#but like to the point where it looks like they're gonna blow away in the wind

[introspectivememories]

you know i believe in neteyam having a tiny little waist too but more importantly i believe in making sure it doesn't look like RCDart drew it

[rogueddie]

There are a lot of rumors about Eddie Munson. From his sexuality, to his religion, to him being some sort of supernatural creature.

Steve doesn’t put a lot of merit in most of them. They’re usually just bullshit people make up to entertain themselves with whilst beating down on the weird kid. Steve thinks it’s boring… usually.

He’s seen enough weird things happen around Munson to know that something isn’t right. Something about him is unnatural. And Steve is staying clear out of the way of whatever the hell he is, or whatever the hell he’s messing with.

Unfortunately, his friends haven’t gotten the message.

“Do it at your own house!” Steve complains, though he makes no move to stop them. He’s sure it’s nothing, that it’ll only lead to an annoying clean-up job, but there’s a nagging sense of dread writhing in his gut. “This shit is bull anyway.”

“If it’s bull then what’s the problem?” Tommy counters.

“Because none of you dickheads are going to help clean this shit up!”

“I promise to help you clean up,” Carol says. “There. Problem solved. Right?”

"It's still stupid," Steve mutters, glaring at the janky make-shift pentagram they've made. "And a bad idea."

It's drawn on nine pieces of paper- they wanted to draw it big on the floor, but Steve had but his foot down. He lets them use some of his moms candles as a compromise.

With the lights off, sitting with the two of them in a circle, it suddenly feels too real. Even Carol looks suddenly nervous.

Tommy is the only one still smirking, though Steve is sure that it's forced. His voice shakes a little as he begins reading off the paper he'd torn out a library book. His Latin is clunky.

At first, nothing happens.

Long enough that Carol says, "did you even say it right?"

"Yes, it even has-" Tommy starts.

The candles all blow out, suddenly. The light Steve had left on in the kitchen flicks off too, plunging them into complete darkness.

After a horrible moment, where they're still and silent, Carol yelps.

"Don't grab me, Tommy, that's not funny!"

"I didn't grab you."

"Wh- Steve?"

"No," is all Steve can get out.

"I'm turning the lights on," Tommy says. "This is ridiculous."

Steve listens to his footsteps and, when he sounds like he's almost at the light switch, he yelps.

"Fuck this," he says.

"What the fuck, Tommy!" Carol yells when they both hear him running past them. She's up on her feet immediately, chasing after him.

He wants to scream after them, plead with them to come back, that they shouldn't be abandoning the circle.

But, the same gut instinct that insists he stay where he is, keeps his mouth shut. Everything in his being is telling him that if he leaves, if he speaks first, horrible things will happen to him.

Something tuts, like a parent admonishing a child.

The living room light flicks on, so bright that Steve has to blink a few times to clear away the white spots.

Eddie Munson sits in the space they left empty.

"Someone didn't read the terms and conditions," he snickers.

"What..." Steve pauses, clearing his throat. "What are the, uh... terms and conditions?"

"Oh, they're simple, really. Look," he holds up the page Tommy had read the incantations from, pointing to the little paragraph at the end. "They even translated it to English! But all you need to know, big boy, is that you are A-OK."

"And... Tommy and Carol?"

"Eh, they're fine. Lucky, really. I'm trying to relax up here. I'm only gonna pay them back with a minor curse or two. Nothing lethal."

"Fuck."

"We haven't even got to you yet!" He spins around so hes laying on his belly, resting his chin on his palm. "You didn't technically summon me so you can just tell me to leave... or."

"Or?"

"Deal with no consequence, baby. One wish, whatever you want, free of charge. Well... I'd want your silence about the whole... summoning thing. Let's consider that payment."

He doesn't need his gut or book to warn him that it's a bad idea. Munson could be lying, easily. There could be fine print. It's a bad, very bad idea.

"There's... definitely no consequences? I won't, like, go to hell for this?" Steve finally asks.

"Do some charity work for a week, you'll be fine," he says, waving his hand around. "What do you want, King Steve?"

"Could- could you make someone love me?"

"Oh, ho ho ho! Who's the unlucky lady who said no to you?"

"No, it... it's not like that. I mean, um... my mom."

Munsons smile drops. The temperature drops with it, making a chill run up Steves spine.

"Your mom," he repeats.

"They're busy like, all the time," Steve automatically defends. "And they're barely here so, uh... of course they wouldn't- I mean, it's normal, right? You can't love a stranger or... whatever. It's fine. It's just... I don't know."

"Steve..." Munson pauses.

He groans, throwing his head into his hands, dramatically. He almost immediately flings his head back up, hair flying everywhere, giving Steve wide and pleading eyes.

"I can't make people fall in love or any shit like that. I can make illusions, that's it. Love is, like... way out of my jurisdiction."

"I- I'm ok with an illusion. Like, just one day or something."

"Steve, baby, you're breaking my heart."

"Please?"

"Jesus- ok!" Grumbling, Munson shifts so he's kneeling. "And in return, you won't say shit about any of this. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Great. Ugh. This next part is... weird."

"What do you mean, weird?"

"It's weird, I don't know. Deals about, like, love are sealed with a kiss."

"You're joking."

"Nope, and that's not even the weird part. Now, come on and pucker up, let's get this over with." He gestures for Steve to shuffle closer, waiting until they're sat close enough that their knees almost bump together. "You can still change your mind. Anything at all, Steve. Anything."

"I thought you wanted to get this over with?"

"On your head..."

Munson leans forward, kissing him. It's just a peck, simple and easy. No big deal, right?

Steve feels possessed. It's like someone lit a match in his stomach, leaving him lightheaded and confused. He's not sure how he ends up in Eddie's lap, clutching onto his shoulders, desperately trying to lick into his mouth. He feels so-

He wakes up in his bed, the morning light blinding him.

"What the fuck..." he mutters to himself, grabbing at his throbbing head.

At first, he thinks he's hungover. That he'd just had a weird dream... but he's wearing the same clothes. And, sat on his stomach, is a guitar pic. It's got 'corroded coffin' written on it too- Eddie's band.

"Steve!" He hears his mom call. "Time to get up!"

He scrambles out of bed, dashing down the stairs.

She smiles when she spots him, so bright and warm. She even raises an arm, laughing when he practically throws himself into her side and hugging her tight.

"Morning, sweetheart. Good dreams?"

"Yeah. Yeah, great. But, uh... I feel sick."

"Oh no," she frowns. She puts her hand to his forehead, cooing when she brushes his hair out his face. "Is it your stomach?"

"Yeah. Just... might be better to stay home today. If that's ok?"

"Of course it is. I'm sure we can find something fun to do together, yeah? How about we get a vhs movie, hm?"

"I'd love that."

"Great. Well, if you're feeling up to it, I've made breakfast." She steps away, plating the food she's cooked up. "Oh, did I ever tell you about Paris? It was beautiful, you would have loved it. We should bring you, next time we go."

Steve can't stop smiling. He's sure that his cheeks will be aching by the end of the day.

He'll have to thank Eddie- as soon as he can even think about him without blushing. He'll need to ask if it's normal to still feel... affected, even after the deal is done.

Part of him knows it isn't the deal. Part of him is too curious about how Eddie will react.

[wakebymoonsleepbysun]

Dogday!! Trying to figure out a way to send a Y/N in there to help him.

Rambles under the cut.

(I drew my sona in these cuz self-indulgent, but if I ever write anything it'll be a reader insert with little to no canon design.)

Design notes: Took some elements from his game model as well as his cartoon design. I think when we see him, he is emaciated and/or stretched out, the way CatNap is said to be able to stretch. Don't know if that's an ability all Smiling Critters have though. For now I'm saying it is SOMEWHAT but CatNap is the better at it by MILES. In any case, that's why he's not quite as lanky as he is in game, and is also a bit shorter.

I also he can be bipedal or quadrupedal, much like CatNap seems to be able to switch back and forth. A bit more animalistic than his cartoon counterpart, but part of that is just him not wanting to tower over the children and employees all the time, so drops down to all fours quite a bit.

The fur texture on his ears in the game cave him a floofy cocker spaniel look so I went with that instead of the less floofy ears he has in the cartoon and his original plushie.

The white pupils being absent when we see him I believe is a sign of how weak he is. When healthy, all the Bigger Bodies Smiling Critters have them, much like CatNap does.

Trying to actually keep his huge open-mouth smile at all times, unlike with my FNAF stuff where I give them more of an ability to emote. That said trying to get him to look angry or sad was a challenge. Sad I think worked okay but the one where I meant him to look angry he looks more cocky or smirky than mad. Tender moments are a bit harder too, as keeping that huge grin with more tender eyes results in him looking either drunk or horney or just like he's not taking the moment very seriously, haha.

And the story? Not sure yet, bouncing around a few ideas, though I don't think I'll have the reader and the player be the same person. Reader might be someone who came up in PlayCare alongside Dogday. Perhaps they knew each other as kids when Dogday was still human. Haven't decided how much of this Dogday remembers or at what point the reader realizes Dogday is their old friend who got "adopted".

Reader grows up the Playcare and is given a job once they're an adult. (Something something starting the brainwashing and normalization of bullshit early to make employees who are more willing to look the other way?)

Dogday somehow kept them hidden during the Hour of Joy and the reader's been living in the caves ever since. (The caves open up so much possibility for people being hidden in the factory. Much easier to say there's an unknown offshoot of a natural cave system than an unknown part of the factory.)

How are they staying fed? Uhhhh...cave mushrooms? Trips to the surface? Moss? Stale vending machine candy? I don't know yet.

Not sure how to pull a happy ending out of this horror but I'm trying. Maybe the reader convinces Dogday to leave after Ch 3 because he'd be too weak to help anyway or something? And uh...I'm just gonna pretend since he's kinda a plushie he can be sewn back together even though I'm PRETTY SURE canonically the inclusion of blood and guts makes that...not a thing.

Just remember guys...all winds blow away...eventually.

[tpwk-formula1]

Figure It Out - Landoscar***

SUB! Lando Norris X SWITCH! Oscar Piastri X SWITCH! Reader

REQUESTS ARE OPEN! I write for all drivers on the grid!

Summary: After Monza tension is at an all-time high in their shared apartment.

Authors Note: I've been writing for Kinktober and have been loving it so I decided to write a kinky little piece. The urge to post my Kinktober fics early is strong but I'm holding off. THIS IS NOT PROOF READ

TW - MxM action (Hand jobs and blow jobs), face sitting, slight masturbation, squirting, slight degrading

WC - 1500+

Y/N POV

"Just shut up, Lando," Oscar finally snaps at his complaining teammate turned boyfriend.

"Don't fucking talk to me like that," Lando replied back clearly still pissed off at the whole situation.

"Lando, on the track we are drivers. The whole point is to race each other that's exactly what I did," Oscar continues to defend his bold actions.

"I get that, and I don't even care about the fucking overtake but you could have done it during one of the straights not the first fucking chicane," Lando continues ranting allowing his voice to raise more as he continues talking.

"Both of you shut the fuck up," I finally snap making both of my lovers fall silent. It was rare for me to yell especially when it came to getting in between them when they were arguing about a race.

"Lando, I understand why it's frustrating, you're fighting for a championship while also defending against Charles and Oscar I understand being frustrated over your race result but both of you guys need to work together to make sure to secure constructors. To be completely unbiased here, Oscar the overtake was risky and luckily both of you guys are amazing drivers and were able to survive but Lando is right, it might have cost you guys too much time ruining the chances of a 1-2. However, Lando that does not excuse your actions either. Both of you guys love each other and you need to remember at the end of the day you got points and a double podium," I tell them softly to fend up to keep listening to them yell at each other.

"But babe," Lando started to complain before I sent him a quick glare making him shut up without finishing his statement.

"Both of you strip and go lay on our bed," I tell them both without even looking up at them going back to the book I was reading before they started arguing. When I don't hear movement I look up to find them both staring at confusion.

"Did I stutter?" I ask again a little more firm than before. Both of them shook their head before slowly making their wait to our room where I could hear them starting to strip down. Neither of them are talking but I know for a fact they're staring at each other. Mad or not they love each other and if anyone can turn them on it's each other.

With the layout of our apartment, I can hear every little sound they're making even if they're talking in hushed whispers.

"Lando, how long is she gonna leave us here?" I hear Oscar ask making me smile softly. I knew it was only a matter of time before their anger turned into sexual frustrations. Whether they will ever admit it or not after a bad race weekend especially one pitting them against each other the only way to fix it is to fuck it out of their systems. Sometimes it involved using my body and other times it was them using each other. Those were always the best ones to watch.

"Osc, please stop touching my thigh," I can hear Lando whimper which tells me right away who will be taking the lead tonight.

"Lando, we're sitting on the edge of the bed it isn't intentional, stop being petty," Oscar snaps back slightly, clearly just as frustrated as his boyfriend.

"I need, Y/N," Lando finally whispers out. Oscar doesn't say anything in reply which has me slightly confused until I can hear the tell-tale signs of Lando being touched in some way.

"Fuck," Lando gasps out before I suddenly hear them start to make out quite aggressively.

"Osc, please," Lando begs slightly making my pussy start to throb.

"You're gonna wait to cum until our pretty girlfriend decides to stop playing games with us," Oscar whispers to Lando making me smile. In that moment I made the decision to listen to Lando continue to whine and beg.

I stand up quietly before stripping down and sitting back on the couch with my legs spread wide open. I bring my fingers down to my pussy before I start teasing myself.

"What if she doesn't come in for a while," Lando asks Oscar making me smile cause we all know damn well I'd be in there as soon as I couldn't handle the teasing anymore.

"I bet you anything, she's sitting on that couch with her hand in her panties right now listening to you beg and whine like a little whore," Oscar tells Lando making both of us gasp at his harsh words.

In all honesty, it was rare for Oscar to be the dominant one between the two but it was always a favorite of mine cause he was just a different kind of cruel than when Lando is being the dominant one.

I can hear some movement before the sound of one of them spitting.

"Please Osc," Lando whines out again which tells me Oscar has to be the one on his knees teasing Lando. I can hear the sound of Oscar's wet hand moving up and down Lando's hard cock, which has him whing and gasping at the sensation.

I know how impatient Lando can get, so I decided to put him out of his misery by getting up and making my way to our room. When I get in there I can Lando's head thrown back while Oscar is taking him down his throat.

I make my way over to Lando where I grab his face before placing my still wet fingers into his mouth making him moan at the taste of my pussy.

"Look, she's come to save you. Maybe you'll finally be allowed to cum, but of course, you're gonna have to earn it first," Oscar teased Lando, making him whine around my fingers that were still in his mouth. When I pull them out I lean down and start making out with Lando. I can taste a hint of my juices which just makes me moan into his mouth.

"How are you already soaked," I hear Oscar ask clearly having seen just how turned on I was.

"You know I like when you take control Osc," I whisper once I pull away from the heated makeout session. It doesn't take me long to feel Oscar's fingers plunge right into my dripping pussy making me let out a gasp before moaning loudly against Lando's lip.

