#Best Loyalty Points Program

[pointsplus]

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[bitterbeetle]

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[devildomwriter]

Why Lucifer is A Good Brother

*Somewhat chronologically in order everything is canon and if you want the reference I’ll give it to you*

*Heavy spoilers*

All angels consider each other siblings but out of the millions, possibly billions of angels. Lucifer chose to take five brothers and a sister (originally) under his wing.

He gave Mammon a challenge to become his apprentice and when he succeeded he welcomed Mammon with open arms and never rejected him afterwards even with all the trouble he caused.

He gave Asmodeus the nickname “Jewel of the Heavens” something he still loves to this day even as a demon.

He made Levi feel seen and useful even after the peace treaty between realms made his position obsolete.

He bonded with Beelzebub who was originally his guard and took him and his twin under his wings. He also introduced Lilith to the twins who became inseparable.

When Lilith fell in love he visited the Human World to see if this man was good and kind.

When Lilith broke a Celestial Law this man WENT TO WAR WITH AN ENTIRE REALM and GOD to save her. He asked his brothers to side with him and carried guilt for doing so after the war.

After the war, he pledged eternal loyalty to the man in control of the realm he was at war with for most of his existence all to save his sister despite the humiliation. He saved her even though she wouldn’t remember him and he could never see her again and he carried the burden for thousands of years until MC’s ancestry was revealed.

The Devildom and Celestial Realm hold very strict laws so he took whatever means necessary punishment-wise to correct their behavior. In the Celestial Realm, it was so his brothers weren’t outcast and in the Devildom it was so they weren’t imprisoned or killed.

His brothers believe he’s more loyal to Diavolo than to them but he does this FOR them.

When the brothers struggled with becoming demons he was there to comfort them.

When he accidentally created Satan he took full responsibility for the absolute murderous maniac and did his best to raise the personification of hatred.

He cared about Satan so much that when the brothers were offered the chance to return to the Celestial Realm, the realm he once ruled, he told them to return and he alone would stay with Satan so he wouldn’t be alone. Even though this decision meant he wouldn’t be able to see his brothers and they’d be seen as enemies, he wanted what he believed was best for them and what they wanted.

Lucifer did everything he could to master new demon magic, insert himself into Devildom politics, and befriend his enemies all for his brothers’ sakes to give them the same position of respect they had in the Celestial Realm.

In Nightbringer when he was incarcerated in Cocytus the fact his brothers were being held too enraged him to the point he broke free and even fought Diavolo believing he had something to do with it. And when Raphael cried having to sentence him, Lucifer wasn’t angry he felt sorry for Raphael—a former brother.

Lucifer continuously fights those many times stronger than him all for his family’s sake.

Even though it pained him to see his former angelic brothers for the exchange program he remained cordial even though it was at first awkward and a reminder of all the pain of the past. He did this for his former brothers.

When Belphegor threatened treason and war, he lied to the ruler of the Devildom and hid Belphegor away to PROTECT him.

He lashed out at Mc and nearly killed them because he saw them as a threat to his brothers. First when Luke held the Grimoire that could control them and MC got in the way; then threatened them because they were making pacts with all his brothers; then why they betrayed him and found Belphegor because this could reach Diavolo and Belphegor would be punished for treason. In Nightbringer he originally remained suspicious and cold because MC could control his brothers without a pact and then had the grimoire which could control them. Lucifer only attacked MC when he was being protective of his brothers.

When Lucifer had amnesia he immediately bonded with his brothers again and revealed many things he’d done secretly to help them like pulling strings to get Mammon the car he worked so hard for.

He was even willing to sacrifice himself to let MC live who became family (or romantic interest—up to you) and his final ask was that they take care of his brothers.

Lucifer’s methods seem strict, unforgiving, and cruel but remember this is HELL, the DEVILDOM. Law only recently was created and Diavolo may be forgiving but who’s to say his father or descendants would be just as lenient? If his brothers don’t behave it could mean the worst and he refuses to lose another family member.

[xan-izme]

"Bad Guy" (Dad!jake x Villian Daughter reader)

Summary: Jake didn't just leave you on a rotting planet, he did so much more. He barely showed his fatherly side to you, he was on Marin mode 24/7. The night before he left was what pushed you to the edge, after years of him not returning, was your braking point. He left you, his own daughter and betrayed his own race. If he can do that, what's wrong with leaving behind your own humanity?

TW: Death, mentions of death, child neglect, drinking, manipulation ect.

tag list: @kkkmm @myh3artttt

How far can you push a child's love and loyalty. Till they no longer can tell the difference between the two?

Raising children is known to be a very complicated task. But it was a part of life. Parenting is tricky, anything you do or say will affect your child's behavior.

Jake didn't think like that. You were his first child, a girl at that. Your mother was just a one night stand, but he did know her. She was a friend from before he lost his legs.

When you were born, he was already in a bad spot. So a child being dumbed on him in his situation wasn't the best.

So, when raising you, he tried his best to show you that the planet they were on was cruel, and that you need to fend for yourself sometimes. He might have been harsh with his words, but you had some sort of understanding that it wasn't out of meanness. Jake was strict. Set up curfews, schedule for all classes and hang outs. Knowledge of your whereabouts was a must.

But all of that understanding and balance you two had, was quick to shatter. The night before Jake was to leave for Pandora, he was drinking. Yes, Jake drinks a lot, and you know that.

But his twin brother just passed, for the paper he had in his pocket. Sadly, you came back home 15 minutes late.

So, when you tried to get Jake to bed, he was just complaining about you coming late.

Jake was grumbling something while you were trying to clean up the bottles that were laying around.

He complained about the military, about his parents, the people and his twin.

"And you, Y/n"

You stood in place, watching your father point at you, bottle of alcohol in hand. "You killed your mother . . . and now, you're killing me."

Those words hit you like nothing before.

Jake threw the bottle towards you, it missed, but you wish it did hit you and just killed you.

The next morning, you locked yourself in your room. You refused to open the door. No matter how many times' Jake apologized, no matter how hard he begged.

His words of promises to come back and make it up to you, were probably the only thing that made you feel some type of sympathy. And hey, if he did come back, the two of you might have had a decent father and daughter relationship.

You just had to wait for 6 years or so.

Then 6 years turned into 8. 8 years turned into a decade. Then you got word of what Jake had done.

Betrayed his own race, fell in love with a native and started a whole new family. And on top of that! he got legs! isn't that lovely, good for him. And all Jake had to do was leave his pathetic, no-good daughter on a rotting planet to get the life of his dreams.

The amount of anger you felt could not be explained. Wanting to take revenge, wanting your old man to feel unexplainable pain you had been suffering. You applied for a spot in the RDA. Specifically, in the Daja blue group.

It took a lot of training and strings pulled for you to get in that program. But you got in, and once you showed your skills, you were immediately welcomed in.

"Ms. Sully-"

You held back the urge to give the operator a look, not liking being called but his name. But his name is a part of your plan. You want people to know that you're his, that you came from the same Jake Sully.

"Your Avitar is ready."

You hummed and followed the woman. You two passed many other avatars. Then finally came to a stop at one that oddly looked like you. You stared down at the young body.

You were currently in your mid 20's, but avatars are made to be way younger than you currently were. This one looks about 18 or 19. You didn't mind. As long as the body was capable of handling her plan for Jake.

You must say, Pandora was more beautiful than you expected. Such beauty shouldn't have been wasted on Jake. You honestly didn't care for Quaritche's reasons or his mission in general, all you wanted was to install fear and dread into Jake.

Thankfully, Quaritche seemed to not mind what your little mission was. The only thing you two had in common, was to put Jake down. Break him in unimaginable ways.

"Your one of his" Quaritche mumbled. But you heard what he said. Your ears perked as you slowly made your way to the small Na'vi boy. Now seeing by his fingers and looking closely at his face, he held a close resemblance to Jake, that caused you to stare rather hard.

You kneeled down and looked your half-brother in the eyes. You then heard a voice, a voice that you could never forget. You grabbed the innercom that was still connected to the boy's neck and tossed it to Quaritche. As the older man spoke to Jake, you grabbed your half-brothers face, examining it.

The boy growls and roughly moved his face out of your hand.

"Let us go you demons!" The boy hissed in his native tongue. You scoffed in amusement and took hold of his hand, roughly putting it in front of his face, then put your hand against his. Matching all five fingers.

"We are more similar than you think boy." Your words shocked the boy. Leaving him silent and confused.

You turned to go back to your original position, giving a glance to Jake's daughters. You glared at the smallest one.

When Jake brought the fight to them. Quaritche let you have a little time alone with Jake.

Your tail swished from side to side before pouching on Jake. Your fighting style was sloppy, but in a way that was nearly always unpredictable. Almost like you were some kind of; savage.

Jake threw you off him, causing you to land on all fours against a nearby tree. You hissed as you stood up slowly, your tail flickering side to side, your eyes had never left him.

"So mean papa. That really hurt" You licked the blood from your lips as you gave the man a toothy grin.

Jake frowns, that voice, was for some reason familiar to him. His eyes squinted as the figure stepped closer into the moonlight. Once you were in the light, it took him a second, but even in Na'vi form. He recognizes his own daughter.

"Y/n . . . ?"

Jake dropped his weapons as he slowly approached you.

"Y/n, my baby! how-" His hands hovered over your skin, before you stepped away.

The two of you stared at each other, in compleate silence. Suddenly, the sound of a helecopter came. You sighed

"Oh well, guess our time is up." You say in a disappointing tone, you turned to walk off and get back to the group.

"Next time, I won't go easy on ya!" You say with a playful tone, but the noticeable sadistic look you had said otherwise.

Chaos unlashed itself upon the Sully family. The children of Jake demanding to know more about the Avitar woman who claimed to also be a Sully. That night, Jake and Neytiri had to explain that Jake had a daughter back on earth, and the moment he betrayed his own race, he lost privileges of trying to bring his daughter to Pandora or at least try and contact her.

Jake thought about you every day, every second. Every time he treated his sons like soldiers, he was reminded of you, and what he had said that fitful night.

Lo'ak laid awake that night. Your words spinning in his mind. That small talk of how his father truly was. How Jake treated her worse than he was with them now. Lo'ak can barely tolerate how their father is now, so just thinking about how strict or harsh he was with you. He understood you were probably hurt, but he thought of some way to make you see what Lo'ak saw when Jake spoke about you. How much love he had with each word for you, speaking about you like he would for any of his children.

When Jake first saw you again, it was like a dream come true, but now, he feels like he sees you everywhere. You're becoming a nightmare for him, all because of that first interaction you two had, if you knew of this, you would be laughing at how pathetic Jake was to easily be this way.

Even though Neytiri saw you as a traitor and a threat to her family, Jake still saw you as his little girl. His sweet baby girl that he left. The little girl he had the nerve to treat like a soldier. Guess this was Jake's harsh reminder that he was raising a daughter back then.

The Jake now can never imagine treating Kiri and Tuk the way he did with you, it hurts him.

You didn't want to hurt anyone but Jake. That doesn't mean you care for the life around you, no, if killing the ones Jake loved the most would drive Jake to the breaking point like you wished? you would have done that long ago.

You kneeled down to Lo'ak and made sure he was tied properly.

"Why are you doing this! aren't you, our sister??" Lo'ak was trying to reason with you. Trying to make you see what you were doing was wrong. You sighed and gave him a small smile while caressing his head.

"Oh, sweet little brother. You are too young to understand."

"I wan't daddy . . ." Tuk mumbled out a small whine. You shifted your eyes to her.

You stepped back and examined the two. "you two think our father is such a hero. A noble man who loves his family more than anything. But your wrong, the moment you slip up, he turns on you. . . . Did you know what he said to me before he left?"

Lo'ak and Tuk stayed silent as they kept their eyes on you.

"He said that all I had to do was wait for 6 years, then he'll be back, and make up for what he had done to me. Then 6 years turn into 8, then it turned into a decade. . . . It took 10 years for me to realize I didn't need him. And that he didn't want me." You never told your small sob story to anyone, and you surprisingly didn't feel that shitty about what your life had become.

"Your wrong."

Lo'aks words brought you back. You tilt your head a little.

"Oh?"

"Dad loves you! He told us what happened and he's sorry. He regrets everything and all he wants is you to be with him again! h-he loves you and always did." You hum in amusement

"He loves me . . . . How interesting."

Your plan just changed, and in the best way possible.

