#as you know bob (tm)

[petricorah]

hair down sokka

[butterflydm]

Though I don't have any particular interest in watching the Sanderson WoT s2 finale reaction (the whole idea of only watching the finale without watching the rest of the season feels like the kind of thing that should only happen in a video meant to be humourous and not to be taken seriously), I am somewhat curious about his list of critiques and how many of them can be straight-up chalked up to him not realizing/admitting that adaptations require change, especially when going from a sprawling story to something much more compact. Because I remember feeling that way about several of his S1 critiques that I'd read.

[odetolovers]

living my best life in the whole wide world…

[midnight1nk]

So, this week's episode...

[Spoilers below cut]

I'm absolutely terrified, it's not even funny. I can't even click it. But I have to... for the LOREEEEEEEEE... okay, let's-a go....

(The following is my live reaction:)

ay the TADC plug, of course

"Born to shit, Forced to wipe" - not smg3

wise words Three

also, the Ferris Wheel and rollercoaster thing is still there in the background (Ferris Wheel wedding, my beloved...)

I knew someone was going to bring up Meggy and her disappearance

LEGGY! MEGGY, WE'LL RESCUE YOU I PROMISE!!!

THANK YOU THREE for asking the right questions here

oh... not what I expected. at least the crew knows this is obviously Mr Puzzles

NAME DROP

OK, a LOT to digest here:

These are all the possible minigames that we might see in WOTFI. Well, at least all the attractions we could see...

a Mr Puzzles Chonk plush (in the bottom right)

a Tunnel of Love attraction... hmmmm.......

Huh, I didn't know this was by the coast of the Mushroom Kingdom. Or it could be an island/peninsula.

The what now, Leggy?

YEP I knew that once they found out, they would want to leave

...and of course, Mario wants to stay

Yeah, Luigi said it himself

but also, look at the Mr Puzzles cardboard cutout in the back, he's wearing Meggy's cowboy hat from Western Spaghetti

Alright, but before we go in, we gotta have a buddy system, guys

All these critiques are going to make Mr Puzzles lose himself even more than he already is

I think I saw someone posted about submitting a water gun game so congrats for getting in!

Leggy Plush!!

also spider-man plush... symbiote... venom... GOOP!4????

...Once Upon A Perfect SMG4?

[*points at Four and Mario*] The sillies

ok, but like, why is Three smiling like that while everyone else looks so disappointed?

They did the buddy system!

Bob: "Those dumbasses will see ANYTHING and get excited."

I feel seen and I don't like it.

I don't like this either. I already know this is a trap but like noooooo

Three just standing there like a dad watching over his kid

Someone else also submitted a mini-game involving a ducky fishing game

GOD DAYUM.... why did you have to pose like that, Three? You're not beating the allegations, huh.

Aw, Three really wanted to enjoy a carnival if Mr Puzzles wasn't involved (writers, write that down + carnival dates)

OK NOPE WE NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE NOW

🫵 🏳️‍🌈⁉️

oh c'mon now, it's just plainly obvious. Not that it should be surprising, everyone's part of the skittle squad (tm)

STRONG WOMEN we love to see it

...that can't be a real thing... can it?

same Luigi same

YES PLEASE CAN WE?

sorry dude, they really locked in

also what the hell is that building in the back?

Luigi (or rather the SMG4 fandom): "See? I can handle this! I'm not afraid anymore! Do you hear me? I'm not afraid-" [*horror jumpscare*] [*scream*]

NOT EVEN MELONY'S GOD POWERS COULD HELP US, WE'RE FUCKED

NOOOOOO NOT KAREN AND SAIKO

THREE WE NEED TO LEAVE NOW

NOOOOOOOO THREEEEE I THOUGHT HE WAS GOING TO BE THE LAST ONE TO MAKE IT OUT

[*sobbing*] he sent one last text to warn them :( he really does care

AND HE SENT IT TO FOUR [*head in hands*]

the contact names they have for each other.... (I'm not well)

WE GOTTA GO [*runs*] GET OUT GET OUT

Leggy... why did your face change like that?

WHAT WAS THAT CRYPTIC CAPTION?!

Mario, please don't sacrifice yourself... oh, thank god! They really are having me panicking for the smallest things

wait... OMG THEY SAW MY SUBMISSION! THEY SAW IT!

the mini-game challenge that I submitted:

Pop & Whirl: Everyone gets a bag of popcorn. The winner must keep all of their popped kernels in their bag, without dropping a single one... while being chased around the carnival by a collapsed Ferris Wheel (Professor Layton style)!

I DON'T CARE IF IT DOESN'T HAPPEN AGAIN IN WOTFI, I'LL TAKE IT. But if it does happen, I'll draw lawyer Meggy with a redesigned Ace Attorney-esque outfit (somehow)

please don't tell me the green pipe is also a trap...

...the exit door from TADC?

oh god, why does this remind me of the dark web?

and the eyes on the mushrooms... [*IGBP flashbacks*]

heh heh, funny mirrors... AH SHIT PUZZLES, DON'T JUMPSCARE ME LIKE THAT

actually, now that I think of it, Mr Puzzles hasn't revealed himself this whole time...

THE DIDNEY ENGINE ROOM?!

...holy shit

so was I right about us getting to see Mr Puzzles' "truest form" and the whole "Eye of Ra" thing?

are those his arms? and the circle things, it could be part of his cyborg texture but they also look like eyes.

the fog part is really interesting because they could've gone with any "spooky" color but they chose this. It's the creative vision, the one Didney had in this room.

This really reminds me of the goo from IGBP and Wren's wire simulation in Western Spaghetti, but also from this angle, a bit of Zero's "no legs" body design.

"His obsession becoming his identity" - Puzzles connected himself to the single star Didney had. You got it right, past Ink.

HUH?! YOU CAN'T END IT THERE

AND THEY GRAY-ED OUT OUTRO, NO MUSIC! IT'S ABOUT TO GO DOWN, GUYS

also congrats to Nikej1708241 for making it to the credits 🎉

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

That was a pretty solid episode ngl. Probably not as "plot twist-y"

(i know that's not a word) as the previous episode but my spaghetti gods, it delivered! Not Marty again, we may have to rethink this one.

Ok, I've made a list of all the attractions and mini-games there are in the carnival grounds in Puzzle Park:

Ferris Wheel

"Tender Tunnel" (Tunnel of Love attraction)

Merry-Go-Round carousel

Basketball arcade game

Hammer game

Bumper Cars

"House of Crazy" funhouse (also that fits Mr Puzzles somehow)

A spooky cart ride

Water gun game

Rocket ride

Arcade (just flat-out an arcade)

Clown Ball Game

(There's apparently a cafe???)

Ducky Pond fishing game

Pizza shop (....marty?)

It's probably not all of them, we would just have to wait and see, but if you submitted a mini-game that involves any of these, congrats, you likely got in!!!

I still very much enjoyed this episode and some of what I theorized could possibly come true. And some didn't, which is totally okay with me. I'll cherish the Ferris Wheel chase scene regardless :)

We still have to wait for a trailer or a special video in regards to WOTFI, which I will have to analyze and see what's to be expected. From the looks of it in this episode, it seems like it's up to SMG4 and Mario to rescue their friends one by one by completing the mini-games. The more people they rescue, the more help they can get to complete the games. And that includes saving Meggy at the end.

Now, personally, I don't want Mr Puzzles to die. Not yet. There is still a lot of potential that could go for him. A similar redemption arc just as Three went through. Puzzlevision 2. Goop!4. Marty. Anything could happen. Then again, he could die.

Now you might think he might not die because he has a plushie, but there's literally merch of Axol and Desti and they're dead. Puzzles isn't safe from this possibility.

Put in your final bets, my dear fellows, because nothing will ever be the same again...

[coldfanbou]

TM IS Side Stories: A Rough Ride Home

Another Side story for y'all. @twice-inamillion Chaeyoung has a bit of a rough ride after taking things a little too far.

Chaeyoung stretched as you both entered the parking garage. “Ah! Let’s go home, Oppa.” She turned herself around on the ball of her foot to look at you. “Thanks for the hard work. Now come on, I want to get home.”

“Did you have to take the outfit?” You ask, looking her up and down.

“What? You don’t like it?” She asks, raising the bottom of her jacket to show off her ass. The tight spandex shorts she wore hugged her lower body well. “Oh? I think someone likes it.” She says, placing her hand on your crotch. “Come on out and play.”

You slap Chaeyoung’s hand away and continue to the car; once you’re hidden, you press Chae’s petite body against the car. “Chae, you know we have to be careful,” You say in a dead serious voice. “Who’s your master?”

“You are, and I’m your cocksleeve,” Chase responds, moving her hips back to rub against your crotch. “I’m your little cocksleeve, made for you and only you.” 

“Then you know you can’t act like that. We barely got into the garage. I think I’ll need to punish you.”

“Please punish me, Master. I need it.” 

You let go of Chaeyoung, “Get in the car, Chae. We’re going home.” Chaeyoung pouts and walks over to the front passenger seat. You start the drive home; Chae turns on the radio as you go, listening to them play some Twice tracks. 

“Don’t be so mad, Oppa.” She says, nudging you. “Here, let me help you relax. Just don’t take your eyes off the road.” Chaeyoung leans over and fishes out your cock from your pants. She flashes a sly smile as her hand wraps around your shaft to the best it can. “It’s so big.” Chaeyoung is enamored by your cock as she moves her hand up and down the length of it. You grunt. Chaeyoung’s soft hand made you feel good, and she knew it. You want to look down to see what she’s doing, but know that you have to focus on driving. Chaeyoung kisses your cheek, “No peeking, Oppa.” She laughs as she moves closer to your cock; her hand moves down to the base as she plants her full lips on the tip. “Mwah! Oh, it tastes so good. I missed you so much.” Chaeyoung says, talking to your cock. She takes the head in, her lips forming an O around the head as her tongue slowly swirls around it. Chaeyoung moans, her eyes fluttering as she bobs her head. You groan; Chaeyoung’s blowjob was working its magic as you drove. 

You were in the countryside when your orgasm came. You took one hand off the wheel and pushed Chaeyoung’s head down. Chae gagged as your cock made its way down her throat so suddenly. She felt your cum shoot out, filling her mouth. She tried to drink it, struggling with the amount that continued to pour out. Her eyes watered as you continued to hold her down; she could feel herself running out of breath. Once your orgasm comes to a close, you let Chaeyoung go; she shoots back into her chair, and her breathing is ragged. Cum ran down from the corner of her mouth before she moved her tongue around her mouth. “Oppa, you have to tell me when you’re going to do that.” You go offroad once you reach the countryside, hiding the car behind some large brush. “Oppa? What are you doing?”

You get out of the car without a word, making your way to Chaeyoung. She looks at you, confused. You open her door and pull her out of the car. “Chae, you should’ve waited until we were home.” 

“Oppa?” You unbutton her coat and toss it inside the car before moving your hands down to Chaeyoung’s waist. She’s about to speak when you press your lips against hers and slide your hand under her shorts to tease her clit. “Mmm, ah, Master, not here.” Ignoring Chaeyoung, you move her shorts down to her knees before turning her around. “Master, what if we get caught?” Chaeyoung roars as you impale her on your cock. Her mind shuts off as you begin to thrust into her. You were just off the road, and there were cars passing by. All that kept you hidden was some large brush. “Oh shit.” Chaeyoung groans. 

