#hope!hob au

[olive-gardens-breadstick]

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.

TAG LIST: (its been so long im sorry)

@apples-no-oranges

@ehzrii-aerii

@s0ul4rsblog

[alexxuun]

[Hope AU/ role reversal] A familiar face.

Hope is such a silly man. He’s just trying to do his job and accidentally created a religion instead. He was hoping Morpheus wouldn’t find out…

[nynevefromthelake]

So the medieval au that is also Hope!Hob au. Morpheus is a medieval king who suffers under the burden of his responsibilities, crumbling marriage and the loss of his only child. And when he is very close to give up he meets a mysterious stranger who brings a glimpse of hope to his life

And in the end Morpheus becomes immortal, they fake his death and travel together forever helping and inspiring people. And maybe Morpheus’s new personality is a bard named Dream

[dogrom]

Hope Hob! But in present day!

WE HAVE SECOND SEASON YEAAAAH

[nathanwonderwolf]

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

[teejaystumbles]

Happy Halloween! It's the last day of October and the last bingo square for the Monsterfucktober Bingo finished - "science gone wrong"!! 👻🧟🥰

I couldn't help writing a little story for this - find it under the cut! Thanks to @valiantstarlights for the idea of Hob reacting to Dream's voice!

Morpheus looked at his new creation and frowned at the mismatched skin tones of the shoulder and leg. He had tried to keep most of the man’s body parts but the left knee had been so badly crushed that he had rather used a whole different limb than try and repair or exchange the joint. It would make for much smoother maintenance than having to deal with an inserted knee joint that was much more prone to infection or damage. The upper left arm had also been badly damaged in the accident that led to the man’s death - well, near-death. His brain waves had been declared too shallow to warrant any actual activity. The man had had no family, and no friends had come forward or visited. The man had carried a donor card, though, and so, with no one to protest, he had been quietly shuffled into Morpheus’ lab with little fanfare. Morpheus knew that what his employers did to obtain his materials wasn’t strictly legal but he tried not to think too much about it. He was being paid very handsomely to do his research, and not just in theory.

He was very satisfied with this new try. It was only his second finished work, having been commissioned after the Corinthian was a sounding success - well, mostly. He huffed and set about disinfecting the needle he had used to close up the throat of the man. His employers had had only one complaint about the Corinthian-

He talks too much, and he talks back. No need to include capacity for speech in the next one, Doctor.

Morpheus looked at the young man’s handsome face and sighed. “I would have liked to hear your voice. I’m sorry.”

He turned around and switched on the life support to see if everything ran smoothly. While he cleaned up the lab there was only the quiet whooshing sound of the respirator. He knew it took time for the subject to come back to life. He would probably have to use the defibrillator to really get it going-

A sudden loud beep from the heart monitor made him jump and turn around.

The man was sitting up and staring at him. He’d removed the respirator mask and slowly pulled off the ECG monitoring electrodes. His eyes were wide and milky, not yet able to see. It was a condition the Corinthian had never recovered from - in the end Morpheus had given him bionic eyes. With this new subject he had hope that the original eyes of the man whose body he had used would recover once a steady circulation had been achieved. (They had been the most gorgeous brown eyes Morpheus had ever seen after Calliope left him and he hadn’t been able to switch them for bionic ones straight from the start.)

“That was fast. Good- Good morning,” he said, stunned at the man’s fast return to waking. Morpheus grabbed his recorder and switched it on. “Subject 002, Working title “Hope”, Day 62 - subject has awoken after life support was activated. No respirator necessary, it seems. Subject is alert and- hey, hey, what are you doing? Take it easy!”

He dropped the recorder as the man suddenly stood up from the metal table and stepped towards him, only stumbling once on the unfamiliar leg. Before Morpheus could stop him the man had boxed him in against his lab desk. Morpheus felt several papers shuffled and bottles getting pushed over by his elbows as he tried to keep his distance but the man nearly crushed him against the edge of the table. He smiled down at Morpheus, unseeing eyes still focused on him, and hummed. Morpheus gasped, shocked at this unusual display of coordination and force so soon after waking up. He needed to keep up the subject’s emotional balance, he needed to give positive feedback to not induce a backlash or violent reaction to an unfamiliar situation. The Corinthian had taught him that.