Jake didn't mean too. He didn't mean to shout at you that night, he didn't mean to leave you behind like he did, he didn't mean to turn you into what you had become now.

You coughed up blood, holding your stomach tight, where the stab wound was.

And most of all, he didn't mean for this to happen. Not to you . . . not by him of all people

"Y/n- I didn't . . . please come with me. Your hurt!" Jake pleaded. You stumbled back and hit the metal wall. You laughed as you slid down to the ground. You slowly looked up to Jake with teary eyes.

It really hurts. The burning pain was like nothing you felt before.

Jake rushed to your side and tried to lift you up. You stopped him and gripped his shoulder. "Hey, you love me . . . yeah?"

Jake didn't hesitate to answer "Yes! I love you. I love you so much." Jake held back a sob as he moved strands of hair away from your face. You sighed and slowly looked back up to him.

"Then, if you truly love me. You should take responsibility for this." Jake's ears slicked back.

"W-what?"

Your eyes were stone cold. Void of any emotion.

"Finish what you started--" You grabbed onto Jake's hand, the one he still had his blade in. Your blood stained with the sharp object.

"-- And if you truly loved me, you'd end it for me already."

Jake shook his head "no, I can still save you! you still have time-"

You cut Jake off "Look, Jake. My time is up. No use for pity now." You were rather done at this point. Just wanting it to be over with.

Jake took a long moment. But it happened. You held eye contact with your father as he stuck the blade in you once more, finishing you off. His salty tears mixing with the blood on your face.

Jake Sully lost his daughter that day. By killing her with his own hands.

So, in short, remember parents that children can be quite fragile in their early stages of life.

They can and will remember everything.

[authormars]

Idk if you’ve already posted about this, but I’m gonna ask anyways.

what’s each of the brother’s (Diavolo and Barb included) biggest insecurity? :p

Ah, a post I can make into a long actual thing. I'm counting both physical and emotional

Lucifer

Lucifer's biggest insecurity would be his scars.

Lucifer regularly tells himself how perfect he is, but every time he looks in a mirror and finds his body littered in scars from battles long lost and won, from playful (and not so playful) fights with his brothers, from simply accidentally hurting himself, anything, it reminds him he isn't. Lucifer always covers even the smallest of scars, hating not being that perfect being. Perfection is his biggest flaw.

Mammon

Mammon's biggest insecurity would be his greed.

The knowledge that he would sell anything and everything for money. He knows it's not good. He doesn't want it to be this way. He hates being called a scumbag and an idiot and every insult his brothers hurl at him. He just can't control it. His greed controls him.

Leviathan

Levi doesn't really have a biggest insecurity. The answer would probably be everything.

He isn't as naturally knowledgeable as Lucifer. He isn't as charming as Mammon. He isn't as quick of a learner as Satan. He doesn't have Asmo's perfect body. He isn't strong like Beel. He couldn't choose not to care like Belphie. He is envious of everyone, insecure about anything.

Satan

Satan's biggest insecurity is feeling like a copy.

He can't stand that he was originally Lucifer. Everything he is came from his brothers. Not just Lucifer. Beel taught him how to work-out. Asmo taught him how to do his make-up. Levi taught him how to play games. Mammon taught him how to get under people's skin. Everything he is, everything he has, is because of his brothers. He's not a real demon, he's a creature of wrath molded by his brothers.

Asmodeus

Asmo's biggest insecurity is his ability to love.

Ever since the fall, all he's felt, all he's known is lust. It hinders him. Nudges it's way into his every thought. Is he even capable of love anymore? Can he hold the hand of another and feel anything except the need to bed them? It's almost as if Asmodeus doesn't exist anymore. As if all he is is lust. He fears that more than anything.

Beelzebub

Beel's biggest insecurity is his strength.

He was made to be strong. To be a protector. He works hard to keep that up. He wants to be a protector for his brothers. Someone safe for them to be around. But he fears sometimes his strength goes to far. He holds his hands close to himself so that he won't hurt anyone with just a simple hug. What's the point of having strength if all you can do is harm?

Belphegor

Belphie's biggest insecurity is that he believes Lilith should've been chosen, not him.

Ever since they fell, he's been nothing but problematic. At first, when he transitioned with his sin. Then, attempting to kill humans and fight against the exchange program. Then killing the exchange student his brothers cared for so much. Then making Lucifer's every day a living hell. What good did he have to be alive if all he did was cause trouble?

Diavolo

Diavolo's biggest insecurity is that everyone around him is only there because they have to be.

Mephisto was made to be his friend. Made to entertain him when he was isolated at the castle. He forced Barbatos to stay at the castle with him. He made Lucifer swear his loyalty to him. Swear he would stay by his side. What good is a friend if they're forced to be it?

Barbatos

Barb's biggest insecurity is that he didn't do his best with raising Diavolo.

He's proud of what the young lord has become. He's proud of the dream he's realized. But what if it isn't enough? Barbatos has seen demon kings rise and fall. The good and evil. He's seen what his young lord can become. What if, even after all the work to make him the kind-hearted soul he is, it isn't enough?

Thank you for reading so far into this (I know it's long)

My askbox is always open and if you have fic suggestions, I'm always up to write!

[tj-dragonblade]

[FIC] Loyalty Rewards Program

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: E Word Count: 9204 Tags: Human AU, Mechanic Hob, Rich Guy Dream, top Hob, bottom Dream, Dream of the Endless is a Horny Little Weasel, class dynamics, as a kink perhaps, Dream of the Endless is intense and unhinged, Hob matches his freak, Bossy Dream, Agreeable Hob, Service Top Hob Gadling, Enthusiatic Bottom Dream, Dream is Not Quiet in bed, there is a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet at one point, blatant disregard for typical human refractory periods, rimming, anal sex, felching-adjacent, inconsequential ingestion of lube, effusive endearments, dirty talk, overstimulation, anal fingering, help my hookup is growing feelings

Notes: Third in the Turbo Lover series (Customer Service and Every Nerve Alive on Tumblr, if AO3 is down). This one happened because Dream was insistent on getting properly fucked in the garage and I refuse to be the author who uses engine grease or motor oil for lube. This fills the free space (B2) on my @dreamlingbingo card, and is also the longest Sandman fic I've written to date.

Summary: Dream comes back to Matthew's Motor Repairs the next day and Hob gives him everything he asks for

On AO3 Hob re-locks the door as soon as he's ducked inside the shop the next morning; he's not opening for people today.

He has other obligations, after all.

He first makes a thorough job of cleaning and sweeping the floor around the Porsche. Whatever the plan today entails, he doesn't want to wind up kneeling on a bit of gravel or taking a stray hex nut to the arse cheek while he's fucking his rich admirer. Granted he may need to do a quick spot-sweep when Dream shows up—if Dream shows up—since he'll be working on the car in the meantime, but doing it now will make that faster.

…Of course Dream's going to show up, Hob's not worried. Guy was thirsty as fuck yesterday, he'll be back. He's got a car to pick up, after all, and speaking of, Hob had best make sure it's ready.

He strips out of his clothes and dons his coveralls nude, leaves them unzipped to the waist, not even bothering to keep his underwear today. It's cooler than yesterday but still plenty warm, and this will make things faster once Dream shows up. He's pretty sure Dream will appreciate the aesthetic, also.

Hob whistles to himself working under Dream's Porsche, finishing up the clutch replacement that he hadn't quite been able to focus on after Dream left yesterday. It's quick work to wrap it up and he makes sure to let grease smears accumulate on his arms and maybe he deliberately puts a couple of artistically-placed smudges on his chest, for fun.

With the clutch done, he moves on to changing the oil, flushing and refilling the other fluids, and giving the car a general tuneup. The Porsche is a beautiful machine and Hob's thrilled to have the chance to work on her.

He's thrilled to have the chance to work on her owner, too.

When the shop bell rings, Hob's heart leaps. He's just got the car all closed up and down from the ramps and done another quick sweep so assuming that's Dream, and it should be, his timing is perfect. He winds his way to the front, zipping up his coveralls just in case and opening the door.

Dream is there on the other side, as breathtakingly gorgeous as Hob remembers. "Am I the 'special circumstances'?" he asks, coy and smouldering as he taps the handwritten sign Hob had pasted in the window—Closed for walk-ins due to special circumstances; ring if you have an appointment.

"The specialist of circumstances," Hob agrees, effervescent joy and lust bubbling up inside him, spilling into his smile. "Closed up so I'm all yours. Entirely at your service."

"Wonderful," Dream purrs, stepping through the door. "For I am desperately in need of the services of a good mechanic."

Hob pulls the door closed after him, ensures it's latched in and that it's still locked, then turns with a grin. "You've come to the right place then, love. I'm at your disposal, one hundred percent, and I will personally see to your complete satisfaction. Guaranteed." He winks.

Dream steps in closer, tilts his head just enough to gaze up heatedly from beneath his lashes, toys with the tab of the zipper at Hob's collarbone. "Do you offer such comprehensive personal service to all your customers?" He's slowly drawing the zip down as he speaks.

Hob's heartrate picks up and his breath goes a bit short. "Oh no, this comes special with our uh, our loyalty rewards program," he manages, with his best charm-the-customer smile. The dainty fingertips unzipping his coveralls are very distracting.

Dream stops once he's exposed Hob's chest hair, rakes his nails through it lightly, skirting the grease smeared above it. "But this is the first time I have brought my patronage to your shop," he counters, with the prettiest little pout.

Hob shakes his head. "See I count twice; you tried out my services yesterday and found them satisfactory enough to come back today. And I'm very sure, if I meet your exacting standards, I can earn your repeat business. So I'll opt you in, because I have that much confidence in the quality of my work."

He's mixing his references clumsily, the car repairs and the sex getting muddled together, but Dream is smiling all the same. "Let us hope your confidence is not misplaced, then," he says, voice dipping lower in that way that makes Hob's stomach tighten delightfully. "I should hate to be granted such privilege unduly."

With that, Dream draws the zipper down more, then turns and steps away, casting a come-hither glance over his shoulder as he sashays toward the door into the garage. Hob, unzipped to the waist and hard already, is hot to follow, but first—

He tears the sign from the window, hangs the normal 'Closed' sign in its place, double-checks the lock and throws the deadbolt for good measure. He rounds the reception desk and logs into the phone system, makes sure the auto-answer is set to the 'closed unexpectedly' option, and sets the ringer to after-hours so it'll go straight to messages instead of ringing through. Not that he'd be stopping in the middle of whatever they're about to be doing to answer the phone, but this way they're guaranteed no distractions, no interruptions. Then he hurries after Dream.

Dream is completely naked when he gets back to the garage, leaning pale and pretty and barefoot against the side of his Porsche with his arms loosely folded and his cock hanging ready, half-hard, beautiful.

"Well hello, gorgeous," Hob says, unabashedly enthusiastic as he approaches, wondering if he's meant to just dive in or wait for a cue, if he's allowed to pull Dream into his arms and start with a kiss. His gaze falls to the delicate arches of Dream's feet, the soft pale curves of his toes (with black-painted nails!), and he's really glad he swept up first.

"You occupy my thoughts incessantly, Hob Gadling," Dream says, pushing off the car and stepping close to Hob again, hands reaching to toy with the open edges of his coveralls.

"Do I, now?" Hob decides on a caution-to-the-wind approach and snakes an arm around Dream's waist, raises a dirt-stained thumb to brush over his cheek. Dream hadn't hesitated yesterday to say what he did and didn't want; Hob will trust him to do the same today. "They're good thoughts, I hope?"

"Very," Dream breathes, gripping the coveralls, tugging marginally; his eyes are dark, his pale cheeks faintly flushed with excitement, his pretty pink lips slightly parted, and Hob sees no reason to resist the temptation presented.

The noise Dream makes when Hob kisses him is soft, eager, encouraging, and Hob presses closer, lets both hands play over Dream's bare skin, up and down his spine. Dream is kissing back, heated and insistent; he slips both hands inside Hob's coveralls, around his waist and down to grasp his arse cheeks, squeeze appreciatively, pull him closer.

Hob breaks away with a gasp, delighted and impossibly turned on; Dream squeezes again, nips at the scruff on his chin. "You are not wearing any underwear today, Hob," he murmurs, in a tone of pleased discovery, and Hob can't help grinning.

