doesn’t want to give the small creature a chance to hide deeper in the apartment. Besides, he’s wily- he’s certain he can herd the mouse into a box and get it outside himself no problem.

There is a box next to the coffee table in the center of the room, full of papers and documents he’s been procrastinating on organizing, and he casually dumps the contents onto the floor as he approaches the armchair. He keeps his footsteps soft and slow, hoping not to spook the mouse into bolting. So far though, Hob hasn’t seen it since it darted into the corner. Kneeling carefully, he positions the box on its side in front of him, reaching out to move the chair to one side in an attempt to give the mouse only one direction to run.

The mouse doesn’t run.

Hob can’t help but furrow his brows sadly once he’s able to see it, huddled as far in the corner as it can get. For a moment he feels his heart clench in a way he doesn’t fully understand, something more than just general compassion for a small creature, and then he gasps as he realizes what he is looking at.

Two bright points of light emit from the mouse’s eyes.

“…Dream?” The name is less than a whisper on Hob’s breath.

He doesn’t receive an answer, but he doesn’t need one.

Since the stranger’s delayed return, he and Hob had seen each other several times, a surprising change in their relationship that Hob welcomed with open arms. After so many years, Hob was finally given answers to some of his countless questions, including a name, and a summary of what exactly his friend is. Dream had even been generous enough to visit Hob in his dreams once, and Hob still gets flutters in his stomach when he thinks of the bright stars of Dream’s eyes.

The box is quickly tossed aside and he crouches down farther. Dream had explained to him during one of their recent meetings that he was able to shapeshift (his explanation was far more detailed and complicated than that, but shapeshifting was the closest Hob’s human mind could get to understanding) and his heart cracks in his chest as he takes in the sight of his friend in a form he has never seen before; has never even imagined in relation to the Endless being.

Pitch black fur contrasts the bright white of his eyes, but the fur looks matted and thin, tiny ribs peeking under the skin, and he doesn’t know if mice can cry, but the fur looks wet and clumped around the eyes. A long thin tail is sickly pale, and Hob can see him trembling even through the rapid rise and fall of the tiny chest.

Dream is always so strong and untouchable in Hob’s mind, it’s jarring to see him so small and clearly frightened. He doesn’t know what happened- why Dream is in this form, why he’s here, but Hob doesn’t think there’s a force on Earth or off it that could stop him from reaching out to comfort.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he keeps his voice soft and gentle, afraid of frightening him further. Afraid of hurting the small, fragile ears. “Hey, I’m not gonna hurt you, you’re alright,” slowly, so slowly, Hob cups his hands and lowers them to the ground before his friend, “you’re safe here, can you come out? I just want to help.”

Still no response, unless you count Hob’s heart breaking more each moment he watches the mouse shake and shiver in the corner. Part of him wonders if he should leave Dream alone, but it feels too cruel, and Hob has always been one to trust his instincts when it comes to matters of the heart. And so, taking a deep, steadying breath, he cautiously moves to gently scoop the mouse into his palms.

It hurts more than he expected to actually feel tiny trembling paws against his skin, but Dream doesn’t run. In fact, he turns jerkily and tucks his little face against Hob’s fingers, curling into a ball as if trying to hide. He lets out a soft shushing sound, bringing his hands to his chest, cradling the mouse against his chest and making a shelter with his hands.

Dream isn’t sure how he got here either.

He had been feeling off kilter for days now, the weight that lived in his chest feeling more unbearable than usual. More and more he found his surroundings reacting to him; walls closing in and curving, clothes growing thinner and thinner, air becoming frigid and still. His lungs felt tight, desperate for breath he didn’t need, and then he caught his reflection and the glass shattered in response and he heard someone yell, maybe worried, maybe angry, angry, angry, and then he was gone.

When he lands, he knows he’s in a new form, but he can’t focus on it, too scared in a primal way he can’t identify. All he wants is to hide, it’s all his mind can hold on to, so when he hears a door open he runs. If he can just stay hidden, if he just avoids capture, maybe he’ll be able to pull himself together. But when he is found, his terror and sorrow are so great he freezes. He thinks he recognizes the man in front of him, even if he looks different being so much larger than him, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t ease his fear, his grief, his hopelessness. Dirty, unwanted, unloved, unsafe.