It's not long before Lando becomes a whimpering mess which tells me that not only is Oscar fingering me he's also giving Lando a handy.

"Fuck," I whine dragging out the word clearly overwhelmed with everything around me.

It's not even two minutes later that Lando is begging Oscar again.

"Please, Oscar. I'll be good. Please," Lando is begging as much as possible while also trying to keep kissing me.

"Our pretty little slut gets to cum first," Oscar tells Lando making me whine. This has Lando reaching down just enough to start playing with my clit trying to bring me over the edge faster.

"Oscar, please," I moan out once I feel my orgasm getting close to the edge.

"Cum for us," Oscar tells me making me instantly squirt all over both of the boys. Once my orgasm has concluded I hear Oscar tell Lando to cum which has Lando instantly tensing before releasing a high pitched whine before cumming all over Oscar's hand.

"Here," Oscar says while presenting me his cum covered hand which has me instantly licking all of Lando's cum off of it. Once it is clean enough for Oscar he climbs into bed pulling me with him to sit on his face.

"Get to work," Oscar tells Lando which has him shuffling around to get on his knees and start talking Oscar into his mouth.

Once Lando has settled into a good pace Oscar starts eating me out like it's his last meal on Earth. With one hand gripped on the headboard for stability before I tangle my fingers into Oscar's freshly cut hair. I know I'm pulling at it just right when I hear Oscar gasp at the slight pain I'm causing to his scalp.

"Fuck," Oscar moans out shortly after I hear Lando gag slightly on Oscar's cock. I can tell just from the sounds Lando's making he has all of Oscar's cock down his throat right now.

"Close," Oscar gasps out before instantly going back to focusing on my clit which also brings me closer to my second orgasm.

I hear Oscar groan out against my pussy signifying that he's cumming which has me tumbling over the edge with him.

Still slightly shaking I feel Lando lightly lift me off of Oscar before bringing me into his chest for a cuddle. Something that was always a part of our aftercare routine.

"How'd you know that would work," Oscar asks chuckling a little before placing a soft kiss on my lips preventing me from answering right away.

"We've been together for over a year. I know how you guys get," I reply back making both of the boys laugh a little.

Once everything has calmed down around us we all get up before getting into the shower together which inevitably resulted in a round 2.

[shotmrmiller]

im ngl i've been driving myself insane with the thought of harboring Ghost in your home. Like in the 09 mission The Hornet's Nest where Roach falls off the one roof?

Yeah, make that Ghost and there's no other choice but for the guys to leave him behind. The LZ is too hot, the enemies are swarming like moths to a flame.

The floor comes to him.

He grits his teeth at the agony, choking back a scream. Ghost just fell off a height that should've broken at least a couple ribs; maybe they did, he doesn't know, there's too much adrenaline coursing through his veins.

He's seeing duplicates, the buildings in front of him blurred. There's buzzing in his head, loud like bees. His chest aches, it burns with the lack of oxygen. His throat feels swollen as he wheezes; each breath feels like shards of glass in his lungs.

The white noise dissipates slowly. His vision realigns, lines and details sharpening. The unseen force that squeezed his throat finally lets go, setting him free from its deadly hold., his chest expanding to the point of discomfort— deep inhale, loud exhale.

Breathe. Focus.

There's radio chatter in his ear— Price snarling at Nikolai to fucking wait, that they can't leave him there in the hornet's nest but even with his vision blurred, Ghost can see that they're getting lit up, and he's not gonna have the entire team blow to bits in the helo over him.

He's just one man, and there's a whole world to save.

There's a searing pain in his arm when he shifts, he can't remember the last time his eyes welled up with tears, but fuckin' hell does it hurt.

His hand trembles violently, and it takes him a couple of tries to finally get his thumb to firmly press down on the button of the radio in the front of his tac vest.

"Leave me! Just go!" he roars.

Price argues back that no man is to be left behind, but Ghost can hear far too many voices in a different language get louder. They'll be killed hovering in the air like that.

"Price! Go!"

The voices in his ear are deafening. He rips off his headset, letting it sit around his neck.

The helicopter above him disappears.

Good.

The avalanche of footsteps gets closer and with a strangled noise that scrapes the back of his throat, he moves. Move to safety, get away from them, hide.

Ghost pushes forward until he stumbles, falling onto one knee— using his injured arm to stabilize. White hot pain licks from the wrist up, flames threatening to consume him whole.

A few stray tears escape the corners of his eyes.

He's too blinded by the throbbing in his body to realize that someone is grabbing his other arm.

"Can you hear me?"

Ghost thinks he might be hallucinating your voice. His agony is transcendent.

"Hey! We don't have much time!"

He turns his head to his left, and there you are. A civilian, by the looks of it. And you're trying to lead him away. Where? Are you leading him to a trap?

"Quickly! They're almost here! I can hide you, but you need to get on your feet!" you piped.

Ghost gets up without a fight, decision-making dulled by everything he's feeling.

"Come on, this way!" Your hand grabs his forearm tightly as you drag him away. He trudges behind you, breathing ragged.

Clarity comes and goes, but then he feels your small palms push him forward, into your tiny home.

His eyes drag as he takes in his surroundings. A tiny television in the living room to his left, and an ugly brown couch placed in front of it. To this right is your kitchen, food still steaming on the stove, and a scratched teak dinner table with just two chairs sits by a dirty window.

Quaint.

"Okay, okay. They shouldn't come in here, but if they do, I want you to go to the bathroom and sit in the tub with the curtain closed. Understand?"

His chin tips forward unbidden.

"Good. Uhm, I saw that your right arm is injured. A makeshift splint will have to do, alright?" You briskly walk away, opening the cabinet underneath the kitchen sink.

Ghost stiffens, swallowing thickly. If you pull anything underhanded, he's going to have to kill you.

The tension melts from his shoulders when he sees that you're simply pulling out a first aid kit, and some other stuff to wrap his most likely broken arm up.

You pull out a chair before opening the kit. "Sit. I'm not standing while I do this."

He huffs but complies. "Yes, ma'am." Unafraid to order a stranger around. How peculiar.

The minutes drag on, each one more agonizing than the last. It's a relentless cycle of pain... until it finally stops. The residual pain makes him dry heave.

"Whoa there, please don't puke."

Ghost gives a pained chuckle. "I'll try."

Your fingers tighten the knot in the fabric. "Can't say it's pristine, but it's better than having your arm dangle uselessly, I think." You stare at your handiwork for a second longer, before rising from your seat.

"I'm not sure who you are, but you look like actual military and not a thug with a gun. Did you have a team?" you quietly ask as you put away the medical supplies.

He cuts his eyes to you and doesn't answer.

"Yeah, I suppose it wouldn't be smart of you to blindly give information I don't need to know."

He shakes his head imperceptibly.

"Right. Well, I'm sure you know that we need to lay low, so unfortunately, that means no tv. Sorry." How cheeky.

Ghost simply hums in response.

He looks down at his injured arm. It's wrapped tightly, enough to keep it from moving but not enough to cut off his blood flow.

Not the work of a regular civilian.

You must've noticed him scrutinizing your work because you speak up. "I've worked in the medical field before. Nothing spectacular, but I can deal with a broken bone or two."

He closes his eyes, feeling the exhaustion of the day creep up on him.

So bloody tired.

Ghost takes a breath and opens his eyes. No rest for the wicked, he thinks.

He puts his headset back on, as well as he can with his one arm.

There's a crackling sound in his ear.

[xx-j4nu5-c4t5-xx]

"An ideal Sims game would have Sims 2's gameplay mechanics, Sims 3's open world, and Sims 4's graphics!"

I absolutely despise this take, and I want to explain why. This is a very long rant and it is full of piss and vinegar directed at everything in the Sims 4. I'm gonna try to keep everything kinda professional as much as I can but I can't guarantee an unbiased opinion.

If you'll let me talk your ears off for a moment, I'd like to explain, from my own experience as an artist and a casual player, my issues with the art style and direction of The Sims 4 compared to The Sims 2. (I'm not really going to comment on 3 because I've never played it.)

I want to start off by explaining the difference between better graphics and higher resolution. The Sims 4 absolutely blows Sims 2 out of the water when it comes to textures and polygon counts on sims, no contest. But I'd argue that the graphics themselves... aren't better. They're worse, even, so much fucking worse. The biggest problems come from the stylization and the animations, in my opinion, so I'll explain what I mean.

Have you ever felt like the Sims in 4 just look... weird? Not quirky, not kinda strange, but off. Distressing. Uncanny. Whatever the fuck the kids call it nowadays. When you strip away the packs and the CC and the shaders, the sims in the base game look bad. They're very close to being human; they walk like us, talk like us, have families like us, but they don't look like us, not exactly. There's always something off about them, no matter how close you try to get. Proportions will be a bit off, or your eyelashes will be like three polygons for some fucking reason, and the jig is up. The illusion is gone.

This is one of the instances where a higher resolution and more detailed models and meshes work against you. You aren't making believe. You are beyond the point of pretending that the pixelated shapes are real clothes and bodies and faces, because at this point, they're close enough that you don't need to. There's no gap to bridge. But that doesn't necessarily mean that they're lifelike, at least, not enough to be completely human. In some ways, they're still tethered to being cartoony and plasticky and fake. Just enough to frighten you. Enough to put you off. They're not using it to their advantage anymore, and instead, it's holding them back.

When the Sims 2 came out in 2004, the developers knew that they weren't going to make a perfectly accurate life simulator. They physically couldn't render every wrinkle in the face or fold in the clothing. In some animations, things clip strangely or the facial expressions are sort of janky or there's just some form of roughness around the edges. But that's okay; your brain doesn't need a perfectly accurate representation this time. That's not what you're here for, anyway.

The Sims 4 is basically Icarus-ing itself into disaster. The entire game sacrifices style for complete realism, a goal that was unachievable ten years ago, and is unachievable now.

The Sims 2 never thought of itself as a completely realistic life sim, though. It has cartoony, low poly meshes and exaggerated proportions and wild, raunchy storylines that would never occur in real life. BECAUSE IT ISN'T REAL LIFE. And it isn't like real life, not because it's failing to be, but because it doesn't want to be!

The Sims 4 is not ever going to completely replicate human looks or interactions or dynamics. And if it's trying to, it's doing a shit job of it. That shouldn't be the goal in the first place. If I wanted to watch a lonely college student talk to himself in the mirror to try and get better at interacting with people, I'd close the computer and go look at myself. It somehow highlights the most mundane parts of life without any of the whimsy and goofiness that the earlier installments had. It takes itself too fucking seriously for its own good, and it's killing both the gameplay and the art style.

The other point I'd like to bring up is the animation. The Sims 4 allows for much more customization of both sim and environments, but at the cost of dynamic animations. How many times is that grab animation reused? How many times is the same set of animations used for sims with wildly different personalities? Your sims barely feel alive with how little they express themselves.

Now, look, I'm a digital artist. I've dabbled in animation, but only briefly, and only in 2D. I've got no clue how 3D animation works, much less how it worked 20 years ago, but I can see the passion in every single animation in the Sims 2. The more niche interactions allowed for more expressive animations than in 4. They could afford to have a distinct animation for mean sims throwing the football extra hard to be assholes, rather than every sim using the same generic football-throwing animation to save time and money. I get where they're coming from. I get the idea. But in one move, you've both made the art style stiffer and less expressive, and you've made the personalities of the sims seem meaningless. Everyone acts the same, regardless of what their moodlets or their traits say. It's hollow. It's stifled. It's a waste of potential.

But for what Sims 2 lacks in polygons, it makes up for in smaller animated details. Quality over quantity. The sims have hair physics, they open the door before they get in the car, they take utensils out of the counters when they cook, they jump on the couch and the cushions smush under their weight. When they dance, the weight is realistic, and when they smile, it tugs at every one of the few dozen shapes that make up their faces. The sims are lively. They dance and sing and love and hate just like humans, and rather than being some strange attempt at mimicry, it's almost a tribute. They were made with love. You can tell that they were drawn up and rigged and animated by a bunch of people working together, studying each other and making faces in the mirror for reference and watching their kids and neighbors and dogs and hands for reference. The sims are not human, and not trying to be, but they're taking the most human parts of us and making them their own.

You could never have a game with the Sims 4's graphics and the Sims 2's gameplay. The gameplay and graphics are inexorably connected, and the Sims 2 just has so much glorious detail baked into it, that you could never really make it work underneath the limitations of the later games. The developers of 2 knew what their limits were, and they worked tirelessly to make the game as full and complex as they could within those limits. The developers for the Sims 4 just did not have those guidelines, and thus, the drive to bend the rules was no longer there. They didn't go wild in rebellion because they were never told they couldn't in the first place. They spent the entire time chasing a goal they couldn't meet, and lost sight of what made the series fun to begin with.

It wasn't the realism you came for; you had realism already surrounding you. It was the caricature of it that made it interesting.

[ranger-ribbons]

General Ranger Headcanons

Ranger Teams are protective of their youngest members and their Reds. Sometimes, this does coincide, but for the most part, the youngest and the Red are separate people

Red Rangers generally have zero self-preservation instincts, either because of trauma or daredevil personalities

Blue Rangers can be the 'tech wiz', but generally, they're just extremely intelligent

Rangers all have a pretty solid relationship with gender and pronouns. Mostly because they see and fight aliens literally every day and have decided they have Bigger Things to worry about

Reds, Yellows, and Blues are usually always there on the Ranger teams, so it's common for them to be close

Rangers have a list that they pass down to the younger teams. This list details little things like how to help give each other strength to what pain medications can help the aches and pains go away fastest, because yes the suits take most of the blows, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt later

Some Rangers have PTSD, some have anxiety, some have depression. There are, in fact, numbers of former-Ranger therapists that the Rangers all know by heart

Teams don't really drift apart, they stick together because who else is gonna understand what it's like to witness the people you hang around daily almost die every other week?

Rangers drift toward other Rangers. It's due to the Morphin' Grid power they've been imbued with and the Morphin' Grid's pull to itself

There's a point in every Ranger's fight that shift-sleeping becomes the norm amongst teams. It's to stop nightmares, but also because of the paranoia that strikes when you're in fight or flight mode too long

Rangers from space or space-adjacent stick together

Rangers in general stick together, always. Where one Ranger is, another is typically not far behind. Some teams go so far as to get houses together, others just in the same neighborhood or town. Never far from each other, and never away for too long

The Power will never, can never abandon its chosen people. Once it makes its choices, it will not deviate. It doesn't stop looking out for its chosen ones either. Once you've bonded to the Morphin' Grid, you're stuck for life, regardless of being active or not

In Universe, people write fanfiction about the Rangers. Yes, they read it, sometimes they even like it. (Megaforce and down in particular find it hilarious)

The scone the Rangers find out about their Super Sentai counterpart shows, it's on. Some find them hilarious, some find them uncomfortable, but it's all in good fun for all of them

A list of common triggers is passed around to the Ranger teams, including but not limited to: loud noises, bugs, fog, robotic voices/static

Some of the Rangers (especially those who've been fighting for years) get therapy animals

Rangers have problems connecting to people who aren't Rangers or don't know about Rangers. Similar to military or police or doctors, Rangers are never truly off unless they're inactive and even then, it's a roll of the dice as to if they'll be pulled back in. Most of them have been doing this since they were teens, so they never truly got a chance. Preston Tien, Ninja Steel Blue, once described the experience as "playing with a half-deck whilst the other decks are rigged against you" and most of the other Rangers agreed

Every Ranger knows the pain of Nightmares, which is a big part of the reason shift-sleeping became so common amongst teams. Sleeping disorders are also common, which is not easy for the Rangers to deal with. When you're trained from a young age to be fighters and saviors of the planet, you don't walk away without trauma

Rangers who've gone Evil (or started Evil) and come back to the side of Good have each other's direct lines, Tommy Oliver, Karone, Trent Fernandez-Mercer, etc, all of them share a similar fear of suddenly turning evil again

Rangers do not like Zordon for his express need to put teenagers into a war that isn't even their's

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

I was thinkin about lifeguard Steve and the way the pool was on Jason's list of places Eddie might be and then this happened. Not sure when it takes place. Eddie's hair is around his shoulders so maybe s2-ish? Pop it into canon wherever you'd like my dears!