"Thought you might appreciate it," he says, breathless, hands stroking up and down Dream's biceps, leaving faint smudges behind. "Makes things a bit faster, easier—"

"And are you easy, Hob Gadling?"

"Only for you," he answers, which is truer than it would have been two weeks ago. "God, you smell good today—" He really does, floral-herbal freshness wafting from his hair, faint notes of soap and a light cologne lingering on his skin; Hob lets instinct shape his words. "So clean and pretty, too; come down to the garage to get properly dirty, have we?"

The way Dream shivers against him tells him that was indeed the right thing to say.

"Perhaps," Dream replies, and squeezes Hob's arse again. "I very much appreciate your wardrobe choices, in that regard." He brings his hands around front, one dipping to cup Hob's dick while the other draws the zipper all the way down underneath.

"Thought you might," Hob manages, while Dream's slender fingertips touch his balls, stroke with gentle pressure, and then Dream is moving, grasping at the shoulders of Hob's coveralls and pushing them off.

"I would feel you, bare, against me," is what he says, which sounds like a fine idea to Hob. He struggles briefly with the rolled-up sleeves but as soon as his arms are free Dream is in them, pressing up against him, kissing him fiercely and completely derailing any attempt at getting the coveralls all the way off.

Fuck it, Hob decides, letting them just fall around his legs as he wraps Dream close and kisses him back, hungry and insistent to match Dream's fervor. He backs him up a step, two, until Dream's narrow arse hits the Porsche again and he squirms prettily, his cock nudging up against Hob's as they break the kiss, panting.

"Over the bonnet then, love?"

Dream shakes his head, an effortlessly imperious little gesture. "I wish to ride you, first." He gestures to the creeper. "Please."

Clearly, clearly Dream's got some very specific fantasies about cars and mechanics and Hob is delighted that he gets to help make them happen. "Absolutely," he grins, shuffling down into position on the board.

Dream grabs a condom and a bottle of lube from where he'd stashed them between the windscreen and the bonnet and drops next to Hob. Which is just as well since Hob's supplies are with his clothes in the locker on the other side of the garage; he leans back on his elbows as Dream tears open the condom and rolls it onto him.

"You've got such pretty hands," he breathes, shivering at the glide of Dream's touch along his shaft, and doesn't miss the breath Dream sucks in at the compliment. "Gonna show me how you use those fingers to open yourself up? Or do I get to do that for you, hm?"

"Neither," Dream answers, rising and turning to lean over the side of the bonnet, which confuses Hob for half a second until he speaks again.

"Spread me open," he directs, and Hob is only to happy to sit up and comply, to see the greasy smudge of his fingerprints smeared on Dream's lily-white arse—

Dream is wearing a plug.

Hob's libido, already cranked to eleven, ratchets up another notch. "Oh, fuck," he breathes reverently, wide-eyed. Dream had put that in at home, had come here sitting on it, walking with it inside him, just to be ready for Hob's cock?

Christ, but that's hot.

He watches raptly as Dream's slender fingers grip the wide base and start pulling; he takes his time and Hob gets to just hold him open and watch as Dream's hole slowly stretches around the flare of the thing, bigger and bigger until it finally passes the widest point and slides the rest of the way free, and the hungry little sound of relief Dream makes as it comes out makes Hob's dick ache.

He desperately wants to slip his tongue in there, wriggle it into the shrinking gape and let Dream's body close to grip snugly around him, but Dream is a man on a mission, and that mission is getting Hob's prick inside him. He straightens up, turns and straddles Hob, fingertips to Hob's chest pressing him down as Dream squats over his lap. He drops the plug aside, reaches behind to take Hob's slicked-up rubber-wrapped cock and guide it into his body as he comes down, and the sound he makes plus the tight warm sheath of his arse have Hob absolutely riveted.

Dream lifts himself, thighs straining and hand firmly on Hob's chest now, fucks himself up and down on Hob's prick while hovering over it, letting out the most decadent moans each time he sinks onto it. He'd said he wanted to ride Hob but he's only made it as far as squatting, like he's so desperate for Hob's cock he can't even wait to get all the way into proper position for it and Hob (and his dick) definitely feel some kind of way about it. Dream's own prick bobs stiff and eager in front of him, a little drop of fluid glistening at the tip already, and Hob almost wishes he was enough of a contortionist to get it in his mouth. Later, perhaps. Right now he's got this gorgeous creature pistoning eagerly on his cock and well on his way to losing his mind, from the sound of it.

Hob spreads both hands over the tops of Dream's thighs, feeling how they tremble with exertion, and finally draws them down, forward, coaxing Dream out of his squat and into a proper kneeling position. He shifts his grip to Dream's hips and pulls him onto his cock at the same time, all the way down until he's buried deep up inside and Dream is panting the breathiest little 'yes, yes, yes's as he bottoms out, eyes wide and glazed. His hand is still planted on Hob's chest and Hob takes it up carefully, draws it to his mouth and kisses Dream's fingertips; Dream whines, gaze sharpening and honing in on Hob's actions. Hob's lips brush the pads of those fingers as he speaks.

"Did you still want to ride me, darling? Or should I hold you still and start fucking up into that pretty little hole?"

Dream shivers, makes another needy little noise and draws himself up on Hob's cock, sinks back down, does it again, and again, faster, harder, until he's panting breathless moans on every pass. His hands are planted on Hob's chest, up near his shoulders next to the grease smeared beneath his collarbone, and Hob rests his hands at Dream's hips, ready to take up the slack if he's needed.

Dream rides like a pro, to be honest, finding his rhythm and moving steadily in pursuit of his pleasure. His arse is snug and hot and slick, his voice like a song as he glides so easily up and down on Hob's prick; he feels amazing, and Hob has to remind himself to breathe as it goes on and on, to keep a rein on his own pleasure until Dream's gotten everything he needs.

At last Dream's pace begins to falter, his panting moans stuttering into broken little whimpers as he flags in his feverish bouncing. "Hob," he whines, arse wriggling lower, his fingers clutching at Hob's chest hair. "You feel. So good, inside me—"

"Do I?" Hob breathes, fingertips brushing over Dream's flanks, and it's weak, so weak as far as dirty talk goes but he can't help it. He's enamoured, struck senseless by how into this Dream is, and words are failing him.

"Yes—" Dream squirms forward and back, circles his hips beneath Hob's attentive grease-stained hands, moans prettily. "Hob, please—"

He doesn't even have to specify, it's clear enough what he's after now, and Hob moves to grip him properly, to lift him just slightly. He clutches tight, fingertips digging in to what little meat there is on Dream's arse, plants his boots on the concrete floor and thrusts up into him.

Dream cries out, clenches his fists on Hob's shoulders and throws his head back, chest heaving. Hob draws out and thrusts again, full force, and again, and Dream shudders, gasping, delighted. "Hob—yes—yes—" He squeezes tight around Hob's prick and groans, drops his head to meet Hob's gaze with fever-bright eyes. "Fuck me—I want—"

"Tell me," Hob breathes, mesmerized, shifting his feet for better leverage and thrusting into him again, and Dream warbles beautifully.

"Faster. Deeper—as hard and as deep as you can, Hob—!"

"'Course, love," Hob gasps, hips moving to comply with barely a thought, and Dream's voice rises into a long keening wail as Hob gives him precisely what he's asked for.

"Yes—yes—yes—!" He tosses his head back again, the arch of his throat working beautifully as he chokes out 'yes' after 'yes', arms stiff and trembling, hands still braced tight on Hob's shoulders.

Hob grunts with exertion, pounding up into Dream with everything he's got, thighs damp and sticking slightly where they press against Dream's. He's transfixed by the rapture in Dream's face, the sheen of sweat on his neck and chest, the stream of noises coming out of his pretty mouth; he looks and sounds like having Hob's cock in him is the best thing ever, like it's everything he wanted, and Hob is fast falling in love with how expressive he is about sex.

Dangerous thoughts, those; he puts them far away, concentrates on pumping hard and fast and deep up into Dream's lovely arse to make him come. He's careful still not to come himself; Dream has clearly got plans and it's his job to stay hard as long as Dream needs his cock.

"Hob—Hob—ahh, don't stop, Hob—!"

Hob squeezes Dream's arse, spreading his cheeks just a tiny bit more, and shifts the tempo down slightly, fucks up into him long and smooth, deep, steady. Dream wails, lost in the pleasure of it, and droops suddenly to lay over Hob's chest, a graceful fall into an open kiss interspersed with Dream's panting and whimpering. Hob shifts his hips to accommodate the changed angle and Dream sobs into his mouth, needy, desperate. His prick is nestled against Hob's belly, wet at the tip, hot and hard and Dream is moving helplessly as Hob fucks him, rutting through the hair on Hob's stomach in little jerks. He's tense in Hob's arms, trembling, skin damp with sweat all over and Hob thinks he could do this forever if he had to, fucking this gorgeous creature curled atop him but he doesn't have to, he knows, he can tell, Dream is nearly there—

Dream goes rigid abruptly, breath choking in his throat as his mouth opens wider, still meshed to Hob's. A high thin sound trickles out of his throat and Hob laps it up, fucks into him once, twice, again, and then Dream convulses with a wail, wet warmth blooming on Hob's belly. He buries himself as deep into Dream as he can and holds it there, flexes against the rhythmic clutching of Dream's arse around him, kisses Dream through the tremors and pulses of orgasm until he goes limp.

He spends a moment petting up and down Dream's spine then while Dream lies boneless atop him, catching his breath. He's still warm and tight around Hob's dick, perfect and tempting and—

And heavier than he looks, honestly; Hob shifts to take him by the shoulders, lifts him off his chest just a bit. Dream takes the cue, raises himself somewhat, blinks the haze from his eyes as he meets Hob's. The smile on his lips quickly sharpens to something simmering with heat, but Hob saw. He saw that glimpse of softness, the glow of bliss on Dream's face and he feels the way his heart trips, knows he's losing his battle.

There's a faint smudge of grease on Dream's forehead that probably came from Hob's collarbone and his dick twitches to see it. Dream shivers and squeezes around him and Hob sighs, a full and happy sound.

"You're pretty when you come," he says, gathering his wits about him again. He smears his hand through the mess on his stomach, picks up a little grease from just beside it, reaches to cradle Dream's face. "So, so pretty." He strokes his fingers back through Dream's hair, leaving a faint black smudge and sticky colorless smears on his cheekbone and more than a trace of filth in his hair.

"Only when I come?" It's a tease, accompanied by a gentle squeeze around him, and Hob shivers.

"'Course not," he murmurs, flexing his dick in response, delighted by the shiver that runs through Dream in turn. "You're pretty when you're bouncing on my cock, too. And when you tell me what you want me to do to you. And yesterday." He flexes again, warming to the topic. "You looked so pretty yesterday, with grease smeared on your face and my prick in your mouth."

Dream makes a pleased sound, squeezes his arse around Hob again, and Hob is more than ready to carry on, if Dream is. He strokes his thumb over the tacky mess on Dream's cheek. "Can I dirty you up some more, beautiful? Make you come for me again?"

"I should be very disappointed if you did not, Hob Gadling," Dream purrs, and there's that imperious little smirk again, the one Hob is already too attached to.

He'll give this man whatever he wants, and love every second of it.

"What next, then, sweetheart?" He's slowly pulsing up into Dream now in unhurried rhythm, too leisurely to be called fucking but ready to pick up the pace in a heartbeat. "Keep going like this?" The creeper is getting a bit uncomfortable, truth be told, and he wouldn't mind getting up off the floor but if Dream's not done yet he'll tough it out.

"No." Thankfully Dream sits all the way up, wriggles deliciously on Hob's cock, bottomed out and heavy-eyed with the pleasure of having it so deep inside him. "Next, I would have you—ahh—" He squirms, back arching, mouth falling open as Hob gives in to the temptation of dragging the rough grease-stained pad of his thumb over one pristine petal pink nipple. "Bend—bend me over the bonnet. Fuck me until I scream—Hob—!" He's panting as Hob caresses the tender little bud of flesh, writhing as if he could take Hob any deeper.

Hob shivers. "Fuck. Alright. As you wish, you precious beautiful man—" He lifts Dream's hips, lifts Dream off his cock as he sits up, then wraps one arm under Dream's narrow arse and heaves them both up with a grunt of exertion, his other hand braced on the car for support. It's awkward as fuck with his coveralls still wadded about his ankles and he can tell already his back and thighs are going to hate him for it tomorrow, but it's entirely worth it for the arousal that flares in Dream's widened eyes, the way he clings and wraps his legs around Hob, the way he surges in to kiss Hob again.