“Shut it, Chae.” You grab Chaeyoung’s arms, pulling them back as you thrust into her cunt, her walls squeezing your cock as you stretch out her tight pussy. Chaeyoung could see the cars passing by; if anyone looked their way, there was a small chance they could see. The thought of being caught turned her on. You could feel her getting tighter around you. “You want to get caught, Chae? Maybe we’ll show them something good.” You release Chaeyoung’s arms, moving your hands to the back of her thighs and lifting her. You spread her legs and have her face the road.

“NO! Master!” Chaeyoung yells, rushing to cover herself. You kiss the back of her neck and bounce her along your cock. Chaeyoung could feel the bulge your cock was creating against her arm. “Shit, I’m cumming.” She whines as you continue to bury your cock inside her. You feel Chaeyoung’s legs tense up in your arms as she cums. Her nectar splashes out onto the ground as she squirts. “No! I don’t want people to see.” She moans, coating her hands with her slick. You feel your climax coming quickly and drive your cock back into Chae, filling her womb with your baby batter. Chase feels the heat from your cum inside her. Her mind becomes flooded by all the pleasure, and she focuses solely on the feeling of your cock inside her. “More cock,” She mumbles. You lower Chaeyoung to the ground, letting her get her feet under herself. She rests against the car seat, leaving the lower half of her body outside. 

You spread her cheeks apart, watching her asshole wink at you. “You want more cock, Chaeyoung?”

“I want your cock, Master.” She groans. Chaeyoung holds her cheeks apart for you. “I want it here. 

You pat Chaeyoung’s head. “I’ll give you all the cock you want.” With your cock in hand, you press the tip against her asshole, pushing in slowly, groaning as you feel the crushing tightness. “Fuck, I love your ass, Chae. I can never get enough of it.” You want to hurry things along, thinking about the others waiting for you to return. You ram the rest of your shaft into the petite woman, watching as her asshole tries to close around your cock. Chaeyoung cries out cumming from your cock. “Aww, you came already, Chae? That’s no good. Am I going to have to train you again?”

“I’ve been a bad toy. Please train me,” Chaeyoung moans as she scoots her ass back. You feel her soft cheeks against your pelvis and give them a rough smack before beginning your thrusts. You dig your hands into Chaeyoung’s soft flesh, keeping her in place as you split her in two. “More Master! More!” She cries out, feeling your cock stretching her tiny ass to its limits. Chaeyoung’s walls are clamping down on your cock. You’re both nearing your climax when you grab Chaeyoung’s shoulder and start pulling her back. Every inch goes into changing, stirring her guts as you bury yourself inside her and cum. Chaeyoung has her third climax at the same time, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. Once you finished dumping your load into Chae, you pulled back up her shorts, letting them hold back the flood of cum before buckling her back into her seat.

You climb back into your seat, ready to finish the trip home, when you see Chae leaning over. “You could at least clean me up, Chae.” You pull Chaeyoung down; she mindlessly wraps her lips around your cock, her tongue moving around your shaft as she bobs her head. Your drive home is a quiet one as she works diligently to clean your cock. Once you’re home, you reward Chae for her hard work, painting her face white with your cum.

[letomills]

Download: SFS / Mega

These are showerproof skins linked to CelestialSpider's Lady Apple body shape (I just released a clothing pack for Lady Apple). They are repo'd to your S1-S4 + alien default skins (or the Maxis skins if you don't use default replacements). If you don't know what showerproof skins are, please read under the cut.

TF, AF and EF sims who have these skins will have the Lady Apple body shape when nude. PU, CU, TM, AM and EM will have their Maxis default shape.

The required top and bottom meshes are included - you'll have to choose between blockfeet and sexyfeet. They're slightly edited versions of the top and bottom meshes shared by CelestialSpider on the Plumb Bob Keep (smoothed some kinks, closed the thigh gap on the fat morphs, reduced breast size on TF).

More details below.

What are showerproof skins? They are skins linked to a custom body shape (or body shapes). When you give a showerproof skin to a sim, that sim will have the body shape that the skin is linked to when they are nude (taking a bath, streaking, doing ACR stuff, etc.). Showerproof skins have no effect whatsoever on clothing, because clothes use their own meshes.

The skins on this post are custom skins that are repo’d to your skin defaults (S1-2-3-4 + alien) or to the Maxis skins if you don’t use defaults. Let me repeat that they are custom skins - they will not replace your skin defaults, they will only have the same textures as your defaults. If you ever switch default skins, these will change automatically on their own so that everything matches. These skins are not geneticized or townified. If you’d like to genetify and townify them, check out Rikkulidea’s tutorial.

In CAS, they will appear in your custom skins with these thumbnails:

Uncensored previews are included in the download, but keep in mind that they're really only relevant as previews for the meshes - the textures will be different in your game depending on what default skins you use.

[youtube-arc]

Overthinking this specific scene

Okay, the selection of characters here seem random, but I see some logic

As we all know, Mario has two ver clear and obvious favorite persons: Luigi and SMG4. When he needs something, generally the first person he asks for help is Luigi, when Luigi can't help him, he goes to SMG4;

One of the most recent examples of this is the Beans video

Generally the two of them are his primary choice to hang out (look at how many Crew videos we have with Luigi and 4), etc.

Of course, is not crazy to put Meggy as the third one, they are very close, help each other a lot, the multiple sunset scenes, etc. They fight, but they care for each other.

It's pretty expected that Mario visualize his favorite persons cheering for him when he needs motivation, I guess everyone does that, so it would be pretty fitting if it's the case.

...But what Melony and SMG3 are doing there? And what about that propeller beanie?

Rulling out the beanie, I think that this one is just supposed to be a random kid cheering for Mario, maybe himself as a kid, who knows

Now for 3 and Melony, I'm actually surprised to see them here; positively surprised.

Mario and Melony have a lot in common. They both are extremely powerful, but are too silly to actually use those powers to something beyond protecting their friends and having fun; both are technically gods (Mario being the anchor of the world they live in and having the Funny(tm) powers, Melony being basically the Fierce Deity from TLOZ) and have a very whismical and silly way to see the world and everything that happen to them. We have a lot of cute moments of them hanging out and caring for each other...hell, look at the Death Row ep!

So it does make sense for Mario to have her as one of the people he goes when he wants company or needs help, they are similar and probably understand each other well.

Now for 3...it makes more sense than you think.

One thing I don't see a lot of people mentioning is that Mario always liked 3, since smg4 vs smg3 (2011); they are the pinacle of the trope "hero who think they are friends x villain who think they are archnemesis", and its extremely obvious. Examples down below.

Mario never saw true danger in SMG3, and even defended him when SMG4 was judged him too harshly, which is pretty intersting to see.

And of course, Three being the villain that he is...he used this to manipulate Mario during The Youtube Arc.

Well, outside this and the obvious "I was born to protect you" thing (something Mario and 4 also have), they are very compatible: they like to cause chaos, they like to commit crimes (we just had a full episode of them robbing a bank lmao), both are good when it comes to understand others (and Mario is even better than 3), etc;

But even knowing all these things, I didnt expected to see 3 to be placed with Mario's favorite persons; in the last SMG4 Crew from 2023, they gave Mario a picture of his friends and 3 was not in the photo, and he appeared in this video, its not like the editors forgot him or something

My guess is that their relationship improved a lot since last year, which is true; episodes like The Inspection, Trash Friends, Mario Gets Stuck Into a Gif and Mario Reacts to Illegal Nintendo Memes show them to be closer now, and Mario even calls 3 when he needs help

Mario asking for 3's help in "Mario Gets Stuck as a Gif

Mario basically calling 3 a friend in "Mario Reacts to Illegal Memes"; He also did the same with SMG4 once.

This make me super happy; Mario having more people he trust to help him and feel comfortable with is always a good thing <3

But to be fair, I thought Bob would come before both Melony and 3

[unclefathersantateddy]

Can't believe Hugo is the Fresh Meat character with the most angst lol.

He's not only heartbroken that Linda left him for someone else, but he's DEVASTATED to discover the person she left him for is absolutely repugnant.

Like canon, Hugo is a stickler for rules, regulations, and policies. But Fresh Meat Hugo is slightly more extreme with his affinity for cleanliness. He sees cleanliness standards as quite binary, you either meet/exceed his standards, or you're gross.

Fortunately, Hugo is the (day shift) health inspector. So he isn't the designated inspector for Bob's restaurant, which is primarily open at night. So he's not aware of the Exact Type of Business(tm) that goes on there. He's just aware that there's a Greasy Diner that BARELY passes regulation, which immediately causes him to disdain the owner, initially on a purely bureaucratic level.

It's not until Hugo's (at work) in the office, a (night shift) health inspector (probably Tommy Jaronda) discusses that he performed at Pesto's Pizzeria the night prior, mentioning seeing a "beautiful dark haired woman with the biggest red glasses and a milf ass that won't quit" drinking at Pestos, claiming to work at the diner opposite. This piques Hugo's attention and interest. He knows that description all too well. Triggering his obsessive neuroticism, Hugo needs to know if it's her- the love of his life. The one that got away.

So he visits Ocean Avenue. Finds Pesto's and of course the diner opposite. "This? This is the place of 'Bob the hot shot restaurateur'? It can't be, this place is disgusting." Hugo thinks aloud.

"Uhhhm, thank you?" responds a hoarse and awkward voice coming from the dirty, mustachioed man, who had previously been sweeping the sidewalk.

Hugo's heart sank. This couldn't be the reality. Is, THIS, Bob? Bob the hot shot restaurateur?? It couldn't be. Linda is a classy and sophisticated woman with standards. She wouldn't... She wouldn't??? No, of course she wouldn't. You two were engaged for crying out loud!

"Bob?" the one and only word that Hugo could utter.

"Um, yes? I mean, yes. I am Bob. Do I know you? Or- I mean- do- did you want a burger? Business hours are normally later than this."

This stammering greaseball is Bob. The Bob. THIS, is who Linda - the love of your life, the apple of your eye - left you for.

C R A C K.

Not a cloud in the sky, yet a bolt of lightning shoots through your heart and mind. You feel your soul being torn in two. Your reality crumbles and dissolves away.

What is this feeling?

It's,

Hatred.

[isa-ghost]

Any specifically avian related qphil headcanons? I love that Phil being a bit more birdy is canon in the qsmp but whenever we get lore about it its angst

/I don't know why I'm asking if you have any, I know you got them /

*cupping my hands together and holding them out*

/give em here/

/pretty pleasee/

Oh fuck yeah man. I have an angel OC based off Phil, I've got PLENTY of avian headcanons >:)

Previous Headcanon Sets (x8)

MORE: Avian Edition

I've stated it in a prev set I think, but if you put this man in water his wings will sometimes involuntarily flap like he's in a birdbath. It's somewhat of a stim, bird brain just goes "you gotta."

I've also stated before that when he's stressed, his wings will flap kinda like the way someone might nervously shake out their hands.

Another restate, sometimes his laughs and startled yelps sound almost like squawks. Also his hiccups. It's very rare, but whenever it happens, he gets teased for it. Especially by Etoiles.

Another restate, sometimes his echolalia is his bird brain mimicking a sound he heard if it scratches an itch.

Yknow what just skim the previous headcanon sets I linked bc I talk so much about his wings & what he does with them & how he communicates using them. All those apply here.

Obligatory mirror and windows struggles mention.

Obligatory molting & preening struggles when stressed mention.

We've all seen the way he perches above everyone. It's probably his most prominent/noticeable avian trait.