Steve's been a lifeguard at the pool for a few years now. Maybe trained for it when he was a freshman. And he.... idley knows that Eddie Munson deals in the small patch of woods behind the pool. Everyone knows that. Or at least, anyone who buys drugs.

Steve had gotten pot from him once. But not behind the pool. Didn't wanna risk getting caught and losing his job. Because yeah, the kids can get a bit roudy, but he genuinely likes being there to help people if, and when, they need it.

The thing is. He sees Eddie pop in sometimes. He wanders in. Looking skiddish when it's overly crowed. Steve watches him, every time he comes in. Not because he's suspicious, or thinks Eddie's gonna do anything. But because sometime he feels the way Eddie looks in crowds. And it makes him feel better to watch him. To look out for him. Even if Eddie doesn't know he's doing it.

And he sees Eddie look at him sometimes. Squinting through the sun and his bangs, his feet dangling in the water as he tries to cool off without getting all the way in the water. His hair is just above his shoulders. Getting longer every year.

Steve tries not to think about how much he wants to tuck it behind Eddie's ears for him, wonders if Eddie would follow him into the janitors closet at school if he asked. If he left a note in his locker. Wonders if he'd just think Steve wants weed from him. Like last time. And not that Steve wants him.

Because Steve can't want that. That's what everyone says. But he watches Eddie smile at a little girl in a bright pink floaty. Her mother smiling too when the little girl leans forward, makes bubbles with her mouth at Eddie. And Eddie wiggles his fingers back at her, nudges her floaty with his toe genlty, sends her spinning and giggling. And Eddie throws his head back and laughs and Steve wants.

Steve can see he's a good guy. But he sees how people look at him. How the other jocks talk about him. Call him names. Things they'd call Steve too if they knew what he was. So Steve keeps his mouth shut. And his eyes on Eddie Munson.

And then one day, the pool is crowded. Packed. All the kids and teens and parents shoved in like sardines and Steve watches Eddie hesitate at the gate. His eyes roaming over the crowd, teeth worrying into his lip, his hand falls away twice.

But he wipes at the sweat on his face and sets his shoulders. Shuffles into to the pool area and heads for his normal spot. The corner of the pool at the shallow end. He just likes to dip his feet in. That's all. Steve has never seen him actually in the water. Crowd or not.

There's a yell, Eddie's head snaps in that direction. Some asshole from the basketball team, Steve knows him, but not well. He yells at Eddie and Steve's hackles rise, he sits forward on his chair more. Watching as the boy and a few of his friends start moving towards Eddie. He sees Eddie bump into someone as he tries to move away from them.

A scream from the other end of the pool draws Steve's attention. For just a moment. It was just some kids. Splashing each other.

Steve moves his eyes back to where Eddie was. He's gone. Replaced with the group of laughing boys.

But Steve's observant. His eyes land on the mom and little girl Eddie had played with last time he was here. She's holding her daughter on her hip, her eyes worried, staring at the shallow end. Her eyes move up, like they're in slow motion, they meet Steve's, and she points, wordlessly, into the water. Her little girl is crying now. Maybe sensing the dread her mother is clearly feeling.

Steve moves fast after that. Blows his whistle and jumps down. Shouts for everyone to get out of the pool and dives in, slipping easily past the bodies climbing out.

Eddie's laying at the bottom of the pool. There's a small cloud of blood blooming through his hair, a red halo floating around his head. Steve groans, bubbles flowing from his nose, his stomach sinking as his fingers curl into Eddie's vest. He pulls the boy to his chest and hauls him up. Hefts him over his shoulder and lays him on his back on the concrete as gently as he can.

"Move back. Everyone get back." He says, automatically. The crowd does as they're told as Steve leans down, presses his head against Eddie's chest, he's not breathing.

"Shit." He whispers it, starts chest compressions and breaths air into Eddie's lungs.

It takes 6 breathes. 4 curses. And one,

"C'mon Eddie. Come back to me."

And Eddie coughs. Water spewing out of his mouth as his back arches off the ground.  Steve holds his head, doesn't want him to fall back and hit it again.

"There we go. Hey you're okay. It's okay." Steve soothes, Eddie gabbing at his arms, still struggling, sucking in air harshly. Steve pulls him to his chest protectively. Eddie clings to him, his wet hair matted to his face as Steve's hand rests over it, he can feel blood on his fingers. Not a lot. But enough.

He looks up, into the crowd, finds the group of guys, they're smirking, don't even have the decency to look upset that they nearly killed someone.

"What the hell happened?" Steve asks, voice calm, and to those who know him best, that's not a good sign. Steve's eyes find the mom, the one who had laughed with Eddie instead of giving him a sideways wary look and pulling her kid away like the others.

"They threw him in." She said, her face pale, her daughter tucked up under her chin now. Steve feels Eddie shaking in his arms, his clothes still dripping water onto the hot concrete, and looks back to the boys.

"You're banned."

"Oh what? Seriously Harrington?"

"For life. Get out." They try to protest, stupid excuses dripping from their lips.

"Now! Go! Before I call the fucking cops!" Steve shouts, points over their heads at the gate.

"In fact. Everyone out! Pools closed!" No one else argues. Only the mother and her daughter linger as Steve moves his attention back to Eddie. He lets Eddie uncurl from his chest, finds big brown eyes looking at him.

"Thanks man." He breaths, his hand moving to his throat as he coughs again.

"Sure. Lemme get a look at your head too." Steve moves to his side, presses Eddie forward a bit, moves his fingers through his hair. Sucks in air through his teeth when he sees the small gash on his head.

"That bad?" Eddie asks, his hands trembling as they rest on his thighs.

"You might need a couple stitches." Steve says, moving a bit more of Eddie's hair, to see better, he tells himself, not so he can keep touching him.

"I can do it." The voice startles Steve. He looks up, the mother is looking down at them. A soft smile.

"If you have a first aid kit that is. Two stiches should do you fine. If you can hold her while I work?" She bounces the little girl on her hip a few times. She reaches out for Eddie and he laughs. Steve laughs too, but goes to grab the first aid kit.

He holds the little girl, Daisy, as her mom, Lilly, cleans the cut in Eddie's hair and gets the needle threaded.

"How do you know how to do that?" Steve asks, making a face at Daisy, sending her giggling again before looking back to her mom. Eddie has his fingers wrapped around Steve's ankle, his fingers tapping nervously.

"Oh my mama taught me. I helped patch up my brother and my daddy lots of times." She smiles at the memories, moves her hand to Eddie's shoulder.

"You ready hon? It's not gonna feel very nice." Eddie sniffles. Steve lowers himself and Daisy to the ground, presses his thigh into Eddie's and grabs his hand with his free one. Eddie looks at him, eyes wide. Steve nods. Eddie nods back.

"Ready."

She works fast. Gives him three instead of two just to be safe. Eddie had squeezed Steve's hand so hard he thought he might break it. But he hadn't made a sound. And when he let go, Steve missed his hand, clinging to him.

Lilly offers to give Eddie a ride home. Apparently they're neighbors. She lives a few trailers down from him and his uncle. He accepts, gratefully. "Thank you's" dripping freely from his mouth as he follows her out to her car. Steve a few paces behind them. Eddie stops before he gets in, looks at Steve, his face doing something funny.

And then he's jogging the few paces back to Steve and pulling him in for a hug.

"Seriously man. Thank you. Thought I was a gonner there for a minute." He breaths the words into Steve's shoulder, squeezes him tight. Lingers too long. Eddie pulls back and he's pink to the tips of his ears. He glances at Steve as he pulls away, grimaces, and mutters,

"Sorry." And ducks hurriedly into the car. They're gone before Steve can correct him. That he doesn't need to be sorry. That Steve understands. He's like that too.

~°~

They don't mention it again. Not at school. Not at the boathouse. Not in the upside down. Neither one of them says a thing about it.

Until Eddie wakes up in the hospital. He's covered in bandages and Steve Harrington is sitting in the chair next to his uncle looking concerned. The same look he'd had at the pool that day after he'd breathed life back into Eddie. His scars look healed. Ish. Lot of time must have passed.

After Wayne stops hugging him and Steve is settled close, his hand in Eddie's, squeezing tight. Eddie sighs around a smile and says,

"Saved me again didn't you?"

And Steve laughs, can't help it. But he cries too, and nods, and bites his lip as he leans closer to Eddie, like he needs to be closer, to be next to Eddie. And that's... something. Eddie tilts his head against his pillow, looks at Steve.

"Let's not make it a habit okay? I kind of hate doing it." Steve says, his head falling to rest against Eddie's hand.

"Sorry. Had to keep those bats away from Dusty. And hey,"

He wiggles his wrist so Steve's head jostles and lifts, his eyes on Eddie's face now, cheeks wet.

"I figured you'd come save me. Worked the last time." Eddie shrugs, grimaces at the pain in his body. Steve shakes his head, but his eyes are fond.

"Yeah well, I didn't have Lilly this time, so the stiches look like shit." He sniffles, and Eddie laughs, deep in his chest, immediately regrets it and grimaces. And that's apparently all Steve can take, he takes a watery breath and climbs up into the bed next to Eddie. It's a tight squeeze but neither of them care. Wayne laughs, pats Eddie's ankle and tells him he's gonna go get some food.

Steve nuzzles into his neck best he can without hitting any bandages, wraps his arms genlty across Eddie's stomach and holds him.

"Seriously man. Don't make me do it again. Please." Steve begs, rubs his wet cheek against Eddie's shoulder.

"But Steven," Eddie sighs, not able to keep from joking, the seriousness of it all about to choke him. Steve tilts his head, listening.

"How else am I supposed to get you to kiss me?" He whispers it, knows it's okay now, to say it to Steve, to feel that for Steve. Steve laughs into his shoulder, shakes his head.

"Just fucking ask me man." He sniffles, presses his forehead to Eddie's shoulder, hard, his fingers moving to tangle with Eddies.

"Hey Steve?" Eddie asks, his voice still a whisper.

"Yeah Eddie?" Steve whispers back. Eddie smiles, waits for Steve to get impatient. It doesn't take long. He pushes himself up onto his hand to look down at Eddie.

"What?" He asks, brow furrowed.

"Kiss me?" Eddie's own brow furrows even as Steve smiles down at him, closes the distance quickly, brushes his nose against Eddie's.

"Anytime you want." Steve breathes into his mouth. Eddie hums, moves his lips gently against Steve's and feels him sigh into it when he feels Eddie kissing him back.

They fall alseep next to each other. Wayne only waking them when the doctor is on his way in. Steve rolls out of the bed and sits in his chair. Keeping his eyes on Eddie.

And when Eddie glances at Steve, gives him a silly little smile, Steve thinks back to the pool, and the way Eddie would glance at him then, trying not to get caught while everyone else would leer openly at him. His heart flutters in his chest when Eddie crosses his eyes and sticks out his tongue, so grateful to his past self for becoming a lifeguard.

He'd saved a few people over the years. But he's pretty sure he was sent there to save Eddie Munson. To keep him alive. Because as he sat there, watching Eddie joke with the nurses about how metal his scars would be, Steve was pretty sure Eddie Munson may have saved him too.

Or might save him later.

Or was saving him now.

Either way, the way Eddie's fingers find his on the hospital bed, twitching into his and making them both smile. Steve knows it was worth it, all of it, just to see that smile.

[natsglorifiedsimp]

Occupied

a bit of angst today cause why not?😝 oh gosh why is my writing so bad now lol i think this would be a last one lollll

This was a request of @aosquakewidow23

Taglist: @diaryoflife @xxromanoffxx @lissaaaa145 @fxckmiup @mmmmokdok @sayah13 @karmasgxrl @meurgen @simp-erformarvelwomen @lilaswidowspark @snowdrop1026 @beholdagaywriter

(I'm not the owner of this fanart. Ctto)

"I need someone to talk to," you said sheepishly to both of your girlfriends. You tried your best to still maintain a smile even though you wanted to cry your heart out.

They know you are shy and not the best at communicating. They know how much courage it took you to say that you're hurting inside. But this time they ignored it.

"Y/n, I'm sorry but not right now. We still have finishing up to do." Natasha said.

A plea for help turned into an embarrassment. "What were you thinking?" you scold yourself.

You slowly backed away from them to give them much-needed space. "I'm sorry" you frowned. "I can come back later when you aren't busy." you tried to show a smile but your lips failed you.

"Yeah, yeah" Wanda flicked her hand ushering you out.

You wept in the hallway trying desperately to keep it together. "Maybe they're just busy and this is nothing, I can get over it myself" you convinced yourself.

---

Hoping they would listen to you, they didn't. It has been a week since they last told you to get off their faces. But it was one of those days again. You've been bottling up everything but you're already so exhausted.

"Nat? Wands?" you sounded so small, your eyes filled with tears you can't hold back anymore. "I could really use a hug right now."

Roaming your eyes in the room you noticed an unpacked suit of case. "What?"

You hurriedly looked at your closet, "Some of the clothes are gone" you thought.

Just in time Natasha and Wanda both came out of the bathroom. "Are you guys gonna leave?" you brittle.

"Oh yeah, new mission," Natasha said casually like it's nothing. Your eyes burned as you tried to keep your tears at bay. "But we haven't h-hang out yet." you stuttered.

"It's fine, we can do that when we get back" Wanda was occupied with her necessities. She didn't even spare a glance at you.

"Uhm, okay." you frowned in disappointment.

---

During the nights, you were up. Trying to keep your feelings in a jar keeping them away from people who are trying to help. You felt like a responsibility attached to your girlfriend's tail.

Someone who is trying to belong to a circle where she didn't fit in. You kept your distance to the team making sure you talked enough but not too much. Talked about them but little about you.

A daily stroll became your daily routine. During the day or night, you'd make sure you had your peace. But today, it wasn't the usual calm day. A guy dressed in a skimpy outfit is trying to snatch the poor young woman's purse.

Combat was something you never learned. Even from your girlfriends. But seeing the situation you didn't even think twice.