Hob shuffles round the front of the car using his one hand for guidance while Dream devours his mouth, and carefully lowers Dream onto the bonnet. He knows it's not the position Dream was looking for but he can't help slipping his cock back into him like this, when Dream is still wrapped around him and ripe for the plowing.

Dream breaks the kiss with a reedy little whining noise as Hob nudges inside him and sinks deep; he claws at Hob's shoulders and draws his legs back, open and practically begging and alright, okay, Hob can give him a good minute like this first, fucks into him in soft smooth rhythm. Dream's pretty pink cock is stiffening up again already, laying thick and half-filled against his belly and jolting with every thrust; he's panting open-mouthed, the sweetest little sounds falling out of him each time Hob pushes in.

"You're gorgeous like this too," Hob gets out, needing the talk to divide his focus, to keep himself going without risk of finishing. "So eager, so open, so fuckable—" Dream shudders, biting off a deep whine at the word, leaned back and still hanging onto Hob's shoulders for support, feet braced on his hips, and Hob zeroes in on his advantage. "Has no one ever called you that before, sweetheart? Fuckable?"

"None I would care to hear it from," Dream moans, pulling himself up closer, disrupting Hob's rhythm. "But. From your lips. It sounds like a benediction—" He kisses Hob, tongue plunging into his mouth, arms wrapping tight behind Hob's neck. His legs shift also, wrapping back around Hob's waist and he pulls himself close, up off the car as Hob gets his arms quickly underneath to support him.

"Give a bloke an ego, talking like that," he gasps, when Dream lets him up for air.

"It's well-deserved," Dream counters, nipping at his lower lip and shifting his weight so that Hob steps back to keep them balanced. "You are exquisite, and talented with your dick, and I wish to be so deeply and thoroughly fucked over my car that I will still feel you inside me tomorrow." He plunges his tongue back into Hob's mouth and unlocks his legs from around him, lets Hob set him back on his feet.

"Do you need a refresh on your lube first?" Hob gasps, mindful of what they've already done and what Dream still wants from him and the serviceable life of water-based lube.

Dream pauses, considering. "Perhaps," he says, with the restlessness of someone eager to get back into action but recognizing the wisdom of the question regardless.

Hob leans around him and reaches, snags the lube off the bonnet. "Let me slick you up a bit more just to be safe." He glances at his hands, perpetually stained and still dirty enough to leave smudges on Dream's skin. "Or you can, since your hands are cleaner?"

"Yes," Dream agrees, taking the bottle and squirting some out. He reaches behind himself and Hob gets to watch his face flicker through half a dozen little expressions; he's clearly moving for function over pleasure but there's enjoyment to be had all the same, from the look of it.

"There." Dream straightens as he finishes, eyes Hob with new heat in his gaze. "Are you clean."

"What?"

Dream narrows his eyes, clearly conveying both horniness and impatience in equal measure. "I am clean; I test regularly. I want your come inside me. Are. You. Clean."

Hob's libido flares, wildly. "Yes. Fuck. Yes, okay." Caution to the wind, and all that.

Dream reaches down and removes Hob's condom, drops it aside and picks up the lube again. He slicks up Hob's cock, kisses him fiercely while doing so, then turns and drapes himself over the bonnet of his Porsche and lifts up on his toes, arse presented. "Fuck me," he demands over his shoulder, breathless and eager like he hadn't just come bouncing on Hob's cock not ten minutes ago. Insatiable. "Hold me down with your work-dirtied hands and fuck me—"

Hob doesn't need to be told twice. He lines up and pushes in, bare slick and easy, all the way to the hilt. Dream makes the most appreciative and desperate little moan, wriggling backwards; Hob grabs his hip with one grease-stained hand, plants his other in the middle of Dream's narrow back and fucks.

Dream cries out, high gasping breaths punched from his lungs with every thrust and Hob just revels in it, moving in sure and steady rhythm. It's easy, so easy, smooth and slick and so good, and Dream's enthusiastic response is—it's heady, to have someone react to him this way, to want him this much, and he'll do everything he can to give Dream what he wants, to make it worth it. It's no hardship, far from it.

"Your arse is so hot," Hob pants, "so tight, absolutely perfect. Can't believe you wore that glass plug here so you'd be ready to get plowed." He grinds his hips deep in emphasis, draws out a little and relishes the way Dream whimpers when he slams back in. "Sweet of you, though. Did it turn you on, sitting on it in the cab? Feeling it move inside you when you walked? Were you horny and eager the whole way here, darling, stuffed full with your toy and imagining my prick in its place?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" Dream cries, as much an answer as it is interjection. He's thrusting backward as best he can in Hob's hold, eager and desperate, and Hob keeps fucking, keeps talking.

"I loved watching you take it out. Your beautiful hole stretching bigger and bigger around it, how open you were after. Wanted to stick my tongue in there, sweetheart, wanted to eat you out, make you squirm."

Dream is gasping, wailing, trembling where Hob pins him to the car, head tossing, breath heaving under Hob's steady hand. His cock is surely leaking a mess all over the bonnet; Hob'll have to clean it for him again when they're done.

"You've got the prettiest little hole I've ever seen," Hob continues, steady and unflagging in his rhythm. He leans back, drags both hands to Dream's arse cheeks and squeezes, spreads them so he can easily see himself sinking in, his naked prick pushing and pulling at the puffy pink rim of Dream's hole again and again. He slows, savoring the sight, and Dream whines, clenches around him as he presses back in. "Absolutely beautiful," Hob breathes, thumb moving to stroke over the delicate skin stretched tight around the girth of his prick. "Exquisite. I'm so lucky I get to ravish it."

He knows on one hand he sounds ridiculous as he picks up the pace again, but on the other it's doing the trick on both counts—distracting him from his own pleasure to draw it out, and driving Dream higher at the same time.

And Dream is absolutely being driven to the heights of pleasured madness, that much is clear. He's writhing on the bonnet under Hob's steady pounding, fingers clutching futilely at the glossy surface, skin flushed and sweat-damp and sticking to the car, ribs heaving. And the sounds coming out of his mouth? Good god, he's noisy, so fucking loud and it's not like Hob doesn't love it, not like there's anyone around to hear or any other reason to hold back. It does great things for his ego, the way Dream's wailing like he's never been railed this good in his life, but Hob's got an idea and his instincts say it's spot-on, so he goes for it.

He claps his hand—still grimy from the tune-up, still a little tacky with Dream's come—he claps it gently over Dream's mouth, stifling his volume, and Dream jolts, then goes wild. His head goes all the way back, giving Hob easier coverage; his breath comes short and sharp through his nose, faster and faster in time with his cries that go higher and shriller, muffled by Hob's not-exactly-clean hand. His body has gone tense, trembling, hips thrusting back against Hob's with mounting desperation and god, but Hob is in love. "That's it, sweetheart, come for me again," he murmurs breathlessly, bending close to Dream's ear and the dried mess on his cheek and squeezing his hip, flexing the hand that covers his mouth. "Take your fill of my cock, shoot your load all over your car—I'll clean it again for you, don't worry—"

Dream stills abruptly, shaking, voice a strangled muffled shriek as he comes; Hob thrusts deep into his pulsing clenching arse and holds, intending to let Dream ride out his orgasm. But Dream wriggles, wrenches his head free of Hob's hand, gasping.

"Move—don't stop—"

So Hob moves.

He straightens up and sets both hands back on Dream's hips, fucks eagerly into him, quickly re-establishing his rhythm and speeding up. "Good?" he grunts, sweat dripping down his temple, and Dream warbles out an affirmative.

"Harder—Hob—use me, claim me, fill me—!" His voice shakes; his hands are spasming against the bonnet, his arms trembling, and his arse is so tight and slick and hot, clenches so beautifully around him, Hob isn't going to last but another moment.

"Use your pretty little hole for my own pleasure?" he gets out, pounding into it now with everything he's got, spiraling up to the horizon, and Dream sobs.

"Yes, Hob, yes—!"

"Claim it for myself?" Hob gasps, grinding deep, slamming into him again and again. "Fill you up with my come—ahh—here it is—Dream!"

Dream wails, and Hob comes, gasping, grunting, the euphoria sweeping through his veins in a warm rush. His hips jerk involuntarily, shoving deep, emptying himself thoroughly into Dream's clutching arse.

"Fuck," he pants, pulse pounding in his ears, "oh, fuck—"

It's good, so damn good, feels like it goes on forever, everything in his body alight with pleasure and pouring out through his dick, until at long last it subsides and he collapses, barely catching himself before he crushes Dream. He takes a minute, just panting above him, and then pulls out carefully—still wet and messy, regardless—with a groan. Dream whimpers, a sound of abject loss, but does not move from where he has gone limp on the car.

Hob turns carefully to perch beside him, resting his arse on the bonnet, catching his breath.

"Alright there, Dream?" he asks, after a moment.

"Mmh," is the only reply, and Hob takes a moment to just look at him, gaze sweeping over the lines of his body and the grey-black smudges he himself has left on that pristine pale skin. He lingers over the curves (such as they are) of Dream's arse, leans far enough to see where there's a mess of lube and semen dribbling down Dream's perineum to his balls, a glistening runnel of it trickling down his inner thigh—Hob shivers, arousal sparking despite the remains of orgasm still simmering in his blood.

"Christ, you look beautiful like this," he can't help saying. "Fucked out across the bonnet of your Porsche with your legs spread, and my come dripping out of your arse…"

"Silver tongue." Dream does not move from where he sprawls, languid and heavy-lidded, spread-eagled on the car, even as Hob levers himself up, moves to stand behind Dream again.

"Mmyes, that's right. Said something about having a use in mind for it, didn't you?"

"Perhaps."

"'Perhaps' he says," Hob drawls, grinning, but the idea's back in his head now and oh, he would like to get his tongue in Dream's arse, lube or no lube. He saw the bottle, it's water-based, it's not going to kill him to lick a bit of it up. "Why don't you tell me if this is what you had in mind, then."

He drops into a squat and flicks the tip of his tongue around the puffy rim of Dream's messy and very-pink hole, circling it with a light touch, and the sound that Dream makes is nothing but encouraging. His own come is no particular delicacy but just like the lube, he doesn't mind that he's getting a taste in the course of eating out this beautiful man. Dream's hole is swollen with use and sensitive and Hob kisses it softly, wets his tongue and wriggles it in, gently at first with slurping licks in between but with increasing enthusiasm until Dream is squirming against his face and he's as deep as he can get, grease-stained hands gripping those milk-white cheeks and spreading them wide.

The keening noise Dream makes urges him on and he delves back in again and again, breathless and eager, feasting until his face is sticky and his jaw aches. Finally he draws back, panting, senses filled with the smell and the taste of this man and still, Dream remains insatiable.

"More. Hob, I want more, do not send me on my way so unsated—"

He has come twice, surely he is not sincere when he says 'unsated', and yet. Here he is, pleading for more, as needy and eager as he's been the whole time. And god, but Hob wants to give him everything, is itching to finger him out but he's not doing that when his hands are still dirty, he's just not. Nor is he going to make Dream wait while he scrubs down with the Swarfega. He casts about, thinking, tongue lapping soothingly around Dream's sloppy hole all the while; there's the plug Dream was wearing but it's been sitting on the shop floor so no; it's shaped for stretching more than fucking anyway. His fingers really would be best—

"Did you bring more than just the one condom?"

"Mmh?" Dream sounds keyed up and hazy, blissed out on the attentions of Hob's tongue and Hob smiles, plants a kiss over his hole.

"Condoms, love. Have you got another?"

"Yes. Trouser pocket—"

"And where did your trousers escape to?" He kisses again, flicks his fatigued tongue inside in a teasing lick.

"Front seat." Dream wriggles, needy, restless and wanting.

"Brilliant. Hang on, got an idea—" He scrambles up and around and finds the clothes rumpled in the Porsche's driver seat, rifles through the pockets for the promised condom and tears it open, slips it over his first two fingers as he shuffles round the front of the car again, coveralls still tangled in his boots. Dream is a vision sprawled face down and spread-legged on the bonnet, eyes tracking Hob's return, and Hob won't leave him waiting another instant.