Apparently camomile calms birds down. If this fool liked hot drinks, he'd have another way to settle his anxiety.

His obsession with noodles got him accused by Tubbo of enjoying them bc bird brain likes worms. He was NOT pleased. Almost gagged.

As long as you're careful around his wings, he LOVES back rubs. (It's bc the dumbass mf slept in that damn chair too much so now his back riots)

DO NOT THE WINGS. Petting them is one thing, he loves when Lullah hugs them, he thinks it's cute. But omg do not dig your fingers into his feathers. They're very sensitive. And that could mean tickling OR pain.

However if you gently do it, his wings will spread a little and his feathers poof up, which is kinda funny. It's like how if you touch a cat's foot the right way, their toes will spread out to present The Beans(tm). Blessed.

He likes to gift his shedded feathers to people he trusts. Chayanne, Lullah & Missa each have one. Although he's extremely close with Etoiles and Fit, he feels too awkward to give one to them yet. Feels a little too intimate.

Gift giving in general is a HUGE part of his love language though. Crow brain must give shiny things to people he loves yesyes.

Bird zoomies!! Wings poof up, he starts hopping all over the place like a big dork. He'd fly all over too, if he could.

Bobs his head to music. Those videos of pet birds dancing? That's Phil babey!!

Another one of his fave bits is pretending to understand and have a full-on conversation with birds. Loves pretending to gossip with them right in front of the person he & the bird(s) are "gossiping" about. However the crows he DOES understand & gossip with.

When he can fly, he's an expert at dive-bombing targets like a bird of prey. It's TERRIFYING. And very attractive depending on who you are (*cough* Missa *cough*)

Lullah once tried to test if throwing a blanket over his head would make him fall asleep like how if you put a blanket over a bird's cage they'll think it's night time and go to bed. It didn't work. He was very confused.

Birds whenever they're happy to see you will stretch their wings out like "Hello yes!" Phil do happy wing stretches when he see the kids :D

His hearing and eyesight are fucking amazing. The only reason he's able to be snuck up on is bc he hyperfocuses on things or the things that sneak up on him are super fast.

Rare Isa Fluffy Headcanon: He make blanket nests.

When stressed or overwhelmed, he'll wrap his wings around himself or raise them to shield his head. He doesn't do this so much after his wings were clipped & injured. They hurt too much.

100% will spread his wings all the way out (when they aren't hurting a lot) to look more threatening towards enemies. They almost autopilot do it when he's angry, but if they hurt too much they'll stop. He's pissed they don't look as threatening after The Federation clipped his wings

[ereardon]

Golden Hour [Masterlist]

A Bob Floyd x Bradley Bradshaw x OC AU

Summary: Willow, Georgia. Barely even a town, just a speck on a map that you tried to wipe off, mistaking it for a crumb. You’re the outsider: a fancy New York doctor, fresh out of a failed engagement, with zero primary care experience. You’re also the new town doctor, taking over for a recent retiree who was beloved. His son, Bob Floyd, is the other physician at the practice, and takes an immediate dislike to you. But you were looking for a fresh start, and Willow doesn’t seem all that bad if you can get past the fact that there's only one restaurant in town. It helps that you've caught the eye of Bradley Bradshaw, the town attorney, despite the fact that you vowed to take a break from dating. How long until you start to make friends in a town where social circles have been set in stone since elementary school? And what will it take to make Bob Floyd see you’re not as bad as he wants to believe you are?

Pairing: Bob Floyd x OC; Bradley Bradshaw x OC

Tropes: Love triangle, enemies to lovers

A/N: This will be a Hart of Dixie-inspired AU!

Sneak peek here

Status: Series is ongoing

Overview:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Tag list (from my main TGM list but let me know if you want to be added/taken off): @livachri

@double-j @topguncultleader @hangmandruigandmav @blue-aconite @minamisulemisa @shawnsblue @seresinhangmanjake @babyminghao @crthurston @shanimallina87

@angelbabyange @taytaylala12 @mizzzpink @wkndwlff @mygyn @sadpetalsstuff @xoxabs88xox @averyhotchner @oneelleandaneye @teacupsandtopgun

@rosewritesitout @atarmychick007 @khaylin27 @wittywhispers @wildlyobserving @eyesthatroll @localhockeygirl @xomrsalliej4787xo @rosiahills22 @teacupsandtopgun @sexytholland @djs8891 @rxmtoon @cactajuice @purplevortexx @dempy @lemur46 @louie-bug @arson-tm @valkyrja-siren-blog @avengers-fixation @fudge13 @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby @not-two-shrimp @abaker74 @evans-dejong @3tabbiesandalab @xoxabs88xox

[luxurysystems]

On another episode of "WAKE UP MIKE!!!" aka Mid-Atlantic, Mike and Sweet Brown Sugar have a pre-match interview with Bob. Mike starts off the interview being very soft-spoken, talking about:

"It's great to be here, Bob. Tough competition out here. Me and sugar have been training very hard in and out of the ring and now we're going to face some veterans. Sugar is a man I can trust, and I'm glad to be tagging with him."

And then here comes Sugar right out of the gate, delivering a fiery promo and update of what's going on backstage with:

"Well, first off Mr. Bob Caudle, it's great to be here,

BUT MIKE IS TOO SOFT TO SAY THAT THERE'S BEEN SOME BULLSHIT HAPPENING HERE IN THE MID-ATLANTIC AREA. FIRST OFF, WE HAVE PEOPLE RUNNING AND KICKING PEOPLE IN THE FACE LIKE JOS LEDUC'S NOSE WAS BROKEN BY DICK SLATER. YOU GOT JAKE ROBERTS TAKING PEOPLE DOWN ON THEIR HEADS ON THE CANVAS. THEN YOU GOT PEOPLE LIKE GARY HART AND KABUKI PULLING NUNCHAKUS AND SILVER KNIVES AND WHOOPING FOLKS WITH STICKS...WHEN ME AND MIKE ROTUNDO PULL UP AND THE FANS SEE US COMING, YOU'LL SEE NOTHING BUT ACTION."

You can even see Bob start to crack up before he goes back to Mike, who comes into frame like this, looking so forlorn 💀:

The interview ends with Mike FINALLY remembering that he doesn't have the TV Title anymore (Dick Slater stole it from him, but now Roddy Piper has it) and that:

"Oh Yeah...there certainly have been terrible things happening, Bob, like uhh...they brought a guy who's an assassin from Japan and knows 'the martial arts (tm) Gary Hart has been making him nothing but money...(painfully long pause) and uhh...if we have to get down and dirty, I guess we'll have to."

He is so painfully awkward and bland, it's so delightful. Then he proceeds to mat wrestle Red Dog Lane for 6 minutes, forgetting that it's a tag match.

[justabeewithapen]

for the hidden horrors au, we know quite a few of them like to listen to/read stories, but what are some other things you think the crew would do in between missions to pass the time?

This is such an amazing question, I want to pick you up and hug you for asking it!!! I think I’ll explain in text first, then do art for some of these later. I’ll go through the list of hobbies and say who does what!

Gonna do a read more because this will be a lot, but the general summary is that lots of them draw, watch TV, write/compose, and a few have gotten into ball games.

Coloring/Drawing: During a particularly fruitful Quota the group found themselves a box of crayons, which several members quickly became enamored with so it wasn’t sold. TLQ is the main user of the crayons, happily using them on whatever scrap paper they can find. His art looks less like tangible objects and places, and more like scribbly impressions of things though he is very particular about them. Narrator has also messed around with them a little, he usually draws people and portraits, but he is a perfectionist and gets frustrated at his lack of skill. Contra is a very skilled artist with a ballpoint pen (no one knows where he is finding them) despite his poor vision. Smitten thinks art is very poetic and wishes to paint, but the crew hasn’t been able to find a paintbrush Smitten could actually use without it snapping. Smitten has tried spray paint, but found it too messy to be enjoyable.

Watching TV/Listening to the Radio: Contra, Oppy, Cold, and Cheated are all TV lovers. As the team is very good at their jobs they have a lot of nick nacks in the ship, which includes a television! They only get a few channels, but moving pictures are very new and intriguing to their friends. Contra and Cold like watching cartoons, Contra because it is funny and Cold because there is a lot of movement and colors so it is easy for him to follow. Oppy and Cheated enjoy the single soap opera channel they get, both of them are extremely invested in the drama. The TV remote is one of the few things the group does not need to tie down because Oppy knows if he takes that then he won’t get to watch anymore. Smitten tried to get into soaps but got frustrated at all the relationship drama, and Skeptic had a hard time following things via audio. Smitten, Skeptic, and Broken are instead radio enjoyers as the boom box works as a radio! Smitten and Skeptic enjoy audio stories, the adventuring ones with romance and high action. Broken seems uninterested in those, though it is hard to tell with it, but they do really enjoy music! Any music with a beat will have it bobbing along. They once seemingly tried to change the channel but accidentally melted the boom box and had to be reassured that no one was mad.

Writing/Composing: Because of his poor vision, Narrator struggles with writing by hand. However, the ships computer is capable of writing logs that can be password protected. He has been writing some sort of book but he refuses to share it with anyone. Smitten composes poems and songs in his free time, and will happily share his work if asked (and not). Skeptic seemed interested in writing but due to obvious reasons can’t. No one on the team knows braille but his skin would probably be too thick to feel it properly anyway.

Sports/Athletics(tm): Cold hunts for sport, taking his gun and traps both inside and outside the mansion. No one is really sure what he does with his catches, he hasn’t had a new trophy skin in forever, but the bodies are never seen. Stubborn loves to wrestle and will happily do it with anyone willing to offer, but also does it with other Thumpers as a form of dominance to protect his territory. Stubborn also enjoys “fetch” with frisbees and bones and whatever people are willing to throw for him. I say “fetch” in quotation marks because there is a decent chance he does not bring the object back. Paranoid struggles with most activities but is actually pretty good at “bat and ball” sports once he got over the anxiety of the ball hitting him. By tying a paddle to Paranoid’s tail they can actually play a pretty decent rally—though it took a lot of convincing on Hero’s part for this to happen. Paranoid will only play with a few people because others might cheat.

Card Games: Contrarian, Cheated, and Oppy are all enjoyers of card games and usually rope the main 4 into them. Only Contra really knows how to play half the games they play, and every game is full of rampant cheating. Still, it is generally fun if you don’t actually care what is going on. Cheated, Oppy, and Narrator are sore losers. TLQ and Princess tend to take loses gracefully. TLQ and Hero have no idea what is going on at any point.

Other: TLQ, Contra, and Hero all can sew clothing, and Hero is teaching Hunted how to crochet, though they don’t find yarn very often. While generally sedentary, Hunted does enjoy climbing just for fun and collects trinkets almost as much as Oppy does. Smitten is actually very good at gardening, like with most things about him no one knows how he grows flowers in the mansion but he always seems to have fresh roses. Paranoid enjoys jigsaw puzzles, Cheated liked them until he got frustrated because 90% of the sets they found were missing pieces. Oppy likes to trade stories with other lootbugs and is a total rumor monger. Broken seems to enjoy hiding besides radiators or any creatures that’ll let it just chill.

I am happy to elaborate on anything mentioned here, but I think I generally got everyone?

[coldfanbou]

TM IS Side Story: Doctor's Orders

Short Side story for you.

Sana leans forward, giving your tip a kiss; she laughs before swallowing the head of your cock, and moving her tongue along the edges. You put your hand on her cheek, caressing her face as she masterfully uses her tongue to please you. Wanting her to feel good too, you gently pull her legs toward you. “Let’s try something new, Sana.” 