Dream feels small. Dream is small. So small and easy to hurt. He thinks maybe he always has been.

But…

But the hands don’t crush him. He is lifted slowly and then he finds himself… held. Not held down, not trapped, not caged. Even as one hand folds above him, there is no tension, and Dream feels certain he could escape if he wished too.

He does not wish to.

Hob’s hands are warm, so warm, and soft, and nothing like the cold hard glass of his memories. Dream finds himself curling up as he is cradled against his chest, soft fabric covering a strong chest that doesn’t scare him as much as it did a minute ago. Cupped against him like this, he feels ensconced in a gentle cave, the shadows beneath his hands a welcome peace against the thought of a hundred years of harsh light keeping him on display.

Slowly, his trembling body stills, curling up tighter and soaking in the warmth.

“There you are,” Hob coos, sitting on the couch, ever careful of his precious cargo. It is a great honor, he thinks, to hold an Endless in the palm of your hands. To be tasked with protecting something so valuable. Cautiously, he lays down, smiling as he sees the mouse curl deeper into his sweater, resting right over his heart. Hob keeps one hand cradling him, and brings the other up to pillow his own head against the arm of the couch. “Sorry if I scared you earlier,” he keeps his voice low, “wasn’t expecting company. But I meant it when I said you’re always welcome. I’m glad you came to me.”

Hesitantly, he moves one thumb to carefully stroke the matted black fur of Dream’s back. It almost looks like the mouse sighs, relaxing even further, and Hob grins.

Continuing his gentle petting, Hob does what he does best.

He talks.

He tells the little dream mouse about the annoying staff meeting he had, and his favorite and least favorite coworkers, and one of his friends who wanted Hob to start a karaoke night at the New Inn, and how he thinks in his next life he wants to buy a fixer-upper and do as much as he can with his own hands. He tells Dream the little mundane things that have made Hob think of him, and how he wants Dream to get a phone but he thinks his head would explode if Dream ever sent an emoji.

He talks, and the mouse relaxes more and more, no longer curled desperately tight, but burrowing comfortably into him, and Dream thinks that maybe being small isn’t as scary anymore if it means he can feel Hob’s heartbeat drum against his entire body.

Eventually, Hob’s hand goes limp above him, draped over Dream’s form like a weighted blanket, as Hob talks himself to sleep.

Dream is still small. Still fragile. But he is surrounded by Hob Gadling, by his warmth and his compassion and his love, and he realizes that all he wanted was to feel safe, and Hob managed to give him that and so much more.

When Hob awakes, it is to the sun shining through his living room window and Dream, his familiar, gangly, human-shaped Dream, laying across him with his head on his chest. Hob’s hand is resting on his wild black hair, as gentle with him now as he was the night before.

“Hi,” Hob’s voice cracks lightly as he wakes, but his grin is wide and bright when Dream turns to look at him.

“Hello.”

They’ll talk about it, later, after Hob has stretched the kinks out of his neck and has used his puppy eyes to convince Dream to eat some breakfast. Later, Hob will hold his hand and let Dream tell him fragmented details of where he’s been this past century, of what was done to him. He’ll stroke Dream’s back when he seems to shrink, stuttering and stumbling over words about how who he wants to be and who he’s supposed to be and who he’s been turned into all cut into who he is like broken glass. Dream will speak a lot about broken glass. Dream will speak a lot about being broken. Later, Hob will hold him and tell him that being hurt is not the same as being broken.

Later.

For now, Hob just smiles and gathers Dream in his arms, letting him rest his head back down to listen to his immortal heartbeat, happy for the heavy weight against his chest.

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

sandman hope!hob au Pandora's box

okay so we know DC follows Greek/roman mythology to a point right? so Pandora's box must exist, and we all know the story right? hope gets trapped in the box after Pandora opens it.

part 2

wordcount: 1551

hope!hob is trapped within this box for several millennia all alone, not even taunted by captors, just isolated in the dark and quiet watching as new awful things are born within the box. I imagine the box is opened by someone just before the age of heroes begins. a scorned lover pouring all the new horrid things directly into their cheating, abusive partner and catching a very small light before it enters their gaping chest cavity. they hold hope there, magically closing the wound and sealing their lover into an endless void, outside of time’s realm condemning them to live forever in never ending pain. they do all this with one hand, carefully holding hope, they take his small form outside and whisper into their hand

“do something worthwhile with this freedom, any god out there knows we need you” the words are washy and weak “and if you cannot find the strength to do it all yourself, bless people to inspire you within the minds of the rest of us”

they open their hand and hob’s little light form takes off to see just how the world got on without him. not well obviously, a world with no hope is desolate and cold. hope goes back to his realm to call on his sister death to catch him up, and she tells him she knows just the person to do just that.