"Here we are," he murmurs, condom-clad fingers sliding down the cleft of Dream's grease-smudged arse and slipping deftly into his hole still slick with lube and Hob's jizz, Hob's spit. Hob pushes deep, curves his touch down and massages, and Dream cries out, going rigid.

Grinning, Hob leans over the bonnet beside him, fingers working deep and steady, and watches Dream's prettily-dirtied face as he comes apart. He's mewling, eyes wide, mouth open and gasping; he's come twice already and his insides are swollen and sensitive, his pleasure easy to stoke to trembling heights. Hob shifts briefly to drizzle more lube in for good measure and then gives him no quarter, fingers steady and relentless in their attentions until Dream is shaking, sobbing, tears leaking from his eyes and saliva drooling from the corner of his mouth. He pushes up on trembling arms, collapses back to his elbows, head hanging low between his shoulders. "Hob—aah—Hob, please!" It's unclear if he's begging for more or begging for mercy, but the way he flexes up on his toes and pushes back on Hob's hand is telling enough.

"Shh," Hob soothes, leaning close enough to brush his mouth across Dream's bicep in an open kiss, and then, because he can't help being just a touch evil: "Do you want to come again? Or did you need me to stop?"

"Do not stop," he manages, and it is very much an order despite his gasping breathless delivery. "Your hands are exquisite, Hob—!"

"You say the sweetest things," Hob murmurs, kissing his arm again and rubbing particularly hard with both fingers.

Dream wails, head tossing, trembling, helpless, and Hob draws his fingers partway out only to drive them back in, again and again and again, curving his touch to hit that spot on every thrust. He twists his hand as he goes, employing every expert technique he's honed in his time to bring Dream up to the edge again.

God, he loves this, having another person trust him with their pleasure and being able to give them everything they want and then some. It's heady, addictive to have this beautiful man sobbing in delight because of him, shaking apart, because of him; he desperately wants for this to not be the last time. Predictably, his mouth starts running again, pleading his case.

"You can have this anytime you like, love, I'd be delighted to take care of you again. Your pretty mouth, your pretty cock, this pretty perfect eager little hole—" He twists his fingers just so, curls and presses.

Dream warbles out a wet, broken sound that may or may not be Hob's name, bends trembling knees to widen his stance just a little, letting Hob that much deeper inside him.

Beautiful. Perfect.

"Come see me anytime you just need a good hard fuck, mmh? Whenever you want a fun and filthy seeing-too from your handsome bit of rough down at the garage?" He pauses with his fingers buried deep, strokes them fast and firm over exactly the right spot again and again and Dream wails, a high thin keening noise deep in his throat that rises into a proper scream as he comes at last. His body spasms, clenches hard on Hob's fingers in pulsing rhythm and Hob doesn't let up for a long moment, milks him relentlessly through it until he collapses onto the bonnet, boneless and panting.

Hob stills his fingers at that point but doesn't yet pull them out, savoring the snug warmth they're nestled in and the beautiful picture Dream makes like this.

He did that. He made Dream come three times, worked this posh pretty thing into a limp fucked-out mess sprawled across his expensive car.

God, but he wants to do it again.

"Do you think you've got one more in you?" He can't help it; he's always been greedy.

Dream groans, a low sound that stirs something deep in Hob's stomach. "Three times, Hob. I am spent." Yet he makes no move to rise from the car or pull off from Hob's hand, which he could easily do.

Greatly daring, tempted beyond reason by this ravenous marvelous creature, Hob twitches his fingers where they're still pressed against Dream's prostate.

Dream jerks, a shudder running through him, then squeaks when Hob does it again. "Hob—!" His eyes fly open, shining beneath his wet lashes.

"I'll stop if you say so," Hob hastens to assure him. "But you did chide me to not send you home unsated and I just want to make sure I've given you everything"—he presses again—"you need."

Dream whines through his teeth, sucks in a great gasping breath as Hob lets up and cries out when Hob's fingers curl mercilessly within him again, and again, and again. He scrabbles uselessly at the bonnet and lifts his head, mouth open, muscles straining, body trembling as Hob starts taking him apart again before he's even pulled himself back together from the last orgasm.

Hob's good with his hands, in this as well as his work, and he's quite certain he can make Dream come again in fairly short order given how sensitized and overstimulated he is. Hob is also quite certain he can draw this out just a bit longer, work him up even more before pushing him over the edge again and quite frankly, that sounds like more fun.

"Stay with me sweetheart," he murmurs in between Dream's cries, shifting his hand to stave off the cramp that wants to start. He strokes Dream's insides with both fingers, together at first and then one after the other; the condom and the grip of Dream's body restrict his range of movement somewhat but not so much that he can't do his job well.

"God, I'm so fucking lucky," he breathes, fingers still moving steadily, and kisses his way softly up Dream's arm. "You're beautiful, perfect, so pretty and so hungry and so eager—" He's planting kisses across Dream's shoulders and back between words, moving down his spine next. "And you let me touch you, worship your body, get you off again and again and again—" He bends over Dream's arse, draws his fingers partway free and spreads them as wide as the condom allows, stretching open Dream's swollen well-used hole. He dips close, slides his tongue into the gap he's created and Dream moans, gasping, trembling. Hob takes a good minute with his tongue before pulling back and sinking his fingers deep again. "This hole, this perfect hungry insatiable hole, you let me fill it as I please, with my cock and my come and my fingers—so lucky, I am. Would you let me fill you with toys, too, sweetheart? I'll bet you've got a drawerful at home; I'd love to try them with you one by one, learn the best ways to play with each, to make you scream and sob and shake—" He's massaging Dream's prostate again, thorough and unhurried and Dream is indeed sobbing, incoherent. He moves, suddenly, draws up one knee beneath him on the bonnet and then the other as Hob moves with him. He's up on all fours briefly and then sinks down, folded double on his knees with his arms stretched out to grip where the bonnet meets the windscreen and his arse opened wide, letting Hob's fingers sink as deep as possible.

"Finish me, Hob," he begs, gripping weakly around Hob's diligent fingers, voice hoarse and shaky, "make me—make me—fuck, I can't—I can't—" He sobs, trembling, and Hob. Well. He's neither a cruel man, nor strong in the face of temptation, and his hand is ready to give out as well. So he buries his fingers to the hilt, seeks out that spot and gives it his all, strokes it quick and steady and firm, both fingers together, then one after the other, together again and Dream's knees spread wide, his spent prick pressing soft against the bonnet. He's making one long sound now, low and thin and straining in his throat, interspersed with gasping gulps of breath. His body trembles, jolts every time Hob presses harder at his prostate, and Hob leans back over beside him, softly kisses the curve of his shoulder.

"I've got you, sweetheart, we're almost there," he breathes, fingering relentlessly. "Is it still good?"

"Yes—fuck—fuck—Hob!" Dream scrabbles one hand down in Hob's direction and Hob seizes it, laces their fingers together; Dream is sobbing, breathless, utterly wrecked and Hob's hand is giving out but he refuses to stop, to quit, not until—

Dream's body stiffens, convulses, bearing down on Hob's stuttering fingers in tremulous pulses and his voice has gone high, whistle-thin, and then he is gasping, tension falling out of him in a rush as he goes limp, breathing hard and heavy against the bonnet. Hob stills his aching hand at last, draws it out carefully and peels off the condom with his teeth, flings it aside. He'll clean up later. He stretches the cramping sensation from his hand and settles it lightly on Dream's still-heaving ribs, unable to keep from touching him even now that they're done.

"Alright, dove?" Hob asks, gently stroking up Dream's spine. "Can you move?" He gives a soft squeeze to their still-joined hands and is gratified to feel brief pressure in return. Dream turns his head, lifts it slightly; his eyes are wet, his hair sticking damply to his forehead and the grease smudge there; his mouth is open, a bit of drool still in the corner and Hob is helpless, gone, so fucking besotted and far too deeply attached for what this is. He dips in, kisses Dream with every soft emotion squirming captive in his chest and Dream just kisses him back, quiet, exhausted, willing.

"C'mere," Hob murmurs, straightening up, sitting back, leaning on the bonnet. He draws Dream after him, tucks him awkwardly up against his side and Dream allows it, nestles underneath his arm, still catching his breath.

This is the drawback to sex in the garage, Hob decides wryly; there is nowhere really suitable or comfortable for post-coital cuddles. He's seriously considering whether he can slide into the passenger seat of the Porsche with Dream in his lap when finally Dream stirs, lifts his head, shivers all over as he straightens and graces Hob with a small smile.

"I believe I will make use of your shop for all my future service needs," he says, primly, with a playful note underneath the exhaustion.

Hob laughs, hearty and full-bodied and joyous. "Glad to hear it," he says, when the laughter subsides. He's so utterly gone on this man, no matter how unlikely a pair they make, and he feels far too good right now to care about the future heartbreak he'll inevitably have to deal with.

He helps Dream down from the car then, steadies him on his feet and sees him around to the driver's seat where Dream first downs half the bottle of water he brought with him and then proceeds with re-dressing. Hob makes to get his coveralls pulled back up into place at that point but Dream stops him. "You promised to clean my spend off my car, I believe," he says, with that tone in his voice that makes Hob's insides go warm despite himself.

"Absolutely," he confirms, waiting, because there was clearly more forthcoming.

"I should like to see you with your trousers around your ankles and your arse on display while you do so." Dream blinks at him, all coquettish charm that is somehow enhanced by his disheveled and dirtied and half-dressed state. "If you are amenable, of course."

"I can do that for you," Hob agrees, delighted, even as he feels his face heat. It's not at all what he's used to but being ogled, being objectified—especially by his beautiful Dream—is no hardship, whatever his reason.

He finds a rag and the polish while Dream finishes putting himself back together and comes round the front of the Porsche again, and then Hob cleans up the bodily fluids on the bonnet, sweat and semen and lube and anything else, coveralls still around his ankles as requested. He wiggles his arse just a bit, since Dream is watching, and when that gets a pleased little sound out of Dream he does it a bit more, putting his whole body into the cleaning motions, bending at the waist and letting his hips swing in wide suggestive arcs.

"There," he says, finished, tossing the rag aside, and his arms are full of Dream as soon as he turns.

"Magnificent," Dream breathes against his mouth, and kisses him, warm and wet and thorough. Hob gives back as good as he gets, threads his hands into Dream's hair, and Dream's hands skate down his bare sides, around his hips and lower, seizing his arse cheeks and squeezing. His fingernails comb through the hair there and Hob squeaks, delighted, dick twitching with interest.

Dream breaks the kiss after only a few seconds. "There is so much more I want to do with you," he murmurs, kneading Hob's arse in slow sensual motions, "but I am spent. Well used. Sated, despite my lingering desires." He releases one cheek, moves to draw a fingertip along the slit of Hob's mostly-soft cock, where he surely encounters the tacky lube-laced remains of Hob's earlier orgasm. He brings that finger to his mouth, makes a show of licking it delicately before slipping it into his mouth to suck properly, and Hob whimpers.

"Dream, love, I meant what I said. Pop by anytime you need, I'll take care of you—"

"I believe you. After all, you have opted me into your loyalty program, yes? I must be sure to claim all of my associated benefits." He steps back, pulling out his phone and handing it to Hob with the contacts open. "Your number, please."

Hob types it in gladly, hits save, hands the phone back.

Dream cradles it close, a look on his face like he's savoring the addition of Hob's number, and glances up at Hob through his lashes. "I look forward to employing your services again, Hob Gadling. You are very much worth the trip."

"You just like me for my rugged filthiness," Hob says, a tease to keep his head in the right place—there's still no sense getting sentimental, after all, no matter the elated cartwheels his ego is doing at those words.

Dream regards him haughtily, one eyebrow lifting; the grease stains do nothing to diminish the expression. "I am quite certain I would enjoy you equally as much cleaned up and dressed up, that I might wine and dine you, take you home to my bed for an evening."

Hob almost, almost detects a hint of vulnerability threading the words and grins, a little pang of tenderness tugging helplessly behind his chest. "Think so, do you?"

"Would you like to test my theory?" There is something both hesitant and eager underneath his casual tone, and Hob's heart trips a little as that tug grows stronger.

"Why, Mr. Atelíotes, are you asking me out? On a proper date?"

"Perhaps." It's equal parts caginess and coy teasing, and Hob is forced to admit—again—that he's smitten despite himself.