You grabbed the man's arm and kicked his crotch. He winced in agony keeping his balls together. You grinned braggingly and brought back the purse to the lady.

In utter anger, the man kicked your back with full force causing you to bumped the floor. 'That hurt' you thought.

He didn't stop there he made sure to give you blows by blow. You didn't fight though, you didn't care. At one point you even wished this would cause your death.

---

Getting home bruised and broken worried the team. Each one trying to talk to you, to give you immediate care. But with a simple "I'm fine" they stopped.

You walked past them like nothing happened. As if you didn't look like a mess. Natasha and Wanda were still weren't there though. As always.

---

The two redheads got back home exhausted. Shoulders slumped, eyes heavy with almost a week of deprived sleep.

FRIDAY notified you of their arrival but ashamed of what they're gonna say you kept it a secret. You hid in your room and sobbed until sleep took over.

You tried to keep yourself anonymous. Going into a room where the redheads are wasn't much hard. You were invisible to them.

This went on for days and you assumed that it was over. They no longer love you. They no longer care for you. You were once again alone in a room full of people you know but never belong to.

The bruises were still there. If anything they were more purple and visible. The ache in your back worsens but you didn't care.

Wanda gasped, "What happened y/n?!"

Suddenly you were visible again everyone was looking at you. "I'm fine" you lied.

"If you're fine you sure as hell won't have bruises littered all over you" she scolded worryingly.

She tried to grab your hand but you moved away from her. "It's fine, Wanda. It's not like you guys would care." your lips trembled.

"How can we take care of you if you wouldn't tell us what's wrong?" Natasha said.

Your eyes snapped at her, "I did try, Natasha. But you're too busy enough to even care!" the hood that you've been hiding on for weeks fell from your head. Now they could see every bruise you took from that snatcher.

"Oh y/n," Wanda said. "Come on let's get you fixed up" she ushered.

"No. I'm fine." you snapped. "Go back to your perfect little bubble."

"Honey, our bubble isn't perfect if you're not in it." Natasha cooed.

"Then the perfect little bubble ended weeks ago."

You only matter when you're sick and bruised. But once everyone finds how irrelevant you are. They'll pick a new person that is more capable than you. Remember: you're not a lot of people's favorite person

[alacetor-the-duckies-deer]

I have this headcanon for Alastor's back story where he's trans, and just as himself, as he is in the show, even as a kid. So his parents sent him of to a convent, were upon ww1 breaking out in his late teens, he ran away, forged a new identity as a man, got found out once he was already over seas, blackmailed a superior into letting him stay on, where he was introduced to radio communication, and the rest is history.

But all that to say, I like to then imagine, whenever anyone tells him something mildly outlandish, but definitely true, he likes to respond with "Yes, Vox, and I took a vow of celibacy when I was a catholic nun"

To which of course people think, "so you don't belive me? I mean but aren't you a virgin? Are you not????"

And of course, this never gets asked because who's gonna ask The Radio Demom about his Sexy Life.

Angel Dust that's who.

I imagine him doing an interview on Al's Show, just a mix of publicity for them both, hanging out because they're friends, and it's all a big middle finger to the Vee's.

Maybe it's pride month and so they were planning some talk about that, Alastor joking about a possible comming out, even though its plenty well know Alastor is some where on the ace spectrum to anyone with eyes.

They get on the topic somehow, Angel says something like, "I never laid myself across the bar like that! Second set of arms at most! Never my butt, never mind my legs! not after the first time!"

"Mh-hm. You got desperate in your flirting, and I took a vow of celibacy, when I was a nun. We all do silly things, Angel."

"Well, maybe I've laid out on the pool table, but it makes for good pictures. Anyway, I been meaning to ask you about that."

"About being a nun?

"No," angel laughs, plays it off, thinking he's joking. "About your being ace and all. No pressure, but like, you really never even wanted to try?"

"No, I find it quite repulsive. The idea even,"

"You don't watch nothin'? Read nothing either?"

"Ha! No! The filthy little novel Sister Amillia sneaked in the once was quite enough- are you okay Angel?"

Angel had infact just chocked on his latte. "Wait? Sister Amillia? Sneaked in? To where!?"

"The convent, Angel. I was 14, she was 16. Wonderful woman, taught me how to handle a knife, she left shortly after the novel was discovered- Sister Tabitha was as squeaky a little rat as she looked- never saw Amillia again, though."

"Wait, sorry. You were a nun, like, actually? What the fuck?"

One of the little lights that says they have a caller lit up, but Alastor ignore it for now. "Yes, Angel, do keep up."

"Wait, so like that nun costume you wear on halloween?" Angel blows right past the fact Alastor just came out as trans, because yeah. Didnt see it comming but, the trains already wizzing by, and more importantly- "Is that like your actual nun costume?"

"Ha! No, I flung that horrid thing in a garbage can on my way to the enlistment office when I was 17."

"Enlistment?" Angels begining to see what Alastor meant when he said this episode was going to be a unique experience for his listeners at the start of the braodcast. "Like world War 1, right? You were alive for that..."

"Yes, I figured with all the confusion one little girl-"

Angel's phone goes off. It's Val. Angel hits ignore.

"Fuck off Val, I'm off today" Angel says into his mic.

But they get interrupted again and again until Angel turns his phone off.

At which point all twelve of the little light that indicate the show had callers on the line, light up.

"Ah fuck. What does he want that bad? Can you just answer it real quick?"

Alastor flips a switch and answers.

"The fuck you want Val-"

"I'm not calling for you!" It's Vox on the other end, his voice booming from the speaker "Alastor! Are you fucking serious? You were a fucking nun?"

"Yes, Vox." He says with faux patience. "My goodness, did you all stuff your ears with cotton this morn-"

"So you DID actually take a vow of Celibacy? The other day at the meeting during my presentation, you said "that'll work, Vox, sure- and I took a vow-"

"Yes. I was there."

"And!?!"

"Celibacy, among other things. If this is a dig at my sexuality than-"

"Nah fuck that, hang on I'm doing math! Okay you were born in 1901, makes you 17 in 1918, yeah that tracks. Okay so 2024 make you 123, minus the 17 years to be conservative, thats 106 yeah?"

"I was 15 when I took that vow, and under threat of being institutionalized, if that's what you're getting at-"

"108! Ha! Oh my God! 108 years! That's gotta be a record!"

"What are you getting at Vox?"

"You took a vow!" Vox screams through his laughter. "All the pomp and circumstance! On consecrated ground! before god!? To abstain from sex! And even here in hell, were sin and blasphemy are rampant and free-"

"Careful Vox, your televangelist is showing-"

"Who gives a fuck!? You're the one whos upheld their vow to God for over a century like some devout saint!"

Angel and Alastor sit there staring at eachother while Vox laughs his head off around them

"Saint Alastor the Abstinent! The pantron Saint of Virgi-"

Alastor hangs up. "Well that was informative!" Alastor chirps "Well, What's to be done about this? Hm, Angel?"

And for some reason, an unholy one, surely, the first thing out of Angel's mouth is "I could suck you dick? If that- would count?"

And it's a testament to how far they've come as friends, or pooooossbily Alastor's nerves, or maybe his sheer unwavering bravado, but Alastor only bursts out laughing, shaking his head as he get out between laughter "I don't- have one!"

And then they're both laughing and laughing and laughing, and eventually they calm down, and Alastor gets a thoughtful look. "Though, Vox did have one good point."

"Oh?"

"That does have to be a recorded, at least among sinners. Why! I very well might have redeemed myself! We should certainly bring this up with Sera at the next conference!"

And then their off both laughing again, imaging Serra's face when she realises she's going to have to look into yet more research onto the workings of redemption from Heaven's end.

[anzulvr]

OMG YOUR WORKS ARE SO AWOOGA I CANT STOP 😭 can I request karma x reader too with a s/o that cries with a straight face and cries whenever they're seething in anger, if I tried to say smth while I'm sad then the straight face just dissolves into a mess 🤠 maybe a part where Karma makes them cry im both ways and another part someone in class makes them cry, ty if you can (> <)!!

Karma x Reader who cries out of Anger. Sorry for being late (again!!), Ily your typing is so fun😭 thank you for requesting!ASSASSINATION CLASSROOM SPOILERS ꒱

Karma is too straightforward, he makes insensitive jokes, he isn’t the most emotionally mature person and he can be pushier than most. So when you’re sitting beside him, holding back tears, he doesn’t know which one of his traits drove you to this point.

The worst part is you refuse to answer when he asks, instead opting for looking the other direction or giving him a scowled expression. He racked his brain, you guys went to school, were perfectly fine, came back and now you’re angry.

“[Name] why have you been mad at me all day? And don’t say you’re not, you keep a straight face whenever you are.”

He pries and pries until you finally blow up on him.

“So you can just throw yourself off a mountain for an assassination attempt without a second thought and expect me not to care?”

“I’m fine aren’t I? That was the best idea I could come up with, I don’t know how I could top it.” He says like he’s disappointed in the fact it failed.

“You don’t see the problem? Seriously?”

“If somebody doesn’t kill him, everyone is going to die- you’re gonna die, did you expect me to not try my ideas??”

“I didn’t expect you to try to off yourself in the process.”

“It’s not about my life it’s about yours, I’m not letting you die.”

“How am I supposed to live if you’re dead?!” Your voice only gets louder.

“How am I supposed to live if you die because I was too scared to try something?!” Karma replies matching your tone.

“Tell me you won’t try anything like that again.”

He looks at the floor not wanting to face you.

You press further “If you die over this, I’ll die with you.”

The tears stream down your face, you do your best to keep your blank expression.

He can’t be the reason you get hurt, he knows you know that much. “It won’t come to that, we’ll assassinate him together.”

୨୧

If the reason for your tears is someone else the way Karma reacts is a unique depending on the person.

If Teraska makes you cry Karma going to instigate until Terasaka gets pissed off enough to fight him.

“Making [Name] cry? No wonder you’ve gotten rejected by every girl you’ve shown interest in.”

“Ya don’t know anything- stop shoving your head in other peoples business.”

“[Names] business is mine too, if you don’t like that you can fight me over it.”

“Tch..” Terasaka looks away in annoyance

“What? You scared?” Karma isn’t giving up until Terasaka throws a punch and looses.

If Maehara and Okajima are the culprits, Karmas exposing their embarrassing secrets to the class.

“I know you two aren’t the brightest… but I’d think you’d know not to bother [Name].”

Unlike Terasaka they’re not willing to take their chances against Karma, they know it’s too late making you cry is a death wish.

“Hear us out- we weren’t trying to offend anyone we just-”

Karma doesn’t let them finish their sentence before he says “You know what I think is so funny, I found this crazy video of you guys.”

“Wait huh?”

“It’s not loading right now, I’ll post it on my story later so you two know what I’m talking about!”

“Please don’t! What even is it?!”

It’s a video of the time they tried a contemporary dance class to impress some girls and ended up tripping on each other and fighting, they kept slipping with every punch, needless to say they’re prohibited from going back.

If Korosenseis work load is what’s making you upset he’s going to guilt trip him until he agrees to excuse your assignments, “You call yourself a teacher? Poor [Name] is stressed out and you don’t care.”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to pressure anyone that’s the opposite of what I want to do!! [Name] I’ll give you an extension.”

“Just an extension after what you did? [Name] is humiliated after crying infront of everyone and that’s the solution?”

“It wasn’t that bad…” You felt better and you tried talking yourself out of it but he kept going.

“I say you excuse the assignment and let [name] rest. You’re so cruel… making your student hate school.” He knows exactly where to hit, Korosensei is sensitive enough to make that easy, he would never forgive himself if he burnt out his students.

“Okay [Name] you’re excused for the project. Please, forgive me!” Korosensei is the one crying now, but at least you don’t have to worry about the assignment anymore. The rest of the class starts complaining about it too in hopes to get it excused themselves.

[yanderetheumbrellaacademy]

I wonder can I still ask for more yandere overprotective Five head canon or scenario something like that? Are yours ask box still open anyway? OwO oh and I really love your writing ❤️🧡💛

Oh? Thank you :)

You are such an idiot and clumsy, so Five always has to come in and save you

You'll trip and Five will teleport and grab you

He'll act annoyed, but he's really worried about you

He wants to keep you stay somewhere safe [In his room]

You will always be his main priority, even over his own family. No offense to them, but they're family, you're the love of his life, and he can't live without you. He's already lived decades without them, so he can manage

But losing you- That he can't do

He has like a sixth sense for when you're about to be hurt

To close to fire and your hair's about to light? He appears and blows it out

You're not paying attention and a car's coming, about to hit you? He appears and teleports you away. He's angry at you for not paying attention and gives you a pep talk. You frown, but he's looking out for you. He takes whatever was distracting you [Phone, Book, Magazine, Animal/Creature] and you are not seeing it anytime soon

About to fall down the stairs? He's there and catches you in his arms

Point is, he always there, always protecting you

He wants to protect you and wishes you'd stay in his room, where he knows you'd be safe. He tries convincing you, but you're very stubborn and hard headed

He'll be in the middle of a conversation, get a tingle, teleport off and then come back and continue the conversation

He's like your guardian angel, because he only does this for you

He'll sit and watch his siblings fall or get hurt and won't even look up/ or help

But if it's you-

Klaus fell once and you were right behind them and you almost fell too, but luckily Five got you. Klaus realized this and taunted Five; Much to his annoyance

"Damn gonna save them but not your own sibling." He then tsk and shakes his head, while Five rolls his eyes and leads you away

^ Klaus tells everyone and they come in on Five

They think it's cute and didn't realize Five felt love

Five will just sit in annoyance, soaking it in, because there's nothing he can do

Though he does leave hearing you laugh, even if it's at him; He'll let it slide

[enderwoah]

fresh new watcher/listener headcanon: they do better when the opposite sense is completely taken out of the picture

like u give a watcher noise-cancelling headphones and suddenly they gain a +14 to perception, they see Every Detail and can see up to like a billion miles away from where they're standing, everything that makes up everything down to the molecule if they squint, in a fight they're so good at tracking how their opponent swings and makes the smallest, most minute of eye movements that it basically looks like they're predicting their opponent's movements just from analysing what they're already doing down to an insane degree. all you gotta do to make a listener unable to hear you is, well, not talk. that aint gonna work here. you're communicating through body language and overly-expressive looks? the watchers read it like its (very literally) its own language. reading lips is a breeze. passing notes in the back of the class ain't gonna work here.

on the other hand, give a listener a blindfold and they become acutely aware of the Exact BPM of Everyone Within A Billion Mile Radius. watchers, when they are not using their ability to literally see everything everywhere all at once, can be hidden from. you plant yourself behind a big enough tree and you're damn near invisible. hiding from a listener in this state is impossible. both literally and figuratively- give a listener a blindfold and make 'em interrogate someone, they're able to hear every vocal inflection, every hesitation, every cutoff, and will probably instantly know whether youre lying or not. their fighting style becomes completely reactive- with a fast enough reaction time (and lets be real theyre mildly immortal pseudo-gods, their reaction time is fast enough) they can hear the sound of an arrow cutting through the air and dodge it without even looking. they can catch blades on their own weapons and are the master of side-stepping out of the way when someone tries to stab them from behind like the cool kids they are

i feel like if you pitted them in a fight against each other, they'd be insufferable to one another but absolutely enthralling to watch from the outside. i'd like to think that watchers are very formal, since they have that whole lawful evil type nonsense going on, so the way they fight is very by-the-books, won't break rules, fights like they're being scored type beat. on the other hand, listeners are, again, purely reactive. they are impulse-driven chaos mongerers, and thus they fight dirty. below the belt? low-hanging fruit? sounds good to them. they'd go for an easy shot in the Nether region, if you know what i mean (jimmy and grian are exceptions; they purposely act the opposite of what they're meant to because they're sort of just Like That tbh)

but yeah, they'd be SO annoying to one another. the watcher keeps having to parry the listener's bs blows (which annoys the listener to no end because the POINT of those shots is that you DON'T SEE THEM COMING!!), keeps trying to land hits but is evaded at the exact last second, probably on purpose just to make the watcher mad. like, the listener hears the sword coming at them from a mile away but doesn't dodge until the last possible moment just so the watcher can see how small a distance they missed by. but then the listener tries to make shots of their own and they're blocked halfway through the swing. the listener barely even comes close to hitting them because the watcher is predicting the damn future or something stupid like that, making it impossible for them to do anything unless they move like an absolute maniac so the watcher can't predict them. similarly, the only way the watcher can land anything is by exclusively using fake-outs, which just feels wrong.

honestly, i'm imagining a spar between martyn and pearl like this. they're so silly i think they would lightheartedly get on each other's nerves in this way until the fight is abruptly ended by pearl kicking martyn in the nether because yes, she fights by the rules, and it was a spar with no rules so. hey. fair game.

