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shinakazami1 · 1 year

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TSP FERNATOR THEORY – THE ROLE OF NATURE IN THE STANLEY PARABLE

Oh gosh, I took this so seriously but hope someone will enjoy my rambling ;w; Just will say it here - this essay is game interpretation, it doesn't talk about Fernator AU (only mentions it).

Contents

0. What is Fernator AU?

“Stanley, this fern will be very important later in the story.” (Confusion, Bucket Destroyer & Figleys Endings – Fern)

“It's all out of my control now.” (Skip Button)

“Yes, I have something very exciting to show you!“ (TSP 2 Expo)

“And Stanley was happy.” (Outdoors - Freedom Ending and Memory Zone)

“The office could use a bit of decoration.” (Other plants in-game, Games Ending, Epilogue)

Conclusions

(Click 'Read More')

0. WHAT IS FERNATOR AU

Fernator AKA Fernnarrator AKA Fernie is my TSP AU where the Narrator takes the form of the Fern and gets moved into the Bucket.

His form can change into any plant, either through a conscious decision or subconsciously, based on his emotions. While some of his flowers blooming can fit the conventional flower language, he creates his own based on his own bias for the plants.

The AU isn’t purely cosmetic – depending on his and Stanley’s relationship before the discovery of Narrator being the Fern, it splits into 3 main pathways.

Each one of them has different ending alternatives and on top of that, the AU has a linear story.

This post will NOT be focusing on Fernator AU - instead, it will talk about the plants of the Parable and my theories about their meaning. These do influence Fernator AU as a whole but I will leave AU talk for another time if anyone would be interested.

Instead, let’s talk about the two main inspirations for the AU: Fern and The Skip Button.

1. “STANLEY, THIS FERN WILL BE VERY IMPORTANT LATER IN THE STORY.” (Confusion, Bucket Destroyer & Figleys Endings – Fern)

This Fern is one of the few plants in the game and the only one mentioned in dialogue.

Its placement in the Confusion Ending is a set-up for a joke: something gets mentioned, said to have a big importance and then gets forgotten. Maybe that was its whole purpose - a gag about misplaced foreshadowing or there is more to it.

A reverse situation is the Broom Closet – it can represent the “show, not tell” rule in storytelling where an object isn’t mentioned through text but more through actions. Narrator is displeased with that and on the third reset in a row after interacting with it, the Closet gets temporarily boarded.

That changes in the Bucket version– you can come in it as many times as you want and Narrator doesn’t get mad at Stanley (which overall is a theme in post-Skip).

So, these two are a perfect contrast:

Narrator doesn’t even mention the Broom Closet at first. However, it ends up getting new unique lines and gives long-term effects on the story (boarding the door).

The Fern gets mentioned in the story but doesn’t show up later in the ending.

However, the plant does appear in the alternative of Confusion – the Bucket Destroyer Ending.

“We're the ones that matter Stanley! Classic characters from the first game.”

Each of the objects in this picture symbolises a person in Stanley’s life:

the Broom Closet = Player, since in the original version, if you stay longer, Narrator talks about them;

the pencil sharpener= 432 – in lore, madness through never being given a pencil to sharpen;

Stanley’s computer= Boss, due to the orders;

Wife mannequin;

Baby cut-out (might also represent Stanley’s kids);

Adventure Line ™ – it isn’t a person but is said to be conscious;

and the Fern.

(EDIT: Beau in Stanarr server also said that the mugs on the table could symbolise the Employees while the Baby could be The Essence of Divine Art. That could potentially mean that Adventure Line™ could also symbolise curiosity - just like, while TEDA seems to be a conscious being, might just be human creativity. )

We already have the Line ™ from the Confusion Ending. Other objects could have been used for this scene but somehow, it is the Fern that ends up being showcased. It could be just due to it belonging to this pathway but it could be also something else.

“You see, your friends and I are concerned for you, Stanley.”

He could be meaning himself just as the voice – after all, the separation between him and his friends is not that uncommon. He does use the word ‘friend’ positively only in the UD version of the game. He calls Stanley his friend only once and then, proceeds to call the Bucket and Stanley friends a few times, making it obvious the man projects on that object.

Here though, Narrator is against the Bucket - so, why couldn’t he start to project on something else? That way, he could visually show the group of friends with himself.

So you know,,, Fernator real,,, maybe,,,,,,,

(Big thanks to Chris from Crowsx3 Discord for reminding me about this next part)

I was also reminded that Fern makes one more appearance - in the Figley Ending, Confusion Ending room.

You get to this room after a Red-Blue door choice that doesn't matter at all, leading to an open door. It perfectly blends so many parts of the game together - the choice between two pathways, the illusion of the choice and also brings something new - backtracking. In most of the game, we are unable to do so - the doors close behind us and that's it. But, just like in Confusion - Narrator wants to backtrack, to change the pathway, for one last adventure with Stanley.

Maybe that was the importance of the Fern. For it to show up when Narrator wants to do something fresh, something new, WITH Stanley.

"Oh, I want more memories, Stanley! I want to keep going!"

In the end, he wants to retire and move on. If he does and only leaves his recording, if he stays with everything TK has done - that's up to a debate for another time.

But one thing is known - we all remember the Fern, even if it doesn't heavily impact the story. Unless you know - Narrator took the form of it and then-

Ok ok, but this was the nice task – now let’s talk about The Skip Button.