"Well." He grins, dialing it up to his most charming. "Rumor has it I'm excellent company whether my dick's involved or not. And while a standard dinner date may not be as fantasy-worthy as getting plowed by the rough mechanic in his garage, I think we could still have a good time." He's showing his hand a bit, gently calling Dream on the fantasy fulfillment that has obviously been going on here, but what's life without a little risk? Especially when the potential reward is so very worth it?

"You are very confident of your own appeal," Dream replies, mouth turning up at one corner in a way that tips over from 'cautious' to 'amused'. And if Hob's not mistaken, there's a hint of pink blushing over his porcelain complexion under the filth clinging to his cheekbone.

He grins, spreads his arms, still stark naked with his coveralls around his ankles. "Am I wrong, though?"

"…No," Dream decides, after a long moment of deliberation, and Hob steps closer to him, dares to touch his face affectionately.

"Why don't you pick me up here at seven tomorrow night. Tell me exactly how posh I should dress, and we'll see where it goes?" He leans in, presses his lips softly to Dream's.

Dream hums into it, pleased, and palms his chest gently before pulling away. "Very well. Seven, tomorrow night. I will make us a reservation and text you the dress code."

Hob smiles, an effervescent sort of happiness bubbling up inside him. "Sounds perfect."

He finally puts his coveralls back in order after that, zipped just past the waist, and makes certain that the condoms are picked up and Dream gets his lube and his toy all collected before he shifts back into business mode. Dream is no more interested in cleaning his face before leaving today than he was yesterday so Hob moves on; he explains the repairs and runs Dream's credit card, then returns his keys and guides him in backing the Porsche out of the garage. Dream leans out the window once he's clear and Hob ducks down, delighted to get a final kiss.

"I'll be waiting to hear from you," he says, trying to temper the giddy anticipation he feels against the reality of their acquaintance, and Dream's soft smile turns sultry around the edges.

"I will be counting the hours until I see you again, Hob Gadling," he purrs, and drives off.

The way the Porsche jerks when he shifts after turning the corner makes Hob wince.

Maybe, if they do continue whatever this is beyond a single dinner date, maybe Hob can give him some tips on driving stick so he doesn't burn out the new clutch.

Then again, the more Dream abuses his poor car, the more excuse he'll have to invoke his 'loyalty rewards'.

And Hob doesn't think that's such a bad thing, in the end.

= Started: 5/4/24 Drafted: 9/17/24 Posted: 9/21/24

[rivkae-winters]

Zack Fair, Violence, and Tragedy

Over the last month or two I’ve seen several posts about the nature of Zack Fair’s tragedy and his seeming heel-toe-turn and thought I’d chime in. 

Also like last time: this is only my interpretation of canon, there is no one true analysis to take as gospel. If you disagree/differ in opinion/even just want to talk please reblog or dm! I enjoy talking to other people about this sort of thing, fandom is all about discussion after all!

While I agree with the sentiment I’ve seen going around that Zack’s relationship to violence plays a role there are other nuances and factors at play here. I’d argue that it’s more accurate to say that Zack is becoming more aware of personal and professional culture outside of SOLDIER and outside of both ShinRa’s constraining grip and Angeal’s attempts at protection. Even then it takes great personal tragedy caused by the inherent contradictions of ShinRa’s reality for him to realize that he has functionally been on the wrong side.  

Sure he’s not callous like Cloud is in the beginning of original and Remake, but he certainly isn’t horrified at his actions just because there is violence. I’d argue the violence of his actions isn’t the main horror to him in isolation. I’d argue that even the death that results from violence isn’t what the core of the issue is either. 

Zack’s hinging point is more his loyalty and his pride. What he does for other people and what he believes in and of himself. Specifically these things in conjunction with his desire to be a good person. 

The language of Pride, the non-localized direct translation of the word hokori or 誇り(JP CC Script), is what’s going to be used here rather than Honor. 

誇り | Hokori - To take pride in; To boast of

Definition Sources: 1, 2, 3

Just keep in mind that I’ve written this from as neutral a point of view as possible on the matter of pride since the Western perception definitively does not apply. To be proud is not a crime and it is not foolish it simply is. 

Zack initially places his pride in SOLDIER- in what being a SOLDIER means to him. In how being a SOLDIER is his and that they are his people and thus he lets ShinRa policies define how he frames his morality. Thus ShinRa defines good in Zack Fair’s life. 

Zack wants to be a hero. He wants to help people. He is trusting and kind and respectful to people consistently outside of the conflict of the mass desertion. Zack genuinely wants to be a good person and help other people, good or otherwise. He is led to believe by ShinRa propaganda that the best way to help people or to be anything meaningful in this world is through them. This is a baited trap that he falls into, Zack is prime prey this trap was intended to catch. 

He is angry at Genesis and horrified by Angeal, especially at the beginning, not for cruelty or violence or even really death… He is angry at them for their betrayal. Sure he is violent and angry in the instance he thinks Angeal has murdered his own mother, as with Genesis and his parents, but that does not define his antagonism, his hatred, his regret, his sense of justice with them at all. 

 Zack does not raise his sword at Genesis for the people of Banora, he raises his sword for SOLDIER. 

Zack understandably feels, and has been, betrayed. 

He is hurt and angry and alone in a way he’s never been since he got into the SOLDIER program. He falls deeper into the illusions of ShinRa for that reason, angry and hurting and grieving the life he had with people in it who will never return. There is a deep sense of nostalgia throughout Crisis Core in the sense of the word’s initial meaning: the pain of missing home. Specifically the homes we find in people.

Even as he believes in ShinRa's twisted reality Zack wants to help. He wants to protect those he cares for. Zack wants to be good. Unfortunately in Zack Fair’s life the undisputed definition of good is now written by the ShinRa Electric Power Corporation alone.

Then he meets Aerith. 

Suddenly ShinRa’s version of right and wrong have opposition but the control that ShinRa has over his life, total and complete as it is, prevents that from sinking in. Zack is perceptive though, around Aerith he is her version of good and then he has to go back to what equates to his phase of reality. A sanctuary is not safe, not truly, when watchers are peering in through the back door ready to drag you out by your feet if you misstep. 

Zack wants to be a man Aerith or anyone won’t be scared of. He wants to do that not because he is suddenly horrified at his own violence but rather in consideration of others. Zack is highly empathetic after all once he can see someone else’s perspective. He wants to be what Aerith wants, even if he doesn’t really and truly understand it yet, because he cares about her and cares about her opinion. He cares about her comfort. Zack still puts most of his pride within SOLDIER though. That means that Aerith’s morals cannot sink through his skin to his center, not like Angeal’s had. She makes him think but she is not shaping his mind, he is left to do that himself.

 Zack spends a lot of time questioning Angeal and being upset at and about him off screen even more than on screen. We don’t get a front row seat for all of it. The big takeaway is that Zack doesn’t shed Angeal’s morals that he’s taken on himself. He can’t after all, not with ShinRa only just seeming tarnished. ShinRa would need to rust and crumble fully before he actually can let them go. Before he can be free in his own mind.

ShinRa chips and rusts in an instant under Sephiroth’s hand. The last holdout crumbled in the fight of two victims of ShinRa and someone who will become one soon. ShinRa is no longer the defined of good, not after what Zack sees is the response to the Nibelheim Incident.

ShinRa not being good, worse even ShinRa being bad breaks the entire morality system. The illusions crack and Zack is forced to examine himself, his actions, and his biases in ways Aerith made him want to but that he couldn’t afford to truly indulge in. Even more that he was scared of self introspection in a sense, of the paradigm of his reality shifting even further. 

He eventually truly reframes his actions and has to reckon with them (and himself) at the end of the game, chapter 9 and onwards. It is only then that he actually LOOKS and is fully horrified by what he sees of himself. That horror only progresses as he fights for both his and Cloud’s lives. That horror only builds as he realizes he’s exactly the person who his girlfriend SHOULD be terrified of despite his best attempts- that he’s everything she was talking about. He’s everything she was talking about even after trying to change the way he acts around her. 

To abuse the innate metaphors: Zack Fair goes to Nibelheim, a well trained attack dog, still seeing relatively little wrong with fulfilling ShinRa’s orders. Zack is only then on the cusp of figuring out that he does not want to be there, that he is the antagonist of the planet’s (and Aerith’s) story unwittingly. 

Zack Fair leaves Nibelheim beaten. He tries to go back to the safety of what was once his home prior to ShinRa only to be waylaid. 

Zack Fair leaves Banora free and irrevocably changed. 

He is free in the sense that the illusions he held himself too are crumbling even more with knowledge that his demons are men too. He is free through the knowledge that he is one of those demons. , that he has been shaped to be one, and that good intentions pave a terribly walkable path to hell. 

Zack leaves with the knowledge that he was the monster in the closet. The knowledge that his sword was not just the executioner’s blade but the enforcer’s. The sword kept clean in favor of bloody hands and higher risks is now drowning in pools of it. Zack leaves with the knowledge that he never would have been truly free. 

Yet he is in the sense that he can choose- actually choose- what he wants, what he values. He chooses Aerith and he chooses Cloud as he has each time before. He chooses violence. It is something he knows and among what he is good at. It is not all he is but it is a tool he can use. 

He chooses to pay the price of freedom. 

Crisis Core is a tragedy and Zack and Genesis both are tragic figures at its center. Zack’s arc is angled to the viewer for maximum effect but Genesis’s does mirror it in a way just on an offset path already initiated. Sephiroth is also a tragic character, undeniably so. However structure wise his role is more murky given the way he has the ability to be the god waiting in the machine, a guaranteed victory or unavoidable altered trajectory should he choose to act, for most of the story. 

And that’s a large part of why I love Zack as a character, aside from things I’ve said before about what makes him such a good narrator. Zack is the unlucky prodigy at the center of a story about wars, abusers, connections, and perspectives. He wants to be good, he wants to be a person that helps. 

He can’t, not really, not in the way he wants. 

Crisis Core is a cautionary tale about exactly that going wrong and how anyone can be taken advantage of. 

[nknoxe-n]

୨⎯ "MARRY ME" ⎯୧

Synopsis: How the professional player bllk boys would react to you proposing the idea of friendship rings, in which you are considered their best friend and teammate and decide to offer promise/good luck rings to play on the field with.

Warnings: [pr established friendship] [Implied male reader]

w.c 750

Yoichi Isagi: I doubt this guy would do promise rings, in the context of being your teammate, he doesn't want anything holding him back, but I think good luck rings would be an idea he's open to for when you guys aren't close. Since this would be set at the point of post Blue Lock program he'd wear it all the time, if you both aren't playing on the same team he'll take it off and expect the same from you because he wants to beat you without 'luck' but he completely believes that the ring works. When Isagi gets nervous before games he plays with the ring a lot because he does believe that it helps in gameplay, maybe not in a magical way but in that he never feels alone with it on.

Seishiro Nagi: He doesn't see the point but will wear one if you really want him to, he'd probably ask to have one of those rings with the spinney middle to fidget with when he's bored and has nothing else to do. Nagi does not at all believe it helps his performance or give him good luck, he only wears it to make you happy and if it helps you play better he's all for it, but most of the time Nagi won't wear it on the field because he's always aware of it on his finger, and it distracts him.

Meguru Bachira: Ugh he's so so so happy you asked, he cares about you so much and wants to try all sorts of things out that friends usually do since he missed out on so much in his childhood. He'd want promise rings over good luck rings because he thinks that you're such a great player you don't need extra luck, and he wants you to promise to keep playing soccer with him. This man is flaunting it by the way, he insists you guys are like 'friendship married' and is constantly showing off the ring to people as if he was recently engaged, tells the media you're only friends but maybe more in the future, he loves drama.

Rensuke Kunigami: He's kind of hesitant to agree at first because he doesn't understand why you'd get matching rings, that's something only married people do, right? Kunigami gets the idea after you explain it to him, and he'd want promise rings without a doubt, he'd probably want to promise trust in general, nothing specific he just wanted something simple but intimate. He never wears it on the field though because he's too afraid he'll lose it. Kunigami will act like it's no big deal but the first time someone asks about it, he's all defensive and tries to brush it off because he's embarrassed, not of you he just thinks of it as a personal gesture and won’t tell anyone about it.

Hyoma Chigiri: He would immediately be up for it not generally excited or anything but really open to the idea of a promise or good luck ring, but he'd want the rings to be nice because he will be showing it off to any interviewers, he'd try to be coy and allude to possibly being engaged, but he will never tell. That being said, if the media were to notice you had matching rings (assuming you guys are on the same team) he would call off the joke because he doesn't want people seriously thinking you're engaged. He'd find the idea of having something like that on him while he plays extremely comforting, and it motivates him to play harder.