“You’re, you’re doing really well. This- this is great. Very good,” he praised, heart hammering, trying his best to keep his voice low and soothing.

Subject 002, “Hope”, grinned happily.

[mayhemspreadingguy]

How did this happen? @cuubism came up with the incredibly enticing idea to put Dream in the black leather pants. Then @magnusbae dutifully passed this brainrot into my brain. Brainstorming this was so so wild :D.

tiredly stretching in the classroom...

also, after I finished this drawing the pose reminded me of that one Flashdance scene (the chair dance with... the water 😳)

how is he able to squat like that in the skintight thick-leather pants? how did he even put those on in the first place? - and no zippers??

who knows, who knows xD

[watercubebee]

Sandtober

Day 6 - Golden

Ft. Hope Hob

Lfnwkdk

Yeeeeeaaaaáahhhhhhh 💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼

Now in 3d

[ibrithir-was-here]

Some late night Sandman fluff (and tiny bit of angst) for ya’ll

[twottie-m8]

I like to think that in the hope au (or at the very least my version of it) Hope and Morpheus would have had more frequent meetings than just every century, that is until "The Jesus Incident" in which our good friend Hope makes one slip-up after another and trips his way into trouble only a faked death could (kinda) solve

[issylra]

DREAMLING AU ↳ the storms of life by @teejaystumbles

[olive-gardens-breadstick]

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.

[alexxuun]

Hope AU✨ featuring Hob as Hope of the Endless.☀️

[wyvernquill]

Another Dreamling Anastasia AU Snippet

So, this AU somehow gained some new traction over the past few days, and I remembered I still had this in my drafts! It's a direct continuation from the last post - the first time their paths cross, though I think I'll save their actual first conversation (already written!) for the next part. Mostly a lot of background and exposition, but I hope it'll be enjoyable nonetheless! Thanks everyone for your enthusiasm for this AU!!!

(Masterpost here!)

(Tag list, let me know if you want to be added or taken off: @10moonymhrivertam @martybaker @globglobglobglobob @anonymoustitans @sunshines-fabulous-legs @dreamsofapiratelife @malice-royaume @kcsandmanfan @acedragontype @okilokiwithpurpose @tharkuun @silver-dream89 @i-write-stories-not-sins-bitch)

(I don't know why it just won't let me do the proper tag sometimes... I hope the people Tumblr refuses to let me tag will see the post anyway, I'm very sorry...)

---

There is a fight just about to break loose at the White Horse Inn.

It will happen because of a man; a pale, stick-thin skinny thing of a man, barely more than an ashen, grimy face under a mop of coal hair balanced on top of a ragged black coat, loitering close to the fireplace and trying not to be too obvious about soaking up its warmth. At his feet, half hidden beneath the torn hem-line of his coat, there is a bird, some sort of corvid, following the other guests - and their purses in particular - with its beady little eyes.

The bird’s master is watching, too, watching the inn’s staff collect coins and shove them into their pockets, watching the plates and bowls of food being carried about, hungry, starving-

And then he’s noticed watching, a barmaid muttering a word or two to the innkeep over by the beer caskets - and the moment the man’s eyes find the stranger, they narrow.

And in turn, the moment the stranger notices the hostile eyes on him, he seems to brace himself, something feral in the way his lips draw back from his teeth as the innkeep makes a beeline for him through the crowded pub.

Words are exchanged.

Words are exchanged, loudly.

An arm is grabbed - and the bird jumps up with an angry caw, beating its wings at the innkeep’s face, and the scullery boy runs over to help, as does the burliest of the barmaids.

(There’s that fight now.)

The stranger shouts and scratches and twists as he is dragged through the common room, towards the door, growling profanities in a hoarse, dark voice, while his bird squawks, wrapped in the scullery boy’s apron.