2. “IT'S ALL OUT OF MY CONTROL NOW.” (Skip Button)

I will talk about the Memory Zone later – here, I want to focus solely on the Skip Button room.

The Skip Button plant is the only thing in the Parable that shows actual ageing. Sure, there are some other symbols of time passage - i.e. clocks, and scratches on objects but nothing else shows decay besides this one single plant.

Changes happen in Skips #5 and #6.

In Skip #5, Narrator says it’s been a week or two. I know that people have done the math on how much time passed through each skip takes but we will base it only on the plant alone. While a week is too short for a plant like that to show signs of severe dehydration, 2 weeks is more plausible.

In Skip #6 - when he says he had stopped counting once it was over a year - the plant is dead.

Death is overall a bit of a theme in the Parable – the Countdown, Museum, Apartment and Zending especially have a lot of lines about Stanley’s death, which should cause permanent effects. Instead, the game just resets, not making any deal about it. This plant, however, does not return to its original form.

In Skip #13, concrete falls on it, leaving the plant trapped for the rest of this pathway.

I think the room overall (together with the plants and the clock) symbolises Narrator’s psyche.

The first few Skips are alright for him - sure, the time in-between seems to grow but he still thinks it is a good idea. He starts to panic and begs Stanley not to press the button in Skip #4 and in Skip #5, both the plant changes and the lights dim down. This is when he has been left for those two weeks all for himself and just sounds so tired - and with each skip, another part of his psyche breaks.

The clock stops working and falls around #8 and #9. It’s still long since in #6, Narrator where he says he lost count but he might have just exaggerated it, only losing it in these runs.

After such a long period in solitude, any mind would start to decay - the plant, the pipes letting the water escape through them, the fire alarm going off (since batteries are low), the walls getting destroyed with time… Together with how silent Narrator gets at times, I genuinely believe this whole section is us being in his brain.

But then in Skip #15, (after the sunlight in #14) this happens:

These skips are special because they are a glimpse of hope. Sunbeams, birds chirping, new life in the form of plants showing up – just for it all to disappear next Skip.

While the last time we hear Narrator talk is in #11 (The end is never), this feels like he is trying to talk to Stanley indirectly. The destruction of the ceiling feels like an attempt to break Stanley free, which, unfortunately, was a bit misplaced since we don’t have the jump option (curse you, jump circle for gatekeeping them / silly).

These can mean several things.

Narrator hopes that the situation would soon end, as mentioned in the previous part.

It could also show that he is making new ideas and growing. I think it would be a poetic way of personal growth. It is visible in the Bucket version of the game - lack of Red-Blue doors, Countdown becoming silly birds ending, him calling Stanley his friend through the bucket - he wants to change for the better.

“You are not beyond redemption. You may change, and you may become more, so much more than you were before.”

And what better way to show that than through physical growth?

Even if his mind, in the end, becomes the sandy landscape we all know - he had tried to get better and, in some way, succeeded.

I sometimes wonder if the New New Content & Bucket parts of the game are what Narrator wants to turn the game into during these Skips. How he wants to acknowledge Stanley, show that he cares for him and that he matured.

But, let’s go back a bit. The New New Content happening during these skips in Narrator’s mind are a cute theory but, it’s just that - a theory.

What is real though is the game content, like the plants in the TSP 2 Expo.

3. “YES, I HAVE SOMETHING VERY EXCITING TO SHOW YOU!“ (TSP 2 Expo)

This part alone has 4 new plants that were never seen before in the rest of the office (they later make an appearance again in the Bucket Apartment Ending).

Three of the plants have some resemblance to the one in the Skip button - a long office plant put in a pot, while the smaller ones seem similar to the Fern.

(Small note: these plants are based on real-life ones that are common in offices and are low maintenance but I am too tired to figure out their types. Possibilities from a bud: “the first one in the basket is prob Dieffenbachia Seguine, down in middle is calathea makoyana, low right kentia palm”. )

Interestingly, the whole Expo is red-themed so, to compliment that with the opposite colour - green - could seem like it’s a bolder move. It to be fair isn’t - there are a lot of greys, whites and browns that tie everything together, not letting this become a Christmas-themed event.

Expo gives us a lot of new and fresh Narrator ideas - the Bucket, Figleys, and Infinitive Hole. I think these plants also deserve a mention - they all tie perfectly to the theme of Narrator’s growth.

He wants to be better, to please Stanley and I think, maybe, to fit in more. He could have reused the same plant from the Office but no - he made new ones.

And just like the Broom Closet - they never get acknowledged in the dialogue.

Show, not tell.

4. “AND STANLEY WAS HAPPY.” (Outdoors - Freedom Ending and Memory Zone)

Stanley felt the cold breeze, blablabla, you know the drill by now. Most of us will remember the current Freedom Ending - lots of grass, some trees, blue sky…

But that wasn’t always the case.

The 2011 Mod had a way different ending screen.

The difference is probably due to the limitations of this being a mod but comparing it with the future renditions, it might portray how Narrator had gotten softer throughout the games.

In this one - the outside world is urban. You went out of the building you were mind controlled in into a town of some sort. It doesn’t look too appealing. Trees without any leaves, very short grass - it is SOME freedom but it feels rough. Just like the only other outdoor area in the Games Endings (more about it in the next part).

The newer versions, however, are WAY different.

More saturated colours, some rock roads, trees, and mountains in the background - nature is ALIVE and well. Just like Stanley is, being freed, in Narrator’s eyes.