[unpredictable-probabilities]

Raisins and Dates

Summary:

A beautiful stranger catches Hob’s eye during a night out at a bar. Spurred on by his cheeky friends and a fair amount of alcohol, Hob makes his way over to court him through the most daring method possible.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7,874

Square/Prompt: C3 - Bad Pickup Lines |  @dreamlingbingo

Ship(s): Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, First Meeting, Pick-Up Lines, Bad Pick-Up Lines, But they both find it cute so it's okay, Drunkenness, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunken Confessions, Temporary memory loss because of drunkenness, Hangover, Sweet, Sweet/Hot, Domestic, Kissing, Neck Kissing, French Kissing, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Oral Sex, Smut, Eventual Smut, Cuddling & Snuggling

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57613603

—

“Look, I've seen you use pickup lines,” Hob reminded his friends, his words only slurring a bit. It was their first night out in weeks because of conflicting work schedules and they might have gotten a bit enthusiastic at downing shots. “Half of you lot got rejected within seconds of saying them. Pickup lines are…” he furrowed his eyebrows as he tried to remember what adjectives were. “Stupid. The only reason you even attempt them is because that's what people do in bars. But not me. I've seen enough of you crash and burn. I've made up my mind,” he took a drink from his beer bottle. “I'm never gonna use any pickup line.”

It wasn't the most world-changing principle to hold onto, but Hob tended to run his mouth whenever he'd had more than a few drinks, and when his equally drunk friends dared him to get any stranger's phone number with a pickup line, Hob suddenly felt like giving an entire lecture about it.

“You're an idiot, Robbie,” Ken called him by the nickname he knew Hob disliked the most. “You're just saying that ‘cause you know you'll get rejected like the rest of us.”

Frank piped up. “Maybe I'll take you up on that dare, Ken. You think a pickup line would work on that lady in the black shirt?” He nodded over to the bar where a woman with curly hair and a nice smile was talking to a man who had his back to them.

“Oh, honey,” Hal gave Frank a pitying look. “I don't think anything you say would work on someone so out of your league. And it's a tank top, not a shirt.”

“And that guy could be her boyfriend,” Ken pointed with a nacho to the man leaning against the bar.

Hob was about to say something, but whatever it was fled his mind when the man turned around to speak to the bartender.

His face reminded Hob of those Greek statues in museums; lined features on smooth marble, cheekbones so sharp that Hob would willingly risk getting his hand cut if it meant he could touch them.

“I don't think they're dating,” Hob managed to remember what he was about to say, but this time he knew he sounded a bit hopeful.

“Oh?” Hal arched an intrigued eyebrow. “Would you mind confirming for us, darling?”

“Hey,” Frank elbowed Hob. “If you get that bloke’s number with a pickup line, I’ll get the tab for our next three nights out.”

“Now, we’re talking!” Ken piped up.

Hob was barely listening, still staring at the man who had now turned his back again to continue his conversation with the woman. He stood up—to the surprised and slurred cheers of his friends—and made his way over to the bar.

The woman saw him first, meeting his gaze over the man’s shoulder. For a second, Hob was afraid that they really were dating, and the woman was about to drag the man away somewhere else.

But she smiled warmly and said to the man, “I think someone wants to buy you a drink, brother,” nodding in Hob’s direction.

Brother. Hob knew he was already grinning.

The man turned to face him, and Hob’s breath hitched, suddenly realising how close they were to each other. Piercing blue eyes fixed on him, before flicking down to the bottle he still held in his hand.

“I do not think you should buy any more drinks,” the man said, an amused smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Do you like raisins?” Hob blurted out.

The man looked at him curiously. “I don’t believe they sell raisins here.”

“Well how do you feel about a date?” Hob said cheekily.

The man’s face showed a combination of surprise and confusion, but he wasn’t walking away and Hob was taking that as a win.

The woman laughed good-naturedly behind her brother and patted him on the back. “I think that’s my cue to leave.”

Her brother raised an eyebrow. “You are the one who pestered me to go out tonight, and now you will leave me alone?”

“I'll just be over there by the tables if you need me,” she smiled reassuringly before walking away.

The man turned to Hob again. “Do such lines usually work for you?”

Hob chuckled, leaning against the bar. “Nah. I’ve never even used a pickup line until now. I just heard one of my friends use that one earlier.”

“And did it work?”

“Not at all,” Hob shook his head. “The guy didn’t know that dates were a fruit, and it was just an awkward time with my friend trying to explain the wordplay.”

Amusement twinkled in the man’s eyes, softening his features. “Then why use the same line if it proved ineffective?”

“Had to say something, didn’t I? And we’re having a conversation right now so I’d say it’s effective enough.” Hob grinned and finished the last of his beer, placing the empty bottle on the bar. “Y’know, my friends thought your sister was your girlfriend.” Was that relevant? Hob wasn’t sure, but it was something to say.

The man’s eyebrows lifted. “And that is why you approached me? To settle an argument among your friends?”

“S’no argument,” Hob frowned to try to remember. He hadn’t really been paying attention to the table conversation at the time. “Yeah. I just thought you’re beautiful and I’d regret it for the rest of my life if we never talked,” he chuckled and looked down, sheepishly tugging at his earlobe.

The man had a look of mild surprise on his face. “You are… sincere.”

“What? Well, yeah. Why would I lie about that?” Hob asked in confusion.

“Some people do,” the man gave a half shrug. “It’s why I dislike going to these places,” he muttered, eyeing the crowds.

“Oh,” Hob remembered what this man said about his sister just pestering him to go here tonight. He shifted on his feet uncomfortably. “Um, I can just go back to my friends. If that’s what you want…?”

The man looked at him for a moment, then he opened his mouth to answer—

“Here's your order, sir.” The bartender placed a drink and a small basket of pretzels on the bar. He handed back a credit card.

“Thank you.” The man took the card and turned back to Hob. “Do you like pretzels?”

Hob blinked. He looked at the basket and back at the man. “I— Yeah.”

“Then would you care to join me? I believe we can find a table somewhere.” His eyes seemed to glitter with intent before he gracefully turned and walked away.

Hob could do nothing but follow, determined to find out just what sort of intent the man had in mind.

They sat across from each other at a table, and Hob felt a bit more confident at being invited. “I never caught your name.”

“Finally remembered to ask, didn't you?” the man arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

“Technically, I still haven't asked,” Hob replied with a cheeky grin.

The corner of the man’s mouth twitched up. “Dream.”

“What?” Hob furrowed his eyebrows, unsure if he heard correctly.

“My name is Dream.”

“Uh-huh,” Hob said, playfully skeptical. “Because you look like a dream?”

“I am telling the truth,” the man’s eyes were twinkling with mirth as he took something out of his wallet, then showed it to Hob.

Hob leaned forward and saw that it was an ID card. “You’re a director?”

“For theatre plays, yes.” The man—Dream—put the ID back in his wallet. “The latest production we’ve done was a retelling of Twelfth Night.”

“Ah, Shakespeare.” Hob must have looked unimpressed, because Dream tilted his head curiously.

“You are not fond of The Bard?”

Hob shrugged. “I’ve always just preferred Christian Marlowe. Though I wouldn’t mind having a Dream for a midsummer’s night,” he winked.

Dream’s lips curved into an amused smile. “It is only the 7th of June, weeks away from midsummer.”

“Well I’d love to see you again then,” Hob said easily, endeared by how Dream knew exactly when midsummer would even be.

“I do not tend to have meetings with strangers,” Dream leaned back in his seat with a playful gaze.

“Oh! My name!” Hob suddenly realised. “Right, sorry.” He got his own ID from his pocket and showed it to Dream. “I’m Hob.”

Dream read it with a curious expression. “Your ID says Robert.”

“Yeah, but my friends call me Hob.” He pocketed the ID again.

“And that is what we are?” There were equal parts intrigue and wonder in Dream’s voice.

“If you’d like…?” Hob said, suddenly unsure what Dream wanted out of this interaction.

Then there was that small smile again, and Hob knew he'd do anything to see it more often. “I would. Hob Gadling.”

The way Dream said his name made Hob’s breath catch in his throat. The soft rumble that came out of those pink lips seemed to caress each syllable as if it were something precious.

“So you’re a manager at a coffee shop?” Dream brought a pretzel to his mouth and his tongue darted out to get it.

Hob tried not to stare too much at that and almost succeeded. “Uh, yeah. I came here to meet up with my mates straight from my shift. I’ve switched jobs a lot, though. I’ve been a handyman, mechanic, even managed a flower shop for a few months.”

“I see. And you enjoy this lifestyle?” The evident interest in Dream’s voice made Hob feel heady.

“I do,” Hob nodded sincerely. “I get to meet different sorts of people, and I learn a lot too. There’s so much to see out there, you know?”

Dream stared at him thoughtfully for a few moments. “But?”

“But… what?” Hob furrowed his eyebrows.

“You seem wistful. Do you wish for a job you haven’t tried yet?”

Hob was so taken aback he felt himself sober up a few degrees. He hadn’t expected to be figured out so quickly and easily by someone he just met.

“I apologise,” Dream said with a concerned frown. “I didn’t mean to ask such a personal question.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Hob hurriedly said, willing himself to calm down from whatever facial expression he’d been wearing. “I was just surprised, that’s all. No one’s read me that well before,” he smiled to lighten the mood.

“Perhaps they weren’t interested enough.”

“In my experience?”

“In you.”

Hob felt a warmth in his chest that seemed to reach his ears. He chuckled and glanced down for a moment. “Well, um, I always wanted to be a professor. Got my degree and everything, all that's left is to actually apply but…” he shrugged. “Things were pretty rough a few years ago, and I wasn’t in the right headspace to have a career with that kind of responsibility. So I took on other jobs first, and I guess I just haven’t broken that habit yet.”

Dream nodded. “I see.” He looked like he wanted to say something else, and Hob recognised that curiosity.

Normally he would redirect the conversation; people didn’t like emotional baggage being brought up during what was supposed to just be a night of flirting, but Dream didn’t seem like the type to prefer shallow conversations. And Hob wasn’t either.

“It was a nasty breakup,” Hob said. “I proposed. Turned out that while I was spending weeks looking for the perfect engagement ring, she was planning her breakup speech.” He huffed out a chuckle. “Took a while to pick myself back up.” He reached for a pretzel and ate it just to have something to do. He hadn’t talked about it in a long time, and he wasn’t sure what reaction to expect.

“I was engaged once,” Dream said, making Hob glance at him. “We had moved to Greece for our jobs. Eventually we realised we were too different, and that the engagement was our last desperate attempt to make things work between us. We broke it off, and I moved back here.” He finished the drink in his glass.

“Ah.” Hob searched for the right words to say. “I didn’t mean to remind you of all that, sorry. And now I feel like a sod complaining about what happened to me,” he chuckled lightly. “You had to move countries and you’re still doing really well in your work.”

Dream shook his head. “Comparing our suffering only compounds it,” he said gently. “Better to focus on what we have now. ‘It’s good to touch the earth with your bare feet,’ as my sister would say,” he gave a small smile.

Hob felt himself smile back. “You said she was the one who dragged you out here tonight, right? I’ll have to thank her for this spontaneous date, then.”

Dream made a huff that was almost a chuckle. “A date? I have not even bought you a drink yet.” He raised a hand to call the attention of a passing waiter. “A glass of vermouth, please. Sweet.” He handed over his empty glass to the waiter and turned to Hob. “And for the gentleman…?”

“Oh, uh, a gin and tonic, please,” Hob told the waiter.

“Right away,” the waiter nodded politely and headed to the bar.

“Hey,” Hob turned to Dream. “I was the one who approached you, I’m the one who should buy you a drink, right?” He had been planning to, but Dream invited him to a table and it took priority in his mind.

“Perhaps you could buy me one on our second date,” Dream smirked playfully. “I believe you said midsummer?”

“I don’t think I can wait that long,” Hob said without thinking. He almost said it was just a joke, but the look in Dream’s eyes was far from disapproving.

The waiter arrived with their drinks and placed them on the table. Dream thanked him without breaking eye contact with Hob.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t.” Dream picked up his glass. “Wait that long.” He took a drink, and Hob’s eyes got drawn to the bob of his throat.

“Are we already planning a second date when the first one isn’t even done yet?” Hob grinned.

“Do you object?” Dream raised an eyebrow.

“No,” Hob said, probably louder than necessary. “Just can’t believe my luck, that’s all.”

They talked over their drinks and pretzels, and Dream turned out to be as good of a talker as a listener. Hob enjoyed listening to his deep voice as Dream told him about the process of reimagining the plays at the theatre, and the cat that he had adopted ever since moving back here, a black Main Coon named Sable. Dream spoke of him with such fondness that Hob almost asked to meet him.

Hob told Dream about his varying work experiences, his realisation that he loved learning new things and meeting all sorts of people, and that was why he couldn’t seem to stay in one job for very long. He talked about how he started buying coffee beans and a coffee maker a few weeks into working at the café because he wanted to experiment with his own recipes, and the regulars who always seemed to cheer up whenever they find a misspelling in their names on the cups, and so Hob sometimes misspelled their names on purpose when they looked like they were having a bad day.

Dream listened, and gave those small smiles that Hob was very nearly getting addicted to. They ordered more drinks, and Hob insisted on paying for some, so Dream paid for chips and then nachos. He encouraged Hob to be a professor on his next career change, and for the first time in a long time, Hob actually considered it.