It’s a right mess, but perhaps not an unusual one - the White Horse makes quick work of unruly drunkards (and those who are here to pilfer money rather than spend it), and even as some guests are following the fight in fascination and with half a mind to join in just for the pleasure of throwing a punch, most of their clientele barely spares them a look. Soon, the stranger will be cast out into the cold and the night again, far away from the warmth of a fireplace, or the smell of food, or opportunities for thievery. Nothing special. Soon, it will be just a quiet evening, like any other…

If it weren’t for the fact that, over in the far corner, a familiar man, and a familiar something-altogether-else still managing a rather sound impression of one, have been nursing their drinks for a good hour already, trying to drown their failures in ale.

(The humans have robbed Destiny of his powers, torn his realm from him, burned his book - but destiny still shapes the lives of mortals and immortals alike; and it is that power, which makes Robert Gadling look up from the sad remains of his beer, and, for just a fraction of a second, lock eyes with the vagabond currently in the process of being removed from the premises.

That is enough.

With just one look, the wheels of fate are already set in motion, and our story can begin in earnest.)

"Hey, Gil." Hob nudges Gilbert's arm, not taking his eyes off the struggling, furious stranger. "Over there. Look."

"Hm?" Gilbert blinks owlishly, following Hob's nod to the commotion behind him. "Oh, yes, yes. Ghastly, isn't it? Disgraceful, that some hoodlums cannot conduct themselves in public houses with the appropriate decorum - in my days, I tell you, when the Endless were still-"

"No, look!" Hob cuts him off. "The hoodlum. Look at him, really look."

"Hrmmm," Gilbert makes a sound of polite displeasure, and fiddles with his circular little glasses, peering through them and across the room, where the haggard stranger is spitting abuse at the innkeep even as he is in the process of being shoved out of the door.

And then, "oh, good lord!" Gilbert gasps, and drops his glasses.

"You see it too, then?"

"I… yes. Gracious, yes. Like a ghostly apparition." Gilbert gropes for his glasses with one hand, eyes never leaving the stranger. "The physical resemblance - most uncanny. A good deal more malnourished and, ah… rather grimy, it seems… and yet, overall…"

"A dead ringer for Dream of the Endless, isn't he?" Hob finishes, nodding. “Better than any of the men that auditioned for us, certainly.”

“Heaven help,” Gilbert’s voice is weak with emotion, “even knowing it isn’t him, I feel like… ah, Robert, if he were only given a bath, some better garb… it would be as if His Lordship walked again!”

“Would be?” Hob’s grin is bright and hungry, like a hunting dog smelling his prey, as he pushes himself up from his seat. “Will be!”

“-and if I see either you or yer blasted bird thievin’ in here again," the innkeep snarls, tossing first the haggard stranger, and then a squawking bundle of black feathers, out into the snow. “I’m callin’ the coppers! Y’hear?”

The word the stranger spits back, gathering all his limbs and his dark coat around himself as he staggers to his feet and off into the night, is so filthy even Hob would blush upon saying it. A bit rough around the edges, this man, not exactly the model of a fairytale king - but such things can be taught, can’t they. Hob’s seen a production of Shaw’s Pygmalion, years ago, and if Higgins can make a fine lady out of a flower girl, then Hob and Gil can make a Dream Lord out of some vagabond.

“Begging your pardon, good man.” Hob leans against the doorframe, watching the stranger’s dark shape angrily stomp off through the snow, bird hopping along at his side. “Howsabout this, a shilling for anything you can tell me about the man you just tossed out of your establishment.”

“Whot, Murphy!?” The innkeep blinks. 

Holds out his hand.

Hob dutifully deposits one of his last few shillings in it.

“Thank you kindly, sir, much obliged.” A tip of the hat, and the coin disappearing in the innkeep’s pocket. “Murphy’s one of the local beggars. A filthy thief, too, and no mistake. He’s trained that raven of his into it - heard the city even pays him some little pittance to control the birds in the area! They wouldn’t do it if they knew what he was doing with ‘em. I don’t like seein’ him around the Horse, not with the trouble he’s causing. Stealing leftover scraps from tables I can forgive, might even give him a full meal now and then in the name of charity - but if he goes for the pockets of my regulars, the regulars don’t come back, understand? Can’t have that.”

“Course not.” Hob agrees readily. “Bad for business, a pickpocket.”