Sana stops what she’s doing, “Ooh, what did you have in mind?”

“This.” You reply as you grab her waist and lift her; Sana yelps as she’s suddenly flipped and being held upside down. Her head remains by your cock while her slit is now easily accessible to you. “This will be good for you. It’ll stretch your back. Just let me know when you want me to put you down.” Sana ignores you for the most part as she goes back to sucking on the head of your cock. The new position excites her, and you can see as much as her lips grow wet. You run your tongue along her slit, her lingerie designed to give that chance. Pushing your tongue inside her, you feel Sana squirm in your arms. Holding Sana becomes more difficult as she swallows more of your cock, her bobbing head making you moan as her tongue twirls around your shaft. You start thrusting your hips; Sana takes it well as you push your cock down her throat. Her moans only add to your pleasure as you feel her throat vibrate along your shaft. You continue to eat out, Sana; she smushes you between her thighs. You both near your climax and start to go a bit faster; you lap at Sana cunt’s, playing with her clit and forcing her to cum at the same time as you. Sana presses herself against your body and tries to drink your cum, but being upside down makes it difficult, and most of it ends up on the floor. 

You quickly lay Sana back down on the bed, your last few shots of cum spurting out onto her face and chest. You hear Sana laugh as she rubs your cum into her skin. Sana spins herself around and spreads her legs, “Daddy, I think I want another baby. Can you give me one?” Sana spreads her lips and looks at you with pleading eyes. “I want to give our baby boy a sister.” You play along with Sana, her talk about wanting to get pregnant again turning you on. You press your cock against her cunt, and slide in with ease. Sana throws her head back and groans. You start moving inside Sana, feeling your cock drag along her walls, “Just think, soon I’ll have a big belly, and my tits are going to be full of milk. Can you imagine that? Me riding you when I’m farther along.” You get harder inside Sana, thinking about her riding you when she has a swollen belly. She laughs, noticing you got harder, “You really like that idea, don’t you, Daddy?” 

You and Sana go a few rounds, changing positions often. Every time, you make sure to give Sana a big creampie before continuing on. From outside the room, Jihyo and Mina are listening. They laugh hearing you two go at it. Sana’s scream of pleasure to get them to think about her condition, though. “I’m glad Sana is feeling better, but…do you think that she’s really taking care of herself?”

“I’m sure she’s fine, Mina. We just have to be there for her and make sure she’s eating well. I’m sure he can handle keeping her stress-free.” Jihyo says with a chuckle.  “Sana knows she can rely on us. Come on, let’s leave the love birds alone.” 

Back with you and Sana, you’re being much gentler. You’re slowly moving inside of Sana while your hands trace her body, and you caress her belly. She wraps her arms around you lovingly, her legs squeezing you to tell you she’s close. “You’re going to be a great mom, Sana.” You groan as you bury your cock in her and push more of your semen into her pussy. Sana’s body stiffens as she reaches her climax; she pulls you in for a kiss. Your bodies melt together as you roll onto the bed and pull out of Sana, your cum rushing out of her. “Maybe I should put this back in.” You say before sliding your cock back into her, keeping your cum inside. 

Sana smiles at you, “You’re going to be a great Daddy to our baby.” She says before yawning. Sana lays her head on your chest, her small hands right beside her head as she drifts off to sleep.

[fyodior]

Flora Flora! mmf threesome with Shibu and Fedya? What if? What if!??

(and both of them are getting their ass fucked too, of course :P)

HIO OH MY GODDD U KNOW WHAT I WANNA HEAR

this would be much more of a... spiritual experience than a skk threesome. while skk kind of just go with the flow and are just Men(tm), shibu and fedya are always thinking ten steps ahead and know exactly what the want and how they want it

with them you'll definitely have to wait your turn. of course you're their darling and will give you as much attention as you desire, but it can't be all about you. there definitely will be moments where you have to get yourself off as you watch shibu fuck fyodor nice and slow, mounting him from the back and hugging him close to his body as he takes him. it's definitely not hard to get off to that tho..... he doesn't finish inside fyodor tho bc that's reserved for you.

my favorite position i think is getting fucked from the back by shibu while sucking fedya off, and obviously its hard to focus fully on fyodor's cock while you're getting your shit rocked by shibu, but fyodor will keep a firm grip on your hair, helping you bob up and down to blow him efficiently.

of course one special mr. shibusawa deserves to get fucked too, and that can be done by either you or fedya! he wouldn't mind a thick dildo in his ass while jerking fyodor off. its all about sharing the love!!

[aemiron-main]

Was Martin Brenner A Boy Scout?

So, I was thinking about Brenner Jr vs Brenner Sr and about Brenner Jr’s whole “government funded child lab basement,” thing and for whatever reason, that led me to wondering if Brenner Sr was involved with any youth groups as a parallel- specifically, the government funded boy scouts. And then that led me to thinking about the cycles of abuse in ST & 15 year old Brenner having told his father that he hated him in TFS and left me wondering if Brenner was ever a boy scout.

So, yknow all of the bob cat and lynx and wildcat references in ST and TFS? The literally unending, constant references, especially surrounding Brenner and the Creels?

Well, the bob cat rank was introduced to boy scouts in 1938- when Brenner would have been 10 years old.

Brenner were you a boy scout with a bob cat rank??? Brenner, were you uh. Abused. As a boy scout?? Is that part of why you end up abusing Henry?? Is it the Cycles TM? The boy scouts do have a reputation for child abuse, after all…

We also have the S4 lines about Petey Mchew at summer camp and Petey being afraid of Victor Creel:

I just think that it’s interesting that Petey Mchew’s story a.) has him at summer camp, afraid of an older man and b.) really does remind me of Bob’s story about Mr Baldo & how Bob has trouble going to sleep as a result vs Petey not sleeping because he was afraid of Victor- vs what I’ve talked about in posts like this post about how Bob’s Mr Baldo story is likely tied to Bob having been sexually abused as a child.

It’s also interesting to me that the Petey Mchew story is set in 1978 vs what I mentioned about the bob cat rank being introduced in 1938..

And also, James reminded me of the original pitch for Brenner:

Brenner originally being outdoorsman/lumberjack inspired… like the sort of person who would have scout experience…

There’s also just SOMETHING about TFS and “The Girl From Nowhere,” vs Camp Know Where in S3…

And also, all of 7 year old/TFS Henry’s captain midnight salutes and oaths/catchphrases are… eerily similar to boy scout stuff… i’ll Die if we get a parallel between young Brenner as a boy scout with the oath and salute vs 7 year old Henry with his captain midnight salute and catchphrases…

This show really is all about the Cycles, huh??

[scifrey]

Carpe Diem

Status: One-Shot

Series: the Hob Adherent series

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Includes some comics canon, and some cameos from the wider Gaiman-verse (including the Good Omens and Lucifer television shows), but it’s not necessary to know to enjoy the story.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Discussions of grief and in-canon character death.

Relationships:  Morpheus | Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Eleanor | Hob Gadling’s Wife/Hob Gadling (past)

Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Lucifer, Patrick the Bartender, Crowley, Aziraphale, Johanna Constantine, Matthew the Raven

Summary: Hob turns six hundred and sixty-six, invites some fellow Immortals to his bar to celebrate, and receives a gift from Satan herself. Or, the Key to Hell was always going to Be a Problem(tm).

Set between the epilogue and chapter one of Cling Fast.

READ ON AO3 OR READ BELOW:

Hob tells Patrick he’s turning thirty-six. 

About five minutes before the party is set to start, he takes immature delight in adding a tiny little x2 between the 3 and the 6 on the poster wishing him a happy birthday with a sharpie. Normally Hob doesn’t make much of a fuss about his birthday–it’s too easy for his fellow, aging humans to start tracking them that way–but it’s May 1st in the Year of Our Lord 2022, and Hob Gadling is turning six hundred and sixty-six years old.

He figures that deserves a party.

They close The New Inn for the private event, and Patrick, grumpy bastard that he is, refuses to hire in a catering staff so he can enjoy himself, too. 

“It’s your birthday, Bob,” he says, as Hob is tying off the last of the bunting above the banquettes. “I’m not having a stranger back here screwing up your orders.”

“We do need to hire a server before the summer, though,” Hob points out, jumping down and wiping the tread-prints from his shoes off the leather seat. “And a new kid for the kitchen.”

“Well it’s not happening any time today, so just… let me celebrate you from my happy place.”

“Fine, fine,” Hob grants with a smile. Patrick is very, very good at his job. He also has an anxious fear of crowds, when there isn’t wood and fridges and pint-glass washers between him and other people. “But tell me you’ll try to relax a bit, please. It’s my party, and I want you to have fun.”

Patrick gifts him with a set of bowfingers and turns his back to resume prep. Hob wonders what the Signature Cocktail du Jour is going to be, with that many sliced limes, peaches, and strawberries.

Hob is generally very pleased with himself and the world. He’s in a university and profession he loves, he’s inspiring young minds and hearts towards kindness and generosity to their fellow humans, he’s very slowly restoring the White Horse one city council fight at a time, he is master of The New Inn and it’s domain, and he is swiftly becoming best friends with a magical talking raven. 

And, of course, in the nine months since Morpheus has broken free of his prison and returned to Hob’s life, he has become a fixture of his Tuesday afternoons and no small part of his attention and affection besides. That's something worth celebrating, too. Hob's Stranger has somehow, wonderfully, become his friend. And he’s agreed to come today, which is even better. Hob has been getting better at couching his requests in dares, and highlighting his pleas with sad puppy eyes. The two things Morpheus, humanity’s facet of Dream of the Endless, seems to be weak against are a bet, and Hob showing any unhappiness or disappointment.

These facts are carefully recorded in his mental List of Things I Know About The Stranger. The list is growing longer, slowly but surely, which is thrilling in itself. Hob is starting to feel like he knows Morpheus, for a given value of ‘knowing’ when it comes to interacting with a singular facet of anthropomorphic personifications of vast universal concepts.

He’s also not above using this knowledge to his advantage, although he’s careful to deploy this hoarded wisdom to his own advantage very, very sparingly. No point in tipping his hand this early in their fragile friendship.

Hob is immortal, he’s happy, he loves his life and the people in it, and it’s his birthday. 

What isn’t there to celebrate?

The first guests arrive around happy hour, and clump together on one of the banquettes. They’re his colleagues in the History department, with the addition of a PhD hopeful who’s clearly tagged along in order to get into Doctor Gadlen’s good graces before the mad race for a thesis supervisor begins in the summer. Patrick knows some of them, as Hob’s dragged them here from the university often enough, and is happy to take care of them while Hob fiddles with the music. 

He's curated a playlist of his favorite songs from the last six and a half hundred years (the ones he could find recordings of, of course), and damn anyone who complains that the mix is weird.

Hob’s offering up beer and wine on the house, as well as soft drinks for those who prefer it, and platters of nibbles. Word must get back to the school because soon a second wave of professors and TAs slide through the door. The maxim is entirely true: academics are cockroaches and will pop up anywhere free food and booze are on offer. Hob’s happy to welcome them in, even if he only knows a few of them on sight, and even less by name.

A party is a party, and it fills him with joy to know they’ll be going home full and happy. Hob is High Priest of the Last Temple of Morpheus. It’s his duty to ensure everyone who comes through the doors of The New Inn leave in a state of mind and body to rest peacefully and fully.