Morpheus has been around a long time. he was born after Pandora opened the box and the only word the people of his village called him was hopeless. this was not a surprise of course, hope was not where he was supposed to be, but the rest of the children still seemed to want to live. Morpheus however made it seem like a chore. he went through the motions as they came and did nothing more or less. he was a thing of beauty though, his demeanor didn’t stop suitors from pursuing him. they all did their best but none of them ever seemed to interest him. he even caught the eye of a king who gifted him a ruby necklace saying it popped against his pale skin and dark hair. Morpheus did not particularly want to keep it but his parents had insisted he keep it and marry the king anyway.

and so he did.

he was not particularly fond of his husband, but he didn’t dislike him. the marriage and his husband were just another motion. the grounds of his husband's kastro were vast and stretched for miles and ended in cliffs that Morpheus found himself standing before at the end of the many walks he took in a day. one particular evening, when the winds were stronger that usual, he found himself lingering at the cliff’s edge a bit longer and a bit closer than he normally would, and so had someone else

“are you going to jump?”

to say the voice had startled him would be incorrect, it had simply shifted his focus. the woman who the voice belonged to was dressed in a fine ebony cloth and a very simple necklace with a strange symbol he could not place, and her skin was just as pale as his, if someone had seen them together they might’ve thought they were siblings, still Morpheus did not especially care who she was or what she was doing here but answered her nonetheless

“no, but would it really matter if i did?”

“what does it matter? you know, most people have some sort of emotion towards the prospect of dying.”

“i suppose they do, don’t they? i don’t see why though, it’s going to happen whether they want it to or not”

“they probably see the beauty, or in some cases pain, that life has to offer” Morpheus tilted his head and thought for a moment before looking back at the woman

“perhaps life has nothing to offer me, nothing of value anyway” he said starting his way back to the kastro past the woman dressed in black. he had already gotten past her as she cocked her head and called back to him

“you know how you said it happens whether one wants it to or not?” he stopped and turned back to her

“yes, what of it?”

“it’s not going to happen to you”

“what?” she turned to face him once more

“you aren’t going to die, whether you want to or not. you are going to watch as life progresses and evolves into something you, at this moment, could never even fathom.” she beamed, before he could question her further one of the servants called his name, it was late and the king wanted him back in the kastro, he called back saying he’d be in soon, but when he turned to face her, she was gone.

now, hundreds of thousands of years later, as he stands in the entrance to his home, standing in the living room, the woman is before him once more for the second time. her clothes match the days casual fashion just as they had before, all black and very simple with the same necklace. the man next to her, however, is wearing clothes that fit with the first outfit he has at the very bottom of a trunk in his attic. a long pale yellow tunic with white underneath with traditional sandals. his hair reaches just above his shoulders and his head seems to have a faint gold glow around it. he's looking around at the shelves of books, movies and various musical mediums with awe before moving on to the trinkets and sculptures scattered around.

"I don't believe I introduced myself the last time we met" she pipes up drawing Morpheus's attention away from the man

"you did not." he confirms as he sets his bag down and hangs his coat "you also left quite suddenly" he adds as he takes off his shoes

"yes I did" she laughs "I'm here to rectify one of those things, I am death of the endless and this," she pauses to pull the man behind her to her side "is my brother, hope" the man smiles "and I have a favor to ask of you"

morpheus tilts his head "a favor, why would i do you a favor?"

"its not really for me, its for him" she says pushing him forward a bit

"he doesn't have to do anything for me if he doesn't want to" he says to her before turning to Morpheus "you really don't, I can figure it out by myself, sister I can figure it out on my own this really isn't necessary" his motions are slightly sporadic

"figure what out?" he asks walking to the kitchen thinking about what type of drink to get for his guests.