Because it is Narrator who chose to make this the end screen. It is just visible, time and time again, how much this man adores nature. Sure, he might be scared about the open world (next point, again) but he could have just remade the buildings from the original. But he chose not to - instead, upgrading it into something more beautiful.

This isn’t just an ending for Stanley - it’s an ending for HIM.

I think that’s why Memory Zone is just so similar, in my eyes, to Freedom in this aspect.

“(...) I made something special and tucked it away here where the game’s developers won’t find it.”

Some things do not match - the tree types seem different, the sky is a different colour, and small flowers pop here and there that aren’t in Freedom.

But there is a key element that does match - mountains.

These two areas may be connected - Memory Zone seems to be on a higher standpoint, maybe on a hill rather than a mountain but due to just that, it is possible they are both connected, just in different parts of the world.

Memory Zone is special to Narrator - it is supposed to show his achievements and happiest moments. It would make sense that it was placed in a similar area as Freedom - just hidden so that the other game developers Narrator mentions, would not influence it.

The Maintenance area of the Memory Zone, however, is everything Narrator tried to repress. That is why he might not remember the reviews in there - it’s all hidden in his subconsciousness.

“I don’t recall this part of the Memory Zone before.”

Narrator had been probably working on the Memory Zone way before he shared it with Stanley. It was his safe space, or so he thought. The memory in the name seems to be the most important clue - it’s not like some remembering zone, history zone or something - it’s memory.

And memories like to get hazy.

As I mentioned - to me, Skip Button's room is a visual representation of Narrator’s mind, at least a part of it. And since it’s a part of this area - I headcanon the whole Memory Zone to be that.

Contrasting with the wild flora of the main Memory Zone, the maintenance seems very run down and secluded. The colours in Memory Zone are already desaturated in comparison to the rest of the game but this part looks dirty thanks to the focus on browns and greys. While some of the lovely nature is in there - birds, a big water pool, the trees are dead.

These dead trees, just like the Skip Button tree or 2011 Freedom Ending ones might be a pattern for Narrator when he is not in his best shape.

Once again, the game shows just how important the nature aspect seems in the key part of the story. Narrator made the conscious decision to change the Freedom Ending and probably also had some saying about the Memory Zone, until the parts he wanted to repress that got run down.

Narrator keeps on repressing things a lot throughout the game. He shows denial and shifts the blame - on Stanley, the Player or the reviewers. At the end of it all - during Skip - he finally realises his flaws and mistakes.

But that realisation happened way too late.

Maybe that’s why he later tries to separate himself from that Memory Zone, putting it in the Executive Toilet.

Or maybe, it’s some not-so-hidden poop joke. But that’s not as important.

So let’s get to the rest of the game.

5. “THE OFFICE COULD USE A BIT OF DECORATION.” (Other plants in-game, Games Ending, Epilogue)

Besides Fern, there is another plant that keeps on being with Stanley a lot. It is there, never in the foreground but it’s always there. It’s like a hidden companion - maybe, as a symbol for not so hidden one.

This plant shows up in most of the Left Door pathway to the Boss’s Office - 5 times in different rooms:

desks 431- 436,

desks 418-424,

left-right door choice,

Meetings Room,

and the entrance to Boss's office.

It also shows up in rooms we see around the pathway:

room with 456, 457 doors,

413 room,

Executive Bathroom

and two in the room with Elevator Music.

The plant shows up 4 times in Confusion Ending (including the earlier mentioned 456, 457 area)- and thinking how the Fern is also there makes me just feral. Narrator joins Stanley on his little adventure through the unknown territory - so he inserts himself in the story.

In the Right door pathway, we get through the first 3 from the Left door and 2 more - the Loungue and the Games Ending.

The Games Ending has very different alternations between the game version but one thing is stable - nature in the open words games.

“I wonder what he found.”

In 2011, once again, nature is quite dead and dried up. RIP all the plants in this version of the game.

The next alternations, however, take a different approach and make the plants more alive.

The 2013 version uses Minecraft as it outdoor area.

Narrator doesn’t focus at all on the nature aspect - more on the crafting one which is fair, he is a storyteller and a game designer.

In Ultra Deluxe, there are two areas - Rocket League and Firewatch.

Rocket League won’t get that much attention from me - it’s just a typical grass for sports fields. The Firewatch, however, is a direct parallel with Minecraft. And it’s due to it being open-world.

This brings me to the last issue with Narrator and nature - he likes it quite a lot, but it HAS to be limited for Stanley.

Freedom makes you stuck in a cutscene, you can only go to mines in Minecraft due to no jumps, Memozy Zone has barriers, so Stanley has one path to follow, and most plants are potted- expect, for one thing.

And it’s the plants that show up in Skip #15.

I think it’s no coincidence that in the Bucket runs, the Red-Blue choice is off-limits. I think it’s due Narrator not wanting to go through things that hurt. But they hurt not only him - they also hurt Stanley.

We could focus on the fact that each of the Games runs ends up with Stanley being trapped in the 2011 version. But I think that lack of freedom to explore beyond the main area - the set path, the game, is what got Narrator more, in the end. Maybe he is scared about full freedom and lack of full control over the story and Stanley.

And maybe that’s why the Epilogue seems to be a never-ending desert. It’s Narrator’s last attempt to give Stanley the true freedom they both needed.

“An epilogue would be fun. Wouldn’t it, Stanley?”

(Shoutout to a Rammy who gave me the idea to talk about this screenshot.)