Hob’s colleagues are joined soon enough by some of the bar regulars, folks from the social charities and organizations that Hob works with to keep the people on his little patch of city well-cared for and housed, and a few people who serve on the same Heritage Protections board as he’s a member of on behalf of the White Horse.

But there’s one particular person he keeps craning his head around to see, every time the little bell above the door jangles. The one particular person who has not yet arrived. Hob distracts himself with gracefully accepting presents he very specifically told people not to bring, offering up cheek-kisses and handshakes in return for the collection of cards, wine bottles, and novelty teacher mugs.

The sun sets, bringing along with it Johanna Constantine, and Ric the Vic, both of whom Hob knows peripherally through the Goings On (™) of London. They offer him their congratulations, and slide into one of the tables in the corner to enjoy their free libations and pretend strenuously that they’re not not planning to leave to fuck in the next few hours.

Hob had spread word through what passes for a grapevine in the sparse community of Otherfolk of the city that they, too, would be welcome at Hob’s birthday party. After all, they’re the only ones who’d understand–and enjoy the irony–of the number. He doesn’t actually expect many of them to take him up on it, but manners are manners.

All the same, he’s fairly sure he sees some of the Doors slipping in and out between his supply cupboard and the bar with a platter of pigs-in-a-blanket, and Bod Owens chatting up the PhD hopeful by the loos. The Marquis de Carabas’s coat catches his eye and Hob turns to welcome him, only to come face-to face with a very different imposing nobleman in a long distinctive coat.

“Happy Birthday , Hob Gadling ,” Morpheus greets him. He’s got the world’s tiniest potted cactus cradled in his palm, and he holds it out awkwardly to Hob. The tips of his ears, mostly hidden by the puff of his dark hair, are delicately pink. They’re the same shade of the seductive-slick curve of a conch shell, of the secret inside curve of his lips when he pouts, the tip of his tongue when he chases a stray drop of wine in a startlingly mortal gesture.

It’s adorable.

It’s not fair .

Hob really needs to get this stupid crush under control.

“Aw, is this for me?” Hob asks, delighted, as if the cactus pot wasn’t already embraced by a silky red bow.

Morpheus just raises his eyebrows, as if to say, Are you daft? so Hob takes it. He wonders if it would be too forward of him to buss a kiss off Morpehus’ cheek in thanks, as he has been doing with all of his other gift-givers this evening. 

It’s a step more intimate than the hand-holding they do when one or the other of them needs comfort during a difficult confession. But Morpheus is Hob’s friend now, and it’s how he greets his other friends. Morpheus deserves no less. He decides to go for it.

The King of Nightmares takes the kiss with startled good grace, and Hob pulls back quickly so he’s not imposing on Morpheus’ personal bubble. His friend can get prickly when he feels his sovereignty threatened, or his independence violated, for very understandable and obvious reasons.

He fiddles with the cactus, turning the pot around in his fingertips and admiring the single dusty-purple bloom at its apex. He hopes it’ll get enough sunlight in here.

“Where’s Matthew?” Hob asks, to fill the awkward silence.

“Behaving extremely poorly for a denizen of his station. ”

“Come again?”

“ Out front, entertaining some of your regulars by repeating filthy words for peanuts,” Morpheus says, amusement and disdain warring in his tone. Morpheus is forever despairing over Matthew’s constant desire to be in the spotlight. 

Hob laughs, delighted, and chivvies Morpheus over to the bar for a glass of his teeth-suckingly sweet wine. He directs his friend around to the empty place where the bar meets the wall beside the tiny area cleared of tables and chairs for dancing. No one has moved to that side of the pub yet, so it's empty of the press of dreamers that Morpheus sometimes finds overwhelming. 

Hob slips behind the bar to pour Morpheus's libation himself, ignoring Patrick’s eye roll. He doesn’t understand why Hob wants to be the only one to touch the wine. Sure it’s expensive, but it’s not like Patrick is going to pour it wrong or something.

But for Hob, it’s a ritual. It’s a gift.

It’s an offering to his friend and god.

It means something that Hob is the one who pours, who presents, who proffers.

Morpheus takes the cup with all the dignified grace that the gesture demands, and backs into the shadows to enjoy it in peace. Hob moves the cactus to pride of place on top of the coffee machine, and goes about fetching himself his own first drink of the evening. Now that Morpheus is here, he can finally relax and indulge.

“Don’t get any ideas above your station,” someone hisses at the little plant, and Hob peers around the machine to find The Bentley Snake hunched forward on his elbows, propped up behind the hidden corner of the bar, whiskey in hand. His dark red hair is shorn short on the sides this time, a long standy-uppy flop at the top, and he’s wearing the latest in a long line of painfully slim-cut black suits. 

Sometimes Hob wonders if he’s doing Immortality wrong, being the only one of the lot who seems to like wearing more than black or white.

“Please don’t threaten my new plant friend,” Hob asks him.

“Needs ssssssome threatening,” the Snake says, sunglasses trained on the cactus. “Thinks its high n’ mighty just cause it sprouted in the Dreaming.”

Hob processes this as he pulls a pint for himself. “You know about the Dreaming?”

“Sleep, don’t I?” the Snake mutters.

Hob refills the Snake’s whiskey glass, and clinks his pint off the Snake’s tumbler. “I don’t like to assume.”

“Oi, I sleep, don’t I, Lord Shaper?” the Snake says, with a jerk of his chin at where the bar meets the wall. 

Morpheus is little more than a black shadow and starshine eyes. He must be feeling a bit crowded, to have retreated so thoroughly. Hob doesn’t blame him–it’s starting to get stuffy, what with all the bodies and the salt-rank whiff of booze and sweat. The music is a touch loud now that there's so many voices competing to be heard over it, and Hob is thinking that now’s a good time to open the windows, let the pre-storm breeze that’s kicking up wash the place fresh.

Though he doesn’t point it out to the man, Hob’s Stranger has been different since his return. 

While before he was reserved and formal, now he’s skittish about touch, always buttoned up to the throat in whatever clothing he manifests for himself, and reluctant to allow himself to be crowded or contained. They're working on it, with long walks along the quay or visits to farmer's markets, but overcoming trauma is never a fast process. Even the occasional therapeutic hand-holding Hob imposes on him has to be well telegraphed, or Morpheus will shake him off without realizing he’s done so.

These are all very understandable and normal reactions to the torture he’d suffered at the hands of Burgess. But while Hob has done his best to comfort and guide Morpheus toward healing in his limited, mortal way, it’s not like he can he can force the God of Sleep to make an appointment with a headshrinker.

Hob flashes a glance over at Colonel Williams, by the front door, who is one of the social support folks Hob knows from helping the unhoused get back on their feet. She specializes in suppressed trauma and PTSD, and Hob wonders if there’s a way he could maneuver Morpheus into an ‘accidental’ conversation with the woman sometime tonight.

“ So deeply that I cannot oust you from my realm for decades at a time, Serpent, ” Morpheus rumbles, and right, Hob’s forgotten that he’s supposed to be mediating between two otherworldly entities. Morpheus turns his gaze to Hob. “What is he doing here?” 

Morpheus sounds two thirds curious and one third jealous.

He doesn’t mean it like that , Hob tells himself. It may be my birthday–well, the date I chose to be my birthday–but I’m not going to get that lucky.

An odd tension frazzles the air, and the Snake rolls his impossible spine backwards a bit, not retreating, exactly. Just not standing so close to Hob.

Huh.

Who knew that Morpheus would be so territorial with his head priest?

Hob laughs, trying disperse the feeling that if he’s not careful, he may inadvertently start a supernatural brawl. “Come on, my friend. You think after six and a half centuries, you’re the only creepy-crawly I know?”

“I am not a creepy-crawly, Hob Gadling,” Morpheus rumbles, with all the theatrical offense of a maiden-aunt. “But I did not think you would consort with the likes of him . Not with your upbringing as it was–”

The Snake bristles. “Hey! I was invited!”

Morpheus steps out of the shadows just enough for his face and hands–and empty wine glass–to be visible in the dim pub lighting. Night has well and truly fallen outside. He sets the glass on the bar top with a challenging tink .

“ Invited ,” Morpheus repeats flatly.

“I just let it be known among the Othered set that they were welcome to drop by,” Hob hisses, low enough that Patrick won’t be able to catch it over the conversation and music around them.

“It’s a special number, you know. I felt like it should be celebrated with everyone , especially those who really know what it means.”

Morpheus inhales sharply and turns narrowed, laser-focused, glacier-blue eyes to Hob’s face. “ How did you phrase this invitation? ” he asks with no little urgency.

Hob blinks. 

“Uh, something something freely welcome to partake of my hospitality, all those who know the number something something?” Hob says, nerves flooding him. He tugs on his ear. “Did I… um… say something I shouldn’t have?”

“ All those who know the number ,” Morpheus groans. “The number of the beast.”

"Six-one-six," the Snake says.

"Six- six- six," Hob corrects, "According to modern translations. Which is also the number of years I've… oh. No. No, it's my birthday ,” Hob says, sweat beading by his hairline and trickling down the back of his shirt. “That’s… that’s what I meant.”

“But that it is not what you said .”

The Snake straightens up all at once, eyes popping wide behind his glasses if the sudden height of his eyebrows are anything to go by. He slams back the rest of his whiskey and chokes: “That’s me out, then. Many happy returns, you poor doomed bastard. If you ever get any.”

“That’s not ominous at all,” Hob says, and chugs half his beer.

The Snake wends his way to the front door and is gone in a gust of chill spring breeze, and the sound of the rain just starting up outside. Hob hopes Matthew has found a good roost under one of the table umbrellas. One of these days, he's going to make good on his threat to get the raven a Service Animal vest, just so he can come inside in weather like this.

Morpheus fully manifests, posture tense, nostrils flaring. He scans the crowd. For who, Hob can guess, but he doesn’t like to think on it.

Morpheus has, after all, told him all about his trip to Hell.

And then the lights flicker.

Hob is… well, he’s almost disappointed by how dramatic the Devil’s entrance is. 

In the last six hundred years, he’s come to learn that people like him tend to lay low and not bring attention to themselves. Even Morpheus, with his fine clothes and fist-sized ruby, behaved as a mortal might at their meetings–walking into the White Horse, sitting down, no excess displays of power or even wealth, really, save for the handful of dreamsand he’d blown in Lady Constantine’s face.

But Hob has to give the Devil their due. When they play, they don’t play small.

The storm that’s been brewing since sunset suddenly, and violently breaks. Rain cascades against the roof like the rush of an oncoming train. A clap of thunder loud enough to rattle the martini glasses in their hangers above the bar shakes the room, making more than one person yelp. The crack of lightning that follows flares like an atom bomb, white light blasting in through the windowpanes, casting everyone in harsh, dramatic black-and-white chiaroscuro.

Ears ringing and eyes sparking, Hob sets down his beer and scrubs at his face.

(Okay, so he’s also a little disappointed there’s no fiddle sting to accompany their appearance. But then again, the New Inn is hardly Georgia.)

When his vision has cleared, Hob whirls around to check on his friends and colleagues. There’s probably something dangerous about turning your back to Satan, but he’s got the King of Nightmares guarding it. He’s more worried for the humans than the two celestial entities that are, if he knows his friend, puffing up and posturing. Hob skims out from behind the bar, heading for Patrick, who has stopped a few steps away from the service gap. 

And he's… he's just standing there.