"you don't have to worry about it, it-"

"my brother hasn't been able to reach this realm for quite awhile, he needs someone to catch him up on what he's missed" death interrupts with a smile "and I thought who better than someone whos been around the longest?" she asks as she follows him to the kitchen

Morpheus ponders this for a moment 'what he's missed?' he pops his head out of the kitchen to take another look at hope 'based on his clothes he's probably never had hot chocolate' he thinks as he goes back in to start gathering the various types of chocolate from his pantry and put some milk on the stove.

"if I were to help him. what would I have to do? just give him the internet, could he just absorb the information?" he questions as he cuts up a chocolate bar.

"internet? what's an internet?" hope asks panicked "can it catch me? is it magic?"

"no hope, no, nononononono, it cant catch you" she reassures him "its like destiny's book but, um, well its hard to explain but its not a net, it cant catch you" she puts her hands on his shoulders and quietly says "no one is going to catch you again I promise. I wont let them"

'catch him again? where was he?' he thinks as he stops cutting 'who caught him?'

"okay no internet"

"no internet"

"i guess, i could just, i dont know, tell him stories?" morpheus suggests pouring the chocolate into the milk and stirring

"stories sound nice, i'd like to hear stories." hope says in a small voice

"you're gonna need some new clothes though," he says pouring the hot chocolate in a cup "tunics aren't exactly in style anymore. here I think you'll like this" he says handing it to hope, watching his reaction as his face lights up. like actually lights up. well not his face per say, but the light around his head.

"this is delightful! what is it?" hope beams (literally) looking into his cup

"you may not have been around but you still live within their souls, if ever so slightly. they are never truly free of you, hope" death says leaning over the counter. "anyway. hope, when Morpheus lights this candle it means he's ready to tell you a story. okay?" he nods "alright lets get you bac to your realm" "okay :)" and with that they're gone.

"..."

"I didn't even really agree" Morpheus says, holding the candle.

n e ways i hope the four people who see this and also read through all of it like it! thank you for reading!

part 2 of my hope!hob Pandora's box au

part 1 part 3

word count: 2079

Morpheus picks the candle up and rolls it in his hand, examining it. it's not really anything special, just a yellow prayer candle. The glass is completely blank showing off the candle completely. He runs his fingers over the smooth glass considering putting something on it, like a sticker or something. Does he even have any stickers? Does hope even like stickers? Does he know what stickers are? He shakes the thoughts from his head and instead thinks about what story to tell. He'd thought about it a lot over the past few days. He's lived so long. How could he possibly choose where to start? Would hope have some sort of request?

he eventually decides to just light it, maybe his audience will inspire him and everything will work itself out once hope is here. Morpheus grabs a match and lights the candle and for a moment, everything is still. Morpheus looks around not seeing anything change and wonders if he did what he was supposed to. Maybe he was supposed to light it on an altar? Moving to a small table in his living room, he notices all the lights in his house are getting noticeably brighter until he has to set the candle down on the little table and cover his eyes from the blinding light. He keeps his face covered until he can tell the light has died down. When he uncovers his eyes he sees hope looking at him with a confused look.

"why were you covering your face?" he asks as Morpheus blinks away the floaters from hopes entrance

"your entrance was very bright" he says rubbing his eyes "if i hadn't it would have caused some serious damage to my eyes"

"oh I'm so sorry" hope apologizes stepping back and pulling his hands seemingly into his chest "I didn't know I'll try not to do it next time" he says looking down.

"It's alright, I doubt you can help it" Morpheus says turning back to the little table kneeling "next time I'll just close my eyes and face the wall after I light the candle." he assures hope as he clears the table of its previous inhabitants.

"What are you doing?" Hope asks, peering over his shoulder.

"I'm making a specific space for your candle." He explains picking up the candle to wipe down the table. He doesn't notice the endless' start to glow behind him.

"like.. an, alter?" hope inquires expectantly. no one had ever made HIM an alter before, it was always for some lesser being, made to syphon from him through a god or deity, he could feel it while he was in the box. he felt the faint pull in his chest, the construction and destruction of temples and altars made for others in an attempt to reach him through them. to have an altar made with specifically him in mind, well, it was... flattering.