The desert, for me, fits the Sandman story (no, not just the song though now it is playing in my head so I hope it will play in yours, too). It shows up at the end of the Skip run and just like the room itself, I think it keeps on symbolising Narrator’s mind.

Once a mindflow, where his thoughts could drift anywhere they pleased became quite stagnant. He fell in hibernation or the mind was just no longer there.

The Sandman brought him the sand and let him rest, cope with the near eternity of solitude.

And to think, during it, Stanley uses wood he finds in this place to bring some light. Lighting up the neurons that still are active.

And this one last time a plant in any shape is present - it is there to serve Stanley.

Narrator, I see you. You probably never left because you are unable to but, you still care about Stanley.

And we care about you.

6. CONCLUSIONS

(painting in the background: The fairy grotto, 1867)

I could mention EVERY single plant in-game: all the nature paintings, plants in Demo and all the Infinitive Hole nature backgrounds, apple in Pink room, try to get through every plant and try to find its significance but at the end of the day- this whole thing is over 3k words IOSFAIHOSAFHIOFSA

I know this post didn’t talk much about Fernator. I could talk about how Narrator’s need for control and being in a confined space makes him want to be in a Bucket that he also projects a lot onto. How plants often symbolise his psyche, show up in important parts of the office and as the only other visible living being besides Other Stanley and Mariella, maybe, just maybe, Narrator, who seems to not be human, might have decided to take such form, for comfort and safety. But I will leave that for another time.

So if you reached this point, I hope you realise that Fernator AU is a superior AU to the point it’s canon /silly/nsrs /j (,,,, or is it / silly)

If you are reading this - thank you so much for reading this ramble or just skimming through it. I do appreciate you.

Thank you and-

“I'm out... I'm out... I'm done! It's over! Thank you for playing! Your input was extremely valuable.”

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scifrey · 2 years

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Cling Fast: Chapter Nine

By Losyark The Sandman (Netflix with some sprinkling of comics canon, and Gaiman Cinematic-Literary Universe canon) Dreamling (Hob Gadling x Dream of the Endless | Morpheus) Unfinished (tentatively 10 chapters) PG-13 (for now) Unbeta’d

Hob throws the door of the flower shop open hard enough that it rattles in its frame.

“Sorry!” he shouts. “And sorry, I know you’re about to close, I was stuck at work for hours and I just–” He looks around the shop, realizing that he is utterly, utterly out of his depth. “I need help.”

From somewhere behind a jungle of ready-made bouquets, massive ferny house plants, shelves of cute succulents in pots, and buckets of individual cut flowers, an amused voice calls: “What'd you do?”

Hob puffs up like an affronted pigeon at the assumption that he’s only here because he’s done something wrong, until he remembers that, actually, he’s only here because he’s… well, he hasn’t done something wrong, it’s not his fault that he didn’t understand Morpheus’ overtures.

But he might have been a bit of a knobhead last night and that he does need to apologize for.

Hob knows the way he lashed out at Morpheus isn’t entirely fair. Even if, on some counts, it was probably true. He has no idea of Morpheus’ feelings have been growing as long as his own have. If his regard for Hob was planted at that first meeting, and if it’s been sprouting slowly, climbing towards the light and warmth of Hob’s own metaphorical fire, and has just now blossomed.

Maybe Morpheus didn’t understand yet why hearing of Eleanor upset him. Maybe just as much Hob hadn't understood yet why Morpheus walking away from him that night had hurt in return.

They… they have to talk. Everything that is British in Hob curdles at the idea of having to discuss his feelings, but he’s not a medieval peasant any more. He can be emotionally aware and available, when he tries.

But first, Hob needs to make sure that Morpheus understands that his message was received loud and clear. Received and reciprocated.

Hob winds his way through the overgrowth, and finds himself at a back counter. The emo hipster manning said counter–and the Asian guy is definitely a hipster, umber-coloured beanie firmly in place, dark fall of hair obscuring his face, and matching vest showing off two full sleeves and vibrantly coloured tattoos depicting everything from flowers to books, hourglasses to compasses–doesn’t even look up.

“I need a sort of like… bouquet.”

The hipster snorts, and keeps his eyes on the massive book in front of him, where he seems to be totting up a row of names. Every few lines, he strokes one out, seemingly at random. “You’ve found yourself where you need to be. What’s it for?”

“I yelled at… at a friend who was making, uh, overtures,” Hob confesses breathlessly, tugging at his ear and feeling a right tit. “But I didn’t know he was making the overtures, and I want to apologize for not knowing and make it clear that I feel the same way. He likes flowers. Well, he likes the symbolism of flowers, I mean.”

Hob fumbles his phone out of his back pocket, then opens the app he’d downloaded that afternoon. It’s a floriography catalog, which allows you to look up plants by their meaning, or snap a photo of a bloom and explore what that particular flower means.

When the hipster doesn’t stop what he’s doing to look at the phone, Hob barrels on: "I need something that says, I don't know, like, I'm sorry I'm so dense and I'm sorry it took so long, but now I realize that our love is fated and like, you're my… you're my…."

"Destiny?" the hipster intones, with a knowing smirk curling his lips, the only part of his face Hob can see.

"Yes! That!" Hob cries, slapping the counter excitedly, like the gif of the cat with the bongos. “And I was thinking, Shamrock, for light heartedness, and Arbor Vitae for undying friendship, and especially Sweet William for gallantry and lovelorn heroes, and masculine beauty because, whoo boy, yeah, and…” Hob stops shyly, realizing he’s rambling.