Fear seizes Hob’s throat, and for a terrible second, he worries that the light really was an atom bomb, that everyone he’s ever known and loved in this life are nothing more than people-shaped pillars of ash, and it’s his fault. He invited them here, and then he invited the literal Devil as well, and now they're—

But no, when he reaches Patrick, his friend is alive. He breathes, he blinks, his flesh is soft and warm. But he’s frozen. Hob looks around and… yes, the humans in the room–well, the mortal ones, at least–have simply stopped moving.

“Are they…?” Hob crackles.

“ They will be fine,” Morpheus assures him. His hair is sticking straight out, like a furious cat, and he’s starting to lose coherence around the edges. His coat swirls off into shadow like heavy ink in water, his eyes are as fathomless as deep space, and his fingers elongate into razor-sharp and obsidian-tipped claws. “Time has stopped for them. When it resumes, it will be as if the lost moments never happened. ”

Not all of them, Hob thinks, seeing Johanna’s eyes darting around the room with terrified fury. He decides not to point it out, though, in case the Lightbringer decides to do something permanent and terrible about it. He just gives her a long look, and tries to put as much reassurance in his expression as he can. I’ll get us out of here safely, don’t you worry.

Johanna blinks back once, slow and squinty like a cat. Message received.

A quick glance also confirms that the rest of the Otherworld denizens have made themselves as sparse as the Snake. He doesn't blame them.

Then, finally, when he’s assured himself that everyone under his roof and thus in his care is as safe as they can be, with the literal Ruler of Hell sharing that selfsame roof, he skirts around the bar to join Morpheus on the empty dance floor. Only then does he allow all of his attention to settle on his new visitor.

They are… tall . ‘Grand’ is the adjective that comes to mind first, followed by ‘statuesque’ and ‘ literally awe-inspiring’.

That’s an angel , Hob things. Or at least, they used to be. Of course they’re so… present. So overwhelming.

It’s like having all of his senses buffeted all at once–all he can smell is the acrid tang of sulfur, all he can hear is a high-pitched screech, all he can see is an overwhelming brightness that might actually be an overwhelming darkness, and his skin feels like it’s covered with biting fire ants. He gasps, reaching out clumsily behind him to clutch at the bar, the crush of the gravitas emanating from the corner stealing the breath from his lungs.

One of Morpheus’ fingers stretches out, impossible and eerie. It taps Hob gently on the forehead, right where his third eye would be, if he was that kind of spiritual. The drowning rush of screaming discomfort snaps off, like a faucet cranked shut. Air rushes back into the room. 

“Be not afraid,” my hairy arse , Hob thinks, as he coughs and scrubs his eyes again. It’s a wonder the blessed virgin didn’t shriek her head off and go running off into the night.

“I’m… I’m fine,” he reassures Morpheus, as his friend shuffles a step closer, hand resting protectively on Hob’s shoulder.

It takes him a few seconds to actually see what he’s seeing. Satan themself is presenting as a white woman, with fair, severely arranged golden curls that resemble nothing so much as a crown of thorns across their forehead. What Hob took for giant bat wings is actually a luxuriously patterned black pashmina, draped artfully over across one shoulder, over a rich white tea-length dress.

For being the ruler of Hell, Hob has to admit that they actually look… well, glamorous . 

“Hello, Robert Gadling,” Lucifer Morningstar purrs from the empty stage in the corner of the pub. It’s little more than a triangular riser jammed against the wall, just big enough for a tall stool, a mic stand, and some folksy performer on Sunday afternoons. But it gives them an even greater height from which to look down their nose at him, so of course that’s where they manifested. “I am ever so grateful to be included.”

“Er, yeah,” Hob says, pushing himself upright and wiping his clammy hands on the thighs of his jeans. “Welcome, then.”

“ Hob ,” Morpheus says, scandalized. Shadows writhe anxiously in a puddle by his feet, the Nightmare side of Dream closer to the surface in his worry. 

“What?” Hob says. “Doesn’t hurt anyone to be polite.”  Hob steps forward and holds out his now-dry hand for the Devil to shake.

“Certainly not,” Lucifer agrees, and takes his hands between theirs. They pull him forward a few more steps, pressing his fingers between their palms as if they could taste his sins on his skin, and peers down at him with intelligent eyes the same color of the storm clouds outside. “And it’s been ever so long since I’ve been to a party .”

Hob cranes his head back to look up at them. They’re just a handspan away now, only their entwined arms between them keeping them parted, and for an absurd moment, he thinks that Lucifer is going to kiss him. Morpheus must think so too, because he lets loose a ripping growl, warning and threat in the sound to rival the thunderstorm outside.

Lucifer laughs and lets Hob go. They take a dainty step down from the stage, and sashay their way toward the bar on totteringly-high bleach-white pumps.

“I, uh, I‘ve got wine and beer,” Hob says, spinning around and scrambling to catch up with them. “Or anything harder. Or softer. Whatever you like, really. What can I pour for you?”

“Red wine, naturally,” the Devil purrs.

They stop at the bar just an arm's length from Morpheus, a clear challenge. They lean elegantly on one elbow against the padded edge, eyeing him up like they’d either like to eat him alive or gouge his eyes out. Possibly both. Hob slips between them like a fleshy immortal shield. Maybe it won’t actually keep them from lashing out at each other but, meh, he can’t die if they do.

He reaches over the bar, grabs one of the open bottles of Syrah, a glass from the rack above their heads, and pours a generous measure. He holds it out genteely to the Devil, and they accept it with good grace.

Hob then immediately refills Morpheus’ abandoned glass with his Vinsanto, and tops up his own with an awkward backwards reach for the amber tap. 

“So… are you gonna release them?” Hob asks, once Lucifer has raised their glass for a clink, and he’s very cautiously obliged. It feels like bad luck to drink from it right away, though, so he turns to offer the same toast to Morpheus, who stares hard at Hob as they clink glasses, as if he’s drilling a blessing into Hob’s skull.

“No, I think not,” Lucifer says, taking their first sip, and offering Hob an appreciative eyebrow bounce at the taste. “No need to cause a panic. But don’t worry; I shan’t stay for long. I only wanted to pop in and wish my new friend many happy returns.”

“Is that what we are?” Hob asks, with a huge gulp of beer. “Friends?”

“Of course!” Lucifer says, their eyes narrowing a little, shoulders tensing up, lips slimming tightly and… “We are friends, aren’t we Robert Gadling? Why else would you have extended your invitation to all who know the true number of your years?”

Which is… a bit of an odd thing for the Lightbringer to be worried about, honestly.

Hob looks again. There’s nerves there. There’s concern. Why would…

Oh . Hob thinks. They’re lonely, too.

Hob risks a glance back at Morpheus, who is clutching the stem of his wineglass tight enough that it’s creaking. His eyes are leaking purple-black starstuff around the perimeters, which whisps away like the leading edge of a fast-moving cloud. Otherwise, he's perfectly still, posture ramrod straight.

“Yes,” Hob answers, turning back to Lucifer. “Yes, we are friends. Why not? I’ve no quarrel with you, unless you’re here to drag me to Hell?”

Whatever it was the Devil was expecting Hob to say, it wasn’t that. They look first genuinely surprised, then flattered, then secretly pleased, then distraught in such quick succession that Hob barely has time to pass each expression as they pass over their face.

“Of course not!” Lucifer says, so quickly and so completely surprised that it comes out in a rush. They sound genuinely hurt at his assumption. “My kingdom only contains those human souls who believe they should be there. They send themselves to Hell. Please. I have better manners than to drag anyone against their belief and will.” They narrow their eyes at Hob and take another sip of wine, struggling to regain their teasing nonchalance. “Why, have you done something worthy of punishment?”

Many things, Hob thinks. Terrible things. Things I just hope one day I live long enough to be able to atone for. 

“Ah, well, this isn’t about my death,” Hob hedges. “Which I am still not interested in, thank you very much. This is a celebration of my life!”

“It is indeed. Happy six hundred and sixty-sixth birthday, Robert,” Lucifer says, and they clink glasses once more. 

“Hob,” he offers up. “My friends in the know call me Hob.”

“ Hob, ” Morpheus hisses again. “ You are being unwise. ”

“I’m being personable ,” Hob corrects, but takes a tiny step back, closer into Morpheus’s orbit, to appease him. One of the swirling black shadows wraps around Hob’s ankle.

“Dream Lord!” Lucifer greets him, sounding as if they have just noticed him behind Hob for the first time. “What a delight to see you again so soon.”

“Lightbringer, ” Morpheus growls in return. 

“And how do you know our dear little birthday boy?”

Morpheus lets out another grumbling snarl, all without changing the placidly haughty expression on his face.

“Robert Gadling is my head priest, as well you know, ” Morpheus intones, voice as deep and dangerous as the fathomless darkness at the bottom of an ocean. “ You stand in my temple uninvited. ”

“Just as you bullied your way into Hell?” Lucifer asks silkily. They sip their wine showily. “Besides, I was invited, wasn’t I?”

Both pairs of eyes fall on Hob, their weight like a physical blow, and he buys himself some time by taking a long drink of his beer. Which, of course, goes down the wrong pipe, and leaves him coughing like a complete tit in front of two of the greatest powers in the universe.

Oh yeah, that’s me. Hob “embarrassingly human” Gadling.

Morpheus sets down his wine and hastily lays a hand on Hob’s curved back. It’s probably meant to be as possessive as it is calming, but at this point, Hob doesn’t mind. It feels good to have the comfort of his friend’s proximity. And the very visible gesture of his claiming and protection.

“I see I am in danger of wearing out my welcome,” Lucifer sighs, as if put upon. They finish their wine in a serpent-like gulp, opening their jaws wider than the mouth of their human-shape ought to allow, and set the glass aside. 

“Quite.”

"In which case, allow me to present me with your gift unto you now, Robert Gadling of Essex," Lucifer says.

With a flourish, they're suddenly cupping something spindly and large in both their palms. It is the ivory of old bone, gnarled and pitted, and looks nothing so much as a big, eldritch key. There’s a circle at the top, crowned with four spikes, and the teeth on the shaft look as if they may be made of actual fangs.

And, of course, much like Morpheus’ cactus, it is topped with a whimsical, cheery red bow.

Morpheus lets out a horrified gasp.

“I had intended on bestowing this differently,” Lucifer drawls, eyeing Morpheus meaningfully. “But as it is in poor form to attend a birthday party with no gift for the celebrant.”

She turns the full weight of her gravitationally heavy gaze on Hob.

“Er… thank you?” Hob asks.

“You will not, soon enough.”

Yeah, okay, that sounds like a trap , Hob thinks. But with no clue how or even why he might refuse the gift from a literal fallen angel, and what the eternal ramifications of that action might be he does, Hob reaches out to take the key.

“ Do not accept! ” Morpheus all but wails. “ If you become ruler of Hell, you will never again cross the threshold into my realm.”

That’s saying a little more than I think Morpheus means to , Hob thinks, fingers frozen in the air, hovering above the ribbon. It sounds less like “you’ll be barred from my realm” and more “I’ll never see you again.”

“Is that true?” Hob asks. "This will make me ruler of Hell ?"

Lucifer smirks triumphantly.  “I have already emptied Hell of all its demons. The gates are shut. Even now, the fires ash and grow cold. I have renounced my crown. A new King is required. They who next touch this Key will become that King.”

Hob shudders, short hair springing up, skin crawling with horror. Demons. Loose on Earth. Loose everywhere . And unable to be commanded to return to Hell by exorcism or spell, for the gates would be barred to them.