"Yeah, an altar. seems like the most efficient way to do this, to get you caught up when I'm busy. I can just leave you things and you can examine them to learn about the current state of the world." he explains, dusting off his hands and standing up "does seem a little bland right now though huh? I don't think my darker colors really match your candle though, gonna have to go out and get some white and gold stuff." he adds examining the bare 'alter' with nothing but a candle, 'hardly counts as an alter right now though'

Morpheus turns to face hope, noticing he's still wearing a tunic. "how about instead of a story we can go get you a new wardrobe and some stuff for your altar?" he suggests looking hope up and down "you'll have to change though, i think my clothes will fit you"

"i- i mean- yeah, sure, sounds fun." Hob can feel himself falling through the words, first the mortal makes him an altar then offers to not only buy him clothes but choose things for his altar? He stands there lost in thought for a moment until the aforementioned mortal speaks to him once more.

"Also, will you stay here if I snuff the candle? I don't want to waste it." he asks handing him a set of completely black clothes 'he doesn't want to waste it' hob thinks with a smile. "yes I will, is there a room I can change in?" after Morpheus helps him to the bathroom and leaves hope to change, he snuffs the candle and makes a small list of the things he knows he has to get:

gold tablecloth

white lace runner

small offering tray

one (1) nice outfit for hope

they'd have to go somewhere nearby, hope doesn't seem like he'd be too keen on travelling by anything other than foot. Luckily there's a small boutique and second hand store nearby where they should be able to get everything. hob walks out with the clothes slightly askew and holding a pair of shoes.

"I do not know how to put these on," he says, raising them slightly higher. Morpheus looks up from his list surveying hope in his clothes.

"I probably should've helped you, apologies" he says adjusting the clothes slightly "but you managed to get the socks on so overall I'd say this is a success" he declares, motioning for hope to sit down on the couch. as soon as he does Morpheus kneels to help hope with the shoes

"Will the clothes we get me today look like this?" Hope asks as he watches Morpheus tie the left shoe.

"no, were going to get you something nicer, these clothes are just easy to take off and put on" he explains tying the right shoe "makes the whole process of clothes shopping easier" he sighs looking up "ready to go?" he asks standing up, hope nods. "alright let's go then."

the shops truly aren't that far. a ten minute walk at best. They don't talk much as Morpheus is too lost in thought and hope is too enamoured by the advancements of civilization, so enamoured in fact that he almost gets hit by a car. If Morpheus hadn't pulled him back onto the sidewalk at the last second he would've been very uncomfortable. He takes a minute to process what's going on and notices he is very close to Morpheus, almost burrowed into his chest with his arms wrapped around him. and Morpheus is so very comfortable and warm with the long coat he has on an-

"Okay" the word cuts through Hob's thoughts like a xiphos as Morpheus backs up to look him in the eyes and holds out his hand "take my hand."

"why?" If hob were human he'd say he could feel the blood rushing to his face as his eyes widened. but he's not human so he could soundly tell you  that he was glowing slightly.

"So you don't go, somehow unknowingly, stepping into oncoming traffic." he explains as he holds his hand up a little higher, hob takes it and they continue on their way.

Morpheus wouldn't say he was out of his depth when it came to clothes shopping, he just didn't buy color very offten. All of his clothes were various shades of black and dark grey with a few lighter greys (to which his students never failed to make a comment along the lines of 'busting out the spring collection I see' ) but looking at hope in his clothes... well he just didn't look right in black. but trying to figure out what base color to start with was tricky. black was out of the picture but yellow seemed too strong to use as a base. Eventually he settled on a white button up to layer with some sort of sweater. Maybe that's where the yellow could come in? He could worry about that in a moment, he should deal with the rest of the outfit first then the rest of the layers. He looked over all his options, made some choices and measured them against hope to get the right size and sent him to try them on and went looking for some layers. Maybe a blue sweater? but then the colors would-

"professor galanis?" uh oh "what are you doing here? its for sure not your style.'' This much was very true, though he hadn't expected to run into any of his students so he absolutely did not come up with a cover story.

"well, i-"

"hey, could you help me with this?'' The students' eyes go wide and Morpheus can't tell if the interruption is a blessing or curse but goes to help nonetheless. After defeating the buttons he hands hope a couple sweaters to try on and turns around to see his student still standing there.