The hipster is smiling as he continues to tot up his rows of names, at least.

“And Ivy,” Hob finishes seriously. “The one above all else. Please. If we could do that.”

The hipster doesn’t move away from behind the counter. He does, however, stop tallying.

“Money is no object?” Hob adds, holding up his credit card.

Without looking up, the hipster plucks the card from his hand and says, “Come back in an hour.”

The bouquet that the hipster florist hands Hob an hour later is… well, it’s not beautiful.

It’s a sort of freakish amalgam of very meaningful flowers with very little thought put into their aesthetic arrangement. Tied with twine and wrapped in plain brown paper, there are actual sticks poking up out of the top in a spray that makes the whole bouquet not all too dissimilar to a hedgehog.

But the message, as far as Hob can tell through the app, is spot-on.

“The hell is that?” Patrick asks, as Hob cuts through the pub with his prize.

Hob ignores Patrick’s squawking and ducks into the kitchen and snag something for dinner, instead of having to make it himself. He’s too keyed up for that.

“That’s a no, by the way, if you’re thinking of changing the decor as well as the food in here, Bob,” Patrick pushes when Hob reemerges with a covered plate in his free hand. “That's hideous.”

“It’s not for the pub,” Hob chuckles. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist. Be a lamb and open my door for me?”

Patrick gives the bouquet a wide berth, and punches in Hob’s keycode and holds open the door to his private entrance. “How’s the shoot going?”

“Crazy,” Hob says. “I’m going to eat this and go right to bed. I feel like I’m far overdue for some time in slumberland.”

“Sweet dreams, then,” Patrick says.

Hob grins beatifically at him. “I’m planning on it.”

Hob devours his curry in about five minutes flat. He showers and changes into his fanciest silk PJs, gulps down two sleeping pills, and falls asleep clutching the monstrous floral creation to his chest like a funerary arrangement.

Soon after, he opens his eyes on the Darkling Beach. He's nestled into the Dream Sand with the Sea of Imagination kissing his bare feet. The bouquet is here, but instead of laying on his chest, it’s now all around him. A garden oasis has sprung up from the flowers. The twigs have become a privately enticing copse. The Ivy has curled and tangled in on itself to create an inviting little dome over the resulting bower. Hob stands and brushes the sand from his clothes, impressed with the Dreaming's inventiveness.

He looks around, but he is alone on the beach, as he expected he would be. He ducks under the vine arch, and dreams up a plush, luxurious sofa in ruby-red velvet, double wide and with angled arms perfect for leaning back against. Beside that, he wills into existence a small table with a sweet chilled Retsina wine, two thick-cut sapphire goblets, and a small pewter tray of gently steaming venison pasties.

Then he closes his eyes and, gently and deliberately, thinks as loudly as he can: I'm ready now.

The sound of the wind picking up and sand rustling across leaves reaches Hob's ears before he's even opened his eyes.

“You’re determined to fatten me up,” Morpheus says, appearing in a gentle swirl of sand and ink-in-water mist. He is standing just outside the archway on the beach, giving Hob the space he had demanded.

“They’re just really good,” Hob says, turning to offer up his friend a beaming grin. “You’d know if you tried them.”

Morpheus tilts his head like Matthew, and considers Hob from behind the invisible line in the sand that Hob has drawn.

"Please, come sit with me," Hob says, and perches on the sofa closest to the little table.

Morpheus tilts his head the other way, regarding his offerings.

Hob is no petitioner, no sycophant, no priest.

But he would lay a sacrifice for his god, if Morpheus would accept it. There is wine. There is food. And there is Hob himself, ready to lay bare on the altar of Morpheus' regard and do whatever it takes to regain the friendship he needs more than that wine, or food, or even air.

For a split-second Hob is afraid that Morpheus is going to spurn him. That the apology bouquet was a ruse. That Morpheus is actually furious at him for daring to shout at one such as he, and has lured Hob here to punish him. That Morpheus is about to tell him to go to hell and stomp off in another strop.

But then Morpheus glides into the bower, and sits beside Hob. He doesn't crowd him. He remains cautious arm length away, and Hob tries not to be disappointed.

Baby steps.

Hob has to remember that he hurt Morpheus' feelings, too.

Hob lets Morpheus settle and take in the greenery around him. He focuses instead of pouring the sweating wine, and picking a perfect-looking pie.

And then Morpheus gasps.

And there it is, Hob thinks smugly. He hands the pasty and goblet to Morpheus, who takes them unthinkingly, because he's too busy staring around the bower, eyes and mouth dropped open in wonder.

"Do you like it?" Hob asks, and they both know he's not talking about the delectibles. "I had it made for you."

"Hob," Morpheus' voice crackles, "It is… you have…"

"I even know what they all mean this time," Hob chuckles.

Morpheus turns to face Hob, clearly at a loss. He seems to remember all at once that he's holding something. His eyes drop slowly, reluctantly off of Hob's face, and to what he's holding. Hob reaches out to relieve him of his delicious burdens, but then all at once, and with no grace whatsoever, Morpheus jams the whole pasty into his mouth. He chews stubbornly, flakes of crust falling off his chin, gaze locked on Hob's like a challenge.