He cuts a look to Johanna, who is clearly following all of this. There are tears running down her cheeks. Sweat breaks out on Hob's brow, heart pounding hard behind his ribs, dread creeping down his spine. He hasn't felt this sunk with terror since he first came face-to-face with a machine gun in a muddy trench.

He's being given a choice.

It's not much of a choice.

Hob licks his lips, hoping his voice is steadier than his trembling, hovering hands.  “What happens if I don’t accept your gift?” he crackles, voice barely above a whisper.

“Then I will think that you have very poor manners indeed,” Lucifer pouts. 

Hob's breath shudders out of him, leaving his skin cold and nerves on high alert. “That’s all?”

"Of course, I will then have to bestow the Key upon the next most worthy candidate,” Lucifer says, eyes slinking up to Morpheus over Hob’s shoulder like toxic honey and, ah, there it is.

There’s the trap.

If Hob accepts the Key, he will become King of Hell, and never see Morpheus again. But he could command the armies of the damned back into their pits, and possibly, like he has in his little kingdom here on Earth, find new and better ways to help those there punishing themselves.

But if Morpheus accepts the Key, then Dream of the Endless will become King of Hell, plunging every sentient being in existence into unspeakable horror every time they fall asleep.

Which makes Hob’s choice a very, very simple one.

Before Morpheus can stop him, Hob plucks the key out of Lucifer’s hand. 

" Hob !" Morpheus wails.

He reels back, as if all the places he was touching Hob suddenly burn him. The floor shudders beneath their feet, the foundations rumbling without warning. Thunder? Hob guesses, then, No, earthquake!

The room shakes with the power of Morpheus' fury and agony. Hob grasps at the bar to stay upright, and wonders if now that its head priest has become overlord of another realm, the temple of the New Inn will defile and crack apart around them all.

Morpheus keens like a wounded hart, clutching at his chest. He staggers, rocked by the judder of the floor, what little color he had manufactured for this humanish form draining away entirely. Outside, Matthew is cawing furiously, battering against the window in a desperate attempt to break in.

Hob's stomach heaves, and he's not sure if it's from the shaking of the building, or the enormity of what he's just done. What he's just accepted.

“What, no kiss for my gift, your Majesty?” Lucifer laughs, shrill and triumphant. 

They seize Hob's face between red-taloned hands, and press a fire-hot, acid-slick mouth against his. Hob screams , the crawling burn of his flesh melting from his lips outwards throwing his animal mind into a mindless, terrified panic. Someone's hands fist in the back of his jumper, yanking at him, but the Devil's grip has seared him down to the bone, fingers embedded in his cheeks, nails scraping against the side of his teeth and tongue. The searing agony reaches his eyes, sizzles in his tears, so all he can see is the poisonous green steam of his own eyeballs boiling in their sockets.

Glass shatters, a bird cries out, a door slams open, cracking against a wall, a sonorous voice calls his name, and Hob flails, kicks, screams, and screams, and screams and—

"Forgive me, I am a titch late. I got caught up reading and… goodness me!" a prim voice gasps. "Well, this won't do at all!"

A loud noise, like a fleshy crack, rings out. 

As suddenly as a snap, the pain is gone.

Hob gargles on the tail end of a scream that aborts somewhere behind his teeth. 

His nose is filled with the scent of the rain and the petrichor from the gravel drive beyond a broken window and a wide-standing door, not with the reek of burning flesh. His heart races wildly, but it is still within his body. The rigid tension of his hell-electrified muscles ceases and Hob flops backwards, dropping against Morpheus' chest. Strong arms come around his chest Morpheus tilts his pelvis to cradle Hob's sacrum, one strong thigh behind his legs to keep from folding. He plays one hand up Hob's throat, caressing, paling his face, checking for damage and soothing all at the same time.

Hob pries his aching lids open, and finds his eyes have not boiled away after all.

The New Inn is unshaken, all in one piece, save for the way the front door is hanging off its hinges, cracked straight down the middle. The person who did it is obscured by Hob's view by the coffee machine, and the little, forlorn-looking cactus.

"What did you do to him?" Matthew caws from the mic stand, puffed out to twice his size, wings spread and a murderous gleam in his eyes. "What the fuck did you do to him?"

" I will end your miserable existence! I will throw you into the sulfurous lake from which you should never have crawled, you worthless, lothesome, hateful—"

"I'm fine!" Hob chokes out, feeling like he's vomiting up half his esophagus with every syllable. "I'm fine! " 

" Your dare! I will tear your atoms apart and scatter them across so many universes that you will never again—"

" — peck your fucking eyes out — "

"Oh, dear! I do apologize, I believe I broke your door in, I'm so sorry, my dear boy—

"Guys," Hob gags. "Just let me catch my breath…"

And before him, unmoving and unperturbed by the overlapping, rising threats and verbal assaults, Lucifer watches him with a knowing, miserable look on their face.

"Enough! Quiet!" Hob thrust the Key into the air, and silence drops like a guillotine. He heaves on a few more breaths, then swallows hard, licking his lips. In an agonized, throat-shredded whisper he adds, "Please."

Because it never hurts to use one's manners.

Slowly, agonizingly, with the gentle help of Morpheus, Hob gets his feet back under him. The first thing he does is reach for his half-finished pint and drain the glass. The alcohol burns its way down, and Hob tastes the faintest touch of blood. Christ's nails, how loud had he been screaming?

Feeling more settled, he turns to face Lucifer.

Whose lipstick and painted fingernails are still utterly pristine.

They… they didn't kiss him.

"You…" Hob pants. "You didn't do that?"

"No," Lucifer says softly, and folds their hands together with elegant contriteness, fingers pointed downward in a reverse prayer. 

"But you," Hob starts, then has to stop to swallow the bloody spittle that his screaming has produced. "You know what just happened?"

"The Key does it," Lucifer whispers. "Changes you. Every Devil needs a Face."

"I don't want a Devil Face," Hob says stubbornly.

Lucifer smiles, but it's thin and pained. "You don't get to choose."

Hob snarls and drops the Key onto the bar top. He half expects it to be stuck to his palm, or burned into his flesh. But it falls from his grip easily and lands with an unsatisfying clack . Morpheus, still hovering at Hob's side like Peter Pan's shadow, reaches out for it.

Hob smacks his hand away. "Don't you fucking dare."

" I would not see you suffer—"

"And I would not see all of humanity suffer, so you just fucking back right up there, friend."

Morpheus lowers his arm, but utterly fails to back up. If anything he presses closer. If the skinny little fuck had any bodyheat to speak of, Hob was sure he'd be feeling it through his own clothes right now.

The man by the door steps out of Hob's blindspot behind the coffee machine, and comes around to stand a respectful distance away, and peer at the Key. It's the queer little Bookseller of Soho. Late to the party, because he got caught up in reading, and Hob couldn't be more grateful for his perpetual absentminded tardiness.

“Well!" the Bookseller exclaims. "That’s where that silly old thing has gotten to! You would not believe the fuss that has kicked up in The Silver City. If you’ll give me just a moment…” He snaps once, a downward motion, as if yanking on an old-fashioned Edwardian-era bell pull.

A golden chime rings through the air and the Bookseller nods as if he's done some sort of momentous good deed. "Help is on the way, dear boy. But, ah, I would be ever so grateful if you did not tell them it was me who alerted them? I couldn't bear the paperwork."

And with that, the Bookseller is straight back out the door, which, miraculously, isn't actually broken off its hinges like Hob had thought it was. Turns out the window isn't broken either; it must have been a glass Matthew knocked over on his desperate flight inside.

Lucifer, very graciously, and very apologetically, refills Hob's pint glass by reaching over the bar for the tap, as Hob had done. Hob takes the pint (half head and spilling over the side; Hob guesses the Devil can't be good at everything ) with a nod of thanks. His hand is shaking so badly that Morpheus has to steady his arm just so he can drink.

"Well, friend," Hob says to Lucifer, once he's had a few long pulls on the cold fizz. "That was a hell of a party trick."

Lucifer snorts extremely inelegantly. "Pun intended?"

"Entirely."

" After what you suffered, you would still call the Morningstar friend ?" Morpheus asks, horror in every syllable.

"They didn't do whatever that just was to me," Hob points out. "The Key did. In fact, if that's what it feels like to hold it, then honestly, I don't blame you for wanting rid of the literally damned thing."

Lucifer's red, red, red lips part in gentle shock. They touch one lacquered nail to their own soft, pale cheek, then brush their palm across their neck as if double checking that the flesh there is indeed intact.

"You are generous in your forgiveness, sire," Lucifer says demurely.

"No more generous than all those who punish themselves in Hell for their past deeds deserve, I think," Hob says back. Including you , he doesn't add. But he doesn't need to.

Lucifer offers Hob a grateful bow.

Matthew makes a confused sort of snorfle sound. He hops his way down and across the room to Morpheus, who stoops to allow Matthew to perch on his hand, then transfers the raven to his shoulder.

"So now what, my lords?" Matthew croaks tentatively.

"Now we wait for whatever help was supposedly—" 

Another unexpected surge of light interrupts Hob, and he squints against a golden flash-bulb flare of it. When it clears, two male-presenting beings that could literally only be angels stand before them. 

This corner of the pub is starting to get awfully crowded, Hob thinks with all the hysterical sarcasm his ordeal allows him to muster.

The angels are both statuesque, both blonde, both clad in raiments of glowing white, with enormous golden wings. Hob glances at Lucifer, who rolls their eyes as the pompous way the angels carry themselves.

"Dream King," one of them says in deferential greeting. Both of the angels bow low to Morpheus.

" Remiel, Archangel of Hope.  Duma, Archangel of Silence. Your presence in this moment is most welcome." 

Morpheus inclines his head in a shallow bow, not letting on that it was the Bookseller who called them here, as asked. Hob doesn't know much about the hierarchy of celestial beings, but if the depth of their bows and nods to one another are anything to go by, Morpheus is a lot higher on the celestial pecking order than Lucifer's address to him has made it seem.

"Thank you," the one who is clearly not the Archangel of Silence says. "And our gratitude, also, for summoning us."

As one, the two archangels turn to the fallen one.

"Lucifer," Remiel says.

"Brother dearest," Lucifer sneers.

"The Divine Creator demands that you take up the Key and return to your throne."

"It's not my throne any longer," Lucifer sneers. "It's his now."

Remiel spares a glance over his shoulder at Hob that makes it very, very clear that the imperious twat thinks Hob is not much more evolved than pond gunk. The angel turns back to Lucifer.

"A mortal cannot rule Hell."

"Not mortal," Hob speaks up, just because he does not appreciate being snubbed in his own pub. And on his own birthday, to boot.

"Still human , though," Remiel sneers, the facade of literally-holier-than-thou superiority cracking a bit.

"And what's so wrong with being hummmuph," Matthew harrumphs as Morpheus reaches up and pinches his beak shut.

"Oh, well, guilty as charged then," Hob sneers right back, shoving his hands into his pockets and slouching his shoulders in the most insolent way he knows how.

Duma strides silently to Hob's side. Gently, but inexorably, the angel takes Hob's chin between his fingers, and holds his face still for his gaze.

"Doesn't hurt any more," Hob answers the ethereal creature's silent question. "But now we've got a bit of a problem, if you say a human can't rule Hell. Because it looks like it's either me, or Morpheus, and we all know what will happen if Dream of the Endless is forced to don that crown."

Duma's gaze grows tearful and sad. He shakes his head, just once, then releases Hob. Then, with the same hand, he reaches for the Key.