At some point Hob told the story of his first attempt at making his own espresso drink at home, how he had more confidence than skill and ended up spitting out very expensive ingredients. Dream laughed so brightly that Hob sent a quick message in the groupchat with his friends that he wouldn’t be leaving the bar with them tonight. No matter how this night would end for him and Dream, Hob wanted to spend as much time with him as humanly possible.

***

Hob woke up with a pounding headache and a dry mouth. He groaned and moved to roll to his side, then nearly fell off when his body met what felt like a small table instead of the other side of his bed.

He blinked himself to full consciousness and realised he was on a couch. A fluffy black cat was sitting on the armrest at his feet, regarding him with yellow eyes that shone in the dimness of the living room.

I don't have a cat, Hob’s hungover brain managed.

Bits and pieces of the night before flashed in Hob’s mind. Blue eyes sparkling with mirth. A deep chuckle. Rosy pink lips forming a name.

Hob sat up properly and stared at the cat. “Sable…?” he guessed.

The cat's ears perked up and his tail swished once, his eyes still looking at Hob.

I'm in Dream’s house, Hob realised with awe.

He looked around and took in his surroundings.

Thick curtains were drawn at the windows and the lights were off, keeping the room dim, so he wasn’t sure what time it was. The coffee table appeared to have been dragged to be right next to the couch, judging by the tracks on the carpet. On the table was a glass of water with a plastic lid, next to a small packet of painkillers. There was a Post-It note beside it, and Hob leaned over and squinted to read the smooth cursive.

For your headache. -Dream

He felt himself smile, despite the disorientation. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember what exactly happened last night.

“How do you plan on going home?” Dream asked as they exited the bar into the cool night air, Hob leaning against him for support because walking properly was a sober man’s game.

“That’s not fair, you know,” Hob frowned as Dream gently propped him up against the wall. “You drank about as much as me, how are you not wobbling?” he pointed an accusatory finger at Dream.

Dream smiled in amusement. “Did you have dinner at all tonight? Chips and nachos do not count.”

Hob tried to recall the last few hours. “S’pose not. We were gonna order food, me and my mates. But then we saw you and then I walked over and…” he gestured vaguely to nothing in particular. “Here we are.”

Dream sighed, but his gaze looked fond. “If I had known you were operating on an empty stomach, I would have ordered more substantial food with our drinks.” He furrowed his eyebrows in concern. “Will you even be able to take a cab in your state?”

“Sure, I can call one.” Hob pulled out his phone and pressed uselessly at the unlock button a few times before realising the battery was drained. “Hm. S’just a brick now.” He tapped it firmly on his palm a few times as if jostling it would do anything.

“I live just a few blocks from here,” Dream said, watching Hob repeatedly attempt to return his phone to his pocket and finally succeeding at the fifth try. “Can I invite you to stay at my place? Just so you won’t have to travel by yourself tonight.”

Hob perked up at that. He straightened up to agree, but in doing so left the support of the wall. “Woah—”

Dream caught him by the waist before he fell face-first onto the pavement. “Careful.”

Hob grabbed Dream’s shoulders to steady himself, and realised Dream’s arms were around him. “You’re really nice,” he said with a dopey grin. “Your serious face is a bit scary at first, but under that you’re really sweet.” He tapped the tip of Dream’s nose with his finger.

Dream was trying to hold back a smile and only partially succeeding. “You’re drunk.”

“And you’re pretty.” Hob leaned forward to emphasise his point, which made Dream stumble a bit backwards.

Dream chuckled and shook his head fondly. “Come along, my car is parked nearby.”

“Oh my god,” Hob whispered, putting a hand to his reddening face. He probably looked so idiotic last night. He had to find Dream so he could apologise profusely and buy him breakfast or something. Was it even time for breakfast yet?

He turned to Sable. “Hey, buddy. Do you know where I can find your human?”

Sable walked in a circle three times before curling up on the armrest, facing away from Hob. Evidently not wanting anything to do with whatever mess Hob had gotten himself into.

“Yeah, I don't blame you,” Hob sighed.

He straightened up on the couch and took a painkiller, gratefully finishing the entire glass of water. He glanced at the smaller couch next to the wall and noticed that a phone was charging. His phone.

Hob smiled. Dream really was sweet. His drunk self had it right.

He stood up, slowly, because his head still hurt with every movement and it somehow felt very rude to disrupt Sable's nap. The cat had an air of sophistication to him much like his owner; Hob wouldn't be surprised if Dream spoke Greek to Sable.

Hob sat on the smaller couch and turned on his phone. After a few seconds, the screen showed that it was past 10 AM. Bit late for breakfast, then. Where was Dream? Hob doubted that he would leave his house with a practical stranger in it.

A series of notifications on his phone drew his attention. Some of them were messages from last night, replies from his friends in the groupchat when Hob said they could leave the bar without him. They were playfully cheering him on and that was that.

Though the next batch of messages was still coming in, arriving one after the other now that Hob’s phone was able to receive them.

Hal: @Hob darling did you make it home safe?

Ken: how was tall pale n handsome

Frank: guys he’s not even seeing the messages 👀

Ken: probably still asleep

Ken: all shagged out

Abel: what’s happening? i don’t join one night out and suddenly hob’s getting laid???

Hal: hopefully 💕

Frank: holy shit did the pickup lines work

Hob chuckled and shook his head. He began to type out a reply that yes he was safe, and no he was not shagged out by any means and only just made a fool of himself.

He was about to hit send when he realised he wasn’t wearing the same shirt he had on last night. In fact, he didn’t recognise these clothes at all. He was pretty sure he didn’t own a white sweater with the design of a black cat on it, and the grey sweatpants he was currently wearing wasn’t his either.

What.

He locked his phone and placed it down beside him. What else happened?

They stumbled into the living room, Dream closing the front door while Hob’s arm was around his shoulders. He switched on the light and got Hob to sit on the couch. It was cooler indoors compared to the warmth of Dream’s car, and Hob made a noise of complaint when Dream made a move to disentangle himself from Hob’s side.

“I shall get you some water,” Dream explained and stood up.

Hob’s brain didn’t process the words and at that moment he only cared that Dream’s warmth was leaving him. He reached out and clumsily pulled Dream back; Dream gave a surprised shout as they both flailed and fell over, Hob landing flat on his back on the couch with Dream on top of him.

Dream’s blue eyes were wide with surprise, his dark hair looking as soft as clouds. Hob wanted to touch but was afraid of ruining it somehow. Clouds weren’t meant to be touched, only admired. Or else they would disappear into mist or raindrops and be gone.

“You’re beautiful,” Hob breathed, his hands resting on Dream’s back.

Dream’s gaze softened and his lips lifted at the corners, and Hob felt his heart race at being so close to that smile. So close.

“As you are,” Dream said quietly, his warm breath caressing Hob’s mouth.

“‘Specially your eyes,” Hob continued. “They light up. When you talk about your cat. And that bloke Shakespeare. What’s so good about ‘im anyway?” he frowned.

Dream chuckled and dipped his head, lightly touching their foreheads together for a moment before looking at Hob again.

“And then I thought…” Hob tried to find the words. It felt important to say them. “I’d do anything for you to look at me like that. With that bright fondness in your eyes.”

Dream’s smile melted off his face, replaced by a look of surprise.

“And then you did,” Hob’s kept speaking quietly, just loud enough for Dream to hear. “When I told you I’d live a hundred more years because there’s so much to live for. I dunno why you looked at me that way when I said it, but you did. And I wanted to kiss you right then.”

Dream swallowed, his eyes dropping to Hob’s mouth.

“I still do,” Hob whispered. He reached up and brushed a lock of hair from Dream’s forehead.

“Hob,” Dream’s tone held a warning, though it was softened by the waver in his voice.

“Dream…” Hob let his hand drop to the side of Dream’s face, his thumb lightly brushing over a pale cheekbone, watching a hint of pink blossom on the skin.

He kept his gentle hold on Dream’s face as they moved closer, their noses touching, their breaths mixing as their parted lips were only a hair’s breadth away—

Hob’s eyes were wide as he sat frozen on the couch. His heart raced and his cheeks flushed at the memory. But… that was it. His memories ended there.

He shut his eyes tight and desperately tried to remember what happened next. If he and Dream kissed then surely, surely, he would remember it? The press of those soft pink lips, the slide of tongue against his own…

He opened his eyes and huffed out a breath in exasperation. Nothing. And he’s wearing Dream’s clothes! If they did shag and he couldn’t remember a second of it, he would never forgive himself. He would swear off drinking forever if it meant he could remember it all.

“Ah, I see you've met Sable.”

Hob’s eyes snapped up to the sound of that voice.

Dream was standing by the other couch and scratching Sable under the chin. Sable was purring appreciatively and leaning into Dream’s touch, and Dream glanced down at the cat with such soft fondness on his face that it calmed Hob’s nerves.

“Would you care to join me in the dining room?” Dream turned to Hob again. “I just finished cooking.” He was wearing a blue apron over a black sweater similar to Hob’s, and black joggers that hung low on his hips.

“I…” Hob had so many questions and no idea how to voice out any of them. “You cooked?” he said instead.

Dream nodded. “Given that it was my fault you didn’t get to eat dinner last night, I thought it only polite to make breakfast for you. Although it’s technically brunch now.”

“Yeah, um…” Hob stood up but wasn’t sure what to say. He still couldn’t remember the entirety of last night—to his eternal regret—and he didn’t know what their dynamic was supposed to be now. “Thanks for charging my phone,” he smiled and gestured to it.

“It’s fortunate that we have the same model,” Dream returned the smile. He gave Sable a few scratches behind the ears before the cat decided to move to where Hob had been sleeping, scratching his claws a few times into the cushions before stretching his body and lying down to continue his nap.

Hob remembered reading somewhere that cats scratched at furniture to leave their scent and mark their territory, and Sable doing that to the place where Hob had been seemed quite telling.

“Shall we head to the dining room while the food is still warm?” Dream asked.

Hob nodded and followed him.

The rest of the house wasn’t nearly as dim as the living room; all the curtains were open and sunlight streamed in, dappling softly on the floor and furniture.

“Oh, should I keep the curtains closed here as well?” Dream must have noticed him staring at the windows.

“What?” Hob turned to him. “No, it’s fine… Wait, you kept the living room dark for me?”

Dream nodded. “Bright light is painful for hangovers. I can draw the curtains here too, if you’d like. Have a seat, please,” he gestured to the dining table before removing his apron and hanging it on a hook in the kitchen.

“No, it’s okay, I don’t mind the sunlight,” Hob said as he sat down.

Dream took a seat across from him, and without the apron Hob could see that his black sweater was dotted with white stars.

“Hob,” Dream’s voice resurfaced in Hob’s memory.

“Dream…” Hob brushed his thumb over a smooth cheekbone.

Dream’s pupils were blown wide, almost covering all the blue of his eyes. They reflected the light, and Hob could imagine the pinpricks of white to be galaxies, and he was more than willing to get lost in them.

Dream’s weight was pressing him down pleasantly on the couch, and Hob’s eyes fluttered shut, his breath held in anticipation as Dream leaned in closer.

“Hob? Are you alright?”

Hob grabbed the pitcher of water and poured himself a glass, gulping everything down. “Mm-hm.”

He kept remembering that moment on the couch, and he could feel his mind dangerously close to filling in the blanks of what could have happened, and he really needed to cool down instead of fantasising about the man in front of him who he may or may not have slept with.

“Did you take the painkiller?”

“Yeah, I did. Thanks for that, by the way,” Hob tried for a smile, but he still couldn’t quite meet Dream’s eyes. He looked around at the food and tried to decide which one to get first.

“I… apologise.”

Hob looked at Dream and saw that his shoulders were tense and drawn up, like he was trying to look formal and hide himself at the same time.

“Is this… too much?” Dream’s gaze was guarded but Hob thought he glimpsed a hint of sadness in them. “You may leave anytime you wish, of course. I just thought… you might want some food.” He glanced down but kept his posture straight. “But if you prefer to go—”

“What? No, Dream—” Hob suddenly felt panicked. Did he just hurt Dream somehow? “I don’t wanna leave. Why would you think that?”

Dream met his eyes and frowned in confusion. “You seem… uncomfortable. I am aware that our agreement was only for you to stay the night, and it is nearly noon now. So I understand if—”

“Dream, it’s not that,” Hob didn’t want him to think those things at all. “I just…” he shifted in his seat. “Why… Why am I wearing your clothes…?” Might as well be direct about it.

Dream’s eyebrows lifted in surprise.

“I don’t remember, I’m sorry,” Hob blurted out. “I— Fuck,” he breathed, running a hand down his face. “I want to remember. God, the first time I wake up with missing memories in someone else’s home and it’s with you of all people. I’m… I’m so sorry, Dream,” he shook his head in remorse.

Dream blinked, his shoulders relaxing. “Hob. Why would you apologise for such a thing?”

“Well I don't want you to think that it didn't mean anything to me,” Hob’s eyes dropped to his plate and he fidgeted with his fork. “Which it did, whatever it was. Whether it was just a— a kiss or— or something else—” he stammered and looked to see Dream’s reaction.

Realisation appeared on Dream's face, and an amused smile slowly graced his lips and brightened his features. “Hob Gadling. If we had slept together, why would you be on the couch and not my bed?”

“I don't know!” Hob said defensively, his cheeks heating up. “Maybe we didn't make it to the bedroom? I don't remember!”

Dream looked down and was really trying hard to fight a smile. The adorable sight of it began to calm Hob a bit, especially when Dream met his eyes again. “I would have taken you to my bed. I'll have you know I'm a gentleman. Unless requested otherwise,” he added in a low voice and smirked.

Hob’s breath hitched. God, this man was going to kill him.

Then something sparked in his mind, a memory that surfaced after Dream's remark about being a gentleman.

Dream’s lips were so close to his that Hob could almost taste them.

Then Dream pulled away and placed a firm hand on Hob’s chest. “Tomorrow,” he said decisively, a slight tremble in his voice.

Hob opened his eyes.

“Tomorrow. If this is still what you want,” Dream explained, then he pulled away entirely and stood up, disappearing from Hob’s field of vision.

Hob blinked repeatedly, still reeling from the whiplash. Dream was going to kiss him, right? What happened?

“For now, you must hydrate or your mouth will feel so parched tomorrow.” Dream had returned, and Hob instinctively sat up at the sound of his voice.

He knocked over the glass that Dream had been handing over to him, spilling the water all over his shirt and trousers.

Hob flinched back and grimaced. “Cold.”

“Oh dear.” Dream picked up the now empty glass that had fallen on the couch and placed it on the coffee table. “I shall get you a change of clothes. Wait here, and please don't touch anything else or you might hurt yourself. Stay here, do you understand?” Dream cupped Hob’s face and gently lifted it to make Hob look at him.

Hob smiled at the feeling of Dream’s hand on his skin, and he nodded. “I'll wait for you.”

Dream smiled fondly and walked away.

“Oh,” Hob said in realisation, the memories coming back to him.

“You remember now?”