Hob bites his lips to keep from gawfawing at the spectacle of the chipmunk-cheeked being before him, trying so desperately to hold onto his dignity around his mouthful and utterly failing. That's fine, though. Hob doesn't need Morpheus' veneer of prideful dignity. He would much rather have the messy, uncertain, selfish, narcissistic, secretly self-loathing, solicitous man he's shared a year's worth of Tuesdays with.

"It is delicious—" Morpheus puffs, spraying crumbles, and then coughs.

Hob gently pushes his wine goblet up towards his mouth by the base, and Morpheus takes the hint and drinks to wash away the last of the pasty. Then he keeps going, and drains the goblet. If Hob didn't know any better, he'd say that Morpheus was nervous. Perhaps he actually is.

Morpheus wipes his face clean, and sets aside the goblet. Then he makes one of those frivolous human gestures that he bothers with so rarely, an aborted reach for Hob's shoulder that Hob wishes he'd let land. So he reaches out, and takes Morpheus’ hovering hand. He guides it to his shoulder, and settles it there.

"Hello," Hob says quietly.

"Hello Hob," Morpheus says. "I am glad you are here. And I am… very glad that you have chosen to accept my apology." Morpheus' hand slides upward, cupping the side of Hob's neck. He shudders at the firm, cool touch.

"I'm sorry I lost my shit at you," Hob replies, reaching up to cup Morpheus' the back hand with his own. "I was scared, and after some reflection, I realized that you would never have let anything happen to me. I would have preferred a little more communication, but I know you wouldn't have exposed me like that without first making sure it was safe. And… and I have to thank you for Harriet, too. She's… you were right, she's a good defender. And she's fast becoming a great friend. It wasn't fair of me to say those things I did. I don't really think you're that cruel."

Morpheus's eyes flutter shut. "I will be honest and tell you that some small part of my motivation for pushing you to do the show was as you say. Your heart was still full of your grief for them, and I foolishly, selfishly thought that as such, you would have no room for me."

"Ah, that's the thing with human hearts, my friend," Hob says, gently brushing his thumb over Morpheus' knuckles. "They can expand to hold as much love as they need."

Morpheus startles at the 'L' word, but he doesn't open his eyes.

"Once again, Hob Gadling, you teach me much about humanity."

"It's what I'm here for."

"Yes," Morpheus concedes. "But that is not all you are here for. And I am sorry that I have treated you as if it was your only worth to me, and in the world."

Hob chuckles, and scooches forward to rest his forehead against Morpheus'. He reaches out and cups his friend's marble-pale neck in turn, and Morpheus mirrors him by cradling his own hand as well. Morpheus' eyes remain closed, but Hob doesn't dare look away now. Starlight escapes from between his lowered lashes, and Hob wants to remember every microsecond of this moment.

"To be fair, every time we met I've been either a braggart insulting your sister, a literal flea-ridden lout, a crass boor, a starving, mannerless beast, a literal slaver, and a—"

"A man who has genuinely striven to better himself each and every meeting, to make of himself a kinder, gentler, more generous soul. And when you turned that kind generosity at me, I spurned you."

Hob laughed, and finally let his eyes slip closed, if only so he could focus on the sensation of his palms sliding up Morpheus' neck to cup his smooth jaw. "I can't blame you if you barely tolerated me for the sake of a bet, before. But then you put mistletoe in my bouquet. "

"I did."

Hob's fingers curl of their own volition, digging into Morpheus flesh, but he only tilts into the pressure, begging for more. "I didn't even know, I didn't know that this was something you could feel. That this is something you might want." Hob hitches one leg up onto the sofa, folding it under him so he can press closer.

Morpheus swallows hard. "It is."

"Then why did you push me away? Before? I tried to kiss you, at the dream of the feast."

"You were delirious. You could not consent."

"How chivalrous."

Morpheus is panting now, his hands over Hob's shoulders, hands drawing down his arms and back against, squeezing. His chest is thrust forward, hips restless on the sofa, trying so hard to be still, to wait.

“And for that misapprehension, I truly am sorry. I thought you knew how I… I thought I was welcome,” Morpheus chokes out. “In your bed, I mean.”

Hob presses his forehead against Morpheus' shoulder, breath heaving, drawing in the scent of ozone and flowers. He's losing the thread of the conversation, but he doesn't want to stop it. Not yet. Not while he still has his courage screwed to the sticking place.

"That made you think that?”

“I laid out my feelings for you, and you did not object.”

“A lack of a no is not the same as a yes,” Hob says in gentle rebuke, and he wants to bite, he wants to lick and nip, so he bites the inside of his own cheek instead.

"Lucienne has well scolded me for my presumptions," Morpheus admits contritely. His fingertips dig into the muscles at the base of Hob's spine, and Hob can't help but throw his head back, arch his spine, and whine at the way it tugs him closer. "And Matthew has taught me the phrase: 'You know what assuming does'."

"It makes an ass out of you and me," Hob finishes, panting up at the sky. "Yeah. That's fitting."

"Hob—"

"Okay, that's enough talking about our feelings. I think we're good now," Hob says, and surges down to mash his lips ineligantly against Morpheus'.

Morpheus inhales sharply through his nose. He drags Hob toward him so roughly that Hob ends up half-tumbled in his lap, his own fingers digging into Morpheus's cheeks to hold him still. Hob tilts his head, opens his mouth, and groans when Morpehus opens up under him immediately. Hob pushes his tongue against Morpheus' teeth.