"sorry about that I-"

"don't even worry about it sir." she says with a smile "sorry for interrupting your … outing." he’s going to get so many questions on Monday "i'll just-"

"actually, could you help me?" he will never hear the end of them "I'm not much of a color person and I need to pick out some accessories"

her eyes light up and she smiles wider "of course sir, i wasn't planning on buying anything anyways"

They spend far more time in the store than Morpheus had planned and by the end of the trip Hope has several outfits with accessories to match. The outfit he's wearing to replace Morpheus's clothes consists of a pair of cuffed blue jeans, a pale yellow sweater over a white button up, a string of fake pearls and a pair of converse.

"Thank you Ms. Tarcey," he says as they start heading out.

"no problem Mr. g, I came out to window shop and this was way more fun!" she says, opening the door.

"I'm sure it was," he says with a laugh "to show my gratitude, I'm willing to give you full marks on the writing assignment I know you haven't started." he offers as they get to the street watching as her eyes go wide and mouth falls open. "Now this is a one time thing. I will not offer this if you help me again." he warns, grabbing Hope's hand before he can run down the sidewalk to follow a dog.

"sir you have no idea how much that helps me" she mumbles, face still in total shock.

"I actually do," he quips. "have a good evening Ms. Tarcey. I'll see you Monday" he says leading hope to the secondhand store across the street.

"who was that?" hob asks once they're in the store.

"one of my students." Morpheus says inspecting a tablecloth. "I teach creative writing" he clarifies, putting the tablecloth back and picking up another. "What do you think of this one?" he asks, handing the fabric to hope.

The cloth is a rich yellow with a light shine, when the light hits it, shifting it reveals a pattern akin to Victorian woodwork, hob doesn't know that of course but he thinks it's beautiful anyways. He looks over to Morpheus who is carefully inspecting other tablecloths and table runners. hob notes how sharp his facial features are, how … elegant … they look. Morpheus turns back to him and he shakes the notion from his head.

"so..?"

"huh? oh, OH, yes i like it, it's perfect" hob chastises himself over how the words come out and picks up a thin lace table runner and pretends to examine it to keep his eyes from wandering. "this one's nice isn't it?"

"mm" he agrees silently, taking it from hob’s hand  and putting it in the small basket on his arm and walking towards a different part of the store. As he's following a small dish catches hob’s eye, well it's not really a dish, it's a scallop shell with a castle on a hill painted in blue on the inside and the edges are painted gold. He carefully turns it over in his hand examining it closely.

"Do you like it?"

Hob turns and sees Morpheus is behind him looking over his shoulder "oh yes, isn't it cool?" he beams, staring into morpheus's very.. pretty.. pale blue.. eyes.

"It is very pretty," he says, taking it from Hope's hand, examining it himself for a moment before gently putting it in the basket. "lets go check out." he says with a small smile and hob glows a tad.

part 3 of my hope!hob Pandora's box au

part 1 part 2

word count: 1317

Once they got through the door of his apartment, Morpheus hung up his keys, sat the various bags by the door and started towards the kitchen. "I'm gonna make us some tea, do you have a preference?"

"what do you have?" hope asked heading to the living room to look at all the things morpheus had strewn around in there, morpheus noted the way he held every item as if they were the most important and delicate things in the world with wonder on his face, as if he could see something morpheus, the owner of said items, could pointedly NOT see. he's been staring too long. open the cabinet, this is ridiculous, he is far beyond your comprehension "uh, I’ve got black, green, chamomile, raspberry, jasmine, lavender, lemon, hibiscus, and rose" saying the list outloud made morpheus feel like he had to much until he heard hope scurrying towards the kitchen ending with him bracing himself on the door frame with a (very bright) look of joy on his face.

"They made tea out of roses?" He said it so softly and full of awe, as if the very thought of such a thing existing put the world in a new light, and technically it did, there was a delicate glow radiating off of hope, drenching his apartment in warm light that he could almost feel his possessions absorbing. looking back at hope, and subsequently in his eyes, morpheus could see... something, he wasn't sure what but there was definitely something there.

"yes, they did" he said still holding the cabinet open and nodding slowly "would you like some?" hope smiled and nodded his head quickly "would like honey and sugar in it?" somehow hope got even brighter as he nodded.

Hob watched morpheus as he made tea, he noted how every move he made was graceful and precise, he made it seem like this kitchen was a stage, and with that ruby around his neck it seemed like he was in costume. the ruby was large, larger than any jewels he had seen people on the street wearing while they were out, it was also set differently than them too, older maybe?