Itoshi Rin: Now he'd be hesitant at first, but once he agreed he's barely ever taking that thing off, only to get it cleaned or resized because Rin is pretty sentimental. He'd wear it on and off the field if anyone asked about it, he'd ignore the question, if the media made assumptions or figured out the rings were matching he wouldn't care but refuses to confirm anything. He'd want promise rings, and he'd want it to be a promise of loyalty because he doesn't want you to ever leave him or make him feel excluded from your life. Rin does not believe it makes him play any better or worse, but it does give him a slight reassured feeling and a good sense of comfort knowing he can rely on you to be there. He sometimes just stares at the ring when he's alone, mulling all the time you've spent together.

[cephydeluxe]

most Simeon/MC fics r kyute as hell, but a lot of them focus simeon's reason for "falling" (aka: disobeying father's rule of never extending a human's life by stealing the ring of light) as solely because he loves mc,

and like..... that's ok 😐 and all, but I feel like it kinda narrows simeon's character a bit ((but the following thoughts below r my interpretation so take this more as appreciation than a criticism of any other interpretations of simeon))

Simeon, regardless of whether or not it's reciprocated, still feels brotherly love for the brothers. They were once his brothers, and when it came time to wage war against them in the name of their Father, he refused to fight them and was demoted.

His love for his family made him refuse God's orders because the idea of harming his family was worse than the disapproval of God.

"ok well what does this have 2 do w the ring of light" shut up ill get 2 that >:(

I'm not gonna recap much cause my phone's at like 8% idgaf srry 😒. The only important parts is that mc's existence and pacts w the brothers is highly unstable and causing chaos in the three realms, and the only ways to fix it are to either kill lucifer with the night dagger, or to obtain the ring of light from the celestial realm.

So it's either trade lucifer's life for mc's, or steal the ring from micheal. The ring is immediately ruled out because demons can't enter the celestial realm, and it would probably (most definitely) cause a political shitstorm if a demon did steal it.

So the only option left is to kill lucifer, and right as mc is given the choice of killing him or themself, here comes Simeon, fresh from the celestial realm with the stolen ring of light in tow

Now, most fics tend to depict these events as simeon risking his status as archangel (an already unstable position given his refusal to fight during the war) as a huge romantic sacrifice because of his love for mc.

And that's,, cute ig but there is so many more things going on in that scene (2 me at least, solmare isn't really known 4 their writing 🫢)

Simeon's sacrifice in stealing the ring, in potentially incurring the wrath of God, in committing the same sin Lilith did to be disowned and even killed by their shared Father, and in risking his home he was raised and lived in for his entire life,

was both for his family that he has missed for thousands of years and for the person who healed them when he himself was unable to.

The TSL series (written by Simeon before the exchange program) are a retelling of the events between the avatars and mc. Even after they are cast out of heaven for treason and simeon is demoted for not wanting to hurt them, he still cares about them and wants the best for them, writing stories about them and their "Henry".

Even if the brothers treat him coldly and distantly, he still cares about them deeply enough that the prospect of killing lucifer? Their eldest brother?

The one who constantly does everything in his power to keep the rest of his family safe after the death of his sister?

The one who traded his loyalty to the demon prince after just landing after being thrown out of his home?

It's completely unthinkable to Simeon.

So that just leaves MC, then. The reincarnation of Lilith and the friend of all seven brothers, even after being violently killed by one of them,

(belphie, cough cough)

Still accepts all of them and keeps them together, and at this point in the story, is practically welcomed as a fixture in their messy yet tight-knit family.

For MC to sacrifice themself for the brothers would be to break them, to leave another unfillable void in their hearts like Lilith did so many years ago. The moment things would return to normal and Lucifer regained his memories would be devastating, knowing that yet again he failed to keep his family safe and whole.

Grief for MC's death would be felt far and wide, Simeon included.

Both outcomes of using the night dagger are unthinkable to Simeon, both causing unimaginable grief for everyone.

So the ring of light is all that remains.

It's a no-brainer, really.

Angels aren't restricted from the celestial realm, and if the ring is stolen by an angel, it has a way less likely chance of falling back on the devildom, on the fragile peace him and many others have worked so hard to facilitate between the three realms.

So what if the consequences will primarily fall upon Simeon alone, it matters little to the certain disaster either outcomes of wielding the night dagger will bring. Both Lucifer and MC will be unharmed, and the chaos will end.

But could you imagine the feelings he must have felt?

In the chamber where the ring of light is kept, having just snuck past Micheal, a twist in his gut from breaking the most basics of holy disciplines he has spent his entire life embodying, just staring at the ring of light in its container, the last momento of a father's love for his favorite child before disowning him.

It's a warning, a sign that tells Simeon that he will be next to fall if he takes this ring.

He takes it anyway, throwing his loyalty to God away if it means saving Lucifer, saving his family, saving the peace they've obtained without him.

A penance, maybe, for his inaction in the war, when perhaps one seraphim could've made a difference, if not win the war, then at least could've spared Lilith's life.

Can you imagine how he must have felt, standing in front of MC with the ring in his hands?

Lilith's sin that started the war wasn't just that she fell in love with a human, it was when she extended the life of her lover because of it. A clear defiance of Father's will, to negate written fate for the sake of her selfish love was what got her killed.

And here Simeon stands, staring into the eyes of her reincarnation as he offers them the ring that will save them, extend their life, and doom Simeon to walk the same path their angelic ancestor died on.

The ring is a promise, of the disownment that Simeon faces, of the pain he will endure in defying God's word as an angel (whose sole objective, down to the very fabric of his being, to the very purpose of his creation, is to embody and enforce), of the corruption of his very soul that paints his ivory feathers black.

It's also a promise of devotion, of commitment to this deadly sin, this selfless sacrifice, to the human he's fallen in love with, and to the family he longs to be close with again.

It's a vow, for all the atrocities he's willing to commit for the sake of protecting those he cherishes above all else.

It's a vow, for the deeply rooted love for the human, one who's very existence is the result of the tragic end of the angel who came before him and paved the doomed path he now walks.

Like Oroboros eating its tail, Simeon's love for the demon brothers and MC is never-ending and inevitable.

When asked, he says he wishes he could've fought with the brothers in the war, so he could "stay the same as them" and that the war weighed heavily on his mind from time to time.

Ever since he watched them be cast down to hell, he was destined to fall with them someday, too.

.

.

.

(christ, this got so out of hand, this is probably a huge mess to read, srry I'm not a writer or a media analyst, this is just ramblings of someone who's got some really dramatic art to make.) simeon 4ever bby <3

(also I could make a separate post from solomon's pov where he's willing to sacrifice a pact with lucifer, something he's worked for years for a chance, just to save MC, but im sleepy goodnight)

(most of this post was written while I was listening to elden ring ost, thank u bayle the dread for making this post way more dramatic than it needed to be)

[autistichrlady]

The Cover Letter Toolbox

Or, how to write cover letters while autistic.

One of the autistic traits I have is difficulties with what's called "expressive language" - I don't think in words, and putting my thoughts into words takes a lot of time and effort. For me, going straight from a blank page to a full sentence that makes sense is difficult, and making that sentence sound professional is even harder. So I came up with a way to avoid starting from a blank page. This is what I do instead.

When I've read a job posting and decided I want to apply, I start by making a list of qualifications and things from the job posting that I have or can do, just a list of words or short phrases like

Customer service experience Scheduling Microsoft Office

Then I go under each of those list items and make it into a full sentence.

Customer service experience: I have five years of experience in customer service.

Once I have the most basic version of that sentence, I think about details that I can add to it. The point of a cover letter is two things-

to summarize the things from your resume that are relevant to this job, so the person doing the hiring doesn't have to read the whole thing and connect the dots themselves.

to add details and explain things that might not be in your resume.

So some details that I want to add here are that I didn't just talk to customers myself for five years, for part of that time I was a manager responsible for training other people to give good customer service. And I was good at that- we always got good results on our customer surveys, and we also always hit our goals for stuff like signing people up for the loyalty program. So now I've got a second sentence:

As the [job title] with [company], I trained our entire team on how to best serve our customers and helped ensure that my location had the best results in the region for customer loyalty.

Another thing from the job posting that I want to address with this bit is that the job I'm applying for involves helping people over the phone a lot. So I want them to know that even though my experience is in a different environment (retail instead of an office front desk) I did still have to answer phone calls and help people over the phone. This is the type of detail that's not in my resume and that someone wouldn't necessarily guess, but I really did answer a lot of phone calls working in retail.

I also added a little bit of Flavor, so it's not just assisting customers, it's "welcoming, respectful assistance". Yes, I did try like five different words there before picking these ones. Usually I look back to the job posting and pick something that relates to what they've said they want. But I find it a lot easier to figure out details like this after I have the basic structure.

This is what I ended up with for my Bit About Customer Service:

I have five years of experience in customer service, providing welcoming, respectful assistance to customers over the phone and in person. As the [job title] with [company], I trained our entire team on how to best serve our customers and helped ensure that my location had the best results in the region for customer loyalty.

If I really wanted to add a lot of detail, I'd put numbers in here- how big "our entire team" was, what the "best results" were and how we were measuring it. But the position I'm applying for is with a small organization, and probably doesn't involve measuring sales in the same way, so I decided not to add that. If I was applying for another retail job, I'd include those things.

I repeat this same process with each of the qualifications from my list, copy-paste each of those bits in order of how important they are, and then I need an opening and a closing. For the opening, I start by stating the obvious.

Dear hiring manager, I am applying for/interested in/etc. [this position]

and then I apply my school-essay-writing techniques and do a one-sentence preview of the qualifications I just got done writing about.

I am confident I have the customer service skills, computer expertise and organized mindset to excel in this position.

For the closing, this job posting specifically mentioned putting your contact information in your cover letter, so I did that, and then I like to thank them for looking at my application because that's a nice polite note to end on.

I can be reached at [contact info]. Thank you for taking the time to consider my application, and I look forward to hearing from you. [signature]

Extra Bonus Brownie Points:

Go to their company website and add something that shows you have looked at their company website. Like yes, the main reason you're applying for this job is it's available and you need money, but besides that, there's gotta be something at least a little interesting about this company that might be cool if you get to work for them. In this case they had a whole big section about charities they donate to and how they get involved in their local community, so I added this right before my closing:

[this company's] contributions to charities such as [things from their website] are truly admirable. I've grown to love [this city] since moving here, and I would be honored to be part of an organization that does so much to contribute to the community.

Now wait before you go here's the important part:

I don't delete any of this stuff.

I copy/paste out the finished bits into a new document to send to the recruiter, but I keep that list of qualifications with sentences under each one.

Now I have a document with a list of qualifications I have and nice professional-sounding descriptions of those qualifications, and for the next cover letter I write, I can reuse them if they're relevant, so I don't have to redo all this work of making words make sense. If I decide to change them a little bit for the next job, I'll keep the new version next to the old one under the same heading. I also keep my openings and closings.

I used to have a big file like this but I apparently didn't back it up before my old computer died, so I'm having to re-create it, but you guys this saves me so much time I would otherwise spend staring at a blinking cursor. And it's easier than saving the full finished cover letter and trying to pull sentences out of it, because all the Bits are already organized by topic. (And it lowers the risk of accidentally copy-pasting the wrong company's name.)

I <3 my cover letter workbox.

[tribow]

Why do I tell people to play indie games?

K' so you may have seen that post I made a little while ago asking people reblog and put into the tags an indie game that they did NOT like.

I made that post because I wanted to hear about what indie games people had bad experiences with. There was another post I made saying "Tell me you don't play indie games without telling me you don't play indie games" in response to a ton of youtube videos saying modern video games are no longer fun. A lot of tags would say, "Well indie games can suck too!" This response was extremely silly to me and I wanted to know what games they could be talking about.

I didn't ask for it, but so many people starting explaining why they didn't like a certain game. So I decided to make a little pie chart with the reason people would give in the tags

There are some outliers not here. There were 5 tags saying a game offended them and some responses that were too specific to really count. Half of the posts also gave no explanations so I'm not going to act like this is representative of every response on that post.

Okay so what's the point? Why did I do this?