“Yeah,” Hob nodded. “You handed me the clothes and I just took off my shirt right there, because somehow it made sense to me to just change in front of you,” he cringed. “And then that was when you left, right?”

“Yes,” Dream said with an amused smile. “I said a hasty good night and retreated to my room before you decided to take off your trousers as well.”

“Yeah I remember that too,” Hob put a hand to his temple, his headache had dulled but the sudden wave of embarrassment seemed to be worsening it. “Can we eat now? I think I'd rather forget about everything again.”

Dream laughed, a soft and bright one that immediately put Hob at ease. “Of course.”

It was a pleasant surprise, how easily they slipped back into comfortable conversation after all the misunderstanding and awkwardness. They finished eating and Hob insisted that he would wash the dishes since Dream already cooked everything.

“Thanks again for letting me crash at your couch,” Hob said as he put the last of the dishes in the drying rack. “I don't think I've gotten that drunk since uni.”

“I just didn't want you waking up at a bus station somewhere,” Dream quipped and finished putting the leftovers in the fridge.

Hob chuckled and leaned back against the counter. “So uh, do you have any plans today? What do you usually do on Saturdays?”

Dream stood beside him and leaned on the counter too, crossing his arms thoughtfully. “It varies. Sometimes I’d go to a restaurant I’d never been to before, or visit my friend who works at the library. Oh, and there’s a museum a short drive away that holds a different art gallery every month. I try to see the new exhibits whenever I can. I had no prior plans for today, though.” He tilted his head slightly to the side. “Do you have anything in mind?”

Hob grinned, he couldn’t help it; Dream wanted to keep spending time with him. “I do, yeah. There’s a park here that recently displayed murals because it’s summer, they got a theme going on and everything. I think the artworks are made by high school and college kids. I’ve passed by it a few times but never really got to see it yet. What do you think?”

Dream’s eyes lit up, and Hob knew he’d take him anywhere just to see that again. “I would gladly see the murals with you. Are they accessible at any time or is there a scheduled exhibit?”

“Let me check. They posted it online.” Hob instinctively reached for his pockets but found them empty. “Oh right, my phone's in the living room.”

“Ah. I would check the schedule myself, but I'm afraid something's wrong with my phone.” Dream took his phone from the counter, then unlocked it and looked down at the screen.

Hob furrowed his eyebrows. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Your phone number's not in it.” Dream held it out to Hob, a smirk playing on his lips.

Hob just stared in surprise for a few seconds before chuckling in disbelief. Of all the people he would have expected to use a pickup line, Dream wasn’t one of them. He wasn’t complaining about receiving it, though.

He took Dream’s phone and began typing in his number. “Couldn’t wait, huh?” he said playfully. “You know I’m not just leaving, love. We’re still going to that park.” The endearment slipped out without Hob intending it to, and he snapped up his gaze to look at Dream’s reaction. Luckily Dream didn’t seem to mind.

“I enjoyed our conversation so much last night that I had forgotten to ask for your phone number. I would not risk it happening again,” Dream said as he took his phone back.

“I’m actually relieved to hear that,” Hob sheepishly tugged at his earlobe. “I’d been a bit worried that I was too knackered last night and might have made such a fool of myself. I enjoyed our time together too, and I’m glad I remember all of it now, even the embarrassing moments.”

“Oh make no mistake, you were undoubtedly knackered last night,” Dream said with fond amusement. “But I never once thought you were a fool.” He pressed something on his phone and Hob heard his ringtone coming from the living room. “And now you have my number as well.”

Hob grinned. “Am I supposed to follow the three-day-rule and wait three days before calling you?”

“Already planning a second date when the first one isn’t even done yet?” Dream repeated Hob’s words from last night.

“And a third, if you've got no objections,” Hob raised his eyebrows playfully.

“Oh?” Dream straightened up and took a step closer. “And what third date activities do you have in mind?” His gaze lowered and slowly climbed back up, scanning Hob’s body until their eyes met again.

Hob felt goosebumps prickle on his skin as if Dream were actually touching him. He wet his lips with his tongue, catching how Dream’s eyes followed the movement. “I've got a few activities in mind, yeah. Though I don't know if I wanna wait until three dates.”

“Is that so?” A smirk pulled at the corner of Dream’s mouth as he took another step closer, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “Tell me, what do you desire?”

Hob swallowed. “You can't just say things like that with that voice.”

“What voice?” Dream took another step and he was near enough now that Hob could see how soft his eyelashes looked.

“Last night, you said something…” Hob reached up and traced with light fingers the star patterns on Dream's sweater, near his neckline, his shoulders, because if he didn't touch Dream in some way he might just implode.

“We both said a great deal of things last night.”

“You said…” Hob lifted his hand to Dream's chin, his thumb sweeping softly just under the bottom lip. “If this is still what I wanted…” he stared into Dream’s eyes, his heart hammering in anticipation.

Dream surged forward and suddenly Hob was pressed back against the counter, Dream’s lips against his.

A surprised—and very pleased—groan slipped out of Hob, his hands flying to cup Dream’s face.

Dream’s hands were on the counter, Hob caged in his arms. And damn if Hob didn't feel a certain way about that.

Hob could have lived forever in this moment, the soft slide of their tongues, the warmth of Dream’s body against his. But Dream’s mouth brushed down his jawline and onto his neck, clever lips and tongue making his blood run hotter.

Hob could only whimper and throw his head back to give Dream more access. He buried his hands in Dream’s hair, soft midnight threading through his fingers. Dream nipped at his sensitive flesh, and Hob’s hips twitched of their own accord.

Dream made a pleased hum and moved his kisses upwards. “My bedroom is nearby, unless you are partial to the couch. I could ask Sable to give us some privacy,” he said teasingly, his breath hot against Hob’s ear.

“Anywhere,” Hob gasped as Dream gently bit his earlobe. “Fuck, you can have me on the dining table.”

Dream chuckled and slid his hands from Hob’s waist to his stomach and up to his chest, fists clenching in the front of Hob's shirt. He pulled away just enough to look at Hob. “Nonsense. Gentleman, remember?” He stepped back and yanked Hob towards the bedroom with a force that was decidedly not gentlemanly.

Dream’s back slammed against the closed door as Hob pressed their lips and bodies together again, the few seconds they were apart becoming too unbearable. Dream managed to turn the knob behind him and they stumbled into the bedroom, only parting long enough to practically tear each other's sweaters off.

Hob fell backwards onto the bed, bringing Dream down with him. They were a tangle of limbs and sighs and groans, then Dream was straddling him, grinding his hips down and driving Hob near delirious with want.

Dream was breathing heavily above him, and Hob wanted more of it. Wanted to see this beautiful creature give in to pleasure.

He reached a hand between them and palmed at the hard bulge tenting Dream’s joggers.

Dream gave a cry of surprise and broke the kiss to gasp, and Hob wasted no time in freeing Dream’s cock from the confines of his clothes. He began a slow stroke, and Dream leaned forward to latch his mouth onto Hob’s neck, lavishing it with attention that sent more heat straight to Hob's groin.

Hob clenched his jaw—even as a moan escaped him—and sped up his hand around Dream’s length, precome slicking the way and causing Dream’s hips to twitch.

“Hob,” Dream breathed against the shell of his ear, and for a second Hob thought he would come just from hearing his name in that voice, with Dream’s hips erratically rolling above his cock through layers of fabric.

“Let go for me, love,” Hob’s voice sounded wrecked to his own ears.

He twisted his hand and Dream came with a whine, burying his face in Hob’s neck and spending all over Hob's hand. His hips were still stuttering when he pressed their foreheads together, his eyelids fluttering as he caught his breath.

Hob slowed his strokes to a stop, his other hand cupping Dream’s face. “Good?” he asked gently, fond and teasing.

Dream pulled away to meet Hob’s gaze, and it was enough to melt Hob’s grin off his face as he saw the intensity in those blue eyes.

Dream shifted to move further backwards, and before Hob knew what was happening, Dream had positioned himself between Hob’s parted legs and pulled down the sweatpants to reveal Hob’s straining cock.

Hob couldn't look away, anticipating Dream’s long fingers wrapped around him, and so he yelped when Dream used his mouth instead, the soft heat enveloping Hob and setting his nerves on fire. Hob’s eyes fell shut, his elbows trembling as he leaned back on the mattress.

Dream worked him slowly, taking him in inch by torturous inch as his tongue swirled in ways that left Hob breathless and squirming and doing his very best not to thrust into Dream’s sinful mouth.

Hob sank further down Dream’s throat, and his arms finally gave out as he felt Dream swallow around him. His head hit the pillow and he clenched his hands into the sheets, a wounded groan reverberating in his chest.

“Dream… Dream… Fuck—” his hips jerked upwards when he felt a light graze of teeth on the underside of his cock. His thighs were trembling, and desperate moans laced with Dream’s name kept slipping past his lips.

Dream hummed around him and moved his hands to stroke the inside of Hob's thighs, all at once soothing and fueling the fire that was very quickly pooling low in Hob’s belly. Dream bobbed his head up and down languidly, and it was all too much and not nearly enough.

“Please,” Hob sobbed. His entire body felt aflame, and he couldn't take another second of it even as he wanted it to last forever.

Dream took him down to the hilt and swallowed repeatedly, his fingernails raking lightly along Hob’s thighs.

Hob arched his back and came with a garbled cry, unable to stop the tremors running through him.

Dream kept swallowing, making Hob thrash his head from side to side as he was flung higher and higher.

Hob must have blacked out for a second, because when he opened his eyes, Dream was looming over him with a satisfied smirk.

“Good?” Dream licked his bottom lip.

Hob was still panting, and it took a few seconds for enough oxygen to get into his brain for him to form words. “I'm so glad we did this today and not last night,” he said breathlessly. “No way in hell I'll forget this.”

Dream huffed out a laugh and nestled himself beside Hob, his face snuggled at the crook of Hob's neck, his hand idly drawing circles on Hob’s chest.

“You can stay the weekend, if you'd like.” Dream's voice was quiet, tinged with hesitance, as if Hob would ever say no to that while of sound mind and body.

Hob regained control of his limbs and wrapped an arm around Dream, turning to face him and pulling him closer. “Sounds perfect, love,” he rested his chin on Dream's hair. “Would give me more than enough time to get you back for what you just put me through.”

Dream chuckled low in his chest. “I would love to see you try, Hob Gadling.”

“Oh, I will.” Hob closed his eyes and let himself get lost in the even rhythm of their breathing, settling into their embrace as if they were always meant to fit in each other's arms.

—

Author's Note:

Thank you to @patchyegg87 for all the help with this fic! <3

—

(Dreamling Bingo Masterpost)

(Masterlist)

[sky-is-the-limit]

MDNI/+18/afab y/n.

(Disclaimer: I'm not a writer/smut writers feel free to be inspired/continue this!)

Okay but I need someone to write a smut of Abby and Ellie competing for the reader (in tlou universe) like they both come from Jackson and though they're on friendly terms, they're always competing with each other about everything, who's a better shooter, who can kill more infected, who can get more girls, you get the vision.

(art by @abbystanaccount)

One day the usual group, including them both, were on the way to get supplies but an unexpected hoard of infected made them all split up in pairs, leaving Ellie stuck with Abby. As expected, they can't decide on where to go because both of them are stubborn, think they're always right and have the need to lead, leaving the other frustrated, mumbling that their plan is the right one. Their little argument on which way to go is cut short when they notice that the sun is going down and no matter which way they decide to take, they're gonna get stuck in the darkness, out in the open with no supplies or backup if they get ambushed. Only option is to spend the night at the small abandoned house located at the top of the hill. It seems like a pretty decent option considering the situation they're stuck in.

While Ellie is checking the surroundings of the house, Abby cautiously makes her way towards the front door, her gun in hand as she checks the first room inside. Clean. She motions to Ellie that the place seems empty and makes her way up the stairs, quietly, gun pointed towards the wooden closed door of the first room she encounters.

"Take one more step and I'll blow your fucking head off!" A voice yells from behind the door, catching Abby off guard as she got distracted from the sound of the front door closing. Damn it, Ellie.

"Fuck, sounds like someone's here already-" Ellie mumbles quietly, gun pointed upwards whilst taking slow steps towards Abby, who looks more annoyed than worried, like a minor inconvenience just occurred and not someone actually threatening to blow her head off.

"Yeah, no shit." Abby sighs deeply, closing her eyes for a second before taking another step towards the door, ignoring Ellie's 'what the fuck are you doing' look.

"What the hell are you doing?!" She finally says out loud, quiet enough for stranger not to hear but loud enough to make Abby roll her eyes and turn her attention towards her.

"It's already pitch black outside and it sounds like she's alone in th-"

"I'll fucking shoot!" The voice yells again, this time sounding closer, less confident, like the person inside moved to have a clearer shot at the door but is definitely panicking about it. Abby always had the better intuition between the two, always able to tell when someone's afraid of her, which was usually the case, always knowing exactly when to shoot and when not to, when to panic and when to stay calm. This was definitely a 'stay calm' situation with the 'threat' panicking behind the wooden door. They have the upper hand.

"She's definitely alone." Abby whispers turning her gaze back at the door, her hand carefully touching the handle but before she does anything, she looks back at Ellie who sends a small nod her way, making sure she knows they're on the same page about this. It's a nice change for once.

"You won't do shit, don't be stupid!" Ellie calls out, repositioning herself on the left side of the door, her gun ready in hand as Abby firms her grip tighter on the handle, signaling that she's about to burst in. Now the 'threat' inside knows that there's more than one person waiting for them if the decide to pull anything, though that would be the worst case scenario in the world they live in.

"One shot and infected come storming in, you don't want that, we surely don't want that-" Ellie continues before Abby slowly pushes down the door handle, barely opening the door an inch before the person inside speaks up again, the sound of her footsteps moving away from her previous position, allowing Abby to push the door open a little more.

"What do you want then?!" Her voice sounds more cautious now, less nervous as if she's trying unsuccessfully to come across as fearless.

"We only want shelter for the night, we're not going to harm you, I promise." Abby calls out, sending Ellie a 'get ready' look before she finally pushes the door open, gun pointed towards the woman inside. To her surprise, the woman is not holding a gun nor a knife. She's gripping tightly on wooden bat, her eyes fierce as she takes a step forward towards them, like a wounded animal full of adrenaline, ready to attack in order to protect itself.

"Wait, you were seriously gonna take us out with that?" Ellie finally walks in, her gun pointed forward as she raises an eyebrow surprised, her tone full of sarcasm. She takes a moment to assess the sight in front of her before slowly lowering her gun to face the floor. Oh and it was a sight. You know what they say, stranger danger. However, they never tell you what to do if said danger was temptation on legs and Ellie wouldn't be able to take her eyes away even if said temptation was holding a fucking grenade. The woman was only wearing a pair of slim, black jeans hugging her figure perfectly like they were tailored just for her, with a shirt nowhere to be found. In it's place only a black bra, barely visible now as the woman uncomfortably tries her best to hold the bat while hiding her nakedness by crossing her arms over her chest. Ellie blinks a few times before coming down to her senses, this is not the time, right? Abby would tell her to get her shit together and not let her guard down and so she turns her gaze to Abby only to find her in a similar state.