"Where'd you get that ruby?" he asked walking a little closer

"hm?" looking up from the cup of tea and turning to him "oh, my husband gave it to me before we got married." he said handing hope the tea.

"you're married?" hob could feel his light dimming.

"Oh no, that was a very very long time ago. He's been dead a long time" he sighed as he walked back to the kitchen to make his own cup of tea.

"do you miss him?" had he been human hob would’ve said that the words caught in his throat and tore it up and he didn't know why. but he's not human so he won't say that.

"no, not really" he said without looking up from his cup "i didn't really want to marry him in the first place"

"Then why'd you marry him?" his not-a-throat is fine now.

"my parents wanted me to, and i didn't really have anything else going on so..." the nonchalance and the dismissive hand wave he had when he said this baffled hope, it was as if he was talking about going to the market with someone who was already planning to go to the market, not MARRYING SOMEONE.

"could you tell me about him?" Hope asked, sipping his tea and sitting down on the couch.

"you really want to hear about that?" he asked, sitting down on an armchair "it's really not that interesting."

"Well you still need to tell me a story, you haven't told me one yet!" he said eagerly, leaning forward. "you don't have to talk about just him, you can tell me about your family, your village, how you met my sister? because how DID you meet her? let me hear about your life before you tell me about everyone else's."

"al-alright um," he said shifting in his seat "well, let's start with my family i suppose"

Morpheus talked about his village, and how everyone knew everyone, the feuds, the loves, the market and the woman who sold the best oranges and how she saved a few just for him every week. about the old story teller in the square that everyone thought was crazy and the stories he'd heard from him. how his mother made fish at the solstices. how he didnt know the people of his village very well, just all their problems that came up in the gossip, which he also talked about. He talked about how they spoke of him, calling him 'hopeless' and the distance they kept from him.

He talked of how he met his husband. He talked of their wedding, about life living in his husband's kastro and how he felt like he was just there to be a pretty face to walk the halls. He talked of the kastro staff and their gossip, about the night he met death. how his life went after that, the worship in the beginning (which he was not fond of), the way they hunted him eventually. he talked of each life and each name he lived their virtues and vices and pointed to the various items around the room while he did so, mere scraps to hold entire lives in his hands.

By the time he stopped talking, the sun had set and the moon was high. Hope's tea was gone and morpheus's tea was cold and long forgotten in the cup he held.

“ah” he sighed “looks like i’ve kept you nearly long enough to see apollo again,” he placed his cup on the side table “suppose that will have to do for now, i’ve got to be getting ready for work.” he said as he started getting up.

it was a strange thing, to see hope scurry, this time at least, earlier, well yesterday really, the scurry held wonder and well, hope, this scurry however, was different it was more, oh what’s the word? that’s the problem with being a writer (and knowing far more languages than any man should really need to but that is beside the point) there’s to many words in your head, they get all mixed up. “can’t i come with you? i love to see what you teach!” morpheus contemplated it for a moment ‘it would help him underst- Hazel Tarcey has class today and i'd never hear the end of it' morpheus sucked in a breath "perhaps another time, i have to... conduct a mid... semester... check in." he desperately (was that the word he was looking for?) hopes that was at all convincing "i'd hate to have my students fall behind." hes smiles, around 700 a.d. he figured out that if he smiled after a lie people seemed to believe him, he wasn't sure why. He ALSO learned to use it sparingly around the 1500s. it was rather bothersome being hanged, always left a large bruise on his neck (for weeks!) and he'd always have to play dead until nightfall.

"oh..! alright. well..." hope looked down at his feet then the rest of the room "is there... something i could..." Hope looked at him briefly then looked away again "never mind!" Hope laughed, morpheus tilted his head. "Just, light the candle when you've got another story for me!" Hope was smiling, but Morpheus wasn't sure it was really, he'd alway had trouble with that. "Okay, well... i'll see y, i'll... call? no that's not it... flame? absolutely not. I'll light the candle, see you later." with a hand wave he was off to his room, words the damned things.

Hob stood alone in the room. He didn't want to leave. "okay.. bye" he waved to no one. and dissipated as a sun beam from the sunrise filled the room.

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