There's this one 30 minute video by Josh Strife Hayes that does a super good job showcasing all of the bad practices that happen with modern gaming. He talks about each issue thoroughly, but I'll list them here:

Microtransactions, Limited Progression, Invite Boosts, Premium Currency, Loyalty Programs, Selling Power, Battlepasses, and Selling Progression

He doesn't even mention other issues like games releasing in clearly unfinished states, games that are clearly chasing trends, and game developers being restricted by their publishers.

Why is this significant? Well answer me this: Was there a single tag response in my post that complains about an indie game doing these things?

Say what you want about indie games, but I bet you didn't pay $60 and got psychologically manipulated to spend more on that game. I bet you weren't getting manipulated by some free to play model to spend more money than you would on a normal game. I bet the game actually released in a finished state and even if it did, the game clearly communicated it wasn't done.

Sure, you could give me examples of indie games that do have those bad practices, but I guarantee you that you cannot prove that most indie games do this.

So yeah, play indie games. Don't support corporate bullshit unless you know the game was made with the player's best interest in mind.

[pointsplus]

6 Easy Steps to Create a Customer Loyalty Program

This article offers a 6-step guide to create a customer loyalty program, covering aspects from defining goals to tracking & optimizing the program. for more info:- https://pointsplus.atualblog.com/34981009/6-easy-steps-to-create-a-customer-loyalty-program

[skinks]

It’s not reaching to read strong ass themes about autonomy and personhood into titanfall’s 5 hour campaign, and even if it were reaching I would still be having just as much fun jamming all my favourite themes into its gears. The neural link alone is ripe fodder. What does it mean to bond mentally to a synthetic consciousness, let alone one that is programmed to the point of destruction to protect you. To be kept inside its body but to have control of its body transferred to you at the robot’s decision. BT says “Cooper is my pilot,” so by extension this makes BT into Cooper’s titan.

BT’s first protocol is to link to the pilot - in essence, he cannot function unless he is possessed by a human, both in the physical and metaphorical sense. They’re inside each other’s minds and bodies and yet they retain distinct selfhood. Are a titan’s protocols and programming any different from having strong guiding morals? Is the electricity that comprises the consciousness of an organic brain any more significant than the electricity that makes up a datacore? If a robot can learn its decision-making principles through a direct link with its human’s neurons, would it not follow that the robot develops a decision-making matrix that resembles human free will. What if the human in question has grown up through war and has volunteered his own body and personhood to a war for freedom. Aren’t both of their bodies used for the same purpose? Aren’t their identities the same? Their morals?

Plus the entire story is about trust. BT says it over and over, trust me, trust me. To trust something is to have confidence that it will follow through on the promises it gives, like trusting a bridge won’t collapse because you have confidence in its strength. To love someone is to accept they have free will and to help them make the best decisions for themselves, because you can’t control them. When Cooper climbs into the injection mechanism with BT he has to know the dropship rendezvous isn’t coming, he isn’t stupid, and he tells BT he “isn’t going anywhere,” aka, without him. He understands the decision BT has made, and he goes along willingly. Cooper trusts him. He accepts the presence of BT’s free will, because he can’t control what BT does immediately after this. BT overrides the pilot control of his own body, of his own volition, his own free will, because he can’t let Cooper make the wrong decision for himself, even if it was a decision Cooper was making out of love and loyalty. Ergo he loves the robot and the robot loves him

[lancer-pigeon]

Little Bird, if thou wouldst be so kind as to indulge mine curiosity, I have a query for thee:

For why didst thou become independent? What maketh thee prefer it to working under a larger group? A handler?

sorry it took me a long time to get to this one. the answer is cause corporate work sucks, and I don't trust most people to have my best interests at heart.

>>/ ENCRYPTING

>>/ init.d.securelink@lhurst-con

>>/ linkadd:/211.5.335.1069A7AB9Gh

>>/ Standard encryption successful. The following message is intended only for Rosceline Hurst.

TL;DR: fear and selfishness keep me from placing my loyalty in another corporate interest.

I used to fight for a corp -- SSC Constellar Security. I joined at 17, and was attached to the 115th Mechanized Cavalry "Powderkegs." it was a rapid-response anti-megafauna unit -- we'd be orbitally inserted to fight giant wildlife ("kaiju," colloquially) on Constellar property worlds. I spent a year shooting bugs (six kills to date, best of the unit!) before civil unrest on the nearby colony of New Korath meant resources needed to be diverted. in place of a dedicated urban combat unit, the Powderkegs ended up as the frontline of the anti-resistance movement -- we were strikebreakers. I followed orders and destroyed civilian infrastructure: offices, houses, factories, food storage facilities. CONSEC clocked a conservative ~250 non-combatant casualties, and the colony was abandoned shortly after. in the wake of the crisis, I made Staff Sergeant at 19 and served until my honorable discharge circa 5011.

for a while after that, I bounced between handlers and spent some time in a hole, drinking myself half to death. if I wasn't augmented as part of the pilot program, I'd have accidentally taken enough stims to OD several times over. when I finally scraped some cash together and got back in the cockpit, I made myself a promise: If I'm to be a weapon, I want to choose who I'm pointed at. part of me is scared to swear allegiance to somebody who would cause further destruction -- the other part of me thinks maybe I'm just scared to fight a losing battle for my own ideals. both parts of me are fearful little bastards, and both are very, very tired of bad food and cramped quarters.

it's less terrifying if I'm fighting and dying for my own profit, I think, because selfishness comes naturally.

[egg-emperor]

WHAT DID I FUCKING SAY Y'ALL????

Eggman isn't the overly physically affectionate gushing and throwing arms around people type, it doesn't suit his demeanor and behavior and I'm glad to see that hasn't been suddenly forced with Sage. And that's even aside the way she's still actually not a physical being in the way she's a digital program so he'd surely just phase through her anyway since I'm pretty sure there isn't a solid physical sense of touch actually going on here between them, but again that's besides the point anyway-

This isn't over the top and uncomfortable OOC like in fanon. I like how it's a subtle and small gesture, with him extending his arm with hand out to her but looking away and forward. He's quiet, solemn, and reserved. His demeanor and body language is very important. He takes a breath that seems like a "sigh well, here goes" kind of way then mumbles it, not much, just small words of praise towards her doing the very things he created and praised her for before- doing what he wants her to and serving her purpose as his protector like she protected him in the fight, and calling her his daughter also has the same effect in encouraging her and he knows it, as well as how it's appealing to him for his pride as he said in the memo.

Also wow his bear paws are so fucking big do you see what I'm saying god damn lol I wanna hold them so bad too ahhgufdbkgshj 🥰 Speaking of, this is literally exactly how I imagine such gestures with him in my self sh!pp!ng too and I think anything different would be OOC, this is the way that works in any form I think

It's very important to acknowledge that he's not shy at all, that's the last word to describe him. He has the highest self esteem, self love, and confidence and it's all genuine. It's just that hyper affectionate super warm and mushy gushy-ness, be it through feelings, words, or actions isn't his thing. The most he's ever going to hype someone up close to it is in a performative manipulative way to urge them to continue doing what pleases him, and he forces it in some cases more than others, you get varying degrees.

But I like how it's on the more subtle side here a lot because it's even more telling of his true character. When he's acting like this it aligns with that reasoning again but with a new look at his style of showing it in a physical subtle manner, with his behavior being similar to the scene where she saved him in Cyber Space and said he was proud of her for it- only it was only through words then. We've now seen how he can show this verbally and physically and I like it a lot, it's the only way this can work and they did it. This is the best outcome.

Let me elaborate further; I truly believe that he doesn't know how to feel the typical conventional idea of "love" for anyone but himself because he is the biggest egotist and narcissist in all of existence and is extremely selfish and y'all seem to be forgetting what that entails for his behavior and personality feelings, and mindset with his self absorption and low empathy. There are no sudden exceptions to this, Sage is literally just another perfect example of it, nothing has changed with him.

The only way he can value anyone that isn't himself is in what they can do for him, what's in it for him is always his mindset, so it's the same thing of self praising, self serving, and self-centered, just being served through another person appealing to that through serving him, agreeing with his outlook, and having a willingness to serve and good use to him. And guess what? That's still the exact reasoning behind it with Sage. This is known and true in the prequel comic, memos, and Flynn's words and hasn't changed.

And why wouldn't he be pleased with her for this and praise her for it when it goes along the exact lines of that?

It's in character because Sage is the one giving some thing to him, protecting him, serving him, and showing loyalty, support, and respect for his desires. She does exactly what he wants as she's created for and is genuinely willing and enthusiastic about it unlike a lot of other creations of his. Eggman still hasn't done shit for Sage except praise her when she does what he wants but then becomes grumpy and snaps at her every time she does something he doesn't.

In fact he does it again in this scene too where he's seemingly really jealous and pissed when he notices her looking at Super Sonic with admiration lol

It's selfish on Eggman's side and selfless on Sage's side, so it works.

That's why I still wouldn't put the word "love" to Eggman's side of the dynamic because I feel it has connotations that don't accurately define his feelings. Though you could at least say he "loves" and "cares" for her "in his… own way" as Sonic put it, because there's actually selfish and unsettling reasons behind it as Flynn himself put it too. But it's not hyper affectionate, unconditional, or genuinely selfless like people are acting like it is. And it's so much more interesting that way and fun to analyze.

Eggman commending Sage for her work and for serving her purpose makes sense and is in character. It's nothing different to the reasons I said the standard base game ending was. The only difference is a hand hold presented in the best way. He finally has a creation genuinely enthusiastic and willing to serve him and being her creator and father gives him a lot of pride for being the one to create her and make her that way and his success and pride in doing so with the ways she benefits him and values his selfish desires are what his value is factually rooted in in the game.

So overall yeah, I really like how Eggman and Sage and their dynamic were handled in this update. They'll probably be a lot more in depth thoughts to come because I'm short on time right now, this is a mini essay in itself but l have tons more like always lol. But for now, since nobody seems to understand my take on their dynamic despite me just relaying what the game itself showed and repeating what Ian Flynn says, let me just remind you of my actual summarized take on how I see it is and how I cleared up misconceptions people have about my take on it here.

And everything we saw in this update aligns with and doesn't contradict any of what I've perceived and analyzed and discussed throughout my Sonic Frontiers tag on my blog! Very pleased. 👏

[scoobydoodean]

yeah… The angels are my favorite characters but even the “good” ones lean heavy towards amoral. Except Samandriel! Who Dean immediately liked. Definition of a skill issue

Dean LOVED Samandriel. And made love to Anna. And you know who else Dean immediately trusted? Ezekiel/Gadreel—specifically because Cas vouched for him. So what's all this about Dean hating assorted angels just because Cas likes them.

And then I have to ask myself who we can actually be mad at Dean for not liking. Am I supposed to be mad at him for not liking Uriel or Zachariah or Michael or Lucifer or Raphael? Are we rewriting history so that Dean is the one who killed Balthazar and not a paranoid Cas? Or maybe Dean should have been nicer to canon homophobe Hester who blamed him for all of Cas's problems because she had no actual clue wtf was going on. Or maybe Dean wasn't nice enough to Hannah, who literally ordered Cas to kill Dean because SHE was jealous and wanted Cas to prove his loyalty was ONLY to heaven. Or maybe he should have been nicer to Noami who tortured and lobotomized Cas for millennia and tried to mind control Cas into beating Dean to death.

I mean when EYE look at "Dean vs Angels" what I mainly see—besides the few who, like Cas, genuinely love humanity—is a bunch of jealous, homophobic asswipes who at best think Cas is gross to deign to even acknowledge the autonomy of a human. Large swaths of them hate Dean's guts and want him to die because he didn't roll over for them in season 4 like the mindless little robot they wanted him to be after their little eugenics program, and they spend the rest of the show screaming and crying about it like toddlers. Then there are the ones who are murderously obsessed with Cas and therefore rabidly jealous of Dean. Then there's an even larger swath that hates Cas's guts and wants him to die (not surprising given Cas murdered the bulk of them and then a few seasons later, made the rest unceremoniously drop out of heaven).

If they don't want Cas dead, they do want him to be loyal to heaven ONLY. Dean is not the one who didn't want Cas to have relationships outside of him. That was various angels—who literally tortured Cas at various points for caring about Dean, starting as early as season 4. Dean has been beaten to a bloody pulp more than once by an angel because those angels did not want Cas to have relationships.