"Brother!" Remiel gasps, grabbing at his draped sleeve to stop him.

Matthew shakes free of Morpheus's fingers and, in a resounding voice that is clearly not his own, booms: "Hell cannot be entrusted to other than those who serve the Name directly… I shall take over Hell."  The raven shakes himself all over, blinking rapidly. "What the fuck was that, boss?" He turns his sharp beak toward Duma. "Hey, don't use me as a puppet, man, that's violating!"

"Duma, no ," Remiel protests, but halts in the face of Duma's implacable silence. Remiel curls into himself in shame. "Very well. I cannot allow my fellow to drink from a cup I have refused. I will go with you."

"Have fun, boys," Lucifer sing-songs. "Oh, and there's a bit of a trick to getting the cold water in the palace pipes. There isn't any! Ha!"

Remiel sends Lucifer the stinkiest stink-eye Hob's ever seen in six hundred and sixty-six years.

Duma reaches for the key again and Hob is struck with a sudden flash of inspiration.

“Wait!” he shouts, throwing out a hand to block the Key. He doesn't touch it again though. He's reckless, not stupid.

"Wait?" Remiel echoes, agog. " Wait ? Who are you to command the Host to—"

"I'm the King of the Hell," Hob challenges back, puffing out his chest. "At least until you touch this Key."

"You are no Demonic Monarch, you lowly—"

“Oh, stuff it,” Hob snaps at Remiel, sick to the teeth with being polite to Celestial entities to clearly don’t feel the same courtesy toward him. “Before I give you the key, I want something in return. And I'm not giving up my one and only chance to do a deal as the Devil.”

Lucifer laughs, overjoyed. Morpheus makes a worried, confused sound. In the corner, Johanna's eyes narrow in concern.

But none of that matters. Because Hob’s remembered, all of a sudden, what Matthew had gossiped about, when he was recounting the parts of Morpheus’ trip to Hell that his friend had left out.

The boss stopped at this… this window in a spire, and a woman had called out for him with a name I’d never heard before, the raven had slurred, deep in his cups one evening while Morpheus had been trapped in the Library and sent Matthew for Tuesday Hangs in his stead. She’d reached for him through the bars, tugged on his coat, sobbing. She thought he’d come to rescue her and instead he just left there, like some heartless– He’d mantled his feathers then, shaking his head in a very human gesture like trying to disperse a bad memory. I asked Lucienne about her. She was sixteen, man, she was a kid, and the boss did her pretty dirty. She was heartbroken. It’s ugly.

Remiel bristles, the small feathers along the upper curve of their glossy white wings frazzling in irritation. “You do not bargain with God,” they hiss.

“But our absentee parent not here, my sycophantic sibling,” Lucifer purrs. “And Robert Gadling has not yet abdicated. Hell is his gift to bestow. Or to hoard. Oh, do say you will hoard it instead, little man. It will vex our creator so.”

“No,” Hob says, horrified by the idea of being sole ruler of all suffering for the rest of eternity, and being barred from Dream and the Dreaming to boot. 

Lucifer shrugs, like it was worth one last try.

"Very well," Remiel grits out, sounding like every word is costing them a gallon of golden ichor.

“Nada,” Hob says. "She goes free."

Morpheus clutches hard at Hob's shoulder in his shock. " How do you know her name? How—"

"Not now," Hob says gently to his oldest friend, taking his hand from his shoulder, and twining their fingers together behind his back. Then turns his best flinty, bandit's glare at the angels. "Nada is released in exchange for the Key. Those are my terms."

"We cannot simply release a soul from Hell," Remiel says slowly, as if explaining to a toddler. "Without a corporation, it will be naught but a ghost."

"Then give her a corporation," Lucifer says, studying their nails as if bored. "We both know the paperwork is not as persnickety as the Quartermasters make it out to be. There's stacks lying around, waiting to be inhabited."

"Sibling!" Remiel hisses at Lucifer in warning. The former devil just bares their teeth at him. Remiel tries a different tack: "The Dream King condemned her to Hell himself. We cannot give her leave until he recants—"

Hob steps on Morpheus's foot.

Hard.

" I recant!" Morpheus yelps, glaring daggers at Hob. Then he clears his throat and resumes his customary haughty expression. "Nada has been unjustly punished, and it has gone on far too long. I recant my oath, and rescind my ire. Nada is no longer prisoner by my will, nor my pleasure."

Remiel gawps.

"A new life for Nada," Hob repeats firmly, bringing the conversation back to its point. "Reincarnation. A chance to do it all again, without suffering, in return for the Key. Are we agreed?"

Duma looks between Remiel, Morpheus, and Hob.

" Agreed ," Matthew booms, and then squawks: "Man, fuck off!"

"It is done."

Hob removes his hand from the bar.

Duma grasps the Key.

The only indication that it is paining him, that it is burning his face off even as Hob is staring at him and nothing is happening outwardly, is a slight squinching of his features. Remiel makes a disgusted sound and gestures with his hand, and the faint echo of a newborn baby's cry vaults through the room, perfectly audible over the susurrus of the gentling thunderstorm.

New life.

And she shares Hob's birthday.

How about that.

"The bargain is fulfilled," Remiel spits with disgust. "Brother, come."

Both angels snap their wings out—one of Remiel's slapping Lucifer in the face, clearly intentionally by the snarl they let loose—and in the powerful thrust of a gong-like wingbeat, are gone. The Key is gone with them.

Hob immediately squeezes Morpheus's hand tight and turns to gauge whether he's fucked up their friendship forever.

Surely, surely, Morpheus must be furious at Hob for overstepping so completely. Nada had gone to Hell because she'd died by suicide, but she'd only killed herself because Dream of the Endless had seduced her against the rules that forbade him for lying with a mortal ( Do I count as a mortal? Hob wonders frantically, Would we be punished if—focus, Gadling! ) and her people had been slaughtered in retribution. And Morpheus, in his pride, had left her to rot there when she refused his hand in return for rescue. It had all been, quite frankly, some epically toxic masculinity bullshit , and Hob is prepared to square off with his friend about it if he has to. 

He doesn't want to, of course, but for the sake of a soul left suffering through no wrong of her own, he will.

But instead, he finds Morpheus limp with shock, silently weeping.

"Hob," Morpheus gasps. " Hob, my priest, my devoted one." He surges forward, anoints Hob's forehead and palms with holy, reverent kisses. The last of the lingering pain from the Key's hold  is washed away in the cool calmness of deep sleep and deeper night. It flows down his skin, making him shiver as Hob is consecrated Head Priest once more.  "How beneficent your human heart is. And how shamed I am, that it took you to force me to do right by one I had scorned unjustly and unkindly."

"Yeah, well, don't you forget it," Hob says, when Morpheus pulls away. He rubs his face, weary in a way that he hasn't felt in… well, ever. "So, are we done now? Can we… can we be done now, please? I have a party to—" he looks around the room, at all the people here under his invitation, under his burden of care. "To save."

"By all means," Lucifer says. "They will awaken as soon as I go."

" Then go," Morpheus invites, with no little amount of bitchy snark.

Lucifer offers him a hard stare, but after a moment, relents without retaliation. "I shall make my farewells to you then, Robert Gadling, from one former Monarch of Hell to another."

They lean forward and buss a gentle, warm kiss off of Hob's cheek.

“Where will you go?” Hob asks, as they withdraw. “If Hell isn’t your domain any more, what are your plans?”

“Why, stay here, of course,” Lucifer says. Then they look around at the cramped room, the stuffy air, the frozen mortals. “Well, perhaps not here , here. But as I said, it’s been ever so long since I’ve been invited to a party. I’ve forgotten how fun they can be. Perhaps I will find some space to host my own sinful little celebrations.”

“Like… a nightclub?” Hob asks, wracking his brain for what they may mean.

Lucifer’s eyes spark with intrigue. “Now that is an idea,” they murmur. “A nightclub . There’s all sorts of wicked things a soul may get into there. I’ll send you an invitation to the grand opening, Hob dearest. In thanks for tonight.”

“You know what,” Hob says, finding he really means it when he says: “I look forward to it.”

The former Devil blinks, obviously not anticipating or expecting his favorable response.

“See you then, my friend,” Hob says, holding out a hand to shake.

“Is that a binding promise?” Lucifer asks slyly, reaching back.

“Absolutely not,” Hob laughs. “I know better than to make a deal with the devil. Again.” He cuts a wink at Morpheus, who wrinkles his nose petulantly. “But you tell me when and where, and I’ll try.”

“That is acceptable,” Lucifer acquiesces, and shakes his hand not to seal a deal, but in a companionable farewell.

“Oh!” Hob says, as a dark cloud of absolutely rotten-smelling smokes begins to billow around their smart white pumps. “I used to play some violin, in the 18th century. Should I bring it?”

Lucifer breaks into a wide, frankly dorky grin of sheer delight. “No, friend. I haven’t picked up a fiddle since I lost that bout. I’m more of a piano man, now.”

And before Hob can think of anything clever to say to that, the cloud envelopes the Devil, and they are gone.

“-- the hell was that! ” Patrick shouts from beside Hob, right in his ear, and Hob startles away, nearly falling on his arse in surprise.

Hob catches himself on a bar stool, heart hammering in his throat, as all around him the humans resume moving and talking as if the massive clap of thunder that had shaken the Inn had occurred just a second ago.

“Someone should go check if that hit the pub!” one of Hob’s colleagues says, and grabs an umbrella from the stand of forgotten ones by the door and ducking outside before he can see who it was. “No! All good! No fire!”

Johanna Constantine bounds across the room like she's a bolt of lightning herself. Hob braces for a punch in the nose, and gets wrapped in a tight embrace instead. "You mad bastard," Johanna hisses in his ear. "You mad, incredible, pig-shit bonkers bastard ."

"Yeah, that's me," Hob says sheepishly, squeezing her back.

"Happy birthday!" she says, smacks a ridiculous kiss off his mouth, and then crosses back across the room, grabs Ric by the sleeve, and pulls her through the kitchen and—by the sounds of the slamming door—into the back where the bins make a conveniently shadowed corner.

"Yeah, nobody go back there for a while," Hob announces to the handful of people watching what had just happened with open curiosity.

"Ew," Patrick grumps. He does a double take when he catches Morpheus and Matthew on the far side of the bar, several empty glasses before him that he obviously didn't put there.

For a moment, Hob is worried that his co-owner is going to put up a fuss about the live animal in the building, but then Patrick shrugs in the way that mortals encouraged to overlook Morpheus' oddities by the very nature of his existence do. He busses the empties, and moves on to the next customer.

Hob, not inclined at all to overlook Morpheus, leans on the bar beside him, and grins up at his oldest, and strangest friend.

" Are all your birthday celebrations this eventful, Hob Gadling? " Morpheus asks, eyebrow raised coyly, as Matthew attempts to preen the last of his wet feathers into laying right.

"Nah," Hob promises. "Just the milestones."

" Then I already dread the party you will throw to mark your first millennia."

Hob, who has just enough beer left in his glass to toast Morpheus and toss back the mouthful, does so. Then he chuckles ruefully. "I don't, my friend. Not in the least. As a former Monarch of Hell, I have a feeling my life will be even more interesting in the decades to come." He drops Morpheus a cheeky wink. "And I have so much to live for."

On the far side of the pub, someone shuts off all the lights. A spark of candlelight goes up, and, raised in chorus, everyone that Hob holds dear—in the here and now—begins to sing.

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