Abby has seen her fair share of good looking women, hell, even had them in her bed once or twice, some even more times than she can count. She's confident in her looks, she knows damn well the effect she has on whoever she wants to spend the night with. Manny affectionately calls her the 'chick magnet' though the envy in his voice every time he sees a woman leaving Abby's room is very obvious. Yet now she can barely put the words together in her head to form a sentence or make sure that the stranger knows not to fuck with her.

On the contrary, her thoughts right now very much involve said stranger fucking with her in a very dissimilar, specific way. Ellie's eyes on her finally make Abby snap out of it, realising that even if the woman is outnumbered, they shouldn't let their guard down, they don't know if someone's coming for her.

"We only want shelter for the night. We'll be out of your hair first thing in the morning." Abby mumbles, lowering her gun down when she notices the woman relaxing her grip on the bat, now looking back and forth between her and Ellie almost defeated, clearly coming to terms with the fact that being hostile won't do her any good in this situation. Abby takes a quick glance back at the woman, her right shoulder covered in dried blood, a few slashes from her collarbone to her stomach and what seems to be a piece of teared up cloth on the table next to her. It looks like she was treating her wounds before her Ellie and her bursted through the door.

"Uh, so what now?" The woman finally speaks up before setting her bat on the table next to her, clearly accepting the situation they're all in without putting up a fight.

"Seems like you're stuck with us for the night." Ellie says, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed over her chest as her gaze unintentionally (or not) travel up and down the woman's body before sending her a playful wink. It's gonna be a long night.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @subeddieweek, day three.

Menace to Society

Prompt: Brat/Wet/Choking | Word Count: 2556 | Rating: E | CW: Gagging | Tags: Established Relationship, Teasing, Taunting, Bratty Sub Eddie, A Bit of Orgasm Denial, Choking (on Cock), Light Biting, Light Spanking, Rimming, Unprotected Sex

He's a nuisance. A little shithead. A menace to society and Steve's life, as a whole. 

And Steve wouldn't have it any other way. 

Eddie is dripping water all over the hardwood floors of the bedroom as he stands in front of the closet, totally naked. His wet hair is dripping down his back, and he has to be freezing cold. The fan is whirring overhead, the window AC blowing full blast. But Steve just watches, waiting to see how long the little brat can hold out. 

He's pretty sure Eddie didn't even attempt to ghost a towel over himself, let alone dry off. 

Flicking through the shirts, Eddie's acting like he's never seen any of them before. Like, this is a brand new wardrobe and not his same old, ratty ass clothes that he refuses to replace, like, ever.

Steve waits. And Eddie stalls. 

He finally selects a plain black shirt, and pulls it over his head and slides on a pair of red plaid boxers. They're both clinging to his wet skin, and it can't be comfortable. But Steve says nothing, not even when Eddie slides into bed, his cold, wet hair soaking into the pillow, not even when he slides right up against Steve, pushing his face into Steve's neck. 

This cold, wet, rat of a man. 

And he's all Steve's. 

"You're a little brat," Steve says, and he can feel Eddie's smile against his skin, pressed against his pulse point. He's sure it's hammering away, giving away that he's not exactly as unaffected as he hopes he seems.

"And what are you gonna do about that?" Eddie asks, licking a wet stripe towards Steve's ear. 

"If you want something from me, all you have to do is ask." 

"Where's the fun in that?" Eddie questions, and Steve laughs. He's not sure how he's the boss here, he doesn't feel like he's the boss of anything that happens in their house. 

Long, long ago he was yanked off his feet by the living, breathing tornado that shares his bed. And he knew he could either ride out the storm, or take cover.

And he'll ride out the storm, always.

Eddie leans in and bites him hard on the neck, and it's his cue to act. He knows it, so he manhandles Eddie off him, and over onto his knees, until he's draped over his lap and draws back his hand and smacks Eddie on the ass. Once, twice, three times, a little harder with each blow.

Eddie just laughs. 

"Tickles," Eddie mumbles into the pillow. 

So, Steve strikes him again. Harder.

Then yanks on the damp boxers, wrestling them off Eddie, and pushing his t-shirt up his back. 

And Steve finds that Eddie has clearly worked himself open in the shower, despite knowing how much Steve likes to do it himself. 

"You disobeyed me," Steve says, spanking him again, then pressing his thumb against Eddie's stretched hole. 

"Well, if you'd be a little more competent at the job," Eddie says, and Steve grips his hip. 

"Hey," Steve says, firm, unyielding. It's effective, and the tone is all Eddie needs to change directions and back off. To mind. Steve's made it clear he doesn't like to be degraded or shamed, doesn't like to feel like he's bad at things, like he's bullshit, and Eddie knows better, even if he's being a fucking brat right now.

"Too far, sorry," Eddie says, and he reaches back to pet Steve's hand. 

"That's what I thought," Steve says, dumping Eddie onto the bed, moving to stand in front of Eddie. He tugs down his own underwear, just over his ass and palms his dick. 

Then he crooks his finger at Eddie, beckoning him closer.

"On your knees. Hands behind your back." 

Eddie whines, "But I'm ready…"

"And you'll still be ready when I am," Steve says firmly, pointing at the floor, "on your knees."

Eddie slides off the bed, and does as he's been told, but has a bitchy look on his face the entire time. It's a big job, but Steve will try to fix that attitude, so he grabs Eddie's cheeks between his fingers, pinching, forcing him to open up his mouth. Demanding that he lowers his jaw. 

He does, and Steve pats him on the cheek, softly, "That's my good boy. So docile, so giving, such a soft boy."

Steve's paying him back, even if Steve knows him well enough to know this won't rile him. Eddie wants to submit, even if he isn't exactly docile. Isn't soft. And doesn't want to be. 

When he lets go, Eddie is still sitting there, his mouth open. Waiting. Waiting. Eyes hooded.

Steve palms his own dick, stroking the length of himself, right at Eddie's eye level. Making him watch. 

Eddie sticks out his tongue, and Steve grins at him, can't help it, but still tells him, "You're a goddamn brat." 

And Eddie clamps his mouth shut, defiant. 

Loving Eddie, is living with constant consented to chaos.

Steve does nothing, just keeps stroking his own cock, lazily. Nothing works better on Eddie's bratty bad attitude than simply ignoring him. Lack of attention, that's what gets him to shape up.

So, Steve fists his own dick, and closes his eyes, tilting his head back. Long, smooth strokes, showing that he can please himself. That he doesn't need Eddie. That he can do this without any of his input.

Steve knows the silence won't last, can't. Eddie'll get jealous of Steve's own hand. He'll get too impatient. Steve's not wrong.

"Well, are you gonna do anything about it?" Eddie snaps.

Steve grins, wicked, opening his eyes as he leans down to get closer to Eddie's face.

"Of course I am. I was just waiting to see how big of a hole you were planning on digging for yourself, first."

Eddie's jaw drops back down, mouth open and pliant. Willing and waiting. Not wanting to be left out.

And that's more like it.

Steve rewards him for it by sliding the head of his cock against Eddie's bottom lip, then the tip of his tongue, before sliding in, in, in. Bumping the back of Eddie's throat. 

Eddie gags, he always does, and Steve's instinct is still to pull out. Even after all this time. Even after Eddie has told him not to, again and again. And Eddie must know that, must feel it happening, Steve withdrawing, so Eddie disobeys the order he was given and takes one hand out from behind his back, grabbing a handful of Steve's ass, pulling him in even further into his mouth. 

His cock sliding into Eddie's throat deeper than before, gagging him even worse.

Steve buries his hand in Eddie's hair, close to the scalp, and pulls him backwards. Off his dick completely. And Eddie makes a choked noise at the loss, but lets go of Steve's ass, and puts his hand back behind his back where it belongs. But he looks up at Steve with wet, betrayed eyes.

Steve brushes his thumb against Eddie's forehead, and Eddie nods. Just ever so slightly. 

He's okay, just pouting. 

"Do I need to hog-tie you and set you in cement? Or can you behave for once in your goddamn life?" Steve asks, and Eddie offers up his wrists, more belligerence than an actual offering, and Steve ignores him. "Behind. Your. Back," Steve repeats slowly, and Eddie puts them back where they belong.

Eddie nods, lowering his eyes, finally submitting.

So, Steve presses back in. Pressing, pushing until Eddie's eyes are watering more. Big and shining with unshed tears, but locked in on Steve's. Unwavering. 

Begging him, silently. 

Pupils blown wide, as he's getting lost in the scene, and it's a look Steve adores to get out of him.

So, Steve gives him what he wants, and bottoms out, choking him. He holds his cock in Eddie's throat for a few breaths. 

Then pulls out. Eddie gasps for air, just for a second, then opens his mouth for more. 

Steve gives him more. Over and over, until he's ready to torment Eddie further. Or, well, until Eddie's ready to be tormented further, seems more accurate. Steve's in charge, but this is always, will always, be about Eddie and his wants. His needs.

How they get there will be in Steve's hands, but the end game has always been clear to Steve. Make Eddie happy, even if he has to torture that happiness out of him, inch by inch, squeeze by squeeze.

"I'm gonna come," Steve tells him, "right down your throat."

Eddie whines, and attempts to shake his head no.

"Are you telling me no? Are you the boss of me?" 

Eddie whines again, shaking his head.

"All that work, and for what? Nothing," Steve says. "What'd you use? Your fingers? A toy? Hidden away, stretching yourself open, unable to wait for me to take care of you."

Eddie can't answer, not with Steve's cock in his throat. 

"Yeah, like that," Steve says, and then grips the back of Eddie's head. 

Eddie whines.

"Here it comes," Steve tells him, and presses as far in as he can. Eddie's nose is buried in his pubes, taking it. 

He doesn't come, never planned to, but he jerks his hips and groans like he has, and when he pulls out, Eddie swallows like he did. Giving him the big, sad doe eyes as he does it. Really laying on the patheticness.

Steve tucks his still hard dick back into his underwear, like this over. Because Eddie likes that. Likes to feel denied. Even as he whines, and kicks up a fuss, he is getting off on it. Steve knows he is. 

So, Steve crawls in bed, and Eddie follows. Steve lays his head back on his cold, wet pillow and sighs, like he's settling in for the night. 

And Eddie curls up right next to him, settling against his body. 

Steve reaches up and pets Eddie's hair, leaning over to kiss him on the head. 

"You're perfect," Steve says. 

Eddie doesn't miss a beat, "I know." 

Steve laughs. 

And Eddie grins. 

"You gonna be good for me a little bit longer?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods, adamant.

Eddie is bent over on his knees, and Steve is caressing his skin. Worshiping him. Everything about him. 

Before Eddie, before this life he loves, Steve hadn't thought about being in charge in a long time, his king's crown long thrown away with flourish and good fucking riddance. But Eddie wants Steve to drive. Even when he's being a little brat. He's still begging for Steve to take charge. To lay a firm hand against his body, guiding him. 

Steve never used to feel comfortable being in control of anything, not really, not even in his King Steve days. But he's learned to enjoy it, to do this with Eddie. Would do anything for Eddie.

He's slicked up his dick, and made sure Eddie is actually ready, and he is, before pressing inside. 

Eddie makes the most beautiful sound Steve's ever heard. A happy whine, and Steve thinks he's done good. Done right by Eddie. 

And that's all he ever wants to do. 

Make him happy. No matter what that entails. 

Even that comes from making him suffer, just a little bit, first.

"Don't you even think about coming before me," Steve demands, and Eddie whines about that, too.

Steve presses his fingers into Eddie's hips as he fucks him, and Eddie is finally behaving now that he's gotten exactly what he wanted. Head hung low, relaxed in his total submission.

That won't do. Not at all.

"What? Nothing to say now? No running commentary?" Steve goads.

Eddie says nothing, and Steve's not sure he can right now.

But he squeezes down on Steve's dick, and it makes Steve smile. He rubs his hip bone, thumbing the sharp point of it. 

"C'mon, it's the closest thing I get to hearing a sports play-by-play these days." 

Eddie scoffs, and Steve is baiting him. He watches sports all the time, much to Eddie's pissing and moaning. 

"This is entrapment, Harrington," Eddie finally breathes out. 

It is. It definitely is.

"I think you like it when I'm bratty," Eddie adds, his forehead resting against the mattress, his voice a little muffled.

Steve smiles, where Eddie can't see, "Lies." 

He feels so good, open and slick, and Steve fucks him with long, hard strokes. Well practiced, after so many years together. Eddie's so fucking wet, he must have used an overabundance of lube.

Steve shifts his hips, changing his angle, and works over Eddie's prostate. Over and over, with precision, trying to shove Eddie to the precipice without toppling him over it. He wants Eddie to feel like he's gonna fail, but not actually fail. 

Eddie whines, hanging his head, loose and limp. Finally, completely pliant. Trusting Steve.

And Steve keeps him there, dangling on the edge. Brushing past his prostate on every third stroke, then every fifth, every tenth. Backing off as he reads Eddie's body language. Eddie's loose, basically melted, but Steve can still tell. Can still read him like an open book. He knows everything there is to know about Eddie Munson.

It's the hardest he's ever studied in his whole life.

And Steve knows that Eddie's gonna come, soon.

So, Steve lets go of his own control, and shoves right into Eddie's prostate one more time, dick jerking as he empties himself into Eddie and Eddie whines, coming untouched all over the sheets below.

After Steve, as directed, like a good fucking boy.

Steve pulls out, and slaps him on the ass one more time, but this time in a good game sort of way, and Eddie laughs, wet and amused. 

"I have no bones, my bones have gone," Eddie says, collapsing to the sheets, laying in his own wet spot and not giving a flying fuck. 

Steve will just have to clean him up. Take care of him. So, Steve rubs his back, and then presses his thumb against Eddie hole. Loose and wet, so fucking wet.

Steve leans down and runs his tongue over it, flat and soothing, and Eddie sighs, content, "That feels good."

Steve rubs his hand on Eddie's ass cheek, and Eddie tries to spread his legs further, as Steve presses his tongue to him, over and over, cleaning him up, soothing him. 

And then Eddie is finally quiet, finally still. Because he's fallen asleep.

Steve will have to move him, have to clean up the bed, but for now, he just rests his cheek against Eddie's bare side, throwing his arm over Eddie's damp thighs, now wet with sweat instead of water from the shower, and closes his eyes.

And smiles.

Steve does like it. The brattiness. Lives for it, honestly. Longs for that spark in Eddie's eyes, asking, begging, pleading, trusting Steve to do something about it. Trusting Steve to do so many things that Eddie will love, even if he pretends he doesn't, the whole goddamn way.

That is, until Eddie is finally settled and still, satisfied, just like he is in this very moment. Lightly snoring, a sound that is music to Steve's ears. Background noise that means he's home.

And Steve presses his lips to Eddie's skin, loving on him a little bit more.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @subeddieweek and follow along with the fun! 🖤

My other fics for this challenge week:

Day One Day Two Day Four Day Five Day Six Day Seven