It's a fucking terrible first kiss, but who cares? It's followed immediately by a second one that's much, much better, and then a third that's frankly incredible. Morpheus' mouth tastes of buttery pastry and port sauce, and he keeps making noises like a rumbling panther.

"Fuck, that's sexy," Hob wheezes, sucking on the salt air of the beach.

Morpheus pulls back to drink in the sight of Hob, flushed and half-wrecked already. Morpheus is losing coherence again, his irises glowing an eerie bioluminescent blue against the deep-space of his sclera.The inside of his mouth is the black of deepest space, shading outward on his kiss-bruised lips. Pink flags across his nose and cheeks, leaks like sakura petals into the under-water slow wave of his hair, which has grown to rise and feather around his head in a dark, eldritch halo.

"I want to consume you," Morpheus warns Hob. Black mist creeps up around them, wrapping them in a floral-smelling cocoon. What little of the sky Hob can see has overcast, diamond-bright bolts of lighting chasing one another playfully between the silver clouds. "If you let me, I will not stop. I am selfish, Hob Gadling. I am stubborn. I am demanding."

To prove his point, he lifts hob by the waist as if he weighs nothing, and presses him firmly in his lap. In this moment, Morpheus has a (more or less) male form, and under Hob's arse, the proof of this is hot, and hard, and definitely noticeable.

"I think I'm just as stubborn," Hob counters, running his hand through Morpheus' amazing hair, watching it bob back upright with each stroke. "And I think it's about time you had someone in your life you can't boss around."

"I am a king. I am bound always to my duty. I am Dream, and Dreams are me, and I cannot neglect, or abandon, or harm my dreamers."

"I would never ask you to, and a pox on anyone who would," Hob gasps, as Morpheus' hands—are they hands? They may be something else, some other limbs, or maybe it's many hands—roam his back, his thighs, his calves, massage his arse and squeeze his biceps. It's like Morpheus, now that he's been given permission to touch, has a desperate need to touch him everywhere, all at once. "Besides, I'm gonna have to throw you over for marking and lesson planning sometimes."

"I am not human."

"Yeah, I'm getting that," Hob chuckles breathlessly. "And darling, please let me assure you, I am very, very into it." He lifts one of the hands—yes, this one is a hand—and presses it against his throat, encouraging Morpheus to unbutton him.

Instead, the beautiful nightmare beneath him wraps his long fingers around Hob's throat and squeezes, just a little, just enough for it to be exciting. When you've lived forever, sometimes you need to skirt closer to extremes to really feel anything. And this, this is the most extreme and wonderful thing Hob's ever experienced in his life. Just as Hob considers gasping for air, Morpheus lets him go and starts plucking at the front of his shirt.

The pajamas are wrenched downward. Hob wriggles to help Morpheus get it off his arms, but then the shirt is being twisted. Morpheus knots it up at the small of Hob's bare back, trapping his wrists and hands, pulling his arms tight, forcing him to thrust his chest out, keeping him immobile.

Hob's own cock, which has been very, very interested in the proceedings so far, throbs. "Unf, Morpheus, love, yes but… please, touch me."

"Oh, with great pleasure, mine own," Morpheus says with dark sensuality, and in an instant, every stitch of clothing between them succumbs to dream-logic's evanescence.

One of the smoky limbs wraps around Hob's wrists to replace the disintegrated shirt, keeping him bound, as two more wrap around his thighs and lift him just enough for a human-shaped hand to slip around his hip and between his cheeks. Something cool and slick on Morpheus fingers makes Hob whine and writhe, and try to press back onto the digits.

"May I, inamoroto? Will you let me in?"

Morpheus scrapes his teeth, sharper now, almost prickling, along Hob's throat. He mouths at his clavicle, bites his shoulder hard enough to draw both blood and a moan from Hob.

"You're already in me, so much, so much more than you know," Hob chokes out, gasping and swallowing, hardly able to keep the plot. "Every choice I've made, every journey I've taken, they've all been with you in mind. I haven't done anything in six hundred years without wondering if you'd approve, or if it could make you smile. I—"

"Hob," Morpheus huffs a laugh against Hob's shoulder. "I'm asking very specifically in this particular situation if I can fuck you."

"Oh, well, yes. We can do that, too."

Hob looks down at Morpheus. Morpheus looks up at Hob.

Hob infuses as much tender affection and admiration into his gaze as he can. In turn he is rewarded with awe and love so deep and honest that Hob wonders how he could ever have thought that the Endless couldn't feel the way Morpheus clearly does.

And then the first finger is breaching Hob's body. It feels so good that he groans and flops backward in Morpheus' many-limbed hold, trusting his lover to support him and position him to his satisfaction.

Morpheus takes advantage of his bared and vulnerable belly to lip and suck at Hob's nipples. This soon has him squirming and grinding down on Morpheus' thighs, desperate for something, for anything—

"If you let me have this, I will want it always," Morpheus warns, even as his hand draws away and Hob's legs are splayed open for the nightmare King's pleasure.

"You can have it."

"I will keep you forever." He pulls Hob down, slowly, slowly, not giving him time to adjust to the stretch and weight of him. Doesn't matter. This is a dream. It just feels good, and good, and good, and goes on, and on, deeper and deeper.

"You can have me!" Hob whines, circling his hips, desperate for what little motion Morpheus' terrible grip allows. "Only please—I'm so close already—please—" he sobs.

"I am as hungry as a black hole and I will not stop until everything you are is subsumed by me, submissive to me, is mine to cherish and to protect and to please."