“Just so, sir. He’s been in the London area for… oh, eight, nine, maybe ten years? Hasn’t got a trade, not very willing to do an honest day’s work in any case, can’t hold down a job for the life of him as a result. Still thinks himself better than the rest o’ us, anyway. I’d leave him alone, if I were you - he’s vicious as all Hell, bit the kitchen boy once and the lad needed to get his arm stitched up afterwards. And that raven - the thing’s a demon, swear to God. A familiar, like witches have. If we were livin’ in a less civilised age, they’d’ve strung old Murphy up for witchcraft and devilry years ago!”

Hob hums thoughtfully. “Do you know if he has fallen in with that crowd? Not idle hearsay, mind, but facts. There’s still some men in London who practise the Old Arts, does he meet with them?”

(Hob has heard that the old Magus of Wych Cross died perhaps a year or two after his greatest accomplishment; for all his powers that tore Endless spectres from their lofty thrones, in the end he couldn’t defend himself against his own son finally snapping, smothering him in his sleep, and running off with the gardener. Good riddance to the old goat, in Hob’s opinion - but he had a good handful of supporters in every major city, and they can’t all have died with him.)

The innkeep takes his time answering, staring out into the softly-falling snow.

“...not that I know of, sir.” He finally says, cautiously. “He doesn’t meet with anyone, really, ‘xcept the birds. Solitary type, is our Murphy, with no family, and no-one to miss him if he freezes himself to death some night. But.”

A pause.

“There’s something wrong about that man, if you ask me. He has a look in his eyes… whatever it is, it’s not natural. Might be magic. Might be madness. I really couldn’t say.”

“I see.” Gears are turning in Hob’s head, puzzle pieces slotting into place, plans unfolding.

A man sleeping rough, with nobody to miss him or know much of him, fierce and angry and constantly on the brink of starvation, looking just like Dream. A diamond in the rough, and quite possibly desperate enough to actually agree to their mad plan just for a few weeks of guaranteed food and a roof over his head.

Dear God. He’s perfect.

“One more question, about Murphy.” Hob beams, half-giddy. “Where do you think I could find him, say… tomorrow?”

The innkeep’s eyebrows rise up into his hair.

“Can’t see why you’d ever want to,” he mutters into his beard. “But very well. On your head be it.”

He names a nearby small park, where Murphy often goes to feed his birds, and is rewarded for it with another tuppence; and then Hob saunters back to his and Gil’s table, already feeling like he can almost taste the promise of eternal life on the tip of his tongue.

(“We cannot know for certain that he will agree, Robert. He sounds like a most prideful young man - he is much like His Lordship in that regard as well, I suppose.”

“Oh, he’ll agree. I’ve been where he is, Gil, and there were times I would’ve sold my own mother to the devil for a warm meal and a bed to sleep in. Not that the devil would’ve taken the old bat even if I’d paid him, of course, but it’s the principle of the thing.”

“That hardly makes it much better. We’d be taking advantage of the poor man’s unfortunate situation!”

“Everyone’s situation is unfortunate these days. And we’d be improving his, on the whole, along with ours.”

“Let it be noted, dear fellow, that I am voicing my ethical and moral quandaries.”

“I really don’t think our plan to scam the Endless is very ethical in the first place, Gil.”

“...now that I cannot possibly argue with.”

“There we are then.”

“However! You will have to be the one to suggest it. I will help you instruct him and present him to the Endless if you do convince him - but for now, I wash my hands of the matter.”

“Fair enough.”)

[cuubism]

Here in the Darkness | a Hope/Morpheus reverse AU

Morpheus is clinically depressed, and suicidal, and immortal. He is also, inexplicably, friends with the personification of Hope. Or he was, until he told his friend that hope was useless, and stormed out of their meeting. When Hope doesn't show up to their next meeting, Morpheus sets out to rescue him, and their friendship -- and learns that he might have already found what he needed a long time ago.

Rated M, 27k, Chapter 1 of 2. // detailed content warnings on AO3

[Image ID: a cropped photo of John William Waterhouse's painting "Pandora," depicting Pandora, a young woman with dark hair, peering into a golden box known to contain Hope, and evils unleashed on the world. /end]

[nathanwonderwolf]