"Dearheart," Hob stutters as his peak crashes closer. "Don't—ah—don't you think I already know that? Though we're gonna talk about—christ, there!--we're gonna talk about what you mean by… by submissive because you know I like it both ways and I think—"

Hob doesn't get to tell Morpheus what he's thinking, because Morpheus suddenly draws him into a crushing hug, burying his face between Hob's nipples, and goes rigid. The sky splits open. Fireworks streak and scream through the darkness, popping the sweet clear pink of a greek wine, the deep red of a full-blown rose, and the deep sleepy amber of a cold beer in a sunny pub garden. The clouds burst into a shower of silver dust and rain down on the landscapes and denizens of the Dreaming. The sky clears and the stars burn bright and true.

Morpheus stills entirely, immovable as the marble statue he resembles. Which is not fair, it's not kind, because Hob is so close, so close—

"You bastard," he hisses. "You fucking tease, don't stop, don't…"

"Take your pleasure of me, then, Hob Gadling," Morpheus commands with a smirk, still shuddering down from his own release. He lays back against the arm of the sofa, and stretches like a cat, arms above his head, expression challenging, cock still hard and hot, and smokey limbs still trapping Hob where he is. "Or do you regret it already? Pledging yourself to me thus for the rest of your immortal life?"

"No!" Hob shouts, feeling his muscles seize, his balls draw tight, the lightning arc down his spine. "No, of course not, I… I have… oh, my going I'm going to… I have so much to live for!"

In the afterglow—and it's literally a glow, because Morpheus so pleased with himself that he is radiating silvery light like a fallen star—Hob runs his fingers through Morpheus's bird's nest hair, as Morpheus has his head pillowed on Hob's furry chest.

Above them, the sparkle from the fireworks have joined together in a dance, ribboning across the sky in lazy, satisfied arcs, forming an indolent aurora borealis.

"Wait, wait, you had to hold negotiation talks with your siblings over me?" Hob says, trying to get his sex-stupid brain to follow the thread of Morpheus' confession. He's wrung out. Even in his dreams, half a dozen orgasms is a lot for a man of his age. "Is that where you were the week you were away? When I saw the stained glass?"

"Those were the sigils of my siblings, yes," Morpheus allows. He sits up to sip from the goblet of wine, and then presses the rim of the glass to Hob's lower lip so he can drink, too. "I expressed my intention to court you, and my youngest siblings contested my right to claim you as a vassal of my realm."

"You told them before you even asked me?" Hob asks, miffed by the high-handedness of it. He'd be more miffed, of course, if all of Morpheus' grandeur and affrontery weren't just for show. Hob has learned in the last few hours that his beloved enjoyed being held down and swived just as much as he enjoyed doing the swiving.

"Be assured, I value your opinion, and your independence, erastis," Morpheus says, leaning across his chest to set the goblet down on the little table. Hob takes the opportunity to pet down Morpheus' flank, to give the beautiful pale globe of muscle a loving squeeze. "Yet you have spent as much time in Despair's domain as mine, for your grief is deep and darkly encompassing. So too Desire's, for you lust for life and the hedonistic pleasures it provides is glorious and brightly burning. And then as well Delirium, for she is still Delight in all the ways that matter, and your giddy, unrepentant joy in all the experiences that life has to offer you, sober or not, falls within her purview."

"What about the other one?" Hob asks gently, cuddling Morpheus close and pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. "I think I've spent a lot of my time with Destruction, too."

"The Prodigal did not attend the summons," Morpheus answers sadly, after a long silence. "Though I think he too would have claimed you as vassal, for you create as much as you destroy, and no creation can come without first sweeping away what was before it. Destruction is not always a bad thing."

Hob thinks of their meeting in 1789 and agrees.

"Only Death and Destiny did not wish to contest my claim. And so in the end it was decided you would be vassal to all, for of all of humanity, you are the most human. You have resided in each of our realms, and been both our antipode and antithesis."

"And what does that entail? Am I going to have to serve them? Am I going to have to serve you?"

"You need not be my vassal to be my beloved," Morpheus says, as if it's obvious. "And my sister Death has impressed upon me that I, erm, I need not be so possessive of you, agapitos. You may live your life as you always have. The difference is that my siblings may choose to appear to you. They may call on you, or ask boons of you, and provide boons of their own as well."

"Translation: be prepared to have the in-laws drop by unannounced."

Morpheus chuckles, and Hob preens to have made him laugh. "They… would like to be seen by you. As you see me."

"What does this mean for, uh, this though?" Hob waggles a finger between them, illustrating the connection they have. "What are we now?"

Morpheus looks up at him, mercury on his lower lash line, but a smile on his lips. "I am yours. And you are mine."

"Sounds good to me," Hob says, settling back into the sofa more comfortably and pulling Morpheus half on top of him. It has been difficult, and anxiety-inducing, and terrifying, and wretched, and amazing, and awe-inspiring, but Hob has been hollowed out these last few weeks. And now he is ready to fill his heart again. "I'm your nebbish professor-slash-television presenter and you're my King of Dreams and Nightmares."

"Mmm," Morpheus agrees.

"Wait," Hob says, snapping upright, tumbling Morpheus onto the carpet of shamrock and clover under the sofa. "Does that make me a consort? You made me a, ivy crown, does that mean I'm a—"

He jolts awake before he can finish his sentence. Hob falls back into his pillows, covers his face with his hands, and laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

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